The Hotel Immortale on Barcelona is retro-fitted to attract a certain type of clientèle. The nightclub is down a grand foyer of a staircase with polished brass rails. It twists underneath brightly lit shops from the main villa, but its near enough that you can hear the ocean of Barcelona if you listen closely enough. The ecosystem allows for shark steak when requested, but its rare unless one of the Stargate men stop by.
Electricity is the back-up for when they run out of oil, which isn't often. Most of the customers prefer the smoky smell. Its of great contrast to the silky pink swag along the walls and the harsh red tables, under lit by candles. The nightclub itself is arranged in a shell pattern and the division of the shell is set by knock-off Greco Roman statues created by the artists of Barcelona to mock the ones of Earth in their own fashion. Their favorite object to show being held by any of these statues is grapes. But no one ever denotes the inaccuracy.
The hotel attracts both a certain type of clientèle along with a certain type of performer. Lady Gaga has asked twice and been turned away twice by management. On the other hand, three of the original Follies Bergere dancers, before going into retirement, performed here for a week straight. They invited fans from throughout the greater galaxy and attracted notable men who left earth or maybe their doubles. Management doesn't delineate when Frank Sinatra appears in the room.
Often, people show up in period dress simply because they can. That's the case at the seventh table from stage and dance floor, still slightly glittery with confetti at the edges from the recent New Years celebration. The glitter will be fully gone by April. Angel doesn't want to sit as close the stage as the man at the third table, whom he has never been introduced to but knows well enough as the Doctor.