Nietzsche stepped into the foyer of the Venetian hotel, and to his eternal embarrasment walked towards the elevators. He imagined many of his fellows would be arriving in style, but in absence of their modes of conveyance he had to make do. Some could fly, or appear in a cloud of acrid smoke, or beam themselves through the television. Admittedly though these where not exactly practical, in this heat flying was just more effort than it was worth and Nietzsche had always thought that acrid smoke would eventually get to even immortals. As for beaming through the television, no one needed reminding what had happened to the god of remote controls when he had tried this. Poor lamb hadn't considered that not everyone had a forty inch plasma. Well Nietzsche could have sneaked in, but that was hardly polite and being as his host was sort of the oracle. He consoled himself that an elevator was probably a good metaphor for ascension, well atleast it was when the music wasn't playing.
"Ah, Delphine," he said upon entering, "Welcoming us at the door, you really shouldn't have put yourself to so much trouble." He rejected the proffered hand, knowing full well that he didn't want to know where it had been. If she'd been a mortal he may have felt pity for her, dismissed it on the strange games a mind plays with itself. But she wasn't, she was immortal and that meant she had a passion for it and as she said ”Best you avoid that wing. I had to hide my things somewhere and the overly generous owner of this penthouse needed a place to rest his head," it wasn't hard to guess the meaning. She was getting a kick out of it wasn't she? Knowing what was really going on, the contrast of the depraved and the delectable. He would have said it was a classic mentality of killers to get a thrill from getting away with, a century had certainly given him time to catch up on his reading and crimonology was somewhere on the list, but it wasn't just a classic mentality in her case, it was the classic mentality. He couldn't be the only one who knew their history and to see people exchange pleasantries with her drove him quite frankly mental.
Still, he didn't let it register, people believed he didn't believe in anything and that or perhaps pride had shaped him. He had to appear to be indifferent to it all. "Bathroom and study," he waved off to the left, "Private rooms," he gesticulated at the right hand hallway. "Oh wait, that's the wrong way round. Wouldn't want to get them confused and wander into the wrong one," he laughed in a manner that suggested the worst he was worried about was not putting the seat down in the ensuite, but his fingers flickered in and out of visibility as he said it. Seemingly as though he was nervous because you should never read to much into such things he thought, no that'll only make you paranoid. "Are you taking these?" he continued thrusting out his coat towards her and looking around to see if there was a bar anywhere, because even the oracle would struggle to keep him here if there wasn't.