The ride to the party didn't take long. Apparently, the streets had been clear. Perhaps it was because everyone who was anyone had already arrived. Bikes and cars packed around the warehouse, parked spur of the moment, or professionally. By the entrance, guards guarded.

A dirty blond lawyer stared. These men were tough men. This was a bad neighborhood. This was pulsing, pounding music. It both pulsed AND pounded. Like a hammer blaring sound waves. These things added up to trouble.

Aurum stared at the message he'd received, double-checked the address, and surmised "This can't be right." But judging from the bad neighborhood, the pulsing/pounding music, and the sender of the message, it was. How had he not realized witches were into setting people up?

He was judging too fast, too harshly. Aurum ignored his stupid lawyer senses. That tingling didn't mean anything, anyways. He parked his motorbike safely by the others, left the helmet, and turned towards the entrance. He eyed the guards. Approached. Was let in.

It all seemed too easy. Ditching work finding jobs. Easy. Goofing off on a Saturday night. Easy. Getting past bulky bouncers who nodded at him approvingly and let him in because he was apparently good-looking, in his leather jacket, white shirt, and black pants. Easy. Now, came the hard part.

Where the hell was Megan?

Aurum looked around. His eyes swept over the crowd. Dancers in ecstasy, stony-faced gang members, hipsters, grungy people more interested in each other. They hopped over a lady in daisy dukes and a scarlet crop top, did not find Megan, then hopped back to the lady appreciatively. He approached her from the front.

"Hey." Aurum made eye contact, then glanced around. "My name's Aurum. I'm looking for someone you might now. Can you help?" His eyes settled back on her, and he smiled hopefully.

Where the hell was Yahn?! The words echoed so loudly in Lori's mind that she cringed and looked around for him too. But that hadn't been her thought. No. She had a hard time keeping the foreign ideas separate from her own in this kind of situation. In a two way copy, things got confusing. It was possible that the girl even heard an echo of that over loud thought in her own mind again.

Cool party? "Not yet, but it will be." She flashed a toothy grin to the other girl.

The sentry planting was a good course of action. Lori grabbed two bottles at random and pulled the other girl by the arm in a circuitous route toward the dance floor. Putting people between the girl and the parrot was Lori's main prerogative until she could discern the girl's level of involvement. The dance floor was packed. Bodies pressed against bodies. It made Lori's brand of telepathy worse than useless, it made it thoroughly distracting, but the parrot would have a hard time finding Lori at least, she couldn't see above most people's shoulders in this crowd.

One of the bottles, a half empty fruit schnapps of some kind, Lori passed to the girl through the throng of bodies. "I'm Lori and I'll be your bodyguard." She winked and put her own bottle to her lips and swigged. Ugh. Peppermint. It burned the whole way down and made the blonde wriggle. "Unless, of course you and your spiders have some kind of feather fetish."

Every form of social gathering has its own idiosyncrasies, some are characterized by the venue and the ambience it holds through a combination of decor, music and redolence. Others are typified by the qualities of the company they gather; in many ways becoming a pluralistic simulacrum of the assemblage. From the refined politic machinations of aristocrats to the far more rudimentary, if honest, behaviors of the everyday thug, each individual will in some way shape the course of events around them.

A rare few gatherings however can be marked entirely by the abilities of the host, through the power of their personality which allows them to take charge of almost any situation and make it their own. These are the sorts of individuals who can end wars, lead nations and sway public opinion which just a few whispered words through a unique combination of charisma, intelligence and, usually, no small amount of style.

This was not such a gathering.

Tony Bianchi was little more than a technicolour piece of poultry. In the hierarchy of organized crime he would most likely be found somewhere in the lower tiers, above everyday drug dealers but below the more infamous gangs which carved the city into a jigsaw of fluctuating territories. He had managed to come into prominence fairly recently by filling the void caused by the partial decimation of the two most salient drug running factions in the city, the Black Bullets and The Foot, at the hands of a certain ribbon wearing femme fatale.

In the process of capitalizing on the situation however Bianchi had called in a number of favours and incurred more than the odd debt, all of which meant that a fair few influential figures had something of a vested interest in the success of his fledgling organization. As such a number of Bianchi's unofficial creditors had taken advantage of the somewhat clichéd soiree to send along their subordinates and remind the parties host of certain obligations and expectations.

