Nemo Saltat Sobrius, Part III


aviators2_icon.gif bing_icon.gif danko3_icon.gif faye_icon.gif kaylee2_icon.gif lancaster_icon.gif logan_icon.gif magnes_icon.gif nicole2_icon.gif noriko_icon.gif peyton_icon.gif raith_icon.gif sarisa_icon.gif sasha2_icon.gif wendy_icon.gif

Scene Title Nemo Saltat Sobrius, Part III
Synopsis On the night of its grand opening, the rooftop of the Corinthian Hotel provides a place for New York City's ne'er-do-wells to gather en masse. What happens is probably what you would expect.
Date February 22, 2010

The Corinthian: Roof

An exposed landing of concrete and iron makes up a generous offering of space when one reaches the rooftop. Thick and artful concrete walls visitors off from a sharp drop at two sides of the square courtyard, and the slope of roofing crowding against the others. Snow pads thickly in concrete corners, railings damp to touch and useless seating areas made from black iron are soaked and dotted in ice, used by no one. There are places to snub cigarettes (though people do litter, smears of ash on the ground and cigarette butts stuck in snow) and one can participate in such a vice while simultaneously escaping the inside and enjoying the sight that spreads out before them.

The view beyond afforded to the rooftop of the Corinthian displays the best and worst of New York City. By daylight, the Hudson River twinkles blue and grey, and by night, it's an inky snake of water, wetly textured and glinting with star shine and city light pollution beamed back at it from the clouds. The other side shows the sprawl of Central Park, an incredibly generous backyard, green until it slowly reaches the decay of a rotten city center. One can see the beginnings of ruin from this height, yellow cranes in a limbo of construction gathered with shattered, gutted buildings.

It's raining.

Misting, really. The heavier stuff falls on the greenhouse on the other side of the hotel and creates a symphony of glass drumbeats against the conservatory where the Corinthian's rose garden is housed. Up here, the roof's round turrets provide shelter from the elements, making it a perfect place for those who have grown weary of the crowds to enjoy a breath of chilled winter air or a lit cigarette.

Unfortunately, there are so many people at the gala tonight that a significant percentage of the men and women in attendance all had the same idea at one point or another — throughout the evening, there have been no less than two dozen or so figures milling around the roof in their heavy coats, some lined with wool and others trimmed in fur, as well as leather gloves, rich cashmere scarves and other expensive finery fit for and suited to New York's social elite.

If Daniel Linderman and Angela Petrelli are king and queen of the city, then the people up here, in the ballroom below and scattered throughout the hotel's narrow corridors and softly-lit passageways are its nobility. Viscounts, duchesses, earls and the rare baronet — there is no way to know how important any one individual is at a glance. No one wears their status on their sleeve, but some are dressed in clothes more elegant and ornate than others.

Take the man with the scruffy brown beard and eyes like flakes of ice, for example. His coat, although double-breasted and spun from durable wool, is not the same level of quality as the jacket worn by the Chinese hunchback looming protectively over him which is ridiculous when you think about it, really, because Bing is supposed to be Sasha's bodyguard and not the other way around. The Russian fixes Bing with a disparaging look as he takes a long, slow drag from his cigarette, then asks, "Where did you get that, anyway?"

Noriko is just wearing a light coat over her frame to protect herself from the chill, not too worried about the rain. Indeed, the hydrokinetic came outside because it was raining, feeling a deep and calming connection when her elemental is all around here. A feeling that is usually reserved for when she is swimming or in the shower. Those who peer close enough at her, will probably notice her dry state in the rain, even if she is keeping her control as close to her as she can. Regardless, as she smells cigarette smoke floating across the roof, she fumbles about in her pocket to find her own pack and lighter, lighting it and taking a drag while she stands there, feeling somewhat uncomfortable all dressed up. She had secured tickets in the hope of bringing Bella with her, but with Bella saying that she wanted to put things on hold, Noriko is here alone. Unwilling to let the tickets just go to waste.

"Zhongguo laide. Chinese labor is cheap. Wo zhen xihuan." Bing's Mandarin accent is barely there, but he seems to be the inverse of some of the expatriates you might have met insofar as that he seems to favor speaking his home tongue with a sprinkling of English rather than the other way around. His meaning is obvious enough: he stops and preens slightly when his coat is asked after, running one boxy, callused hand down a smooth woollen lapel.

