"Just my luck. Of all the bolts with the nice hands, I pick the one that can make a fist," Lucius replies easily accepting the humorous out for what it is. He turns on his stool, then and drapes himself against the bar. His eyes casually rake down Izzy before him--Izzy. What a name. He wonders what it's short for, there are a few choices that fit. He wont pry, though, not into that at least.

There's a certain air to clubs like this, a casualness and ease that Lucius both adores and hates. Izzy seems comfortable here, but that can mean anything. At the very least, though, he probably won't be surprised by his next question.

"Did you want to dance...or retire somewhere private for...conversation?"

Lucius doesn't sound like he'd prefer either, but his gaze rests heavy on Izzy's handsome face. There's either promise or threat in that look and it's hard to tell which it will be--if not both.