Given the level of importance that the lower tiers of the criminal hierarchy placed on reputation and standing however, Bianchi had managed to display an unexpected level of guile by advertising a 'high rollers poker tournament' to mask the true purpose behind the attendance of his creditors representatives and to claim that he was capable of drawing those who standing equaled or surpassed his own.

It was a moderately clever ruse and would likely garner Bianchi a certain amount of credit. More importantly however, the poker championship was very much a genuine event and as such offered a chance for those of a more cunning inclination to gain a significant monetary reward for relatively low risk. That is to say, as low risk as any theft from a mafia member can be.

Despite the potential windfall however Zephyr had been of two minds about attending , on the one hand a chance to add a few significant figures to his bank balance simply by playing cards for an afternoon was a good deal less strenuous than his usual assignments and thus more than a little appealing. On the other hand though the elemental knew it was unlikely things would be quite so simple. If he won too handily accusation of cheating were almost certain and would rather hinder his ability to collect any winnings without putting forth a good amount of the effort he was hoping to avoid in the first place.

In the end though the hessian had ultimately decided that the prospective payoff, combined with a chance to network with potential future employers provided sufficient reason to attend and thus he had been among the first to enter the 'party', neatly sidestepping the queue which had formed at the warehouse entrance due to the assistance of one Benjamin Franklin and his twin brother.

Upon entering the metallic confines of the warehouse the elemental had suppressed a wince at the sheer volume of the rather tasteless music which assaulted his hearing in the form of some unsavory mixture of techno and rap which had no discernable rhythm or beat but rather pounded the surrounding air into submission at rapid and erratic intervals which did nothing assuage the customary migraine which lurked beneath the elementals temples.

Fortunately however a second display of his association with Mr. Franklin swiftly led the hessian to a sealed off section of the establishment where the cacophonous attempt at music was rapidly reduced to little more than a dull murmur, offering the elemental a measure of relief as the throbbing in his skull abated to a degree, allowing him to survey the room before him with a clear head as he was subjected to a brief weapons inspections and then directed towards a caged off corner of the room which presumably served as the currency exchange.

The room was occupied by a trio of poker tables in surprisingly good condition given their surroundings, the viridian felt was largely unmarred and the seats surrounding them actually a step above the typical folding variety. A number of places had already been filled despite the party still being in its early stages and no two participants appeared to possess similar fashion tastes. Attire varied from 3 piece pinstripe suits with argent watches to unwashed wife beaters with oversized jeans overlaid by an ill suited collection aureate chains and rings.

Despite the differing apparel however a range of hushed conversation were occurring throughout the room, adding a reserved atmosphere to the event which was occasionally broken by the odd laugh or curse interspersed among requests for more drinks which were quickly fulfilled by the acting muscle scattered throughout the room who were otherwise ignored by the prospective players.

Eventually the room filled and each table began to deal, Zephyr himself was one of the last to take a place at the centre table, his peers shooting him mildly irritated glances as he finally set down his chips and regarded them with an indifferent expression which he soon struggled to maintain as the first hand was dealt. It wasn't that his cards were anything impressive, an eight and a ten of different suites, rather it was the design of the cards which were the source of the hessians mirth.

They were embossed; each cards art a raised relief which displaced the surrounding air, allowing the elemental to discern not only the hands of his competitors, but the upcoming order of the cards in the dealers deck.

This was going to be far too easy.
--
((OOC: Given that my activity is due to drop off rather sharply Zephyr will really only be interacting with NPC's, feel free to reference him in your posts if you like, but don't expect any kind of timely reaction.) )

The girl located the drink table, selected bottles at random, and took sips of them until she found one she could tolerate. She was still at the stage where she could taste things. That needed to be amended. Lydia strode along the outskirts of the dance floor, unknown drink in hand. She continued to bat away unwanted advances as her eyes idly searched the room for anyone familiar. Who knew, with all of the people she had met over the last few months. She could easily imagine some of them crashing the party.

>> "Hey. I'm looking for someone you might now. Can you help?"

Lydia felt annoyance creeping up as she looked up at the man suddenly blocking her way, expecting to see another sleazeball, but it was swiftly quashed by awe. The guy was hot. Very hot. Hot enough to push away her previous desire to fly solo. “Uh, yeah. Of course.” Anything you need. She grinned and motioned for a quieter area off the floor, trying not to stare at the man too much. She was failing.

“Who’re you looking for?” She asked over the music, although with the place packed as it was, she probably wouldn’t know the person.