It isn't highly decorative, but it is formal black, tidily cut to his massive frame other than the awkward bunching of fabric around the ruined line of his spine. Bing stoops his hawkish nose down to study himself. "Yiqian, women zai Zhongguo zhende you zuihao de wuhui. It was even nicer than this in the homeland. I miss being well-funded." Possibly, that's a hint. There's a square-jawed smile to go with it, as he casts his eyes over the revelers in the rain.

Cigartette. Wendy needs a smoke, to quell the tremors and calm herself. Red gown, matching gloves that disappear up into the sleeves of a black fur coat and appropriate evening makeup, the artist, socialite, businesswoman peels out from the exit and onto the roof, pulling open her clutch so that she fish a slim white stick from her it. A lighter follows soon enough, thumb depressing the wheel and producing flame as Wendy finds something to lean against and suck in that first lungful of nicotine. God, she forgot how dreadful these functions could be and the only thing that kept her from running off really was the sheer amount of evolveds present. Not enough quite yet to send her running but it was a surprise how many of the demi-monde were. There were at least two fucking empaths. Speaking of those, Wendy glances around, gauging her internal radar, eye's flickering to Sasha and then Bing. Follow by Noriko. Pulls in all directions, though Sasha and Bing could be one for how close they are.

The roof, the roof, the roof is not on fire. And at present time, the roof is the only place in the Corinthian that Jensen Raith cares to be. He's not ready to face the crowds below. At least not until he's certain of where he needs to be. But hey, what's the worry in the meantime? It's been years since he's had any occasion to wear a tuxedo. It's been even longer since he's been able to stand on the roof of a hotel, wearing a tuxedo, dry martini in one hand and cigarillo in the other. Too nice an event for full-sized cigars. In any case, he's present to do more than drink and smoke.

"Well, well, well, fancy seeing a familiar face all the way up here," he remarks as he approaches, perhaps surprisingly to anyone in the know (and up on the roof, there is nobody in the know), Sasha from the side and from slightly behind, "You know, that monkey suit really isn't your style, monkey boy. You should really consider changing. Right now, in fact." And all the while, he still keeps his voice low enough so as not to sound as though he aims to start a fight. Which he might, in fact, be aiming to do regardless. It's Raith, who can tell?

Sasha has possibly never been well-funded, or at least not in comparison to his companion. That English is the common language tonight does not matter, either; it isn't his first, and any hints Bing might try to subtly drop are not caught. Or maybe they slip through his proverbial fingers on purpose. Whatever he'd been about to say in regards to the money their employer is paying them — or Bing's perceived lack thereof — is cut abruptly short by the low growl of Raith's voice.

"Jensen," he greets, and his voice is as cool as his pale eyes. "Just the man who I was hoping to see."

Noriko turns a little as she hears Raith's voice, raising an eyebrow as she takes another drag from her cigarette. For now, she resists the urge to play in the rain, despite it being a rather strong one. She seems to remember someone warning her about showing off with her power, but its a dim and hazy memory. Her eyes close for a moment, just sensing the water in the atmosphere.

Laughter isn't quite the expected sound to ever have been coming from Sarisa Kershner, let alone giddy laughter like some high school girl on a prom date. That bubbly sound can only possibly come from having been drinking, and it's no surprise when she shoulders her way out through the door onto the roof that she's still carrying a glass of champagne in one hand. The laughter has, admittedly, a somewhat playful quality to it, which is otherwise also entirely outside the realm of reality for the tall blonde that it's emanating from.

Like seeing a tiger without its stripes or a shark without its teeth in, Agent Kershner looks decidedly harmless when outside of a suit designed to emphasize shoulders and height and sleek lines like some sort of business battle suit. Instead, the backless black gown she wears is perhaps a little under dressed for the frigid rooftop. She fails to notice.

"Keep laughing like that and I might give you more reason to…" The voice following Kershner out onto the roof is a sly and understated one, and the slick black tuxedo seems to give him a look of class and charm that the CIA operative known by most as "Aviators" would never attribute to him. "…Unless that's part of your plan, or am I the one getting you drunk it's so hard to tell."

Avi Epstein looks unlike himself tonight, all dirty smiles and without his eponymous sunglasses anywhere in sight. Hands tucked into the pockets of his tuxedo's slacks, he emerges out onto the roof without a jacket and without much heed to the cold. He doesn't seem to feel it, and his apparent date — or date in progress — doesn't seem to notice it consciously

"I'd be careful I consider parabellum rounds foreplay," Sarisa admits with a toothy smile, wobbling just a little before Aviators has a chance to lean in and steady her with a hand on her shoulder, guiding her right past Raith and Sasha and Bing without a peripeheral heart attack. They've blended into the crowd of smokers enough that his current fascination with the way Sarisa's mind and body seem to be in disagreement on registering the cold takes the fore; or seems to at the very least.

