Normally, Megan didn’t get herself into such situations. Sure, fun was a must, but she rather liked doing it on her own and being in complete control of the situation...

Something, somehow, had gone terribly wrong. It had all started off nicely enough. A lively party, lots of drinks she didn't have to pay for, and plenty of eye-candy walking around. She had spent the first three hours wiling her time away on different arms, different bar stools and hogging up the karaoke machine. Everything had been fine... and then she had lost track of herself. She had danced with someone... a tall, dark, handsome thirty something who probably looked so good due to all of the Sunrises she had downed- but she hadn’t really cared. He had scar that puckered his top lip kind of cutely, and he had that whole ‘soft but dangerous’ thing going on. She was a sucker for the dark ones, her personal history was proof of that. She had laughed and chatted, clinked together shot glasses and jabbed each other in the ribs over lewd jokes... and then everything had gone to hell. Absolute. #@&%ing. Hell.

Mr. Dark n’ Dreamy, or Yahn... as he called himself, had friends. Males from various backgrounds that were of the same generation as he. While he had been great by himself, as soon as his buddies joined the party she had realized why her man candy had a dangerous vibe. He was a goddamn gang member! Had the twenty four year old been of the right mind she would have scoffed and excused herself, to find more evolved company... but with six or ten (she lost count...) drinks in her it was amazing she was still standing, let alone forming sentences. His buddies wanted to head over to another party, and he turned the offer on her to go. She had merrily accepted, with one arm draped over his shoulder even. Her band of five fled to the parking lot, where a ghetto red Camaro was waiting with the top down. One exciting and lengthy joy ride later, and Megan found herself in a rather uncomfortable position....

She was F-ing lost.

They had pulled up to some deserted looking ware house, with a gazillion cars parked out front, and her little adopted posse had escorted her inside. She had been in the damn building for a little under twelve minutes and had lost Yahn in the crowd... which she really didn’t mind all that much come to think of it... but it had left her alone. Alone, and surrounded by all sorts of undesirables. Frowning deeply, she sidestepped a couple of women who desperately needed to put on bra’s and made her way further into the building in search of her temporary friends. Heavy music thumped against the walls, rattling her bones as she got closer to one of the speakers set up around the giant building. People were crowded everywhere, packed into every corner! All ages, all sorts. She was pretty sure the people to cars ratio didn’t match up at all... There were men with scars and tattoos, obvious gang members, and shifty people who were crowded into the shadows. As much fun as all of that sounded in reflection, she was waaaay out of her element.

What the hell had she gotten herself into?! Tapping some guy on the shoulder, she waited till he turned then shouted a question at him over the music.”Hey... have you seen a guy named Yahn?” Her question received a blank stare from the guy she was asking and a growled out NO, before he turned back around and ignored her completely. She felt her teeth grind together angrily, and stomped away before she did something stupid. Like attack the guy with a dozen hungry black widows.

”Where’s the effing bar?!” That question/shout was answered far more readily, with gestures from many people, and she was pointed all the way across to the other side of the warehouse. The bar turned out to be an assortment of liquor bottles piled together on top of a lengthy makeshift table. Megan growled to herself, missing her sunrises, and snatched up a bottle of something clear that had the label torn off. It smelled like fruity candy upon further inspection. It passed her test, it would do. Carrying the whole thing off with her, she made her way back into the crowd, squeezing and pushing her way past people, until she had found a relatively quiet spot to collect herself. A few scattered groups lingered around her while she pressed herself to the cold cement wall, and set about putting her outfit and her thoughts back in order.

Compared to most of the outfits she saw the other women folk wearing, she felt kind of conservative. A simple crimson halter top that hugged her rips and left her belly button free, and a pair of black cotton shorts that were honestly more pocket that short. It felt odd, considering that it was usually the other way around. at parties.. Tapping a wedged heel on the floor while she wiped off the lip of her bottle, she surveyed what else was going on in the building... or what she could see, at least. There was a whole other level over her head and from the contrasting music hammering away from up there it was also the site of another party. Off in another corner, she could see a rather large poker game being held. Icy eyes lifted as she sampled the liquor- which turned out to be rum and tasted like candy!- and she rolled scar speckled shoulders to relax the tension in her back, and crossed scar speckled arms across her chest.

If she was stuck here for a while, at least until she found her ride, she was going to try to have fun. She just needed to figure out where, and how...

The deep base of powerful music cut through the evening’s silence and grew louder as Lucas approached its source. He had walked into a more derelict area of town without even realizing it during his stroll. He had decided to head out from the gym to clear his head and ended up walking around aimlessly for a good hour before realizing he was lost.

A block ahead, he could see flashing lights shining about behind the grimy glass of an old abandoned warehouse. Ghostly shadows gyrated in and out of view as the beams of color silhouetted them upon the panes of glass. This seemed to be an underground warehouse party that the young mutant had stumbled upon by accident. Just what the doctor ordered.

In front of the building, a small crowd loitered about. Most were dressed in the same fashion and the symbols of a gang were not missed by the young man. Lucas knew with a simple glance that the large man with no neck and his friends were the kind of people that gave strangers flying solo trouble, so thought it best to find another way in. He ducked into the alley next door and made his way through the shadowy avenue towards the back of the large brick building. The sound from inside the warehouse vibrated the ground as he walked and stirred the wild side deep inside him.