Several men, all clad in designer suits, brushed past the girl and her new male companion, and walked through a nearby doorway. They shut the door behind them. Inside the gambling room, three large tables occupied the space. Each one was surrounded by men of varying class. Lowly lackeys accompanying their higher-ups, but even the higher-ups were hardly halfway up the mob scale. They were there for their bosses, and they were there to win. There was no other option, really. And they had been supplied with ample amounts of cash.

One in particular, sitting at the poker table, was already sweating with anxiety. He kept wiping his face with a small gray handkerchief, which was already so soaked it was unloading more perspiration onto his skin than taking it off.

He owed his boss money. He had completely screwed up an investment deal the other day, and this was his only chance to redeem himself. He stared at his right hand, at the stump that was once his pinky finger. He winced and returned his attention to the table when his cards were handed to him. He had to win back that money, even if he had to cheat.

Falling into step behind his new acquaintance, Paul followed through the crowd. For a few moments it almost felt like he was some sort of star since he had a man that was built like some sort of bodyguard moving in front of him and clearing a path. In fact, the closer they got to the person that looked like Gaga the more people began to part ways for Paul. They weren't getting out of the way of Lucas but when they got bumped by the other man and glanced back to see a well dressed older man following the muscular type they slowly stepped away. "Must think I'm some sort of Mob Boss or something. That has its uses... and issues."

Finally the pair of men had arrived at the destination and without any apparently hesitation Lucas blurted out their reason for interrupting the woman's progress.

“Hey! I am Lucas. My friend Paul and I are big fans. Can we have your autograph?”

Glancing at Lucas, Paul raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. Big fans? There was no way in the world Paul was a big fan of this woman. To him she was a mere curiosity to be viewed if possible, much like animals put on display at a zoo. After all, how many chances did a person get to see the rich and famous up close? Perhaps once in a lifetime of course, a lifetime was a lot longer for Paul than it was for others.

As the woman began to speak Paul felt some of the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something deep in his subconscious was screaming that something was off but it just wasn't clicking in his conscious mind. He knew to be wary of the woman but beyond that he couldn't figure out exactly what the issue might be.

"Though I must say, you mistake me. My name is Gretchen." The woman spoke as she extended a hand in his direction, palm facing down. It was an antiquated gesture that Paul could only remember vaguely from his childhood. Even in the early 1900s kissing a woman's hand was not a common gesture. That fit more with the 1800s or perhaps even the 1700s. As the woman moved in a way that added extra invitation to her gesture and spoken words Paul suddenly found himself even more put off. All around him were woman that openly flaunted their assets and what they wanted but here was a woman that instead chose to hide her assets and through subtlety try and attract attention. Paul had experienced more than enough cloak and dagger during his life and he did not particularly find it appealing at this moment. If you wanted to flaunt something then do it openly or if you wanted to remain more chaste like then do that... don't mix the two!

"A pleasure to meet you Ms. Gretchen." Paul replied with the most pleasant smile he could manage as he stepped forward and momentarily brushed his lips across her hand before once again stepping back to just behind Lucas' shoulder as though placing his 'bodyguard' between himself and a possible threat. He had chosen to go with the much harsher sounding 'Ms.' over the more pleasant 'Miss' as a subtle jab that he wasn't being taken in by her feminine wiles. It was a jab that probably wouldn't even be noticed but he felt better for it.

"My name is Paul and this is Lucas. I'm sorry if we interrupted your enjoyment of the party." For a brief moment he had been tempted to use some sort of courtly old fashioned speech but he had rejected that idea. He was not going to be drawn in to some sort of role playing especially with a woman that would fit in far better with a funeral procession than with a wild underworld party.

Aurum followed, still smiling. Maybe not as much as her grin, but a smile was a smile.

It was great when people helped, instead of ignoring, or setting up troubles. And as previously noted, the lady was pretty. He was appreciative. Of the help.

"Her name is Megan," He said. Aurum stopped as a group of men shuffled past them, looking important. And possibly, a little worried. He followed them for a moment. What was all the pomp and circumstance about? They were a bit too nicely-dressed for the type of party this looked to be (IE, one that was more trouble than it was likely worth). With all the states of dress, or undress, the party's current occupants enjoyed, it just didn't fit. Outside of the trouble angle, of course. Because men in nice suits usually didn't love wearing them for fun. Work usually was involved. "She has dark hair, blue eyes... and likes getting people into trouble." He finished, eyes dancing back her ways. "Sorry." He said. His eyebrows drew together self-consciously for a moment. "I never caught your name."