"I figured that out." Aviators states with a dry tone of voice, making his way across the roof towards where Sarisa eventually comes to stand by the icy railing, her light hair catching beads of water from the misting rain, more beading on her shoulders and darkening the fabric of her dress. "You know you're going to regret having this much to drink tomorrow… or sooner, depending." One dark brow raises as he comes to a stop behind her, laying a hand on the agent's shoulder to turn her around, the other trying to tactfully take the champagne glass out of her hand.

Sarisa precariously leans back against the railing, lifting the glass up like it's some kind of game of keep away. Her smile turns predatory from teasing when Aviators leans in to try and steal the glass away from her, and Sarisa is winding fingers around the front of his jacket and pulling the agent closer, leaning up to — somewhere in Raith's mind his world is shattering — brush her nose across Aviators' and forcibly draw him into a kiss. There's a clear deer in headlights look from the older man as his eyes go wide and she upends the glass and pours the rest over the roof's edge, then wraps an arm around his shoulders an disengages from his face, brows furrowed.

"Please," Sarisa grouses against his comment, "I know exactly what I'm doing."

One can only hope.

An hour or so into this thing and Logan already craves a smoke. He'd considered quitting at some stage during his hospital stay but that failed around when, once he'd limped his way out under Nicole's supervision, had promptly lit up. One day he will. It'll be awesome.

Right now, only steam flows out upon an exhale as he struggles one handed with the act of lighting up — the other hand clutches a glass of red, so Logan swiftly moves off towards where a concrete railing separates him from a deathly drop down the side of the hotel, sets down the glass, and shields the flick of the lighter from the misty, restless air. A slight shiver accompanies the action, having left behind his coat, but considering he started early when it came to drinking, Logan probably has some fortitude against it.

Rain dotting the elegent shoulders of his dinner jacket goes ignored — after you first enter a room, it doesn't really matter what you look like. The suit is undeniably purple. A rich and dark shade, twilight-like and hedging towards formal, but still purple, peaked lapels resting flat and showing off satin lining of the shame shade. It hangs unbuttoned over a shirt and waistcoat of charcoal black, the latter given definition and finery by glimmering golden pinstripe, metallic tone matching the three buttons on each jacket cuff. The tie is a similar shining shade of gold, tied neatly and tucked prim into the black and gold worsted wool. Patent leather shoes end the ensemble, oily slick and patterned in tortoiseshell, gold capping the pointed tip and rimming the heel.

Letting out a mushroom cloud of smoke, Logan picks up his glass and takes a generously deep sip of the red, and taps already dying, embering ash into snow.

A small man is addressing them. Bing turns his head to look, slight annoyance fiddling into the knit of his black eyebrows at his clever ploy at improved salary being interrupted. He fixes Raith with small, dark eyes, and the smile on his face looks anything but happy, but anything but insincere; sharks have their faces permanently contoured into shapes not unlike the one he's wearing his in.

His hands bunch into hard-knuckled fists at his side, and he glances at Sasha: a query that he doesn't actually have to translate to words aloud, and he doesn't. 'Just the man I was hoping to see.' Kozlow is as likely to say that to someone before knocking them into the semi-literal guillotine or because he genuinely hopes to engage them in verbal conversation. Bing pulls back a half-foot, ceding healer and ex-CIA agent their conversational space while he looms in the background as a thug ought.

Hellooooo there and Hel- oh. Him. Wendy looks over towards Sarisa and Aviators when they decide to canoodle not far from her, the pair getting a brow raise even as she blows out a plume of smoke out of the side of her mouth followed by a glance to Logan. Of course he'd be here. Linderman gala and all. She stabs out her half consumed smoke in irritation, tossing it into an appropriate recepticle before easing away from the wall so that she can carefully ease her way towards the two being intimate. "pardon me, Don't happen to have the time do you?" A gentle touch to sarisa's bare shoulder to get her attention before pulling away, and is asked of the pair. "I forgot my phone at home and I need to keep an eye on the time. I'd appreciate if you could tell me at all" To those who don't know her, she's just asking for time, Logan however knows likely what she's doing. Touch slut.

