Cyrus listens as Valentine tells him about the RedZone, and the 'in' crowd of kindred that gathered there. He can only assume the other kindred's gabbiness is the change of company from the somewhat dour Sasha. Regardless, he does find it somewhat entertaining to have such an excellent guided tour of the city on their way to the club. And of course, the information being provided was always good to have in this dark and dangerous world.
   "No, Mr. Mazzini," he chuckles, amused at the sudden change in topic, "Gucci shops are not hard to find in New York. However, their hours are not usually very beneficial to our kind. Personally, my suits are all hand tailored by a small shop on the outskirts of the city. Once you've worn their suits, Gucci feels completely off the rack." One hand unconsciously lightly brushes against the lapel of his jacket as though brushing away an invisible mote of dust.
   And then RedZone is there, the neon pulsing into the night like a demonic heartbeat in the darkness. Cyrus tears into the parking lot and turns to the spot where Valentine was pointing. It's a sharp turn, and tires squeal slightly as the sports car rips into the space, almost skidding to a stop. He kills the engine, pulling out laser-cut key, opening the door and sliding out of the vehicle with a graceful movement, waiting as Valentine does the same. Both doors close softly, and as they step away, heading to to entrance of the club, one can hear the muted double beep of the alarm being engaged.
     Cyrus turns to Valentine as they head out of the parking lot, bending slightly at the waist with an arm flourishing out to the side, in a gesture that would almost appear comical if not for the dead serious look on his face.
   "I follow you lead, Mr. Mazzini!"

 I lead the way, knowing this place like my own. I head in the door, nodding to the bouncer and the doorgirl, they don't even glance at us, Mr. Crewe is with me. I head to the bar, spotting a pair of nubile blonde college girls that wanted me so badly a few nights back and veer toward their area.

"What's your poison Mr. Crewe?" as he reaches the bar, the bartender already handing Valentine a cosmopolitan. He sips upon it occasionally, but an observant eye will notice him spitting it back into the glass. Something he would refer to as 'decoration'.