Megan. No no no no. Not that blasted Megan again!? Lydia’s brows shot up so high they were nearly hitting her hairline. Wait, wait, relax. Megan’s such a common name, it can’t be the same one. And how would she even manage to snag a piece like this guy? No way, it can’t be her—

>> "She has dark hair, blue eyes... and likes getting people into trouble."

“Oh hell no,” she grumbled, palm hitting face. Out of all the freaking people at this party… And their last encounter had only been, what, a week or so ago? What was that woman, a stalker? Why was she everywhere Lydia turned? “Actually I…do know Megan. Evil spider queen, right?” She gave Aurum a once over again, trying to figure out why he would be willingly looking for the woman. He seemed like a nice guy, judging by the way he wasn’t trying to grab anything, so she couldn’t understand why. Perhaps he was being blackmailed?

>> "Sorry. I never caught your name."

Lyd quickly turned her grimace into a smile. Just because he was looking for Megan didn’t mean he had to find her. In fact, looking would be pretty useless in a place so crowded. And the night was so young… “My name’s Lydia. It’s nice to meet you, Aurum,” she said, raising her bottle of still-unknown contents, “Here, let’s get you a drink.” She tugged at his sleeve and began to walk back towards the alcohol table.

Bianchi gave a nod to Disco Steve, who in turn passed on the message to his subordinate, and so went the chain. Eventually the real recipients of the message began their assigned work: distribution of M.

“Hey girly, you want to try something new?”

“I have something that’ll beat any trip.”

“Come on, have a round of M on me. And don’t forget to tell your buddies.”

Slowly but surely, the tablets made their way across the room. Humans began sprouting leaves from their bodies, spewing fire, growing wings. And those around them, who saw the fantastic abilities the pills had bestowed, eventually wanted to try some too. Bianchi smiled and looked around the room for Lori. He did as he was told, and he expected some gratitude, one way or another.

"A pleasure to meet you Ms. Gretchen." Paul said as he smiled warmly at the non-celebrity they had both just met. Gretchen stretched out a black gloved hand in the older man’s direction and he accepted it, kissing it gently. The scene was straight out of a romance novel and both parties where playing it out with equal decorum. Lucas watched the exchange curiously. The woman in black hardly seemed to notice he was even there as she set her sites on Paul like a predator would stalk her prey. It wasn’t lady Gaga, but Gretchen seemed to have gone gaga over the man in the dark suit behind him rather quickly and the young mutant was feeling like a bit of a third wheel.

As Lucas had interrupted Paul checking out women in the crowd when he met him a moment ago, it was a safe bet that he was also on the hunt and the young man didn’t want to be the reason this epic romance failed. Paul seemed like a good enough guy and had helped him with the pen and paper. It would be rude not to return the favour and facilitate things with this mysterious woman.

“What are you guy’s drinking?” Lucas asked as he turned back and forth between the two people. His voice was being drowned out by the crowd and if either of them managed to hear him over the noise, they didn’t acknowledge it. They seemed to busy in some antiquated mating ritual that was reserved for the 40 plus rave scene. “Maybe, I’ll just surprise you both.” he said quietly to himself with a shrug.

Leaning towards Paul’s ear as he prepared to go, Lucas yelled to let him know the plan. “I think she is in to you. Let me play wing man and get you both some drinks to help things along. You have a much better chance with her than the blonde you were checking out earlier I bet so I say go for it.” Smiling, he patted Paul on the shoulder as he would a friend while subtly moving him into the woman’s personal space. He turned to start making his way to the bar to see if he could find wine or something equally refined for the grey fox dating circuit.

The bar could barely be seen through the crowd of gyrating bodies. Lucas hesitated for a second before plunging in again. His eyes scanned the chaos for the easiest path with least resistance. If he hugged the right a bit he could probably squeeze past the small under aged girl in the red top that was holding a bottle of vodka that seemed bigger than her. She was distracted as she looked up dreamily at some guy in a leather motorbike coat. Past them, there was the bird mobster and his cronies that were clearing a path which he would be able to follow towards the drinks. The booze didn’t seem well guarded. A couple of girls were the only security and they were just idly chatting between themselves. Coincidently, one of them was the blonde Paul had been checking out earlier. The other, had the lightest blue eyes Lucas had ever seen. If by the time he got there, things weren’t looking up for Paul, Lucas could always try to chat the two ladies up and lay the groundwork for his new friend. He wasn’t in the market but a bit of flirting to distract the brunette to help the guyl was no big deal.

