Sansa Martin stood in front of her full length mirror, adjusting her dress with a critical eye. With the right augments one would be able to see the holographic iridescent raindrops cascading down the black fabric of the bodice and pencil skirt and flowing into a faux train that dripped and pooled around her feet when she stood still. And anyone who got into her club, The Gallery, had the right augments.

She blinked to check the time on the overlay her corneal implant projected into her vision, and smoothed her chin-length dark hair one last time before exiting her office. Her penthouse was relatively quiet, but the bump of the music downstairs still permeated as she got into the elevator.

Sansa prepared a smile as she stepped out into the noise and chaos that was The Gallery after dark, walking to the crowded railing so she could look down on the dance floor. One of her employees appeared at her elbow and put a drink in her hand, a delicate glass of deeply red wine. "You have a visitor," the kine said into her ear. "Godfrey sent them into one of the pavilions."

On the other side of the club, accessible only from a private staircase, private booths draped with luxurious fabrics marked the VIP area of the club. Sansa looked across at the pavilions, seeing a few familiar faces in one that had its curtains pulled aside, and nodded.

"I will make my way there, then." She took a moment to gaze into the young woman's eyes, her senses picking out the one heartbeat in the club full of hundreds. "Thank you for the message."

The woman gasped as Sansa broke the eye contact, melting away into the crowd as the Toreador took the stairs down to the dance floor.