[ The location tag that Set sends to Cain will lead him to one of neon-hot night parlors of Mirth, a three-story structure wedged tightly between other businesses upon a strip of gayly lit awnings and windows gone ashy from the low-hanging miasma of exhaust and airy drugs. The first two floors belong to a massage parlor and private gambling space, the third floor and rooftop accessed via a rickety metal stairwell. The third floor is inhabited by the owners of the building, who will shoo at Cain if he attempts to enter there, urging him on towards the roof.
Most of the rooftop is taken by a set of greenhouses, their windows occluded by hanging drapery within or dingy spraypaint. A heavy chain and padlock marks it as a no-fly zone. The rest of the rooftop features scattered patio equipment, pockmarked by burns and leftover you-know-what paraphernalia. There is what appears to be a long pergola, draped in broken neon-lighting as thick as a canopy of trees, blinking in oddly-timed patches. Below it, is a little divided-off area -- a chaise lounge, a low table and a scattered collection of other odd items -- where Set leans along one of the broad legs of the pergola, toying with the blinking lights that drape across his shoulder.
He's still wearing next to nothing.... aside from his shendyt and a couple of rings on his fingers. It truly makes him appear vulnerable. Still, his voice carries boldly as he spots Cain cresting over the edge of the rooftop, a pair of plastic party cups clutched between the fingers of his hand: ] Well, well. You really aren't that bad looking. I can see why you'd want to throw yourself into beds.
「OCTOBER」