It's hard- impossible, really- for Raith not to notice when two very familiar voices work there way onto the rooftop. Just like it's hard not to notice when Sarisa Kershner is, in violation of every natural law ever written, lip-locked with someone who is not… a magazine ad? What does she even go for. The fact that 'risa Dearest is tongue dancing with Cousin Avi is what really takes the cake. "Christ, this whole hotel is turning into Melrose Place," he says, pausing to take a good, long draw from his cancer stick.

"You see them over, monkey boy?" Raith says to Sasha while pointing, or sort of pointing with his glass, as if this sort of thing were- gasp- normal, "Those two? There are only two explanations. Either both of them are very, very drunk, or one or both of them is a clone. I'm leaning towards the clone theory, myself, and I'm sure you agree with me."

For normal men, that might be the end of it, or at least the start of a normal conversation about something. But this isn't a normal man. This is Jensen Raith. "Come on. Let's go fuck with them."

It doesn't take long for Nicole to scan the rooftop to find her date. While the two arrived together, they quickly separated so that he could mingle and she could make sure that everything was just so in the French restaurant downstairs as a point of pride.

One might expect Nicole Nichols to be dressed in something conservative, with a high neckline and a full back, in a shade of tasteful, classic black, perhaps paired with a cape. Something that would have been right at home in the 1960's, the way the bulk of her formal work fashions are. This time, they would be wrong.

To the contrary, the gown Nicole wears is a deep, rich purple, matching the twilight hue of her date's suit perfectly. The bodice is ruched fabric, contrasted by gold beading that makes up the halter neckline and a thick X criss-crossing over her stomach, leaving most of it bare before the lower portion of the X opens into a floor length, draping skirt. The nice part about being a bit on the tall side for a woman, and her date being somewhat on the opposite end of that spectrum for a man, is the ability to forgo high heels - or heels of any sort - in favour of a pair of gold flats.

To ward off the misting rain, moreso than any lingering chill in the evening air, Nicole wears a black cloak with glittering gold trim and a golden clasp at her collarbone, leaving the modest cleavage created by the cut of her gown visible. The hood is pulled up to protect her hair style and all the hairspray that's holding it in place. Nestled up against the boufant-esque volume of dark hair is a sparkling tiara. Every girl needs to feel like a princess once in a while.

A flute of champagne in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other, Nicole approaches Logan with an easy smile. One that suggests relief. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she offers as a greeting. "Could I get a light?"

Noriko blinks as she hears a familiar voice making a very infamiliar sound. She's mostly used to hearing Sarisa read from a briefing about what happened in her life since she lost her memory. Or rather, Sarisa decided that it was trash, not that Noriko really knows that. But for now, however, she knows that Sarisa wasn't entirely truthful about everything that happened to her, and that makes her a smidge mad. Just a smidge.

So, the petite asian (except in one department) begins walking towards Sarisa, putting on a smile and then saying, "Hello Agent Sarisa."

Affronted is not an expression that is commonly found on Sasha's face, but there it is. His eyebrows go up, his lips thin out and he draws his head back like a leering snake with its top half winding up from the bottom of a wicker basket, lid off. He doesn't recognize either Sarisa or Aviators. If he did, he'd be steering Bing toward the exit leading into the nearest stairwell without paying any heed to who he might accidentally knock over the rail along the way.

"We most certainly will not," he hisses under his breath, the instruction meant for Bing as much as it is Raith. Playing mind games with Gillian and Eileen in the latter's apartment is very different than picking fights with people who may or may not be government employees at a formal function taking place in a country he illegally resides in.

Oh yes, he does see Wendy, once Logan turns to rest his back against the concrete. The woman is a tall one, after all, easily picked out in the scattering of people, but she gets kind of a roaming glance and not much else, though the line his mouth makes is a severe one. There's two seconds of awkwardness when he realises that he's standing out here alone with his wine and his cigarette, and how that might look, when Nicole— fabulously— saves the day. With an easy smile put on in the same way one might don an accessory, Logan takes his weight off the wall and sets his glass aside. The silver lighter comes out, a hand out as well to shield the flame as he touches it to the end of her cigarette.

"I like your tiara," seems an adequate greeting, voice dry, giving her and her cigarette enough room before dipping in to kiss her cheek. "Good timing, I was just starting to get bored. The company out here is a little lacking," he says, darting a glance around at the rooftop partygoers.

"It's time for you to screw off," Sarisa offers with a flick of blue eyes in a knife-edged he's mine from across the railing. Though after a moment she just bubbles out another laugh and Aviators is left to try and extricate himself from her looped arm around the back of his neck. He offers an apologetic look to wendy, shaking the sleeve of his tux to reveal a Rolex concealed beneath it. Offering a nod of his head out towards Wendy, he just holds out the watch towards her carefully.

