#bkevent01

Nevertheless, there she was at the biggest gathering Navy Pier had seen in months, determined to enjoy every second of her quasi-freedom. “The prodigal son returns,” she murmured before red-painted lips met the rim of her champagne flute yet again. She was more than a few drinks in at this point, and why shouldn’t she be? Cass was going to milk this night for all that it was worth.

Alp didn’t normally smoke—if years of coaches’ lecturing hadn’t turned him away from it, his mother’s diagnosis definitely would’ve—but there were some times when being able to step away from the action, to use the excuse of a cigarette to hang back and observe, came in handy.

Like now, as he stood just outside the conservatory door, the night breeze off the lake carrying a breath of smoke away as he flicked ash off the ember. The huge windows made it easy to see inside, and so although his body was angled toward the ash can, he could still keep an eye on things—make sure Wes stayed safe, see how all the guests interacted with each other, try to figure out if the Kovali were as happy to have their eldest son back as they wanted people to believe.

As a designated member of the family, Valentine Marshall had to attend the coming home party for dear Eldar. Of course; it wasn’t that Val wasn’t happy that Eldar was out of prison; he was simply not in the mood to deal with a drunk crowd. He already had enough of it at The Cabaret- and the last thing he wanted to do was fall into the role of the bouncer. As fate would have it; he was already standing guard at the nearest entrance to one of the mirror mazes; and he felt like an idiot in the three piece suit he donned for the evening. It was either stand here; or mingle in the conservatory with the folk he’d rather not touch. And perhaps his motive was a little be less ‘i-hate-parties’ and more ‘where-the-fuck-is-Archie.’ 

 There was only so much he could take. He knew there would be whispers and constant, repetitive questions. Being alone for so long. Eldar seemed to become way more accustomed to not seeking that kind of attention. So, he found himself being pleasant but drifting away from the crowds to a more peaceful scenery. Of course not without a bottle of Whiskey held securely in his hand. Something he had missed dearly. Eyes peered across the water. The fresh air brought solace. He was free. A feeling that the man was afraid deep down that could vanish in the blink of an eye. Obviously, he was a master of appearances. Like Father, Like Son. “I hope your excuse is better then that the line for the Ferris wheel is too long.” He knew why he had separated himself from the crowd but assumed the other’s wasn’t similar, but nonetheless slowly turning towards his company. 

→This just in...

Good evening Chicago! We here at ABC 7 just received word that no more than thirty minutes ago, Navy Pier was bombed by an unknown group. As first responders and our fire department battle the flames to help get trapped guests out, the death toll has been marked around 25. This number is expected to climb. Host and notable businessman Rafal Kovali has been transported, alongside his wife. to Northwestern Memorial Hospital following serious injuries in the blast. Details remain murky... 

...Among that missing person list is Zephyr Jackson, local club owner, and Ismael De La Torre, owner of Cargo Exports, as well as....

We urge anyone with information to contact the police department at 911, and will keep you updated as information reaches our news desk.

It didn’t stop there. In the smoke, a few faction members seized an opportunity. Armed and ready, they dragged the unconscious bodies of the Contractor and the Cataclysmic to a nearby van... after all, with the King and Queen near death, it was time to make sure the chain of command toppled in on itself. Cut the head off the snake. They awoke in the Sigara Warehouses, arms and legs bound to metal, with hungry Faction members waiting to pounce for information. Hostages of this level were valuable... and they would make damn sure to squeeze every detail out before disposing them into the river...The Spy looks out at her employers, a noose tightening around her neck to do something.

A most unwelcome fly upon the wall, suddenly mingling unabashedly with the enemy masses; Wesley’s mother had always told her not to attend parties to which she was not invited, but dear mother surely had never expected her to be quite as unwelcome as she was at present. Surely they were all capable of civility -- she certainly was. But at a soiree meant to celebrate the very man who she had put behind bars, and unapologetically so, was something far beyond unwelcome. She could only imagine it to be utterly hostile. 

But she knew that she could not be squashed -- nor could she be silenced. In one hand, quarrelsome fingers tapped upon the neck of a full-to-brim champagne glass, and in the other perched a cigarette, which flew to her lips for a steeling inhale. Perhaps it would be fun to see a scene unfold. 

Or perhaps she would be the scene. Her vivid imagination had already graced her with visions of enacted revenge. But she had forgotten to care, it seemed; she stood before a viperous wonderland, small pad of paper in her breast pocket and her father’s pen tucked within. It burned against her chest, begging to be filled to the brim with secrets and lives laid bare again -- but before indulging, she would need to survive the return of its last victim. The idea of waltzing in on his homecoming, entirely unbidden, made her giddy. Perhaps her pad and pen would indulge that story for the evening. 

“One more for the road,” she hummed in a billow of smoke, voice an unabashed drawl -- she never had quite learned to be quiet -- as she propped the cigarette between her lips once more, “And champagne to wash it down. I knew I liked these parties for a reason.” Her eyes searched the undulating crowd, a shadow chasing shadows -- and dared anyone to meet her gaze. 

“Although, if I’m honest --” her lips quirked up at the corners, “-- it’d go down a bit easier with a beer.”

Crowds of people were a bother. Crowds of people were even more of a bother when they were progressively getting more and more drunk. Perhaps Jasper was a hypocrite for mentally complaining about how much people were drinking and how loose they were bound to become when he, himself, was on his third drink of the night, but he could tell from a quick glance who were going to be the loud drunks and too much of the crowds fit that category. The noise and lights got the better of him, eventually, and Jasper attempted to make his escape to a more reserved part of the pier. Honestly, it’s like they wanted to single out someone who was coming down from a high that spanned hours with the fireworks. He was certainly not about to partake in any of that.

“Fucking... whole goddamn marching band out there with all that noise,” he muttered to himself, lifting his glass up to his lips tip sip enough so the liquid wasn’t in so much danger of slipping out. Jasper had to make that one last. He wasn’t eager to head back into the mass of bodies just yet. Jasper all but threw himself onto a bench along the edge of the hall. There were still people around, to his surprise, but ones that at least appeared more sober than the rest. “As long as no one invites that horrible band to come in here. Really, some people shouldn’t be able to purchase an instrument if all they’re going to make with it is noise.”