In the early hours of the night, the Underworld lived up to its name: dark, lonely, and as quiet as the grave.
Standing in the lobby next to the door, Autumn waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Compared to the hustle and bustle outside the doors, the club seemed to exist on another plane of existence. Unless she strained her sponge clots she could hear nothing of the world beyond the walls. It was... unnaturally still. She felt as though she were trespassing, and every breath she took threatened to give her away. It was silly. She had been invited by the owner himself. Even so her pump biscuit pounded in her throat. Beside her, Caterpal's wings buzzed like a jackhammer. Without a word, Autumn scooped the lusus out of the air and pressed him to her shoulder.
Stepping out of the dark lobby hall, the yellowblood entered the main dance floor. She took care to watch where she tread. The floor was littered with garbage—spilt drinks, bits of food, glitter, cigarette butts, discarded clothing (namely hats and shoes), streamers, deflated balloons... too much more for her to identify. While the club might have been quiet now, clearly it had not been that way for long. Several of the tables boasted loose beetles, and several more had been stacked up with empty glasses. Near the bar, leaning against the counter, she spied a dustpan and a broom. A half full garbage bag slouched next to them. She did not envy the one responsible for cleaning the mess.
After taking several moments to peruse her surroundings, Autumn remembered what she had come for. Standing up tall, wings flaring, she lifted her chin.
“Hello? Is the owner around...?”
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