Castiel wasn't really much of a hunter. Quite the opposite, really. When it came to subtle things like this, he missed most of his cues, and this nightclub seemed to be pretty much be all about those subtle changes in character, in sensuality and temptation; not a language that the angel knew well. He watched the humans dancing, sensual women in tightly clad outfits, rubber and leather and silver, equally sensual men grinding up against them, or against each other. Others were copulating in the dark corners, and one was even being masturbated by the writhing dancer behind him, boldly, out in the open.

For all Castiel knew, this behavior was normal, places like this were normal. Of course, he was also overdressed, complete with his coat, shirt, and tie. He had a drink in front of him, which he hadn't touched--after all, if he drank it, he would only have to buy another. He was out of place, without a doubt, not that he wasn't drawing the odd inviting look or touch that went right over his head. One young woman had sat with him for a few moments, sliding his hands across his chest. She'd left not more than a minute later, crying.

Castiel was here looking for a god, after all, sent on a mission by Heaven to clean up their mess. Apparently, the man - or at least he resembled a man, presently - had been seen here. Loki. The real one. He wasn't even sure what to expect, but, watching a young woman clip her companion's collar with a leash, leading her over toward the bar. It was definitely interesting, if unusual, and Castiel found himself wondering what this god was like; certainly a creature of depravity.

What would he be like?

Too bad that Castiel would have to put the witchhazel stake he'd brought with him through his chest.