Who tried to pay their medical bills with coupons? What century did gijinka in Livesound think it was? Okay, so he had given the receptionist the 'nod' saying 'sure, let the dodgy slowpoke jinka pay with the coupons' only because he'd been thinking that she might want to use them and be less of an annoyingly cheerful--- what was her species again? ugh, he never paid any attention to women-- anyway, there'd he'd been, poised to let the receptionist whatshername (Jenny? Julie? Jem? Whatshername) a ticket to a night of disappointingly overpriced drinks, over-the-hill hosts in too tight little pants and whatever else these disreputable dives had-- when she'd given them to him because 'oh, she had a boyfriend.' How had that happened? How was it that his receptionist--- uh... god, she was always wearing a name badge, he never committed her name to memory... Gina? Gemini?-- s**t, anyway, she had promptly passed them to him and told him she'd heard it was 'such a great place.' Like he had never been to a host club before. Pffft.

The ninetails pulled his coat off his seat as he got out of his car, carmine eyes sweeping across the establishment from the outside, well, it wasn't what he'd been expecting; run down broken windows, crack-whores standing on the side-walk, dodgy looking ghost-types lurking in the nearest alley--- maybe it was just his first visit to a host club had coloured his opinion of the places. He'd had to apply a cream to whatever itch that had been for almost a month; and like any doctor, Izanagi hated when he had to disclose a medical issue to someone else, ever. But self-medicating and diagnosis was for insecure-- god he needed a cigarette to steady his nerves. Hosts could smell weakness and seemed to sense 'doctor-lonely-money' on his tails.

He leaned against his car and lit his f** up with a finger, inhaling deeply. He was a bit nervous, what if the tickets were fake? Then his reputation would be... well, not that he had a reputation in this part of town-- actually, the clinic was within walking distance so chances were some of the hosts were going to recognize him- with or without their clothing on.

He finished his cigarette in a few drags, puffing smoke out into the murky sky overhead. It was threatening precipitation, his ear-tufts were static-y with the humidity in the air and the tiny bugs overhead buzzed with the sort of vehement excitement that weather and street-lamps elicited from their puerile minds. Normally after work, he would find a nice bar, upper-class like, and crawl into some scotch. He usually watched people, didn't care much for conversation; picking up at bars wasn't hard. He'd get wasted, wait for someone to squirm in their seat under his watchful gaze, then walk right on up and invite them home. He wasn't good with subtle.

Club Spiral. "Hn."

Izanagi brushed his hair from his eyes, pulling his gaze from the building and marching for the door. He was concentrating on his mental check-lists, mostly about defending his wallet as best he could, knowing that with enough booze, even he would blow a few hundred for a pretty smile.

Inside was... again, not what he'd expected, the Chinese décor was so themed, the hosts also didn't look--- what was the term again? "kangaskhan dressed as mareep?"-- and actually, the pleasant smell of expensive cigarettes, cigars and high-end alcohol met his curious nose. He glanced toward the cheerful greeter and extended the coupon for a 'table and evening with the owner' at ten percent off!

"I don't know if this is still valid-" His scowl was enough to wither the greeting host's normally bright smile at the edges.

"Uh, welcome to-"

"Well does it work?" God people were so chatty in livesound! Like he wanted to know their life stories or something.

"Oh, sure. Yes, may I see that and welcome you to Club Spiral--" the boy was trying at least.

Izanagi handed over the voucher and glanced around the room, noting that it was actually pretty busy-- was tonight a special day or something? Still, the hosts had the right sort of pretty, cute look to them; he could at least stand to indulge. It had been a while since he'd surrounded himself with pretty boys. Still, so young, they should be at home, studying, not strutting around a host club. Tsk, tsk.

The greeter seemed to realize that he wasn't going to melt Iza before someone got some drinks into the disagreeable doctor and motioned for one of the others to cover his post while he found a table-- toward the back, away from the other customers--

"I'll go grab the owner, since you're so lucky to have one of these!"

"Bring a scotch on the rocks while you're at it." Maybe he should have eaten dinner before hitting the booze, but the thought was banished almost as soon as it entered his mind.

His posture said a lot that his face didn't, his tails were curled around him, ears alert to danger, despite an attempt at a relaxed position, this was not his natural environment and his gaze had not simmered from entitled p***k down to a more manageable, peachy state. He also hadn't let anyone take his coat off at the door.