You sidle up to the counter inside with a grin, the young man serving coffee and cocoa regarding your approach with a bit of nervousness.
"So," you say with a toothy smile, "what would you say if I were to ask which way to the Den?"
"I'd... I'd say that I can't really let non-members in," he stammers.
"Really, now?" You chuckle. "I don't think that applies to me, anymore." You slide the ticket you were given by Greta across the counter as proof.
His eyes look down at the ticket and go wide. He glances back at you, but doesn't quite seem to want to meet your gaze.
"I'm... I'm sorry! I didn't know! Some of the newer members I haven't memorized yet..."
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not trying to get you in trouble here."
"Th-thank you, ma'am. The way in is right between the restrooms. It's labeled as a janitor's closet, but the stairs are in the back."
"Oh no," you say with a grin, "thank you."
You pick the ticket back up and stride away from the counter towards the restrooms, your heels clicking on the smooth stone floor. Membership, eh? That means there's others here who've gone through what you did this morning, perhaps. Certainly Greta has, her presence just minutes ago having been rather... interesting to you. Does that mean you're some sort of elite now? If this is what being part of that feels like, perhaps you can live with that.
Your musing is interrupted by you locating the janitor's closet in question. Taking a deep breath, you turn the knob, finding it unlocked. Inside, you see more or less what one would expect, mops, buckets, shelves of cleaning supplies. Still, you remember what he told you and weave your way through the shelves, intent upon your prize. Reaching the back of the room, where few would think to go, you spy a circular opening in the floor, with a lit spiral staircase going down. There is the faint noise of a muffled bassline somewhere below. You grasp the railing, your nails dragging against the metal, and descend underground.
There is a short tunnel at the bottom of the staircase, lined with stones similar to those you saw in your fireplace, but as you go deeper in, it's actually hewn from the bedrock. There are old smells here, of smoke and of drink gone stale, and of human bodies, slick with sweat whose revels spilled out into the hallway. Somebody, possibly quite a few somebodies, had a rather good time here, though you're not quite used to just how you know that yet. It has the feel of someone else's territory, but at the same time feels somewhat inviting to you. The bassline grows stronger as you near the end of the hallway, still muffled by two tall wooden doors, bound in iron.
Curling your fingers around one of the iron rings near where the doors meet, you pull the door open, feeling the strength in your arm respond as you do so. The force of the music nearly hits you physically, loudness flowing from the room before you, hard rock, ruthless and raw. Room might not even be an accurate description. Like the hallway beyond, you're nearly in a cave, a sizable room carved from the living rock. Two fireplaces are on opposite ends of the room, and near the walls lie piles of animal pelts that look as if they've been thoroughly... explored would be a charitable word. Though as Greta said the show has already begun, you don't really see too many people around yet, this early in the day.
But the show? Well, that's a different state of affairs. A girl with spiky silver hair is just thrashing on the drums, throwing her all into the rhythm. Flanking her on either side are two women who for all purposes look identical, with pale skin and long raven hair, presiding over intense emerald eyes. One of them is playing electric guitar, while the other is on bass. Spying you, they both smile in unison as their current song ends.
"That was great, Lucy," one of them says, regarding the drummer.
"You can take five, we've got this," the other said. The drummer nodds, wiping the sweat from her brow, and heads over to get a drink. Then, the attention of the twins is rather conspicuously on you.
"Well well," the guitar player says, unslinging her axe and putting it on a stand.
"Greta told us there might be a new guest of the Den," her twin replied, setting her bass down.
"She... she did, did she?" You manage to get out, your new-found confidence faltering a bit.
"Oh, yes," the guitar player says, only for her twin to chime in, "she always tells us about the ones with potential."
"Potential?" You ask, feeling a bit emboldened by that assessment of you.
"It's a lovely thing, isn't it?" The guitar player says, moving towards you. Her leather pants hug her generous curves, and your eyes linger for a moment before you realize her twin is circling around you as well, speaking. "Like you've just woken up from a gray dream, and now you can take life by the throat."
"Something like that," you reply as your nostrils flare. Sweat on them. Sweat, oiled leather, and a wild, musky scent not unlike what you got a hint of with Greta.
"And the funny thing is," one twin says, as you've lost track of which is which as they circle you. Regardless, her sister finishes her thought, "you haven't even really gotten it yet. Don't worry though," she says as she passes out of your view, only for the other twin to continue, "you will..."
"I ah... I didn't catch your names," you say, feeling a bit dizzy from them circling you.
"Of course you didn't," one twin says. "We didn't throw them," the other replies.