Lucas leaned his head back over his shoulder to inform Paul of the backup plan, being careful not to speak so loudly that Gretchen would hear. “I actually see the blond from before talking to another woman over there. If you don’t think things are going well by the time I get over to them, give me a signal and I’ll try to chat her up for you and then you can swoop in. Cool?” It felt good to help a complete stranger like this. Lucas made a mental note to do it more often.

Her sentries radioed back with the bird man's location, just as the blond next to her let slip a rather cryptic reply. It would be getting more fun? The spider queen's eyebrows rose slightly, and her curiosity doubled. Maybe she'd stick around longer, if things were going to get more interesting. Blue eyes glanced back to the dance floor, and she noticed that the feathers had vanished... for the moment. Megan set her bottle down after one more sip, and let the blond woman drag her off into the writhing, dancing bodies out on the dance floor.

Her spiders momentarily lost sight of the bird man, but scrambled out further along the ceiling until they found him again. Megan heard the chatter of spiders again, bluntly filling her in one the parrots actions, and she grinned at the blonde woman. Who, after introducing herself, now had a name! Lori She accepted the bottle, lifted it to her nose and sniffed, before taking a sip. It was light... not as sweet as her rum had been, but it would do. The drinks she had already had were getting to work at making everything seems less... enclosed. Someone was bouncing away behind her, pumping his arms in the air and he flailed away with the beat of the music.

"Lori, huh? I'm Megan... and I could definitely use a body guard right about now..." Not only from parrot guy, who she wasn't interested in meeting, but from certain other people. Or rather, one other person. Who will not be names, lest it summon him like a demon... Her grin widened at the feather comment. "Me? Feathers are nice... so long as they aren't attached to someone... and my spiders? Sadly, I don't have any bird eaters in my collection." Which, would be kind of cool, now that she thought about it. She wondered idly if she could grow her tarantula's big enough to attack the bird man... without killing herself in the process. "So you'll protect me from unwanted passes from giant feathery bird men?"

Meanwhile, Bianchi was growing tired of chasing down the girl who had come in with Yahn. He had been sure that she had been over by the tables the last time he saw her... but then he had gotten drawn into a business conversation. With lackeys running about everywhere, spreading M out to all of the humans, he had little to do at the moment, aside from talking and keeping himself entertained. Now, watching some silly humans run about, under the influence of booze, M, or whatever else had been spread around the party, was fun... but it was also a tad bit lonely. His guards cleared a path for him as he made his was back toward the stairs, and along the way he caught a hold of one of the lesser henchmen he kept around. Some guy named Terry, who had done a few things for him in the past. He leaned in close, smoothing back his head feathers with one blinged out hand, and ordered Terry to track down the girl and bring her to him... and then find Yahn. The fact that yani had yet to come see him wasn't helping his growing agitation any. Terry nodded and shot off, winding his way through the crowd in search of a black haired, blue eyes woman. It wasn't hard to find her, after stopping to pester a few people. She was with a blonde woman... someone who looked familiar... but the small time criminal couldn't place her. He grinned, already patting himself on the back for a job well done, and shoved his way over to the girls.

Megan felt someone latch onto her arm, just above the elbow, and she turned to blink and frown at the man holding into her. He looked ragged... unshaven... but was dressed in a fancy black silk shirt and dark jeans. "Bianchi wants to speak with you, come with me." He tugged, and Megan resisted. "Like hell!" She attempted to wiggle free of his grasp, but found that he was stuck to her. Terry grinned. He had taken a little bit of M himself that night, and being human it had an interesting side effect on him. Hundreds of quarter sized suction cups had sprouted on his pals, and the under side of his arms. He was suction cupped to her arm.

"Honey, I will protect you from any unwanted passes: feathers, fins or fur." It was actually kind of fun on the dance floor. Pressed as close as they were to all the different bodies, she didn't really have to dance at all. Only sway a little and get rubbed on while feeling the beat of the music vibrate through the floor into her very bones. Lori hadn't been at a party just to party in ages. Even with impending feathery doom, it was nice to let loose even if it was only for a little while.

Mashed up a she was between so many different people, Lori found that she couldn't focus on any single mind. Maybe that is how she turned it off?

