#event two.

If it had been up to him, Eoin would be high in 'his' apartment right now, getting high beyond reason so he doesn't have to go into the so-called 'roaring 20s' sober. God, that would be the absolute worst-case scenario, and the thought alone is almost enough to piss him off. But it's not up to him. He stands on Navy Pier, leaning his forearms on the railing, because he's invited here by a certain wild-haired person. Well, not invited so much as he's lured; they claimed the invitation was passed because he's the 'best fighter they know' and something is 'bound to go down tonight'.

It's a New Year's Eve party, Eoin thinks, sceptical. What could possibly go down that requires my kind of fighting? But it's a question he didn't and doesn't ask. Instead, he looks out at the lake, into the nothingness beyond the lights of the pier. Shae is about thirty feet behind him, talking to people — Eoin doesn't know whether they know them or not and frankly, isn't quite that interested either; he can do without meeting new people today, which is why he promptly walked away when they were stopped.

A sigh escapes him and out of Shae's warming range, it crystallises upon the frigid Chicago air. The leather coat he's wearing blocks most of the winter's bite, and Eoin is equal parts thankful and uncomfortable by Shae's Christmas gift. He'd told them upon receiving it that there's no way he isn't going to leave it with holes, however; and surely, the edges of the sleeves already show signs of his corrosive nature wearing into it, and it's only been five days. No way they'd be able to return it.

thank god freddie knows this scene -- he gets you all in for free with a few well placed words, a winning smile. you all try not to notice how ashamed of himself he looks afterwards and push through the throngs of people into the crowded club. it seems not even murder most foul can scare partygoers from the maw of midnight tease.

the bartender also recognises freddie and prior, perking up and placing glasses in a neat row before him. "hey," he breathes, only to deflate when freddie waves him off.

"strictly business," freddie says, without sitting down. "were you working the night caleb todd was murdered?"

the bartender looks taken aback, glancing around the group for a lifeline. when he's given none, he sighs, starting to stock the glasses away. "yeah."

"okay," freddie says, nodding his head as if something has been established. "elle, emmett and i will stay here and ask you a few questions, if that's okay. we're on alice's legal team. everyone else -" he's addressing the rest of you now, turning with kind eyes on each and every face, "- can you see if anyone knows anything? some of these guys are regulars. they might have been here, or something."

you split up neatly, asking anyone and everyone about alice dubois and caleb todd. some were there, some were not - even so, everybody has something to say.

rich, jake and brooke ask a girl in a sleek silver dress, who gives her answers between sips of a blisteringly red cocktail. “around an hour after they say it happened, i was talking to maria in the bathroom,” she jerks her head towards the door to the female’s toilets, dimly lit, next to the rear entrance of the club. “beatrice came in while we were washing our hands and we talked about ally. i asked if she was okay, and they said she wasn’t answering their calls. that’s all i know.”

tom, prior and burns try their luck with a bouncer, who has this to say: “i saw alice leave through the front entrance in a bad way. crying, and all. i told her to go to the cab station ‘round back and wait to be picked up, get herself home. she went around. from what i hear, caleb went through the back exit to catch up with her. that’s all i saw before al was all over the news.”

veruca is drawn to a huge circle of people around one of the booths in the club. sat stiffly, looking irritated, is connor brannigan, who had arrived earlier than everyone else. everyone knows him -- his grandfather is on the forbes 100, after all. connor is alice’s best friend, so veruca assumes connor would be willing to talk -- instead, veruca is met with a snap. “they’ve got the wrong person,” connor says, and the sincerity of the statement flashes in his eyes, “and if you think otherwise, i’m done talking to you. all of you.” the crowd dissipates not long after.

no one else seems to have anything worthwhile to say. mystral is roped unwillingly into a conversation with a blonde girl holding a martini glass, who slurs something along the lines of “ i wasn’t here that night, but i really don’t think they should keep the cab station so close to that alleyway any more. who knows what could happen while you’re waiting to be picked up?” safe to say, he isn’t exactly interested.

michael is collared by another gossip. “i heard some really unfortunate things about her childhood,” they say, flicking curls from their eyes almost flirtatiously. no one in san francisco, it seems, understands the concept of time and place. “it’s a known fact most murderers aren’t raised right.”

anyone asking young men what they think of the situation seem to be met with the same, offhand, sleazy response: “it’s a shame, about alice. she was always up for a little fun.”