Lucas came upon the emergency door at the back corner, right beside a young couple who seemed to have accidentally fused their lips together and weren’t struggling very hard to free themselves. They were oblivious to the intruder until he had walked clear past them and began banging on the metal fire exit with his fist. They both looked like startled deer as they quickly turned to see who had magically appeared while they were otherwise occupied but Lucas didn’t bother to acknowledge their presence.

A Latino woman who had failed to grasp that less is more when it came to make-up, opened the door, curious to see who was making all of that noise.

“Thanks”. Lucas said as he stepped past her into the chaos of the party within, ignoring her as he took in the sights before him. The feeling was electrifying and hit him instantly as he entered. A couple of hundred bodies gyrated on a makeshift dance floor, spinning about to the pounding sounds coming from the two story speakers in the corners. The air had a slight sweaty smell and the young man could feel the heat generated from the party goers as it embraced him. Lasers and coloured spotlights swung about the crowd, adding to the dreamlike quality of the room.

“This is a party” Lucas admitted to himself as he waded into the throng.

Party of the century! Or at least, that’s what the invitation’s title said. The invitation she had found, on top of a stack of the same, lying next to the doors of the Sanctuary. Huh. It certainly did interest the girl, it sounded like just her scene. Well, maybe not exactly her scene. The invite entailed weapons and the host’s name sounded like something out of a cliché mob movie. But Lydia was always up for new experiences, and she thought she could count herself as a misfit. Or at least, she had the “gonads to buddy up to a hoard of New York's finest misfits and unwanted.”

Funny invitation indeed.

And it reeled her right in. Before she knew it, she was tossing the other cards all over the Sanctuary. A few in the recreational area, the dining hall, the gym, littered a few along the hallways and the foyer. If anything, many of her fellow residents would fit right into that type of party.

Lyd hurried to her room after her invitation escapade, and started the proper preparations for the event. She put on dark make-up, heels too high to be healthy (she was going to ditch them later anyway), and the perfect lack of sensible clothing. She strutted down the main hall of the Sanctuary, clad in a pair of black daisy dukes and a loose-fitting, scarlet crop top. Lydia smirked as those walking past her stared, and patted her pocket to make sure her ID was secure. It was BYOB, so she’d have to stop by a store on the way and purchase a bottle or two of whatever caught her eye.

The address on the card wasn’t too far away from the Sanctuary, not so far that she’d have to catch a cab. And thank God for that. She’d gritted her teeth and rode in the horrible automobiles when she’d needed to, but she still wasn’t over her fear or dislike of them. She wasn’t hyperventilating anymore, but she still preferred good old-fashioned walking.

Forty-five minutes later, with a bottle of vodka in hand, Lydia arrived at the warehouse. There was no question if she was in the right place. The bass from the music shook the ground, and there were tons of people going in and out. Tons of wasted people. Yes, it was definitely the right party.

She gave a cheer and joined the crowd entering the building, already starting to dance as she passed the doorway. There were tons of different people, some scary-looking, some looking unconscious, and some who looked like her, young‘uns simply looking for a good time. Some were pretty good-looking, as a matter of fact. Tonight was going to be a good night.

"I can read your mind."

The man's hawkish nose was absolutely incredible. It preceded him into the conversation. "Oh really? Then what am I thinking right now?"

The top of Lori's dark blue sheath dress opened up in loose cascades of fabric that looked precariously placed at the tips of her shoulders. The material had enough movement when she leaned forward that the dress was somehow slinky in a sporty kind of way. Two long necklaces, one glass, one metal, brushed past a low neckline that managed to suggest everything without showing anything and ended at the fabric above her navel. The hem of her dress was not much lower.

"You are thinking that it would not be such a bad thing to have to spend more time with me considering the revenue potential and the depth of my neckline. Only, at a party like this you've got to keep moving. Wouldn't want to miss greeting Yani and his crew, who just showed up with a lovely dark haired girl who you also would not mind seeing more of."

Synchronized as she was with his thoughts, she knew how surprised the man was to hear a cleaned up version of his own thoughts parroted back to him. He scratched a conical nail along his hairline where it faded from black hairs to the tiniest, brilliant red feathers. Lori appreciated the way that nature had seamlessly melded man and parrot. The feathers would be soft by the look of them.

And by the smile on Tony Bianchi's face, she had copied that thought directly into his brain. Still, the man was shrewd if lecherous.

"And you want my attention to grow your empire."

Their quiet corner was fast becoming a respite for lovers in need of some serious face time. Their conversation would have to be put on hold or be overheard by those sucking face. Lori leaned in close and all three of his flamboyant escorts tensed, one man with his hands on his shirt like it was a tear away and he was a stripper just waiting for the chance.

"There are worse fates." She whispered in Bianchi's ear and gave his shoulder a good squeeze, hard enough to remind him of her for the rest of the night.

The greasiest of the guards grinned at her in a way that made her want to punch him. Instead, she brushed past the man who was all angles and exited the circle a free woman. She had Bianchi in her hand as a distributor of M, but just as he had to hobnob to keep his connections, there were times when it was important for the Order leader to re-affirm dominance in the game. She was baiting Bianchi, of course. If he had the guts to try anything, she already had a replacement picked out for him. She'd always appreciated the strong silent lava spitting types.