She raised her bottle with a "Woo!" and danced with her new spider friend. "Your spiders will let us know if he's coming this way?" Lori couldn't see crap in this crowd. She had opted for a more sensible sized heel than was her normal fare. 5 foot nothing meant she only saw shoulders so she didn't even bother. She just danced.

Only, she was supposed to be getting information from Megan. Lori turned back to say something to the spider girl but... Megan was occupied. Lori was totally sucking at this body guard thing.

"Hiii-YAH! No seduction for you, suckah!" Lori had never taken a karate lesson in her life and it showed when her knife hand made a hard slapping sound against the man's arm that was holding on to Megan. It didn't snap like a twig. It didn't snap like anything. In fact nothing happened. Well, nothing she did. The splits where the man's fingers met retreated up toward his wrists splintering his hands into five long squiggly fingers. But it didn't stop there. The split grew further up his arms.

It clicked in Lori's head when two of the five fingers that had been writhing around Megan's arm tried to capture Lori's wrist. Oh. Octopus. She jerked away from the reaching.

This was not okay. Megan was hers to protect. Lori shouted to be heard over the crowd. She told Terry in no uncertain terms where Bianchi could shove his wants. And then her leg was introduced to five other tentacles-that-used-to-be-fingers. He tried to pull her off her feet, but only succeeded in knocking her off balance enough to pitch into the crowd nearby. Double not okay. Lori grit her teeth, her anger rising.

> "A pleasure to meet you Ms. Gretchen."

Was it possible for that red, that very red, smile to become even something more below the thin scrap of cloth that did nothing to hide it? Was it possible for that smile to look somehow both amused and a little bit dangerous? It might have been, for this was what Gretchen tried to lay into it. She had noticed that stab. She really had, and was, if anything, mildly amused by it. And it seemed not put off at all, for her position was now shifting even closer to the man named Paul. It was not very close, for the skirt she was wearing necessitated a certain distance. A somewhat noticeable distance. But it was enough. The gesture. Defiance.

And the young one, the one who had quite obviously refused to greet her was now heading out. Going to head out at least, whispering beforehand with Paul. Whispering. Directly before her. The base was drumming so sound, the floorboards seemed to dance below them, in their own tune, own time. Something was wrong in her stomach. Maybe it was just right. Every wave of sound, shockwave. Shockingly loud. Any yet... talking right before her like that. Her smile got wider somehow. Much more dangerous. Much more feline in some ways.

“You two are most certainly not interrupting my enjoyment of anything. Moreso I would suggest enjoying this place a little bit together.” And she held out both her arms to them. One hand for each of them. They might have the opportunity to refuse. They might refuse. But she was Gretchen. She looked fabulous. And her eyes looked quite non-meek from under that veil. Eying young and old one alike with certain interest. Danger... always lurking danger. And a fight starting somewhere off in the background. She made a delicate shudder. At least what was supposed to be one. (Fabulous, this is really fabulous) “Maybe we could go up and find somewhere safe to talk.” She suggested quite forwardly. To both of them. Both!

If Paul's subconscious had been whispering or even talking to him earlier it had changed to all out screaming. Something was very off about this woman and even though he still couldn't put a finger on it he knew that he didn't want to spend any more time around her than was absolutely necessary.

While his mind was going over possible escape options, Lucas was making idle conversation that didn't really bear very much importance. First he was asking about drinks and then he was saying that he would play wing man for Paul.... wait, "What the h***?" Paul thought, his head snapping around to lock on Lucas's face as the man smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and then nudged him even closer to the woman he wanted to escape from. "NOOOOO!" His mind was screaming even as he plastered on a smile and looked back at the woman in front of him. What in the world was he supposed to do now?

“You two are most certainly not interrupting my enjoyment of anything. Moreso I would suggest enjoying this place a little bit together.” Gretchen said with that somewhat sickly looking smile as she held out a hand to him and one toward Lucas. “Maybe we could go up and find somewhere safe to talk.”

Unfortunately for Paul, Lucas seemed to have already turned toward the drink table apparently missing the hand that was being held out in his direction which meant that Paul was left all alone. All alone with a veiled she-devil that was probably one of the most dangerous beings in the whole warehouse and had her sights set on a certain gray haired man. "What have I done to deserve this?"

Battling with the safety of running away versus the rudeness of not taking her hand, he suddenly found that another option had presented itself. Just as he reached out to take one of her hands, while trying not to grimace, a rather large, fat looking blob of a man grabbed her other hand. Apparently when Lucas had turned away the hand had inadvertently been in that man's direction and since he was already reeking of alcohol and undoubtedly suffering from not enough female companionship, he had seized the opportunity.

