"The way I see it, Mandrake is the answer," Mira says. Mint nods, his face awash in the blood red light that permeates the room. He takes a sip of his third gin and tonic, lets his eyes rake across the people gyrating beneath him on the dance floor. He'd wanted a quiet bar and Mira had brought him here, Club Fate, a place that boasts gaudy décor, illuminated dance floors and over priced drinks.
"Mandrake. Even his name is awful, you sure this is necessary?" Mint asks.
"It doesn't look like we have a choice."
"There's always a choice. I don't need saving."
Mira sips her cocktail and rolls her eyes in exasperation. "This isn't saving, this is collaborating. You have something Mandrake wants, has wanted for years, and we get his muscle. Considerable muscle."
We'll see," Mint says. They sit with only the pulsing club beats between them. A girl approaches Mint, falls onto his lap and flips her long blonde hair in Mint's face. Mint breathes in her scent of cigarettes and vanilla. He catches Mira's eyes for just a moment, and she averts her gaze when Mint doesn't deflect the attention but revels in it instead, runs his hands through her hair, palms her ass as she giggles drunkenly. She is beautiful, yet her attractiveness barely registers as he is only entertaining this to pay Mira back for bringing him to Mandrake, and he enjoys the familiar sight of her fidgeting as she tries to keep her composure.
