Used to having to work his way through people until he's actually talking to somebody whose power in the city is worthy of acknowledgement, V's amiable as he's herded away from the main floor of the nightclub and into an area that's altogether more private. He's seen enough huscle to know for the most part he's not going to take personal offense to their overcompensating. Not unless they start up the bullshit anti-nomad rhetoric he's used to but not always willing to stomach for the sake of a gig.

He doesn't hear any of that as he's directed downstairs, his optics taking in his surroundings to do a sweep of nearest available exits as usual. Always pays to know the quickest way out of a rumble gone sideways. Just never know from one millisec to the next.

The dancer who's lounging on a couch is the only person he can see to approach and so he does exactly that, expression friendly if slightly questioning.

"What's good?"