"Hey Lady." The six and half or seven foot giant said with a large, yellowish, snaggle toothed grin, "I'm sure Pops and I would be glad to take ya somewhere. You want some booze? I bet a little whiskey will loosen a filly like yourself right up!"

Looking over at the man Paul raised one eyebrow in a combination of both astonishment and disgust. Pops? POPS? There were really people alive that thought that 'Pops' was an acceptable name for someone older than themselves?

"I think a drink would be great. Something strong..." Paul mused as he glanced back over at the woman once again, "Very strong."

Looking back up toward Lucas' retreating back, Paul tried to send the man some sort of mental signal but unfortunately, neither of them seemed to have any sort of latant telepathic abilities. All that happened was Lucas looked over his shoulder and tried to yell over the crowd but all Paul picked up from reading his lips was something about a blond, some sort of signal, and something being cool. "Some wingman."

Well now... the young one was positively gone AWOL. This was not good, surely. A girl with two men at her side was both safe in a personal sense and safe in that quite other sense that Martin was going for right now. She was uninteresting to anyone else. Barely noticeable as a threat no matter hoe peculiar her dress might be. No matter how many knives she held in her hands. She had two guys. Those were the ones for violence and might have pulled the eyes off her. And no, Martin did not at all feel bad about using people like this. To his advantage. Well currently he was a her, so forgive the occasional confusion about personal pronouns.

Something snatched her lace-covered hand. Inside Martin cringed a little at the unexpected personal contact. Her smile on the outside never faltered. Only the eyes of the woman suddenly held a quite dangerous glimmer. Positively murderous for a second. But not the white-hot kind of rage that made people spill blood, it was the cold glimmer of battle-hardened soldiers showing there for a second or two when someone snatched her offered hand unexpectedly out of the air. Paul might know it for what it was. The cold that preceded murder. The cold that decided how to slit a throat from behind. The cold that sometimes found people falling from windows or choking on especially spicy food. Two seconds of murder. And inside a bit of frightening. Just a bit of being afraid. These gloves of lace were so thin. So very thin. He had wanted them that way. For a reason.

One blink it took, a breath through the nose, a little deeper than normal. And she was there again, smiling Gretchen. Countering the snatching of her hand with one of her own, seizing Pauls' appendage out of the air with a determination that was neither meek nor anything but a bit impulsive. Her hand was warm and light on his skin. He would be able to wind out of it without so much as a blink. Or it would seem like it. One hand for the other. Gotcha.

> "Hey Lady.I'm sure Pops and I would be glad to take ya somewhere. You want some booze? I bet a little whiskey will loosen a filly like yourself right up!"

Had she just been called a filly? Had Paul just been called Pops? Gretchens eyes searched for Pauls to convey that long look that talked not of murder, but of 'did he really just say that? Has he really just compared me to a young, female horse?', of slightly incredulous amusement at the social blunderer that had taken up (with a very firm grip of a greasy hand, thanks) her other hand. Had he really just? Inside Martin was debating whether to punch the giants sternum and pound him into unconsciousness or if she should use one of several other quite un-womanly (and quite illegal) techniques of quelling the someones desires. Instantly. (A kick to the groin was, sadly, not an option. Thanks skirt.) But a smile was. A smile that was full of something sickly. Something dangerous. Not quite murder.

> "I think a drink would be great. Something strong... Very strong."

“Yes, something strong.” the woman said in response. Half towards Paul and half towards the big, big glob that still clung to her hand as if she was the only woman running around this place. And probably she was the only one he figured he had chances with. As he heard her words though, his grip loosened slightly. And she took her opportunity. “Honey...” Her hand wandered up his arm... And she was not letting go of Paul... not at all. She even pulled him a bit... “would your strong, good looking...” her hand wandered up to his shoulders. She was nearly standing on tiptoe now, but naturally the big something bent his knees a little to receive the fondling... “go....” Instead of reaching for his chin during the long pause, Martin aimed a short but precise punch at the giants groin. Now located quite practically close to her. Within reach, thank you for lowering yourself. Fist, meet reproductive organs. There had been no sign of anything amiss in her stance, or in her voice. Hidden it all away. Yes, she was quite dangerous. And proud to be. “...and leave?” Her voice was still nothing but deep-alto sweetness. Her hand still clung to Paul quite fervently. She looked impeccable.

