The Vault is a popular nightclub within the city of Pasadena, on the corner of Colorado Blvd. and Pasadena Ave.
Shores of the River StyxEdit
Sparse and spartan, this entry hall still smells of asphalt and dust, with the lingering ozone of electricals. The walls have been painted with irregular graffiti suggestive of cavern stone, and the floor is splashed across the center with the illusion of a rushing river, given the impression of movement by flickering lights. The sounds of the street outside briefly dim as one moves down the corridor, then are simply overwhelmed by the volume of music and voices rising from within. A pair of dense metal doors stand in the way, and every time a patron passes through them, a flood of sound pours out. The rise and fall provides auditory cover for those who choose to linger in the entry, having a smoke in relative silence or engaging in conversation that's virtually impossible inside.
Sea of Damned SoulsEdit
This is an immense, cavernous room, and vastly crowded during its busy hours; flocking here from the time the sun dips below the horizon and until it rises at dawn are citizens from all walks of society - the goth-kid lounging against one of the twin staircase banisters; the woman in business attire at the cigarette vendor; the dapper gent checking his coat and fedora at the counter - they're all here. Directly ahead of the entrance is an arched tunnel with rough-textured walls, the appearance of a cavern the desired effect. Lining the walls are patrons of the establishment: some fighting their way toward the dance floor; others fighting their way toward the door; more still choosing this as a place to talk and wait for a friend. On either side of the tunnel, the aforementioned staircases rise and curve from the ground to second floor. Dusky garnet-colored carpet covers each step; the banisters are left their natural, deep wood finish, save for a coat of lacquer to fend off daily wear and tear.
The doorway down into the vault is actually muraled archway to an expansive room where the general populace is self-damned to an evening of debauchery in various forms. The dance floor, multi-tiered, holds a good portion of these beings on its sturdy wooden surfaces.
For those souls interested in refreshment, and who are brave enough to fight through the three-body deep crowd surrounding it, the bar rests along the entire left wall of this room.
In the middle of the wall to your right is the DJ booth. Encased by plexiglass, the woman inside pulls up requests on her electronic selector. Surrounding the room are a total of eight man-high speakers that are tilted at a diagonal toward the dance floor for the optimum in sound quality.
To the immediate left and right, coming from the archway, are long booths that stretch to the wall on a raised platform; perfect height for people-watching.
The reek of jet fuel and the constant whine of engines warming up or cooling down, the landing pad is carved in black granite and illuminated by pale blue and green landing lights. Clusters of radio antennae and dishes pointed at distant satellites compete for space with landing berths, power couplings and blast deflectors. A pair of attendants festooned with various implants and dressed in matching black jumpsuits leap to greet each new arrival, from the skies or the elevator, directing them to open bays or escorting them back to their vehicles as the case may warrant. But beyond this, the hum of the city drones on, whatever may have happened or be about to happen below.
A rave was once thrown at the Vault.