„Olivia. Olivia", Peter whispered into the concealed microphone. He could see her right there, on the dancefloor, moving her body in motions he hadn't even thought possible for her usually quite rigid self. No offense intended. If they weren't here on a mission, he would even have enjoyed experiencing the all new Olivia Dunham. But they were on a mission. So he tried to reach her again by breathing: "O-li-vi-a!" into the device. No reaction. She didn't as much as blink. Maybe she couldn't hear him over the loud music in here? The weird sound of some dark techno, screeching metal and a combination of song and spoken words was ubiquitous and seemed to have enthralled the once-blond agent. Peter's lips turned into a lopsided grin as he watched the dyed black hair, parted into a ponytail and an open part by a slender, pointy hair pin made out of bone, fly wild in every direction as she shook her head violently to the rhythm of some heavy piece of music. The short black lace skirt and the leather corsage were complementing her well trained body with her long, slender legs far more than the usual boring work outfit, and her skin was almost glowing due to the white make-up she had used to make her disguise as perfect as possible. Meet Olivia Dunham, FBI-Agent and, apparently, convinced Goth. It had its charms, though the way she just kept on going and going to tunes that he knew she hated was just plain unnatural. On the other hand, he had never seen her act as an undercover agent. Maybe she was just that good! But if she couldn't hear him, all her acting was for nothing – they had to stay in touch in case one of them actually was lucky enough to find a clue. But even though he had tried to match her outfit with tight fitting leather pants, a black tank top and a leather jacket, he knew he couldn't just walk down to her and make physical contact. As long as they didn't know anything about this case other than the victim, it was better not to show potential culprits that there was more than one on the case.
Especially considering that they were doing this unbeknown to Broyles (or anyone else for that matter) and thus seriously were lacking back-up. This was no Fringe case, after all, and until now everything screamed crazed murderer or possibly a serial killer. But this wasn't just a case. This was something that actually meant something to Olivia. And therefore, naturally, it meant something to him. Still, he had protested loudly against her so-called plan in the beginning, asking her to leave it to the Boston Police Department and officer Hanley, but somehow she had managed to talk him around. He still wasn't sure how she had done that. So now they were standing inside the newly opened Vampire Club Goth at the heart of Boston, looking for signs of anything suspicious and without their headsets working. Fun-freaking-tastic. Honestly, these people were wearing dresses that could have arisen from the baroque and renaissance period, they were dressing up in leather and rubber, in … uhm, well, interesting black-and-white French maid dresses and weird looking Samurai chainmails with glowing green spirals in their hair, many of them with chains and spikes around their necks and wrists, and shoes that made them at least a head higher and looked more like torture instruments than like footing. Speaking of torture: In the middle of the dancefloor, a large cage had been placed, complete with iron chains dangling from above. And there was actually a young man with his shirt off dancing inside it! Seriously, how could they make out anything suspicious in here?
