You've only just left the comfort of your haven when you feel the call of a deep, visceral need echoing throughout your undead body. You should head to Elysium as soon as you can, but even in such dire circumstances you can't ignore your vampiric nature. You should feed while you still have the chance.
Where do you plan to sate your cravings?
Rising from the ashes of the legendary live music venue, Zaphod Beeblebrox, The 27 Club has become a prime hunting ground for Kindred of all stripes for the last few years. Before the business changed hands, it had been exclusive to an elder Toreador known to the court only as Vanya. No last name. (She considered that detail important for some reason.) Vanya had guarded her feeding rights ruthlessly—at least three neonates were brutally destroyed after feeding there—although somehow she had never been officially implicated or punished, neither by Prince Arundel nor the erstwhile Prince Cranston. Not long after the original owners left, Vanya herself disappeared, only to reappear from time to time at other venues throughout Ontario and Quebec. She never returned to Ottawa.
You've only been to The 27 Club once since it reopened, a brief visit that Jordan practically begged you to take with her, but the stigma of the place was still fresh, and you didn't dare linger for long. Since then, it's gained an excellent reputation among younger Kindred, and Arundel officially declared it a free feeding ground for the time being.
A well-built man in a checked shirt looks you over and nods before admitting you through the door.
Instantly, your senses are awash with the pounding of punk rock music and flashing lights. The evening is already in full swing and the floor is alive with the undulating masses, wrapped up in the euphoria of pounding drums and anti-authoritarian lyrics whipping them into a frenzy of motion. Toward the front, a small group of metalheads periodically break out into a mosh, throwing devil horns and chugging beers while the younger punks look on, bemused by their antics and occasionally joining in. "Ironically," of course.
You chuckle to yourself. Mortals drawn together in group solidarity, all in the name of individualism. The more things change, the more they stay the same.