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A disgusted, droning sigh streamed out from Penny’s frowning lips as they turned the corner and were assaulted by the neon lights of the Dollhouse. Between the knock off Miami Vice suits, eight-inch suicide heels, and the cover charge, Penny knew this wasn’t the place for her. Nightlife for her, when she participated, had involved starry Montana skies, giant bonfires that the occasional asshole would chuck an aerosol can at, and whatever beer someone could rescue from their parent’s garage or that their older brother bought them. What it didn’t involve was standing in line for the bathroom while thumping, bass heavy music bled eardrums and drinks had to be constantly monitored with a watchful eye or covered with a steady hand. Penny grumbled as she forked over the money to the doorlady. Why anybody would pay to enter a place that was so aggressively trying to make people want to leave she would never understand. 

[color=goldenrod]“Oh goddamnit.”[/color]

As they entered, Penny realized she had made a mistake: the Dollhouse wasn’t a nightclub, but a stripclub. The look on her face did nothing to mask the massive amount of discomfort she quickly felt as she saw the women dancing on stage and the men hooting and hollering. She tried to look away, but there was nowhere safe for her eyes to wander. Penny shielded her brow with her hand to hide her embarrassment and looked down past her discount black dress, which would have doubled as a funeral outfit, to her sneakers. She followed the heels of the girl in front of her until they were in the VIP area. Penny glanced up and heaved a sigh of relief. It was decidedly less nude in here. Almost classy, even, but in that sort of unfortunate way where it just falls short of the goal, trips over the edge, and plummets directly into “seedy” territory. 

Immediately, the girl in the cowboy hat jumped out to her. First Mariah (whose confidence in this weird place was almost as inspiring as her outfit), then the wannabe robber with his broken wrist, and now a member of the Dollhouse—the rule of threes had been fulfilled. Florida couldn’t possibly have anymore people brave/stupid enough to try to pull the look off. Penny double checked the room just in case another cowboy was hiding behind the curtain, but otherwise it appeared to be nothing but a handful of wannabe witches, definitely devious black market dealers, and herself. 

The apparent spokesman of the Dollhouse, Luis, offered them drinks. Penny wrestled with the idea of perhaps getting her twenty-five bucks worth when Madison shut it down. Fine, then, no free booze for them, but if the dude was smoking inside then that meant it was an open invitation. Despite “dressing up” for the night, Penny was still rocking the oh-so-stylish fanny pack, which she fished out a cigarette from and lit it as the head honcho continued the meeting. Penny kept herself to the side, as if her body had subconsciously separated herself from the Coven. It was their meeting, after all, she was only here to make sure they got what Kimberly had asked for them to get. 

"What services do you seek from us?" Penny’s eyes narrowed as the man kicked his feet up on the table, early judgments beginning to form in growing degrees of harshness. “Because here at the Dollhouse...we have it all. "

The Coven didn’t speak for what felt like an eternity. In reality, it might’ve only been a handful of seconds. Either way, it was long enough time for Penny to go from letting the Coven have the floor to taking charge of the show. 

[color=goldenrod]“Honestly, Tampa’s pretty terrible even without all of the murders. I’d hear an argument for the current situation even being an improvement,”[/color] said Penny, stepping over to the couch that Claudette was sitting on and plopping down beside her. She took a drag of the cigarette, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and leaned back while crossing her legs to basically mirror Luis. [color=goldenrod]“I wouldn’t agree with it, but I’d hear it out.

“Let's get down to it. We’re interested in putting a stop to that little killing spree ruining our already shit town, and we’re especially interested, as are you, of us doing it before the culprit tires of Tampa and moves on to somewhere nicer like Miami. Normally, it’s something we”[/color]—Penny was referring to herself and Kimberly, but played it like she meant the girls in the room—[color=goldenrod]“would be able to handle ourselves. However, the killer is a bit unconventional, and to stop them we need some unconventional means.”[/color]

[color=goldenrod]“However, I am getting ahead of it all,”[/color] said Penny. She leaned forward to ash her cigarette. [color=goldenrod]“Before we get distracted by the main course, there are a few other, er, unnatural things we’re looking to get help with. Claudette, why don’t you tell the gentleman?”[/color] Penny suggested, passing her the reins of the conversation over to Claudette. It was partially because she had a horrible track record when it came to talking with shady men, and partially because she really had no idea what else the Coven wanted out of the Dollhouse.