When the fire dies and the smoke fades, Eoin finds himself leaning against an embering police cruiser, panting and nearly unable to keep himself standing. He's given his all. Everything in his body is aching — if he's bleeding, then he honestly hasn't noticed yet — the coat Shae got him is all but disintegrated from the fight, and the dead are strewn across the street. Even as his gaze slides along the carnage he and Kerberos sowed, he doesn't find it in him to care. There's no guilt at lives lost. There's no churning of the stomach at the smell of death, singed hair, and burnt tissue. A flutter pride, though. They came in full force, and they lost.

Even the cold January air biting into his skin doesn't faze him. Instead, Eoin digs two fingers into the front pocket of his jeans, tearing his gas mask from his head at the same time; it finds itself on top of what's left of the car as he brings a joint to his lips. Once more his hands drop, patting himself down for the zippo he's had for the better part of a decade now. A sharp and annoyed sigh escapes him; he left it on the counter. Usually it's in his pocket, but he'd taken all his belongings out of his pockets to put them in the ruined coat. He'd forgotten it.

His head drops back onto the cooling metal of the car, eyes still closed. Just his fucking luck. Is it socially acceptable to ask a bystander for a light after you've effectively massacred a whole block? Eoin knows the answer should probably be obvious, but he honestly doesn't know if it were yes or no. What is socially acceptable anyway? He feels like an alien on a different planet at the best of times, just trying to imitate what he sees around him and failing.

Still leaning there, he doesn't notice the approaching figure until a hand wraps around his arm and he's dragged away from the car. Exhaustion makes itself known in stumbling steps, and the twist and push against the arm is less energetic and vicious as it might normally be. "Who th—” He starts the question but doesn't finish it.

Hyperion… looks a state. In Eoin's opinion, he always looks very put together, and this is just… not. The man looks like someone tried to drown him, and, glancing towards the water, Eoin wonders if someone did, or if it was voluntary. He can't imagine putting someone like Hyperion into something as conductive as water is the smart, healthy decision for anyone forcing him into it. Like trying to drown a toaster oven in a bathtub.

This had been planned; Eoin's not stupid. There's a reason he's here, and although he didn't know what that reason might be before shit went down, he understands now. If he says he's not the slightest bit annoyed with Shae, it would be a lie; this is Benjamin Granger antics all over again, and while he's not too worried about the murdering aspect, he is annoyed at the part where he's left in the dark about it and used. God, he hates being used so much. He's nothing more than his fists and his acid, and while he should be content with that, he's not. It's fucking annoying.

But he's here now, and police isn't being discriminate about which mutant they target and which they leave. They're all the same to them, and frankly, the feeling is mutual. The moment shit hit the fan, the first thing Eoin did was put on his mask; he knew there was going to be a fight, and since he doesn't fight fair, he knows to come prepared for his own violence.

The police cruiser screeches to a halt and Eoin slides along the hood of it smoothly to the other side, grabbing the officer coming out of it and twisting him so his back is turned to him. The sound of gunfire rises through the chaos and Eoin catches them all with the meat shield in front of him, promptly letting the now-dead body drop on the ground. With lightning speed movement, Eoin is on the roof of the car; the officer on the other side has only seconds to gasp before the mutant's hand has burnt through the back of his skull, and with a sharp yank, rips a handful of grey matter away for good measure.

There's no coming back from that one.

He ducks once at another shot fired, and looking over at more advancing officers, Eoin quickly realises that he's outnumbered. If he was anyone else, maybe it'd put the fear of death in him. But area of effect is his game, and abhorrent gruesome murder his name, and who is he to deprive these pissant fucks of either?

Standing up on the roof of the car, he descends a torrent of corroding gas upon his would-be killers, and within seconds he can hear the gagging and coughing as they're forced to either flee or, if they're lucky enough, die. Even as the torrent keeps pouring from his hands, Eoin hops off the police car.

             GLENWOOD EVENT NUMBER TWO !            ( image above is not ours and we do not claim it to be )

as we all know christmas is approaching us and fast! before we know it, the day will be here. in honor of the day and christmas eve, glenwood will be having an UGLY HOLIDAY SWEATER PARTY ! 

hosted by  jai demora & lucien kovac !!

this will be held on  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15th from 8om ( est ) until midnight 

the bar will close early so employees can show up and have a good time

food and drinks will be provided by gatto’s bar !

you are not required to wear a holiday sweater but there will be a contest held to see who has the best one. ( winner get’s a $100 visa gift card )