Lori leaned against the railing between the first and second floors as she scanned the writhing mass below for something more to bait Bianchi.

There was a party with a mobster. This was, as far as Martin was concerned, common knowledge. What was not common knowledge was the fact that the head of said mobster was being wanted by certain people. Certain people were, in fact, quite willing to pay extraordinarily large sums to own the feathers from Mr. Parrots head. Maybe because they wanted to stuff a chair with them. Maybe because they were ticklish. Maybe because Mr. Barrot, pardon, Brianchi was quite annoying. Martin did not care. Maybe it was because he had taken to dislike mobsters with Italian sounding names as being very much cliché. Maybe because the money offered was quite good. Also: He had almost secured himself a position in this party. Yes. Position. And yes. Almost. For the full story we need to go a few days back...

It was warm and sunny. This, normally good, was not so good in Martins neighborhood. Garbage cans that were never quite empty and never quite clean got, if properly heated, the tendency to form odeurs of doom. Said odeur had the tendency to push those normally using the backways of this particular part of the city out into the streets, where they could at least breathe freely. And where they drove all more-or-less respectable people into their cars. If they had cars. If not then they were now confined to their homes. Martin, being neither quite respectable, nor quite liking to be confined, had strolled out on this very fine day anyways. It was a thing of luck, as he would later learn to know.

Because the first person that crossed his way was eying the black cloth tied around his forehead (Even here having a third eye usually meant gathering attention that was most unwarranted.) with professional interest and revulsion. He was not much older than Martin. Twice as wide though. And he walked this quite funny-looking way that made respectable people want to leave. Now. He eyed some more. Martin eyed back. The youth was wearing a read cloth tied around his forehead. And was now flexing his muscles. A cloud came from one of the alleyways. The youth flinched. Martin did not. He did speak though. “You have a problem?” Every syllable was accented tightly. Quite unlike the argot that was the usual way on these streets with broadening vowels and strange prosody. It was a hard accent to listen to. It was filthy. Not his own, mind you. That was just a bit foreign. And precise. “Yo bro, you shi**n me?” Uhm? Well... was Martin toying with the child? No he was not. Just looking at him and that testosterone-laden display of would-be dominance made him itch inside. So. Obviously. Fake. Nice try. He wanted to say that. Really.

Another cold blink. More flexing. This was not good. The youths hand wandered back towards the back of his pants. Cue: Mouth organ playing in the background. So. Not. Good.

Poor kid, really. But this one apparently needed to learn some things. If he cut them slack, he would have to deal with three more within the next few days. Such was the very good (and slightly smelly) climate in this hood. And such were the means by which he had established himself as a person *not* to include in ploys. And one not to talk back to. “Stop tis, maaan.” No, this was not the kids voice. Someone was running. Quick steps on asphalt were closing in. As they could run in these very low pulled pants. (Not very good, it looked strange how he had to hold them up with both hands) “You wanna die? He's coohl...” Another blink. This time at the newcomer. He flinched back slightly, though he looked like a slightly winded twin of the first one. It was very good to have a reputation sometimes. So. Very. Good. (How he had gotten that? Well, it was good to be handy with a knife. And other things.) “Yo sorry man, he be new here.” The new youth gestured to the first one, who was very much appalled at loosing the chance to gain some cred, do some bad or whatever. And now blue eyes was ignoring him completely. That sent a young, testosterone laden ego flaming. Martin on the other hand was quite ready to talk with the twin who had gotten the brains. “You will take of him? Or do you want me to?” That suggestion came plainly and in plain English. Very much unlike what they used. Focused tongue of the foreigner that it was. Number two was getting slightly red with rage, plainly not understanding the severity of his situation. He was very new indeed. A vein began pulsing on his biceps. Brains seemed to be more than a little taken aback at his offer though. More then a little. He paled visibly, in fact. “Noh maaan, its coohl.” And with that he turned and sent a punch flying in stupids face. Who landed on the ground. The vein had stopped pulsing. It now was racing.

“Stay down.” He hissed to his partner-in-crime (In surprisingly good English), while shaking the hand he had just used to down him. It now held a few scrapes. “Is he needed?” “Y-Yes.” More paling was going on. The hands of the youth started to shake slightly. Rightly so. Martins boot made an impression. In the face of Mr-on-the-ground. “A gift to you.” He said, he, that seemingly young man with the black headcloth that had sparked this entire discussion. Yes. Discussion. Said it to the standing boy. Boy; Yes Boy. It made a sufficiently crunching sound, his boot did, when it hit that face on the ground. That was now lying flat on his back, blood oozing from a broken nose. Maybe he had broke more. It had been a satisfying crunch. (Did I mention Martin was wearing army-issue boots?) Number two was shaking openly now. Just because... what? He was smiling at him? “You know that I don't give out freebies.” “No Sir.” Well... at least this one had had a father at some point in time. Martin nodded. And then walked off. He was to meet a contact after all.

That day he was informed of a party at Bianchis by an acquaintance. How... fitting.

