Pass

Delphine tapped her glass once against the bar, unimpressed. “I was promised atmosphere,” she muttered. Then, louder, to anyone within earshot, “All I’m seeing is bad decisions and worse poker faces.”

He exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with irritation. "Тhere’s the door." His voice was calm. "Иди на хуй if you don’t like it." That was the only warning she would get.

She could walk out...

...Or he could take her by the back of the head and introduce her to the bar top. Hard. Once. Twice. However many times it took for her brain to cover the wood.

Roman found the second option… tempting.

It took Lyudmila a good minute to figure out what kind of madness she’d wandered into. At first, she assumed it was just her half-awake brain playing tricks with people dressed like neon nightmares, celebrities she didn’t recognize staring at her from cheap plastic masks, and outfits so ridiculous they had to be hallucinations. For a brief, worrying second, she even wondered if she’d gone a little heavy on the Xanax and was now seeing things from the wrong side of reality.

But no, clarity dawned soon enough. Halloween.

The word itself explained the chaos around her.

Lacking both the mood and a mask, Lyudmila turned to make her exit only to collide with someone head-on.

“Oh—sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

After all, this was hosted by the youngest Rutherford - the least likely to exceed his expectations by a zillion.

When, what looked like the ex wife of his boss collided into him, Roman just grunted. "Watch it."

Jordana had seen who she was being paired with and it slightly intrigued her, but she planned to make something out of it.

With a drink in hand, she turned towards the table Mateo was, when a body stepped in front of her. "Hello."

"You drink?" He asked.

Once they found a table, Lyudmila settled in with a smirk. “Let’s just say I’m selective with my company. But honestly?” She leaned back, swirling her drink thoughtfully. Explaining her initial reservations about and complete aversion to anyone associated with her ex-husband wasn’t something Lyudmila was about to confess to, so she offered him a half-truth instead. “"I figured I wouldn't much get along with anyone. So I didn't even try."

Her gaze softened a bit as she added, “Turns out a few of you have been surprisingly good company.” She flashed him a lighthearted smile. “Besides, you don’t exactly look like the chatty type yourself.”

"Nah." He shook his head, his eyes still on her. "If you knew me, I don't think you'd like me very much." She just wasn't that kind of person. "No? And here I was thinking I was fucking chatting your ear off."

Taking the money, Roman slowly counted it before giving him a bag and a five-pound note from the stash. "Have another." Discount, he meant, in more of a joke style.

As they reached what appeared to be the tent area, Lyudmila sighed, glancing over at her ‘home’ for the next three nights before looking back at Roman. “Shall we head straight to the bar, then? Let's make them memorable enough to count for something or forget them completely.”

"Well... Hope your roommate is going to build that up for you, because I am not even lifting a finger." He grinned, blowing out the smoke in the spot where her tent was supposed to be. Dropping her bags onto a safe space where they couldn't get wet, he nodded at Mila to point her towards the bar direction. "That, I can help with."

Once at the bar, with the drinks ordered, Roman found a table at the main tent and sat down. "Since I've been here, I haven't seen you mingle a lot. What changed?"

So instead of pushing, Benjamin simply nodded his head, lip jutting in acceptance, as he grabbed his grinder and began his usual order of preparation: weed, the roach, tobacco and then put it all together. In was mid lick of his paper, that he pulled away and found his brows furrowing. "Do you have any coke to sell?" an attempt to get on his level, he could smoke this in an hour, he guessed.

This was gonna' be a long two days otherwise. Here went nothing. He'd snorted a good amount in the first hour he'd arrived: oops?

It was in quiet they smoked, not even a glance in each others direction when he'd cofirmed what Maksim already knew. It wasn't until he spotted a pink top that his brows pulled down, and he squinted.

Okay, he could admit: that was fucking funny.

Gideon Rutherford's sex life, a disaster. At least he was doing better than him in that department. "See that?" he asked, using his chin to jut in the direction of multiple tops in different colurs. "Imagine needing that kind of help?"

"That's..." Sad? Pathetic? Pitiable? All those words fit and at the same time it felt as if there wasn't a right word for the situation over there. If that happened to him? He'd probably just use it as a hunting game. Shoot every single one with the shirts. They were even colour coordinated, thus a point system could be introduced.

"Imagine not being able to get laid, and then half the faction, making sure you never get laid again."

Roman never really knew what to expect from Mila. He knew who she was, her father, her husband or ex husband now and her line of work. Initially she just didn't fit, at least that's what he thought before from the gossips about her. But ever since he'd come to London and he could see it for himself - either the woman had changed or people were wrong.

Then again, he didn't put too much thought into it.

"You don't look tough at all, but it's amicable that you think so." Yet, he didn't mind supplying her with amenities. "Also, this is no longer pre-gaming, this is already the thing, so I think you're lagging behind."

He laughed again, all whilst putting a cigarette between his teeth and lighting it up as they made their way to her tent. "Why not enjoy the last days on earth, then?"

In reality, he knew he didn't have to worry about Roman. The man could take care of himself, especially around the chiuaua that Melissa had decided was worth her time. Whatever. He took a long drag, watching as groups of people got together, and wandered off (some happy, some looking as if their world had just fallen apart.) Aw...shame.

"Didn't think you were."

Taking out a cigarette from his own pack, he lit it and blew the smoke out into the air. Roman was still deciding how he wanted the night to go. Take it easy? Fuck shit up? Keep it for the last day? It was all fresh, though it was a very good opportunity to observe everyone. Especially the ones that were involved with the Russians. Less so the French or Italians, but the Rutherfords. He didn't trust them, because he didn't trust anyone but his own. But he did wonder about the ones that somehow got an in. He knew about Anatoly and Lara, Aviv and Adriana, Aviv and Ayda? He was sure the list went on.

Maybe his roommate would end up giving some insight. He was close to most, it seemed.

Roman chose not to answer that. He meant what he meant, and that was it, there was no reason to waste his breath arguing over nothing. "I'm not here to be replaced." He wasn't going to embarrass his brother like that.

It was the kind of awkward where he didn't know what step to take first. While he'd spent the last few weeks learning all he could, more so than before, about the Russians -- he was still left wondering if the decisions Melissa were making were the right moves, or the wrong ones. This tent was far beyond his wildest dreams, especially considering the tent that both Melissa and he had scored respectively.

His smirk was snaking, as he turned in the too-big space (of which he was thankful for) and shrugged. "You don't talk much, fine. Do you smoke, though?" the allusion to something different from a cigarette.

Without answering him, Roman reached into his pocked and took out a bag. Cocaine, not weed - that was going to come at the end of the night. He didn't want a roller coaster. He wanted to shoot straight for the skies and fall like one later. "I've got my own." As if he was going to take shit that wasn't there's, from a person who could hardly be trusted.