As he looked back at Olivia, he noticed a tall, blonde woman in a wide, dark red baroque dress dancing quite close to his partner. A little too close for his taste. For a moment, he couldn't see Olivia due to the lady's impressive size and whispered "Olivia!" once more into the microphone to make sure she was safe, but then the lady turned away from her and moved to the other side of the dancefloor. Well, what had he expected? That she was going to kidnap or kill Olivia right in the middle of all those people? He shook his head at the notion, then his gaze went over the black mass of people dancing in the red and blue light, carefully screening every single one of the pale and heavily painted faces for the third time this evening. Nothing. They all looked like they were in the same kind of trance as Olivia and none of them seemed to focus their attention on anything else. For a second he thought that the youth in the cage caught his eyes, but then, as he turned his slender body in an agile pirouette, his shoulder-long, nut-brown hair fell in front of his face and the moment was gone. He took another sip of his beer and put his attention to those customers who lingered around the dancefloor and stood at the three bars that were placed in each corner of the club. Most of them were men between the ages of twenty to forty who were sipping at beers the same as him while keeping a close eye on the swaying forms of female buttocks, breasts and hips. In his head he heard the chilling voice of a computer character he long had thought forgotten. Hmmm... Fresh meat. The thought sent shivers down his spine. As few suspects as he had found in the dancing area, as many were sitting and standing away from it, though he couldn't know for sure. Not everyone staring at fresh meat was a psychopath, after all, even so the world felt like that after he had joined the Fringe division. One man with shabby, long hair and an earring in his left ear drew his attention because of the way his tongue flicked at the head of the bottle that he held in his hands. It was disgusting, but so was the older woman standing a few feet away from him. By the look of it, she was a size double XL. By the look of her dress, she was wearing a size medium, that had been pressed around her body by help of a corsage, with pressed being the correct term. Her pink flesh tried to make its way through the cords that held the leather item, and between the corsage and the black tutu a sizeable chunk of belly tried to fight for its freedom from the constraint. The make-up on her face had distorted her rough features even more, turning her into an eerie zombie-like creature. But Peter was pretty sure that she wasn't trying to abduct or murder anyone here besides maybe the manhood of every guy she looked at. Next to her, flanked by two broad-shouldered men who spoke together vividly, sat a young girl of maybe 20 or 21 years. She looked a little bit lost and her eyes seemed to move through the club restlessly as if looking for something, but never resting anywhere longer than a few heartbeats. Peter couldn't be sure from this distance, but he thought he saw a tear glister on her cheek. Was she waiting for her boyfriend who hadn't showed up? Or had she just been left heartbroken? Peter shook his head and looked at the next customer. The girl with the blonde curls was none of his concern right now as she sure as hell wasn't trying to find a potential victim for the night. The tall, slim guy next to her, however, just might've been... His ice-blue eyes were staring intently at the dancefloor and as Peter followed his gaze, he discovered one woman in particular that had caught the man's interest. Olivia. Great. As inconspicuous as possible, Peter kept an eye on him and took every detail in in order to uncover what the guy's intentions were. He was wearing dark blue jeans and an elegant, black shirt with silver buttons. His black hair was quite long, almost to his hips, and made his already slim face look abnormally long. The skin was snowy white and seemed to almost glitter in the light of the spotlights. Even his lips were the same, pale colour and formed a thin line that only parted once in a while to allow a sip of red wine in. Looks almost like a cliché vampire, Peter thought. Normally, an observation like that would have caused him to grin dismissively, but the firm stare that the vampire held on his partner was far too unnerving for any kind of a smile. He followed the man's gaze and had to admit that he could understand his reaction. Olivia was still moving gently to the rhythm of that terrible noise as if completely lost to the world. The ice-queen facade that usually surrounded her had melted away in the shimmering lights on the dancefloor and gave her a seductive kind of beauty that he had a hard time not to fall for. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about her in that way before, but his musings always came to an abrupt halt when he thought about the importance of their professional relationship. This wasn't the right time to open himself up to her – hell, this wasn't the time to open himself up to anyone. And yet... seeing her dance elegantly amidst all those people, smiling like nothing in the world concerned her anymore...
Peter blinked and returned his attention to the vampire dude, but he was already gone. Whether or not that was a bad thing, he couldn't say. His intuition told him that something was fishy about the guy, but he wasn't too sure how much of a help his intuition was in a place like this, and that was never a good thing. He looked at the cage on the dancefloor once more, at the young man, and couldn't help but notice the wave of emotion in his eyes as their gazes met: fear, anger, despair. Then the youth turned away and left Peter with a feeling of confusion. Was he just imagining things? At any rate, he couldn't shake off the feeling that they were in way over their heads.
"Olivia", he tried again without succeeding and finally made the decision he should have made before they entered this club: He stood up, found his cellphone in his pocket and made his way towards the entrance area to tell Astrid about their whereabouts. Just in case.