That night: He had procured, at considerable expense, a dress. In the style of the 17th Century. Which meant: Lace. Lace. Lace. Also: Black lace. And a hat – women would have called it a fascinator – he called it: hat. Or “thing”, depending on circumstance. He was looking very much like am old Italian widow in mourning. Oh except maybe for the hoops in his dress that made walking a challenge. Except for the thin veil of almost-cloth that did nothing to hide a face that had been altered by makeup sitting on a high pile of the most silky brown hair imaginable. Both hat and hair did hide his treacherous third eye though. Except for the fact that the bodice was tight enough to show (well it was properly covered, but it was a snug bodice) considerable amounts of well-rounded breast. (This had been a problem for Martin, who was, by design, lacking rounding in these places. It had been solved by the creative application of citrus fruits. What? So he had cellulites.) Except for the makeup that centered around pale flesh and red lips and the most dark eyes any man could ever wish for. Very red lips with a slightly sulky look about them. Except for the long, very long, black eyelashes (Fake, so very fake. Thank you China!) All of that and the lace, midnight-black lace, made it seem quite immodest. Rich. And definitively decadent. He would stick out at this party. Very much so. Almost as much as a parrot mutant. This lace would make it also quite impossible to make a good search for weapons. He therefore had them liberally distributed throughout both bodice and skirt. Old Italian widows would have circled wide and stated muttering Ave Marias at seeing her. They would have started throwing stones at learning it was a him in this dress.

For a reason he had selected the two biggest Grapefruit the grocer could provide for sale this morning. He now had hips – You do not want to know. And breasts – You do know. And cheekbones, eyebrows and other female things all thanks to that fabulous makeup artist (who had not provided the hips), who (also) had not even flinched when told the plan of Martin wearing a 17th Century dress, but smiled and said “Honey, it will go wonderful with your complexion. Now only a few touches of red and so... Let me work my magic, Hun.” Praise be to the spirits of political correctness. They made much possible. The stylist had taken an extraordinary amount of money though. He had done a passable job as far as Martin was concerned. Did I mention Martin was supporting breasts? Yes? Good! For those lumps under cover attracted considerable attention from the entrance guards, who, as intended, did therefore not look at Martins face a lot. He was only lightly uncomfortable. And not because of the heat. Why, carrying these things was difficult while looking sexy. He had been waved past the crowd at the entrance as soon as they got a look at... him. Her. Whatever.

He was also wearing his army boots under all that lace-and-hoops. They were invisible there. But seriously: Learning to walk in high-heels would have taken more time then was allotted to the preparation of this “Mission”. Notice for the slower faction: He was not looking like an Italian widow at all. When he entered the lower floor, he caused a considerable stir among the attendees. And not only because he had to step through the door sideways.

Years of experience had taught Paul a lot of lessons including the very important lesson to know the players. Whether it was in a simple board game or in the grungy back alleys of a city, it was important to know the people you might encounter and what was motivating them. Since his visit with a certain blond woman at a well known mutant haven Paul had thrown himself into relearning the New York underground. Sure all the contacts he might have had in years gone by were dead but once a person knew how the system operated they could make do in most any city. Experience taught many things.

The invitation to what was being called the 'Party of the Century' had been easy to procure and while Paul knew that he was a little old for parties, 60 to 70 years to be precise, he also knew it was a great way to make more contacts. Thankfully he still had the appearance to pull off going to a party, although he would probably be one of the senior citizens. If the people there only knew the truth...

Sticking with simple yet stylish but also forgettable, Paul went with black boots that looked slightly clunky but were really quite comfortable and practical. Black denim pants, a black belt, black polo, and white sport coat completed the ensemble. Even though the invitation had said to bring a weapon he had chosen to ignore that particular suggestion. He had enough experience to use most anything around him as a weapon and what was the worst that could happen to him anyway? Death? Big deal.

***

Arriving at the party with a whole keg was normally a way to be ushered in ahead of the crowd and as usual it had worked this time. Cutting quickly to the head of the line he had been quickly checked over by the people that apparently passed for security and let in. After depositing his alcohol on the table where the rest of it was set, Paul slipped into the crowd. All around him people were gyrating to the sound of music full of screaming that could barely be understood. Most of the women were clad in the most revealing clothes they could manage while most of the men seemed to be working at not ogling the woman unless of course they had already consumed to much booze.

"Why do they bother to hide their intentions?" He murmured under his breath as he headed for the stairs, his gaze sweeping the room, "If the woman didn't want to be looked at they wouldn't dress that way. Do the expect to get slapped if they're appreciative?" Time had taught him a lot but not even a thousand years would allow him to understand people completely.

As he was moving toward the stairs, something suddenly clicked in his subconscious. Glancing up the stairs his eyes locked on tresses of blond hair that he would recognize most anywhere. Really, it should be no surprise to him that Lori was attending a party like this. After all, one didn't lead an organization like the Order without knowing what went on in the underworld.

"That's one player but who is she playing against or even with?" Paul thought to himself as he leaned casually up against the post at the bottom of the stairs and turned back to eye the crowd, "What interests here about this place?" It was a question that would eventually be answered but for now Paul would focus on the party. Heck, maybe he'd even have fun... maybe.

