He looked down at his table in the bar, his empty glass. Glancing to the right, he saw the circle of bar floor, scoured aluminum, that surrounded the round table, set now, with a jeweler’s precision, into Daedra’s granite floor, the demarcation a function of the club’s cloaking mechanism. Unable to see the bar, or the Michikoids, he realized that he was also unable to signal for another drink.