#ext. outside

Kerem stood at the edge of a crumbling building, hands trembling, not with fear but with adrenaline that pulsed through her veins like wildfire. This was, without a doubt, the most scared Kerem had been in his fucking life. He was man enough to have control of himself, so his shoulders hadn't completely seized up, and yet, as he took a step forward, he could feel the panic rising. Whatever this meeting was, it would end one way or another. Had Emine and his relationship with the Russians already burned up? Kerem had always been one to offer solutions, to find a way out of the most tangled of situations because he’d never truly had the status in his father's shadow.

How did he approach him? Remaining near the entrance, he rapped his knuckles against the metal. This, this was the least volatile way. And yet, as he peered into the dark of the practically derelict building: he saw nothing. Heard no one.

"Hello? Mr Vorshevsky?"

"Looks like both of us have a death wish." he shouldn't fucking be here. Wrong place, wrong time. Exits, marked. Strategy to actually leave? Nil. He had to ride this out. "Not a good place to be."

Rutherford territory. He was out here looking for his brother.

I'll go for a nice walk, he'd thought, what a wonderful idea, he'd thought.

However, when he'd rounded the corner, and spotted Giordana walking directly towards him, by some horrible turn in fate. Panic. Fuck. He still wasn't at full capacity, and while Benjamin knew he could fight: he was no match for her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck my life.

With his stick in hand, he turned, and as quickly as he wished he was moving: he hobbled in the direction he'd been heading from.

Back towards the fucking secluded lake.

For obvious reasons, she'd kept her distance.

It came with great difficulty. It seemed everywhere she'd turned on night one, there'd been such a mass of them that she couldn't escape. In the end, she'd resolved to spend a good portion of her night sat on a log, some way up the trail trying to get herself into something akin to coherence.

This time, however, she'd have no such luck. A one-on-one encounter. Wonderful, she internally jibbed at herself, forcing what looked to be the fakest attempt at any smile, ever. "Spencer, it's nice to see you." she prayed that Gideon was close by because she wasn't sure she could handle the both of them right now. "I see you've got a better fashion sense today."

"If you've come to warn me about hurting your brother, too, you don't have to bother." A hiccup broke free from her lips, as she turned her head towards Damon, and offered a weak smile that bordered on...confused. Amélie didn't know how to act with the things she knew...didn't know how to feel. She didn't wait, taking another swig. It was some part of self-pity, the other was gut-wrenching guilt.

For being here, around these people. And doing nothing about it.

She was the casualty of consequence.

A term that both she and Benjamin had found themselves in deep discussion when they'd driven here together. And now, she knew it to be more relevant than she'd felt realised in a while: the shift could be felt, even at the party, and while she'd tried to drop it, unfortunately, her job as second meant it wasn't often that she got to leave the world behind and relax.

Karma was either coming for her, or it was on her side...she hadn't quite figured out which one. But Benjamin's injury had put a lot of things into it's own mini-tornado...and she wasn't a happy lady. And yet, here, she was told...enjoy the fruit of their labours for offering themselves over for charity. Melissa did this for saving face, more so than joy.

The only problem with that? Relaxing brought too much to mind. She couldn't busy those racing thoughts with work. And without her phone, Carla wasn't a text away. She felt like a cripple without a cane.

She was avoiding the tent, at all costs. Though, as the hour got later, and more groups found themselves in merriment she'd already grown tired of for the first evening: she'd found herself sitting here, alone, eyes staring into the fire as she tried to quieten that unending thunder.

However, looking up from the fire, she found her eyes landing on the looming figure of Ayaz, peering up as she let her vision adjust and surprisingly (even to herself) she smiled. "You're still alive. Okay, good. Lara would be insufferable if something happened to you."

Kerem had seen Viktoriya sit down some ten minutes prior, and from the look of it: she'd needed exactly what he had...peace and fucking quiet. Not only were both his ex-fiancés in attendance, but a list of people who hated, which was ever-growing.

Not that he cared, well...he did, but that was beside the point -- his choice had been made, and there wasn't a chance to renege now.

Instead, he'd left the comfortable silence to be exactly what it was. Just that. Over the course of that time, he'd almost opened his mouth a grand total of six times, before it fell closed in fear of unsettling what was currently planning out to be nice. Not everyone had migrated over yet, and he was thankful for that. The evening had turned cold, more so, because the sky was clear and as his eyes looked above, he found nothing but the glare of London's light pollution bleeding through.

"You'd think on a place this big that we'd get better views." And while better than in the main city, it still left a lot to be desired. "House is nice, though...could half a fuckin' borough in it though." he wasn't sure if Vika would take the bait, their last conversation hadn't smelled of roses, but it'd been nothing close to dire.

If Lara could go for her brother, she could go for hers.

Childish? Maybe. But when Odile set her sights on something, she was often more hellbent on making sure it stuck, than anything else. It was like a hyperfixation that only lasted the time they were in the same space, but it dissipated this fast.

And he was easy on the eyes, that much she could attest too.

She cared little that most around her were dressed to the occasion of the event, while she, unable to ever truly let herself relax, had found her entire wardrobe sitting on her bed before she'd come to the decision of this -- first world socialite problems.

It hadn't taken too long to find the son of the man's estate they were all currently lodging in. Spencer would be close by, no doubt, and that alone was enough reason to draw her towards their ever-growing circle. But it was the dark hair framing blue eyes that she scanned for, once, then twice, until she settled upon him.

It'd taken ever less time for her to close the distance, until she was coming up on his side, and the corner of Odile's lips were tilting upwards. "Gideon," she called, voice lulling into something softer than she's used too. "I thought I'd come over, on behalf of my family and thank you for lending the estate for this wonderful event." Because she sure as fuck wasn't saying that to Lara. "And, I know this might be out of place, but I never miss a chance..." gesturing to his attire. "Spectacular, if I do say so myself."