On his way to the bar, Lucas lost track of everyone he had recognized in the crowd. Paul and his new less-than-famous girlfriend had gone off to some secluded spot to compare notes or…whatever. The two girls that were by the bar when he set out had gone to the dance floor and disappeared into the sea of people writhing under the sparkling coloured lights. He was left alone with a table full of unguarded alcohol. Life was rough.

Scanning the surface of the bar, he looked for something that seemed refined and expensive for his buddy in case they ran into each other again. This didn’t seem to be a wine and cheese event so he settled on a strangely shaped bottle of Cherry Brandy. With the rest of the possible selection proving unappealing, he turned to leave and find some trouble to get into. He didn’t have to go very far.

A huge beak was only inches from his nose and two piercing eyes glared at him from over top of it. Red feathers didn’t help the appearance of a very angry birdman’s intense stare. His cronies crowded in behind and let Lucas know the seriousness of the situation without the need to open their mouths.

“Where is the girl that was just here? Red top, Bright blue eyes, black hair…” the avian mobster squawked into Lucas’ face.

The answer “Why, these goons tired of cleaning the newspaper out of your cage?” Seemed like a less than safe answer. “Polly want a girly?” Would probably be worse. A cascade of one-liners that could get his eyes pecked out clogged up his thought process so completely that the best he could do was shrug stupidly as he held in a chuckle.

Lucas new that any bird that could run a criminal organization would need to be brutally ruthless to maintain the respect of those around him but it was still really tough to hold in a laugh right now when getting questioned by an overgrown pigeon. Those eagle eyes weren’t what they used to be or maybe he could find her himself.

He understood that the girl the feathered godfather was looking for was probably the same one that had just slipped onto the crowded dance floor with Paul’s future bride but wasn’t about to make it easy. If he could get to them first, he might be able to escort them over to the other side of the room and complete his wing man duties.

Frustrated with the lack of help he was getting from the apparent shrugging simpleton before him, the mobster fluffed out his neck feathers as we shook his head with exasperation and moved on, his goons trailing along behind him like bridesmaids at a wedding.

Lucas waited a few seconds for the thugs and their boss to get clear before turning to look for Paul and see if the bat signal had been lit.

Was there a problem in him asking about a Megan? One eyebrow rose just a bit above the other. This woman had actually just slapped her forehead over him asking about a Megan? Well, Aurum decided. Maybe the girl actually knew Megan. That would probably explain all face-slapping, grumble-cursing, upset rudeness that had just escaped her lips.

He needed to learn not to be so judgmental. Holmes would have frowned upon how quick he was to jump to conclusions without adequate facts.

Lydia supplied a fact. She did, in fact, know Megan. Holmes would have felt a bit better about his decision, now. Since he had the fact straight from her lips.

Why did Aurum suddenly care what a fictional detective thought about him? What did this woman think of him, for knowing an 'evil spider Queen'? As a further question, Aurum pondered, why was this woman calling Megan 'the evil witch' an 'evil spider Queen'? Sure, the evil part was dead-on. But spiders?

What was this girl's name, anyways? The one who knew Megan, the "Evil Spider Queen", quote, unquote. Eyebrows changed positions, reacting accordingly to the shift from confusion to curiosity. He apologized. He asked her name. Lydia gave it to him. He filed the name away accordingly.

How his interest in her name had suddenly elicited a shift of that magnitude, from a grimace to a grin, he didn't know. But it did. Suddenly, Lydia was all smiles and alcohol. A part of him wondered if 'smiles and alcohol' was anything like 'sunshine and rainbows'. He dismissed the aside as a meaningless tangent in an all-too-easily-straying conversation. How was getting himself sauced up going to find him a Megan, who had texted him, for some reason, of which he was currently unaware? Most likely, it was to play a trick.
Megan liked tricks. She was an evil prankster spider queen. Maybe he didn't want to find her so much, after all. Plus, a drink sounded a hell of a lot better than getting pranked.

Lydia tugged, and he got tugged along willingly, towards the table of drinks. Certainly, one drink couldn't kill him. Or get him killed.

Unknown to Aurum, all about the room people were sprouting tendrils and gaining features due to a certain drug he'd he'd about not-too-unrecently. One his previous client and boss had dealt, till the death. Of his business, at least. When Aurum had narked on him to the cops. Luckily for Aurum, of all this drug activity, he was unaware.