He sits for a long time on that small bed of his, elbows resting on his knees as he turns the amulet over in his hands. Old, gaudy, well worn, the same amulet he had swiped from the undead woman who so thoughtfully dumped a dead body, in his shop, on his desk. A memory that still brought a sense of wrath to the surface every single time he thought about it. No, not because of the dead man, not really, but simply the fact she had changed him into a woman. True, he had told her to glamour him, he wasn't about to be on the radar of the Hunters but for fuck's sake, she had given him obnoxiously large breasts and had tormented him for hours afterwards, even after she had gotten rid of the body. Then... she had vanished on a phantom wind. Good riddance. That had been three years ago and the blood stains hadn't come out of the desk, he had to burn the furniture and replace it with something less... absorbing.

With that thought, he stands, slipping the amulet into his slacks, Brenden dressed far more fine than his usually attire. He had received an invitation to a newly opened club on the north side of town, though he had already frequented it several times, apparently there was some sort of fundraiser going on tonight. Not that he was going for the fundraiser but to merely let off some steam, perhaps find a partner with similar interests. Stretching his arms over his head, he lets out a satisfied groan as his muscles stretch deliciously before striding towards the exit of the room, snagging his jacket off the back of a chair. He's quick to slide his arms through the sleeves, his deft fingers finding the top button as he does it up. His brown eyes glancing at the receptionist for a brief moment, "Lock up for the night," his tenors rolling off his tongue before he's tossing her the spare key. She was a quiet thing, did her job well and was hardly the snooping type, someone he had lucked out on a few years ago, though he didn't bother to get to know her, she was simply here to work for him.

She nods, catching the key clumsily before he's walking out the door, flipping the closed sign over. Stepping outside, the night cold air wraps around him, his breath fogging in front of his face before he's strolling casually towards his vehicle before him. His usually bike stored away fro the winter, he unlocks the door of the truck before yanking the handle open and sliding into the driver's seat. It was hardly what one would call fancy, Brenden hardly spending his money on materialistic things, he much preferred to spend money elsewhere in his life. The engine roars to life before he's putting it into gear and he's off down the road. It doesn't take him long to get where he's going, pulling into the front of a high end hotel. The valet is there in an instant, Brenden handing him the keys without so much as a word as he strolls through the sliding glass doors and into the lobby. He casually makes his way towards the alcove of elevators, though he strolls towards a specific machine, the one on the far left, the one with a keypad to access it. Lifting his hand, he keys in the passcode quickly before the elevator dings, the doors sliding open relatively quietly. Stepping inside, he slips his hands into his pockets before the machine descends downward.

It's quiet, this particular elevator hardly needing music, it was supposed to be the preamble to what was below, a way to entice the guest. Eventually, the machine grounds to a halt, doors opening and he steps into a world that none of the guests above him were even aware of. Removing his hand from his pocket, he steps out of the elevator to walk down an elaborate hallway, pictures of naked women and men lining the walls in various poses of ecstasy and torment. Rounding the corner he's greeted by a concierge of sorts, two body guards holding metal detectors in their hands. Offering all three a nod, he was recognized almost immediately, though they still went through the process of searching him, one of the bodyguards finding the amulet in his pocket, "What's this?" he asks gruffly, the man dangling it from his hands, frowning at the old object, "A bauble the keeps illusions at bay," Brenden answers honestly, giving a shrug. He didn't have a reason to lie and because he didn't lie, the bodyguard hands it back over. Once finished, the warlock steps towards the woman, her hand gesturing at the contract on the desk. It was customary to sign every time he came, the terms of agreement updated often. The most important rules? No speaking of the club to those who were not members, no mentioning of said members, no names, and most importantly - no magic. The inside of the club was built specifically to prevent magic though some of the stronger users could still access their affinities, so the contract was a way to legally bind said person.

If someone used magic within the confines of the club, the creator of that contract would know. Immediately. Usually a ban from the club was what the result was but for more major offenses... well, those members tended to vanish for a good long while, sometimes permanently. The owners, were in fact, very serious about their rules, something Brenden could respect. Finishing his signature across the bottom, he straightens as the woman before him makes a sweeping motion with her hand towards the entrance, "Have fun," she winks at him, Brenden merely offering her a nod as he steps past her and into the underground club. Pushing through the doors, he's greeted by moans of ecstasy, screams of pain and the scent of sex. It takes his eyes only a moment to adjust to the dimness, the underground room large and split into several sections, well, stages to be more precise.

Each stage held a different scene, swingers, bdsm, shibari, groups, swingers - truly, anything you could think of. He hardly pauses as he strolls for the bar, a small group standing at the counter getting drinks, a few he recognizes though he doesn't make an effort to join in the conversation. Instead, he finds an open space, waving down the bartender, who to his surprise, was wearing more clothes than many of the patrons mulling about. "You had a Japanese whiskey last time, you still got it?" he asks and before he can finish his sentence, the bartender is sliding it in front of him. Giving a grunt of approval, he hardly thanks her before pushing off the bar and begins his stroll around the enormous room. Swirling the dark liquid in his glass, he takes a drink, rather enjoying the burn that coursed down his throat. Offering a few noncommittal hellos along the way, he pauses in front of the stage, watching as woman is suspended from the ceiling, her head thrown back in ecstasy as another woman continues to tighten the rope around her body.

It truly was an art form, the way a single rope could so fully contain a body and as much as he appreciated it... it was far too gentle for his brand of torment. His brown eyes are locked on the scene before him, even as a body appears at his side, Brenden distracted momentarily as he throws a sidelong glance at the woman whom he recognized. He had even done a scene with her in the past. Brows furrowing, his eyes skim across her bare shoulders, the scrap of material barely covering her generous assets. "Hello again," she purrs up at him. He turns to face her fully, his cold gaze watching her for a long moment, "What do you want?" his question is dry, not at all kind and yet, it doesn't seem to phase her. "Don't be like that," she pouts, stepping closer to him, inside his bubble, "We had so much fun last time we played," she croons a hand snaking out to reach towards him, only to think better of it and wrapping her hand around herself instead, her teeth glittering in the dimness. Brenden tilts his head slightly, assessing. She hadn't been a terrible partner though she hadn't exactly filled that void he desperately desired, he didn't think this time would be any different either. Brows furrowing, he takes another drink of the alcohol before waving her off in dismissal, "I'm not interested, find someone else," he declares after a moment, and though he catches a flash of anger in her eyes, he doesn't care as she stalks off.

Finally turning away from the scene, he finds an empty coach, falling into the leather as a wave of antiseptic clouds his nostrils for a moment. Draping an arm across the back of the couch, he brings one slack covered leg up, his ankle resting on the knee. Relaxed. Observant.