4 Frost 120
A dedicated reveler might wish to see dawn creeping over the horizon when they quit the premises so the Velvet Cabaret rarely closed entirely. More dedicated revelers wouldn't stop until their bodies gave out with exhaustion, full of sensual pleasures. Part of Aurin's job was gauging the clientele and ushering them toward the end of their night before they got violent, violently ill, or other things inconvenient to him. As the place normally only closed in parts during slow hours to allow for cleaning, Aurin could not be in all places at all times forever and always, so he wasn't the only fixer in the place. Some would say manager, though Madame Lunaria didn't delegate authority so much as responsibility. The man with straight teeth and a crooked smile was perhaps the most senior of her lieutenants if only because he had stuck around long enough to earn her trust. Or because her cat had liked him straightaway—it was difficult to tell sometimes.
In any event, it was somewhere between the lunch rush and the evening crowd. Aurin rolled dice with a tenacious client so the courtesans could take a break before having to be on for a larger crowd. He wasn't a courtesan, but he could be entertaining and he was taking one for the team. Madame Lunaria allowed him access to a certain amount of petty cash to keep things moving smoothly, so it wouldn't be his own money he lost or won. It was dice, though, and he hadn't learned to cheat at those so it was entirely a game of chance on his side of the table, at least.
"Oh!" he exclaimed with a believable upset while the other fellow slammed his fist upon the table and then pumped it in the air, chortling. He gathered up his winnings, making noise about leaving, so Aurin clapped him on the back and said, "Well, I had better see you back tonight so I can win it back or Madame Z is liable to kick me out on my ass."
They shared a laugh as the man made his exit and Aurin surveyed the main hall. For the moment, at least, it was empty. Soon enough the early birds would come in for the evening rush. He rolled his shoulders, slowly circling his neck to release some of the tension. Stretching, cat-like, for a moment, he made his way over to the bar to peek behind and make sure everything was stocked properly for the evening to come.
He didn't really have a title, but he was the one everyone came to when there was a problem or the potential for one. His response tended to be a plan to fix whatever was wrong or about to go wrong, and he was apparently less threatening than the proprietress of the Cabaret.