The party was hopping alright, people everywhere jumping and bouncing to the beats. Alcohol was vanishing in armloads, but reappearing just as quickly. Megan watched it all from her dark little corner, blue eyes darting about to try and spot the face of the man she had come with among the crowd. No such luck. Strange faces greeted her, some blitzed out of their minds- on their way toward the staircase that would lead them up stairs, others happy and friendly, but much too concerned with dancing, talking, or drinking to spare her a second glance. Megan frowned and took another dainty swig from her bottle. Her eyes were drawn up, to a little railed in balcony, where a colorful man was standing with a few other colorful people... She didn't recognize him, seeing as she wasn't really meant to be at such a party. She had merely captured the attention of a special guest.

Tony Bianchi, the flamboyant host of the party, dragged his eyes away from his attention capturing female guest to face the mass of people filling the room below him. Fingers that were decorated with brightly colored feathers, as well as gold rings that sparkled with diamonds, tapped the railing before him rhythmically, following the pulsing beat of the music. The party was going well so far, thriving even. Plenty of pretty faces around, though... a few had caught his attention. Turning his pointed chin, he peeked over his shoulder the way the blonde had gone, and smirked. A woman who knew what she wanted? His kind gal. He turned back to the crowd, feathers fluffing slightly with pride and raised his arms into the air, palms up. "My people!" His voice, buffed by specially mutated vocal cords, boomed and carried out over the music quite well. A good portion of the crowd below turned and lifted their drinks, or bottles, and cheered. "How are you all liking my little party?" Another group cheer went out, loud and boisterous enough to make the walls vibrate a little. Megan covered her ears and gritted her teeth. If there was one thing she didn't like, it was noise when there wasn't enough booze in her system to make her join in. She hadn't had nearly enough. "Lets make this party one to be talked about for years to come, shall we?"

The twenty three year old gulped down a few more burning mouthfuls of her chosen poison, while the parrot man went on stirring the crowd. Yahn, or Yani, as many called him, was making his way up the steps toward Tonys perch. His buddies had drifted off in the direction of the poker tables, something about winning back all the money they had lost the last time they played, which left Yahn time to get a few things done before he went looking for his blue eyed date. He didn't feel bad for temporarily ditching her, not really bad.. anyway. But he was going to make it up to her by showing her the time of her life... once he spoke to his boss.

"Hey... can I talk to you for a bit buddy?" Yani stopped, hands in his pockets, and turned to eyeball the guy who had approached him. He didn't look like much... dark hair, pale... probably some freak who had wandered out of the wig room. He could take him... Yahn wasn't threatened. A little smirk curled his lips and he shrugged, deciding to humor the guy. "Sure, just make it quick, kay? I have things to do, and a hottie waiting on me..." The man nodded, smiling back, and led Yani away into the thriving mass of bodies that filled the second story party room. Below, Megan had grown tired of seeking out fun... so, she would bring the fun to her! Her melon rum was settling nicely in her stomach, and her phone was already out and in her hands. She tapped a few keys, and wandered back over to the booze table while fleshing out her text. A few little fliers were scattered about, one of which she scooped up. It was the ad to the party, which was apparently supposed to be the 'party of the century'. Megan had doubts about that, serious doubts. Still, she tapped in the address on the flier and scrolled though her list of contacts in order to choose who to call. One name caught her eyes. She grinned, and pressed the send button.

Hey, Megan here! I felt bad about leaving so suddenly last time, and thought that maybe I could make it up to you? Do you like parties? If you do, then come to the address below and meet me. I'll be waiting inside. ;}

It was the evening of June the eleventh, and Aurum, unlike some people, was not carrying any weapons. He was not going to any parties, or at least, had no plans to. He had not been drinking. He wasn't thinking about drinking. Maybe coffee. Certainly not alcohol, no. For you see, Aurum was listening to jazz. Relaxing in his apartment, sifting through stacks of bills, and filling out job applications, preparing for the onslaught of 'look-ins' on various lawfirms... and listening to jazz.

Jazz is a very fine type of music. It doesn't die over time, like some music types do. It doesn't go out of style. Talented composers still compose excellent songs. The music is smooth and charismatic. It's calming. The National Public Radio station even plays it, for the cerebral-minded. It was one of his favorites.

And so, while listening to one of his favorites while doing one of his least favorites (looking for jobs), sipping coffee on a Saturday night, Aurum was drinking, or planning to. Not carrying weapons, or planning to. Not at a party, or planning to. He certainly did not have the gonads to go toe to toe with the big bads of the city. But! Oh, there was a but. He did have a cellphone.

A text message whipped its way across the air waves, bouncing off all things cellphone calls bounce off of, radio towers, all the fun distances it had to close. It went through all that hell to reach a phone. A simple phone, with a black skin. Sleek, subtle, understated. That had not been tossed on the ground recently, as per his other phone, by a little sister who was still in very much trouble.

Aurum's new cellphone alerted him to a text message.

Aurum took a break from sipping good coffee, listening to good music, and searching for starting level lame lawyer law office jobs, to... check the text message.

Lo and behold, he saw a winking smiley.

"... Megan?" Did he know a Megan? Aurum tried to think? Someone who had left suddenly, was named Megan, and had his number... ah yes. It came to him. Hadn't he met some witch in Central Park who had called him fat? Strange. A party?

