Satan’s was a club more than it was a bar, nestled into the heart of Knockturn Alley. It was a place that Dark Wizards and Witches alike flocked to during the evenings, a place in which the debauched and the suspect could sit, drink and enjoy the company of fine women unmolested by the prying eyes of their light counterparts or that of the Aurors who haunted the Alley in search of the place. It was an establishment that had gained Augustus’ trust in the last few weeks, a place which he found was suited to his tastes in alcohol, music and women. Of course, he also found that, like the Rookwood men of late, he had developed a taste for the fair-haired women that had often been passed over and it was a woman appealing to that requirement who he held on his arm when he entered the club that evening.
Immediately, Augustus strode up to the bar, letting go of his lady so she could go and fetch a booth for them. His hands spread across the top of the bar and his lips curled as he caught sight of the short skirt and plunging neckline of the barmaid behind the three foot of granite topped mahogany, waiting for him to place his order. He looked at her without censoring his gaze and she seemed to rise to it, ever an exhibitionist – just the type that Vito enjoyed employing in his club. Augustus leaned over the bar, murmuring his order in her ear as one hand came up to tickle at the point where her jaw melted into her neck. The barmaid then moved away, going to retrieve the absinthe and the white wine he ordered.
The music started up its heavy bass beat somewhere within the club and it got steadily louder as it made its way to the bar. On the stage, the dancers began their little show and around it sat the businessmen and their friends, cooling off from a stress-filled day playing the stocks and goodness only knows what else. Augustus took his eyes around the room until finally they settled on another pair that had been watching him. An unfamiliar, youthful face greeted him and his lips curled into a harmless, but no less coquettish, smirk.
“Can I help you?” He nigh purred, his eyebrows arching high and expressively over his dark gaze. “Did your mother never tell you not to stare?”