by Narrator » Mon Dec 20, 2021 9:50 pm
Located in Lambeth not far from the Lambeth North station was Miscreant, a club that preferred to call itself an 'Adult Venue' to avoid the inherent misogyny in the title 'gentleman's club'. Known for being staffed primarily by mutants, Miscreant was steadily becoming the 'it' place for tourists and transients looking to add a bit of 'alternative flavour' to their otherwise standard trip to London.
The entrance the Miscreant looked like an other nightclub. Just a neon sign (purple text with a vivid pink M) above double doors, spaced out and labeled for entry and exit. A few people lingered outside who looked like the could be night club patrons, smoking cigarettes. Some were, some were not.
The exterior of the building was tall enough to suggest the interior was two story, and that was correct. The entrance on the north side of the building came in under a balcony which ran along the north, west, and east walls, overlooking the festivities below. In the southern portion of the upstairs above the offices and talent dressing rooms was the DJ's booth where the DJ could be seen, though physically they were kept away from the patrons, probably to keep drunks from requesting Free Bird or the latest mumble-rap track that really didn't suit a club atmosphere.
Below the west balcony were private rooms, places for dancers and clients to be alone and do whatever it was they wanted to do, within legal limits. These rooms were of course being recorded to make sure things stayed on the level, but at the very least they filtered out sound for a more one and one setting between the dancer and the client.
Under the east balcony (which acted as the VIP section) was the walk up bar with a dumb waiter to make serving VIP club visitors quicker and more efficient. Here patrons could wait to be served directly, though not for lack of wait staff. There were attractive mutants of all kinds hoofing it around the club dressed in uniforms of sorts. Everyone wore the same thing above the waist, a ruffled tuxedo top and a black vest with a bow tie that was the same bright pink as the M on the sign. The black matching bottoms seemed to be dealer's choice: ridiculously tight trousers, hot pants, or a a side slit mini skirt. No gender seemed to be forcibly tied to any of the bottoms. The shoes too seemed to come in a variety of options based on wearers preference, though all were black vinyl with a reflective shine and kept within the theme.
Outside of the talent, the stage layout was the other thing that made Miscreant stand out. From the back stage area was a catwalk leading into a three tiered dance stage, each section honey-combed off from the other by a mirrored surface that allowed for multiple dancers to be working in the somewhat crowded space, and for the customers to be able to get a view of the dancers from each angle.
The catwalk would lead the dancer onto the first stage, where they could do their warm up routines, and the walk up bar patrons could get a look at who was about to take center stage. After two songs worth of 'warm ups', the mirrored door onto center stage would swing open and let the dancer move to center stage.
Center stage the largest space to work in and the only stage with a pole. With stage to ceiling length, the more daring performers may even find themselves at the top, but that was a feat only for the brave (and those with mutations to prevent what might happen if they slipped).
Once a performer had done their two song set on center stage, the door onto third stage opened and the dancer moved there for cool down routines. The third stage had become something of a warzone for clientele, upon which 'tipping wars' happened between those hoping to snag the dancer's attention for the night, or at the very least, some time in a private room. Once they were done there, the dancer would be released into the wild for the night to do their work as they saw fit.
Cash money on the stages was strictly prohibited for performer safety, but all stations were affixed with a tap card station to collect tips either directly from one's personal card, or off a preloaded 'tipcard' which could be filled by cash purchase with any of the wait-staff. On the other side of the station was a screen displaying tip value to allow the dancer to gauge exactly how much effort they were going to put into things and who they might want to hang around for the evening. And once the dancer's were off stage, rarely did any of them say no to a taking a pound note they didn't have to claim on their taxes.