Simple, subtle. An excuse to escape from the work of looking up jobs. Which he hated. Sure. He could swing that.

Aurum pushed away from the table and snagged his leather jacket. He found his motorcycle in the apartment complex garage, and was off on his way.

There were dancing people. Lori wasn't a dancer and she had a hard time picking any one single person out of that writhing throng. She kept scanning until her eyes fell on an antiquated dress. That wasn't all too unusual, there were all sorts in New York, but something about the hippy woman made the blonde study her closer.

An echo in her thoughts had her looking back at Binachi as he made his announcement. He really hadn't thought that speech through, his thoughts casting around and settling on a word only just before he announced it. People like him drove people like her crazy. No forethought at all.

The blonde made a few sweeping steps down the stairs before another thought had her pausing again. someone had intercepted Yani before he had made his way up to Bianchi. The parrot was pissed that his underling was taking so long to report back. That could be worth listening in on. She turned to go back up then, no doubt looking entirely spacey since she had stopped and started walking down these stairs several times already. On her way back up, someone brushed against her and all thoughts of Yani turned into thoughts of cosmic love and special brownies. He must have touched her.

On impulse Lori shoved the man over the stairway railing. It shouldn't have been that easy, but the man was like jello and smelled like sweat and hash. This close to the bottom of the stairs it wasn't much of a drop, more of a flailing flip that landed him squarely in the path of the buxom babe in the olde timey dress. Lori looked at the woman and wished that she knew how to turn this brain synchronization thing off. The stoner had been outraged at first but once he had a good look up...

Lori was more interested now that the stoner had noticed how sexy the woman's combat boots were. Lori couldn't be sure until she saw the person move, but Lori was developing a theory about that shman. Really. New York had all kinds.

The party didn't miss a beat for all the flailing and after a properly horrified gasp and reach toward the faller... she was off the hook for any malicious intent. The blonde petered down the last few stairs with new conviction. There was one person Lori was interested in finding. A dark haired girl with light eyes and speckles of scars that Yani wanted. She might know something. She might not. At least she was a connection to what was going on upstairs. Bianchi had last noticed her walking toward the alcohol and this too fell in line with Lori's needs.

The Order leader brushed past a girl in a red top and after some squeezing that had forced her to touch a man who was making girls squeeze past him on purpose, she was at the table with it's impressive array of alcohol and a dark haired girl who was fiddling with her phone. Lori stepped pointedly between the girl and the approaching parrot man. The blond smiled at him and reached past Megan for some Midori, making sure to try for some skin contact. With both of them flashing a fair amount, it shouldn't be that hard.

'You are being stalked by a parrot.' She let that thought sink into Megan's mind while she daintily poured herself a cup of the green alcohol. The blonde brought the cup to her lips and glanced at Megan. Did she get the message?

The atmosphere was the perfect blend of unsafe and illegal, and Lydia felt herself unwind very quickly. Quickly meaning she was never wound up in the first place. She felt the beat in her bones and swayed her hips accordingly, for the moment not needing any company. She wanted to run solo for a while. She'd fall into some guy’s arms when she was properly inebriated.

>> "My people! How are you all liking my little party?”

A voice boomed from somewhere across the room, and the girl’s head, along with several others, turned to find its source. It was coming from a man decked out in expensive-looking jewelry and surrounded by other tough-looking men. He also had a feathers poking out of every which place, including his head. Well. Lydia raised an eyebrow, wondering if the man was really the host of the party. But he did have a sort of “touch me and die a slow, painful, torturous death” air around him, his peculiar-looking bodyguards somehow reinforcing it. They looked like contradictions, menacing looks on their faces, but strange, slightly hilarious mutations shaping their bodies. Especially the shiny one who looked like a disco ball, but had a long, jagged scar going down the side of his face. The teenager snickered and cheered with the others.

Another announcement, another cheer, and everyone returned to their various, possibly-criminal activities. Lyd took another swig of her vodka, slightly wishing she had something sweet to mix it with, and made for the more crowded area of the dance floor.

Unfortunately with the larger crowd came creepy guys. She felt the presences of particularly slimy-looking guys fast approaching her, and in response she darted to new spots on the floor to evade them. She did that for a while, dancing and dodging, and occasionally having to slap a hand away, until her bottle was empty and she was craving more. She wandered around the room in search of the bar, until her eyes settled on another odd-looking figure in the sea of people. It was a woman dressed in a strange black dress, a quite-well endowed woman.

The party was definitely attracting all kinds.

A grin stretched her lips in a cat like manner, or maybe it would have been spider like, if spiders had lips... Hetext had been sent, and she was busy toying with a tetris game in her phone, when someone brushed past her. It was enough of a brush to jostle her a little, but not enough of a bump to knock her over. Still, she head a very clear... if confusing, message flicker through her thoughts and her game was ruined. The L block landed squarely on top of a square block and her pattern was flubbed. Great. Blue eyes rose as she turned to figure out who had bumped her, while puzzling over the strange thought. The foreign thought... Some blonde woman, as it turned out, had been the culprit. I'm being stalked by a parrot? What the hell kind of thought was that? She didn't even know any par- ....Oh.

