[color=FireBrick][center][i]James Gerard, December 15th, 6320--2:36 pm-Mantle Level--District 20, Olympus[/i][/center][/color]

James had borrowed an old Harley from Atlantis' garage, the section that all Immortals took temporary vehicles from, and rode it to the bar, his HV Weave hidden by the duster, heavy cargo pants, and muscle shirt. He had the helmet collapsed within the armor and had a re-breather on that covered his nose and mouth, just like everyone else who was still human down here. Or at least human enough to need the re-breather. Pulling up in an alleyway behind the club, he hid the motorcycle in a dumpster turned on it's front and locked the lid closed with a DNA scanning lock. Sigil wouldn't have been too happy if he lost the antique vehicle. The AI had a strange attachment to them.

Walking around front, he nodded to the ExHuman guard, showing his ID as Cerberus, and walked in, earning a groan from the mortals who'd been waiting to get in. The Spartan couldn't help but chuckle lightly as he went through the doors. This place was always fun. As he entered, he saw two immortals, who's names escaped him, sitting at the bar talking. Well, he wasn't surprised, Scarab did ask for ALL otherwise unengaged Immortals, but he didn't like the blonde, whom he recognized as a Russian. He and Russians had never gotten along, and most meetings with them ended in a fist fight, and that's if they were lucky.

Moving his gaze away from the pair, he settled on Scarab sitting in a booth off to the side, Sigil hovering in front of her from the display. [color=SaddleBrown][i]No point in wasting time. Seems she beat me here.[/i][/color] Approaching the booth, he slides into the seat across from her before speaking, remaining silent for several minutes. [color=SaddleBrown]"Good to see you're still here, Scarab."[/color]