     Vinny was consumed by the Chicago Philharmonic; it made him forget about the swaying yacht and the peering eyes. He’d already overheard the voices of what had to be inconspicuous Kovali, whom which he couldn’t recognize due to both their unfamiliarity and masqued faces. Their distrust and overall critique of the prospect even being allowed on the Charon was made crystal clear. For a while he’d be unknown, his flamboyantly colored mask erasing his identity from the crowd, until he had to take the stage in place of the Chicago Philharmonic and create a melodic atmosphere that would keep everyone’s eyes off him. Last minute weren’t the words he’d use to describe his attention toward the party, because before he’d been abruptly asked to cover for the DJ whom had bailed on the event, Vinny had hardly let the matter crowd his mind.
     His fate changed in a split second. It was enough to flare his anxiety and paranoia to extreme levels. He had to treat it like a job— like his normal, unremarkable job. Although there was bound to be unwanted company present. Purgatory was a safe space, filled to the brim with Kovali associates and various untouched citizens of Chicago. It was his job to find a home in a new and uncomfortable environment. He took little solace in the fact that it might not be so hard; he’d been uncomfortable ever since he pulled that trigger at the Taste of Chicago. There was so much unease that he hadn’t noticed the new figure beside him, their consciousness seemingly elsewhere for the time being. Vinny, drink in hand, a horrible way to start the night, turned his head to the side in greeting. “What’s the worst that could happen?” He chatted, nervously before the glass reached his lips.