Bird dude and his lackeys. Oh sh*t. Megan spotted red head feathers peeking out above writhing bodies before her, approaching the drink table, and cringed. She might not have known a parrot man personally, but there sure was one at this party. With her bottle in hand, she backed up to the table, conveniently stepping behind a few people who were gathered, and turned to eye the woman some more. She was fixing herself a drink, and she looked... expensive. The twenty four year old eyed a few possible exits, and cleared her throat. Her tasty rum was kind of making it hard to think. "...Cool party, huh?" Those head feathers were getting closer. She cringed again, and ran a hand through her hair. Where the hell was Yahn?!

A few spiders clung to her fingers, little blue eyes taking in as much as they could before she casually flicked each of them over the table and onto the wall behind it. She didn't really care if the woman saw, obvious mutants were walking all around, so there was no real reason to hide it... and she didn't really care if the woman ended up being a spider hater, because screaming and running would make a pretty good distraction while she escaped the bird man's interest. "...Too bad most of these guys are total tools...." She chewed on her lip and eyeballed the read feathers peeking out from above the crowd. Parrot man had gotten snagged by a few old friends, and was trying to hastily back his way out of a conversation. She had some time... Her spiders made short work of the walls, and set up sentry positions to relay information back to her about bird man's position.

Wish I had some crackers.

The music was intoxicating and the party had already taken on a life of its own. The throng of people were like a living organism, feasting on the lights and sounds being fed to them by the DJ. Scanning the crowd, Lucas took it all in. This was like no party he had ever been to before. Everything had seemed pretty basic until the bird man made his speech. The red feathered man seemed to be the host of the evening and he knew how to get noticed. Feathers help but the suit he wore accentuated his air of superiority when he addressed the crowd.

Surrounding him was three body guards, two of which would have a hard time fitting in with a travelling carnival. The one on the left looked like a pumpkin stuffed into a 70s disco jumper. His body seemed to be covered in small triangular mirror like scales from this distance. To the right stood a man that glowed from the inside, gooey mucus flowed around inside his body as if in slow motion and was strangely hypnotic to look at. Directly behind the bird man was the one that scared Lucas the most. He had a nice enough suit and his hair seemed to have been the recipient of an entire bottle of gel. Other than that, he seemed completely normal. Considering his company, this guy was hiding something big and the young man made a mental note to steer clear of him.

The speech had been simple enough but let the people know he was their benefactor. Perhaps he was connected to something more powerful and this celebration was somehow related. This should be interesting. I’ve crashed some mob party hosted by big bird.” Lucas thought to himself.

Continuing to look around the room, Lucas’ eyes fell upon an extremely tall woman dressed all in black. She had a long vale obscuring her face and wore a strangely cut outfit that revealed her hips in the most original way. Her body was a bit thin and lanky but she made the ensemble work somehow. Other than the host and his entourage, she was the one that stuck out the most by far. If the dark clad woman was the person Lucas thought it was, this was a bit of a treat. Lucas always thought she lived in L.A. but it seemed she had made her way to New York for this party. He could have been wrong but there was only one way to find out and that was to go talk to her.

Pushing through the crowd, Lucas realised he needed a pen and paper if he was going to confront the woman in the lacy dress and veil. To his side, he noticed an older man in a black suit leaning against the wall at the base of the stairs. The man appeared to be in his mid-40s and had taken care of himself well. His gaze followed a blonde woman almost half his age as she made her way through the crowd towards the bar. The blonde walked with purpose and had a familiar look to her somehow. It was like Lucas had met her before in another life but just couldn’t put a finger on it.

Approaching the gentleman in the black suit, Lucas leaned in close so he could be heard above the music. He didn’t want to disturb the guy’s girl watching but figured this man was the best bet for a pen and paper in the room.

“Excuse me” Lucas yelled over the roaring sounds of the party. “Do you have a pen and paper I could borrow? I think I just saw Lady Gaga and I want to try to get her autograph.”

Apparently the plan to lay low for a while was working because Lori was distracted enough that she didn't even see him as she walked by the stairs. Of course, the fact that feather brain on the top floor was shouting out speeches loud enough to be heard over the roaring music was more than enough to distract most people.

"That must be Tony... interesting."

While Tony was the host of the party, Paul had already noticed that Lori had been in close proximity to Mr. Feather. That more than likely meant that they were acquaintances of some type if not some sort of partner. The blond was continuing on toward the drink table and as he scanned the building one more time he suddenly heard a voice yelled out very close to his ear.

"Excuse me. Do you have a pen and paper I could borrow? I think I just saw Lady Gaga and I want to try to get her autograph."

Blue eyes met brown eyes with a quizzical expression before once again turning to sweep over the room. Lady Gaga? At an underground mutant party? Would she really come to something like that? For a moment Paul was silent, trying to figure out who this man might have thought was Lady Gaga when suddenly his gaze locked on a woman dressed in an old style black dress that stood out in the crowd.

"What the..."

Shaking his head with a slight chuckle Paul reached into his white sport coat and pulled out a pen and small note pad that he handed over to the other man with a grin. "Good eyes. I don't know how I missed that. My name's Paul." He yelled back loud enough for the other man to hear over the noise, "I never would have expected to see her here."

