WHERE:  The Deadly Seven. 

WHEN: July 3rd, 17:05.

Masha Vetrova pulled over right in front of the entrance to the Deadly Seven. Anyone watching would have marvelled at her grace, noticed the sight of the motorcycle seemingly driving itself. She slid off the bike and walked though the doors with the air of someone who owned the place -- which she did. Masha didn’t make a habit of visiting the club, left the business under Ryker’s eye. The dealings of the club were one of the aspects of her job (read life) she didn’t particularly  enjoy, but business was business. And money was money. 

Today though, as she weaved through the still-empty club, her mind wasn’t on the accounts. Her face was as neutral as ever but there was an impatience to her precise footsteps. Two days after an ‘incident’ and this is what she still had to deal with. As if her days weren’t busy enough. “Gabriel”  (she refused to use his codename) she called out sharply as she approached the bar. She cut the music off with a glance at the speaker for good measure, brought the lights up to a level unusual for such a glamorous establishment. She wasn’t sure where he was, but her voice tended to be unmissable. “My festival,” she continued, addressing an empty room as she leant against the bar, “I didn’t see you there. Explain - 10 words or less.” Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if he’d be in attendance, but her all-seeing eyes hadn’t landed on him. Such things had seemed trivial after.. well. But her order of attendance, she thought, had been unambiguous. Things were getting dangerous in Rosnovy - a pawn out of place (even if it was Gabriel) was not only irksome, but potentially detrimental. She shrugged off her jacket,  tap, tap, tapped her booted foot as she waited.