The Cartier mansion was practically an institution in the city and had been since its construction a few decades ago. Though called a mansion, it wasn't gaudy or annoyingly huge. In fact, it looked more like some sort of small institution, like a nursing home or a middle school. It was wider than it was tall, due to the amount of rooms contained within. The rooms were because all of the staff at the Cartier mansion were required by contract to live and work solely on the premises. The servants had their own wing and based on their position, their hours were different. Kitchen staff, such as cooks and dish hands, operated under different hours than the cleaning staff. Every staff member was required to wear uniforms, a simple black outfit with dress slacks, even the women. And masks. Everyone wore masks. 

It was a precaution. On the very, very, very small chance of The Countess' identity being exposed, the staff would be able to disavow any involvement. No one knew the identity of each other. But everyone inside the mansion knew the identity of The Countess. Of course, that ran the risk of a staff member running and exposing the truth, but The Countess had taken care of that. And not just from the legal contract. 

The real mansion was underneath, past the basement. It was there that The Countess spent most of her time when she was back home. It was here where her main facilities were situated. A work lab. A monitoring station. A library full of information on every person she had bested. The essentials.Only two people were allowed down there. The Countess and her sole confidant, Nicky. Nicky was streetwise. His eyes and ears were The Countess', and he was good at gathering information. It's why he was so trusted. It was why he didn't have to wear a mask. It was Nicky who greeted Valerie as she entered the basement lair, 

"Find out everything about Stripper Girl. I want a full dossier on my desk tomorrow morning. Set up a meeting with Channel 5. I destroyed one of their helicopters, inform them that Cartier Communications would be willing to replace it if they merge with us. Have Baxter bring a car around, I'm going out. And if I see a camera anywhere near me, you're fired." Valerie gave her commands as if she was saying hello, and Nicky silently nodded and wrote everything down, underlining the important bits. 

Nicky immediately set out on his tasks while Valerie ascended the stairs to the mansion proper, her house staff bowing as she walked past them. A quick shower followed, with Valerie constantly thinking about the day's events. THe day's embarrassment. This could cause problems. The Stripper Girl had to be taken care of and fast, before some other hero decided to creep in on Valerie's city. And this was her city. After the shower, Valerie put on a dark blue one piece dress and dark stockings. Heels completed the ensemble. Her hair was short, but dropped to her upper neck and was shining. As shining as black hair could get, anyway. Without a word to her staff, she left the front door and into the waiting sports car. 

Valerie parked across the street from a night club. The drinks weren't great, but they didn't water anything down and they weren't outrageously priced. The bouncer let her pass, causing those behind the rope to complain. Idiots, those complainers. They needed to pick up a magazine sometime. Valerie came to places like this to unwind, to enjoy a drink and to listen for the whispers of the people who recognized her. Valerie Cartier was a people person. The Countess was not. It was a shocking contrast, but Valerie had to mingle, had to make herself known even if only to throw suspicion away from her. 

"White Russian - with Tia Maria, yes I can tell the difference," Valerie gave her drink order and took a seat in a booth near the back. It only took a minute before some young kid, probably still in college judging by the university t-shirt he was wearing and the bottle of Miller Light in his hand. Who ordered a domestic beer in a place like this? "Buy you a drink?" he asked, in his best suave voice. 

"Already bought one. Not interested. Use the money you would use to try and pick up someone you think is desperate enough to hook up with a younger person and buy yourself a better opener. Or a better wardrobe. For god's sake, you're wearing shit you wear to a house party on campus. The fact that you even got in is alarming. Now go find someone in your age bracket. They're just as desperate as you clearly are." Valerie didn't so much as look at the guy while she spoke, and her tone never got to the malicious level, despite the clear intent behind her words. The guy left after using a certain five letter word, but none of that mattered, since following his departure, her drink arrived. 

When she had finished her White Russian, perhaps then she would have some desperate soul buy her a new one. But until then, she leaned back against her booth, eyes scanning around and ears trying to listen to anything but the music.