[center][h3]Fynn LaPlace[/h3][/center]

Fynn frowned as he gave his intial answer: "Lying is not so much the issue for me, but making up good and credible lies is. It's not a server we're going to talk to..." He paused as it took him moments to realize something. "Oh, well, erm... I mean yeah it could be a server, but not... the kind of server I'd prefer because lying to the latter can be so much easier than to one with two legs walking around, you know ?"

He suspected that Primrose might not truly understand what he meant and blamed himself for the confusion. "Do your magic!" he made clear, then quickly tossed the surveillance drone out of the car's window before the uneasy feeling in his stomach had a chance to settle in. The flying robot would follow an automated, high-altitude search pattern and photograph pretty much anything within a certain radius. A lot of data to delve into later on, even though Fynn already expected most of it to be perfectly mundane trash. An on-board AI would try and identify anything of potential interest and send the images in question to his phone though.

Madame Lafitte's main entrance somewhat mimicked that of a ship's casino and as the two reinforced doors with large bull's eyes swung open, the person they revealed pretty much looked like a perfect match for such a place. A large, gold-rimmed pair of toned sunglasses put no weight on Fynn's nose, but certainly covered more than just his eyes. No hat was on his head, but the amount of styling gel pumped into the IT specialist's hair seemingly made it more bullet-proof than even a soldier's helmet could anyway. His pitch black, neatly polished leather shoes looked fairly expensive to say the least, but in that regard they still were in tight competition with the white blazer wrapped around Fynn's upper body.

It took Fynn a discomforting array of moments to realize all the extra features Primrose's illusion had added to him, but from a purely analytical point of view looking like a noveau-riche snob with a lot of money to lose actually made sense. The club's employees would surely see the opportunity and try to grab his attention while internally believing he'd be dumb and easy to exploit. A very nice technique, indeed. Double psychology could be so advantageous.

The club was still largely empty as the evening hours had not yet arrived, but a few guests were already there and, more idly than anything else though, dealt with their half-empty cocktails and followed a girl's nice looking curves with obvious greed written in their eyes. Fynn let himself down onto one of the empty bar stools and was not hesitant to order some tequila himself, soon featuring a fresh looking dollar bill he happened to find in his blazer's pocket. Would that thing vanish soon after having been rendered anonymous by being dumped into the register, too ?

His phone vibrated, maybe his drone reporting some finding, but the moment was just too enjoyable to be disturbed. Fynn tilted his head downwards so he could make eye contact with the barman over the upper rim of his sunglasses directly and twinkled in his direction. The man responded to his stupid gesture with professional ignorance, but how long would that last when subjected to stubborn repetition ?

He never got to the point of figuring that out though. Instead, a bunch of bent and even partially broken bar stools just like the one he sat one came into his view. Someone had apparently moved them out of the way in a very makeshift manner and nobody had deemed the heap to be a priority as long as things were far away from full swing.

"Hey! What happened here ?" and Fynn pointed towards the pile. Only now he spotted the Rolex around his wrist.

More professional ignorance. If Primrose had more skill in reading body language however, she'd notice how the barman's intestines momentarily twitched as if being hit by a deep frozen needle.

Fynn let go of a somewhat exaggerated sigh, then went fishing in his magic dollar pocket to extract some... serious overdose of a tip for just a single tequila. Even before the bills had stopped sliding across the polished table, they had already grabbed the barman's full attention. Eager to prevent any non-paying guests from eavesdropping, he started talking in a very low tone: "Some troublemakers. Good thing we have very tough security here for these felt like... not the usual, drunk kind of people. But what do I know ? I'm just the barman here and happy things didn't escalate even further. That poor man though. I thought they'd kill him!"

Fynn exchanged views with Primrose, knowing that he couldn't just say loudly what he was thinking right now. If this was their victim, then it could be worthwhile to get hands on all the club's secrets: security camera footage, internal remarks and reports from employees, anything. Now he really reached for his phone and indeed an aerial image popped up: a clear, somewhat fresh looking set of skid marks on the parking lot. Assuming that the owner of the vehicle had not just wanted to display some insanely good parking skills, he or she had probably had great interest in getting away very rapidly. And... just how much strength was required to bend and even break these bar stools ?

Avoiding to talk, Fynn just texted a message towards Primrose despite her being nearby briefly explaining his thoughts.