If he was going to be completely honest then Paul would have to say that he had actually never listened to any of her music. In fact he had only seen pictures of her in the paper whenever she made the news and that particular woman seemed to fit in the type of clothing that Gaga wore. But something was nagging at his subconscious. There was something strange about that woman but since he couldn't quite grasp what it was he simply rejected the idea as the woman's pure Gaganess coming through.

"Mind if I walk over with you? I've never seen a star up close before."

"Mind if I walk over with you? I've never seen a star up close before." Paul yelled over the crowd.

Lucas accepted the pen and pad that were offered with a warm smile. “Of course I don’t mind Paul. To be honest, I am not sure it is her but wanted to be prepared when I get there. I don’t want to look like a complete imbecile. My name is Lucas, nice meeting you.” With a quick nod in the direction of the possible pop icon, the young man turned and started to make his way through the crowd to his destination.

The veiled woman was like a beacon in the room. She seemed to glide effortlessly through the party, people parting in front of her like the red sea as she passed. Intercepting her was not as simple. No one seemed to care to let Lucas or his partner in crime pass as easily. He was sort of helping clear the path for Paul as he bumped and jostled his way to their destination, but didn’t get a chance to look back and see if he was following.

Arriving in front of the possible masked celebutant, Lucas realized he wasn’t sure what to say. If it was Gaga, she probably had stupid fans stopping her all the time. Some goonish security guard would crush him shortly for his efforts so he had to be quick. If it wasn’t her, things were even more awkward. Without a solution to his dilemma, he decided to keep it simple and blurted out the standard fan rhetoric.

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

He put on his best smile while motioning to the older man behind him. It was a bit of a stretch of the truth but to tell her he thought he might be able to sell her autograph on eBay seemed a bit rude.

There was a man. Lying on his backside. Staring under his skirts. And he was quite positively flustered. Maybe on drugs also. But said man had, quite suddenly (and with a crunch) thrown himself at her (yes, he was a she after all) feet. Big, oh so very big, black eyes were looking at the pale face of Gretchen. Gretchen was the maiden in the old black dress. Black lace was winding its way up his arms, exposing more white and whiter flesh the farther up they went. Now Gretchen was, as far as killers in dresses go, not amused by the fact that someone was staring under her skirt. She was not even flustered. Not nervous. She was just a tiny bit... angry. Especially at the mutters she heard over the base. “I must be in heaven....” Like hell you aren't. And with those bulging eyes, won't get there even. St. Paul would be most displeased with you.

And Gretchen, when she was angry, did some very not-nice things (while smiling). Like kneel down gracefully. Very gracefully beside the fallen man. She managed to illicit a few whistles from behind doing that, over the noise of the base even. She inclined her head lightly toward the fallen man, now laying before her, whose eyes got wider and wider as those red lips came closer. Her hands were straightening out the dress, laying folds. Cue Lori: Enter dirty pictures here. Men. They thought a certain way. Whispers were coming from her lips, the voice deep and rich. Almost masculine, but dancing on the edges. Just dancing around them. It was a voice made for dreams of lace. This voice held no anger, but was, maybe slightly, making those eyes grow even wider. And then a black lace glove was stroking that face in a caress, that some people might have found mouth watering. Well... her other hand was firmly planted on the guys carotid arteries and pressed. It might have looked like a lovers caress. Only that spying little lecherous was out could after a few seconds. And would remain so. For several minutes.

Yes. Gretchen had just made a man faint with her looks. (An maybe with a bit more) This was wholesomely normal for Gretchen. And with her almost feline grace she got up again, slowly, deliberately. Smiling that very red smile. That rich smile beyond the thin veil over her face. She turned around. And left lecherous to the good graces of his friends. After all... she was a woman. And looked fabulous. She managed to sway her hips a bit walking a few steps back.

There were two people staring at her. And coming closer. Her red smile never faltered. Inside, a mans mind was frantically racing. He hoped nobody had known that grip for what it had been. The chance was small, very small, that anyone had seen. But firstly, the man had seen his boots. And secondly, he had stared below his skirt very, very shamelessly. This were two things Martin did not like at all. Nobody stared under. His. Skirt.

“Good evening Gentlemen.” Her lips pronounced to the inbound men in that deep alto that seemed to be designed to make mens hair stand on end. Maybe not Lady Gaga after all? But her voice held inside that firmness, that made it carry. Even against the music. And she even took her skirts and gathered them some. Bowed gracefully to the two men, lifting up the edges slightly. Yes. Gracefully. A feline with some deadly intentions. And a pretty smile. “It seems we have not met before...” Her voice trailed off invitingly. And her eyes seemed to say this was very much a shame. She even went so far as to extend a hand to them. Not in the usual way of greeting, but with the palm facing firmly to the ground. And of course in the direction of Paul foremost. He was the older one after all. Nobody should say Martin Stein had not brushed up on his manners before donning this dress. For good measure he added a movement that was made to slightly emphasize his hips. A slight rolling motion. Look down there please. "Though I must say, you mistake me. My name is Gretchen." Yes. There was a faint germanic accent in her voice that was not held by Ms Gaga. And it rounded some of her words a sharp way. Gretchen. As in Faust. She did not say that. But it had been part of Martins reasoning for that particularly alter ego. Poor italian widows.