#elijah 002.

“Fuck, man. They really made sure there'd be nothin' left of this place, huh?” There was a touch of sincerity in his voice as he aimed his cellphone camera down at another corner of wreckage. Though he wasn’t a Reaper, there was still a small sense of loss he felt walking amongst the ruin. Second Gear Collective had been a staple of the community, a passion project of his oldest friend. Nolan wasn’t the sentimental type, typically one to jump at opportunity more than sit in empathy, but considering the circumstances it was hard to not feel a bit of both. Especially when CC had been in the line of fire when everything went down (no pun intended). “You haven’t been talkin’ to any insurance scumbags, have you? Sneaky bastards’ll try anything to try and bait you.” He checked, stepping over a small piece of fallen machinery. “Wife and kids okay?"

"Bro, can you tell these fucking half-wits they call doctors that I can't stay here for another week?" The male pleaded the moment the MC President entered the room, obviously frustrated with the most recent news pertaining to his condition. Stable, yes, but considering the extent of his injuries, he'd been to stay under the hospital's care for a bit longer in order to monitor his recovery, ensure there weren't any adverse reactions after his last surgery. It was, realistically, the best news he probably could have received, given their confidence in his recovery -- but to Jackie, it wasn't enough. "This is fucking ridiculous, E. There's not enough morphine in the world to make me wanna stay here -- I got too much shit to do."

when: 10:21pm

"I thought the dress code was a fucking suggestion." SIlas admits, looking between him and his friend who had clearly interpreted it very differently. Elijah looked more classically compliant to a black tie event while Silas was pushing the limits one mesh-shirt-visible tattoo at a time.

( What could they do about it? Throw him overboard? )