The humidity in the club was sweltering, despite the fact that all of the air conditioners were working at maximum capacity to produce cold air. However, the people in the club gave off a quaint contrast. Each was beautifully dressed; males in their finest and most expensive tuxedos and the ladies wore beautiful gowns adorned with jewelery of diamond and gold, and also with finely and neatly applied makeup. It was as if they didn't notice the heat at all. And almost every second person held a lit cigarette, smoke pouring out of the roll of paper.
The interior of the club was elegant and simple; some of the designs, especially the curved polished pieces of wood were somewhat classic, and didn't feel right in a modern casino. The carpet was dark and patterned. The floor was then covered in an assortment of different tables for different games of luck and fortune, or unfortunate as they were sometimes referred. There were at least five for roulette and fifteen each for poker and blackjack. Behind twenty or so other tables and a velvet red rope was a sea of poker machines; the sound of someone celebrating was always accompanied the sound of coins pouring out of the machine, as well as the always familiar polyphonic music of the gambling machines .
Against either side wall was a massive bar, that extended from the clubs entrance all the way to the velvet rope. A multitude of barmen and women, worked tirelessly to pour and serve drinks in the classiest and fastest way possible. Money and a glass of liquid was exchanged and then the person would would disappear, most likely not to return; the bar was not only a beautiful thing to look at, but it was conveniently sized.
And within this sea of smoke and gambling and beauty was a squad of the most dangerous and powerful agents from around the world. Each one knew their mission well; to observe and listen to the assorted patrons for any mention of the death of James Bond or the diamond smugglers. Each agent had already been told to play close attention to Razahk Kazafury, aka the Diamond Fist. He was a tall African man who claimed himself to be a master of luck and therefore a master of roulette; as the agents all knew, Mr. Kazafury would be spending most of his time at this table.
John sighed looking through the sea of people. He knew he wouldn't be able to see any of his squad, and he found this somewhat troubling. Although each agent held panic buttons, it was more then likely in a real fight that they wouldn't have time to hit the tiny little button in their watch or purse or wallet. While an old, whitening man, John was a fantastic shot, and more often then not could be pretty cluey with gadgets. He sighed again, and turned back to the bar, where his glass of whiskey awaited him. Taking a deep sip, he let loose a deep refreshing noise, which caused some of the people around him to look down their noses. A good agent, but a charmless unappealing one at that. He shudder slightly, as a shiver ran down his back. I have a bad feeling about this...
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OOC: My character in this is John. I will shortly make an OOC thread. Post away friends!
