Jeanne was called to the front of the club as soon as the bouncers got a whiff of Kieran's thoughts. He was still a little way down the line when she arrived, intrigued by the request for her presence. Something as out of the ordinary as someone who
seems to know about supernaturals - yet hasn't had confirmation - presented the prospect of a less-than-banal night, so she was pleased by the summons. Mortals with suspicions were often let into the club but Jeanne had stipulated that if the bouncers weren't certain the customer wasn't going to disrupt proceedings within or have a larger effect on the city at large once their hypothesis was confirmed, she should be called to make a final decision.
Frankly, once she got to front-of-house and scanned the mortal's mind, even
she wasn't too sure about Kieran - mainly because she couldn't predict his intent. His thoughts of stories and newspaper articles didn't bode well for the city's masquerade policy in general but he also seemed so...
ineffectual, with his cute outfit and can-do attitude. What danger did him knowing about vampires pose? Still, there was no way she was going to give this guy the ammunition to bring about catastrophic revelations. The city had faltered in such a manner far too often as it was. No, best to play it cautiously and avert disaster by taking a firm hand to the situation.
Jeanne walked along the line, her open-toed black heels partially concealed by the extravagant hem of her elegant, wide-legged dress pants. They were black, high-waisted and boasted parallel lines of four large gold buttons running vertically over her
pelvis. She had a long-sleeved white lace top with frilled cuffs and collar over a black bra on her upper half, teamed with a long, brunette wig. She made eye contact with him as she stopped at his side, smiling mildly at him.
"Mr Thompson? Please come with me," she bade in her husky French accent. She turned and sauntered past the line and into the foyer of the club, passing the cloakroom and heading for the wide spiral staircase that led to the upper floor. She monitored Kieran's thoughts and progress at her back carefully - if he had questions or wanted to mouth off or didn't wish to follow her, she would stifle his words and his thoughts and force him to walk a few steps behind. If he came willingly, she led him up the stairs and skirted the booths without looking at him, walking up to an anonymous-looking bit of mirrored wall that became a panel which swivelled open at her touch. The lights and the noise were an excellent distraction from him seeing anything revelatory as they passed through the nightclub - not that anyone would dare break Venture's rules and do anything untoward in the open.
She closed the mirrored panel behind Kieran, aware of his heat as her proximity to him increased in the muted lighting. The thud of the music became less of an attack on their hearing and more of a deep, throbbing beat felt in their chests the instant the panel was closed. "This way," she murmured, taking him down a darkened, carpeted corridor and into her office. They didn't enter through its door, which Kieran would notice when Jeanne ushered him through and pushed a large, mahogany bookcase closed behind him. The room was minimally lit by a Tiffany lamp on her desk and a floor lamp in the lounge area, where a two seater faced two armchairs. Jeanne indicated that Kieran should sit in the antique red leather chair on the opposite side of her desk and took her position in the seat behind it, sliding her laptop to the side so that she could maintain eye contact with him (but still type notes in it, if needed).
"I am Jeanne D'Arshan, Mr Thompson," she introduced herself with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "and I am interested to know what brings you to our club tonight?"