"Eight thirty-six," Avi states with implicit certainty, "you should get a watch, and— I apologize for the lady's attitude, she's three sheets to the wi— " Sarisa steps forward with one high heel onto the bridge of Aviators' foot, leaning in to steal a peck off of his cheek before moving around him, catching the full brunt of Noriko Amagi's greeting.

Aviators winces and pulls back his foot once Sarisa steps off of it, brows furrowed and a I should throw you off the roof expression on his face before he glances at Noriko in momentary assessing, then turns to look back to Wendy. "Do you have another?" He motions ot her cigarette, eyes narrowing just a touch.

"Noriko," Sarisa offers flatly, feigning a smile as she takes the rest of her energy to stand without a shoulder wobble. Carefully lifting her hands up, the blonde pulls at the now wet fabric of a sheer scarf wrapped around her throat, and the motion is enough to make Raith's stomach ever so briefly drop before he notices she's just fidgeting with it. The woman's penchant for neckwear isn't solely a fashion statement. "What brings you out to the roof?" Sarisa squints, noticing Noriko's perfectly dry. Hydrokinetics, ffs.

"I would, but someone else got mine" A pointed look towards Logan, but she offers a gracious smile to Sarisa. She got exactly what she wanted and is quite glad she was wearing gloves. One down, many more to go! her notebook will include a great many new entries tonight.

The watch is glanced, to, hand alighting on Epstien's wrist to glance at it then let go. "I have a watch, but somehow, I don't think it'd go with marchesa. Sometimes, one must forgo practicality in lieu of presentation at affairs such as this" She turns away to glance at Sarisa. "And yes, I do. More than happy to share one. I can lend you a few more, tide you through the night. You'll need it" Her clutch is popped open and two more cigarette's are offered up to the CIA agent with a smile. "Anything else?"

For the briefest of moments, Raith simply stares at Sasha. In the next moment, before the Russian knows what's happening, before even the Chinaman knows what's happening, the Remnant leader has dropped his cigarillo to the ground without so much as even stomping it out, and is, with about as much grace and poise as one might expect, gripping Sasha by the hair and forcing him to drink his martini in gulps. "Don't be such a little girl," he says admonishingly, "Your Russian, you wrestle bears!" Any attention this attracts, and it's likely to attract a lot of attention, is immediately ignored. There are more important things to be done here than remain incognito. Like, you know, do something about that damn scarf Sarisa has. This injustice must not go unpunished.

Or, you know. Something.

Noriko grins lightly at Sarisa, noticing the flatness of her tone, taking a drag of her cigarette, she explains concisely, "Its raining, and I like the rain. So much potential in it." She doesnt' expand on what potential it might have, but the Hydrokinetic does understand to treat Sarisa like a pet snake. They still bite. "I was wondering if we might even talk for a bit, now that you've decided to come out to the roof. I can make things a little more comfortable for you, if you need it to stay on the roof." Noriko smiles, her eyes looking over Sarisa's damp outerwear, before it suddenly isn't damp anymore, and there is a soft splash of that water hitting the ground. No one said Noriko couldn't be civilized, she even has the decency to give Sarisa a similar shield.

Nicole blushes at the kiss Logan drops on her cheek, clearly unaccustomed to this sort of attention. At least from him. "Do you like it?" One self-conscious hand reaches up toward the tiara perched upon her head, only fluttering against the hood of her cloak for a moment. "Sissy suggested it. It's not normally my thi-"

The little bit of commotion created by Raith's actions causes Nicole to falter for a moment, fixing a rather nonplussed look toward the two men. "I… Is that anything approaching normal?" Should I be calling security? A long sip of champagne is taken to combat the sudden whiskey-tango-foxtrot vibes.

Lowai. Bing's expression is crumbling slightly around its stoic edges, a mixture of incomprehension and amusement on his raw-boned face. Raith says go, Sasha says stay. Kershner is having her gay make-outs with that guy, and being confronted by a rather infuriated-looking lesbian. Of course, while the Chinese brick is busy looking at how that is going to turn out, Raith is forcing martini down—

What? A watermelon-sized hand shuts on Raith's upper-arm, bunching the fabric of the ex-CIA agent's garment, vise-like strength compacting around his bicep. With his other hand, he blithely swats the martini glass out of Raith's grasp. With enough force, if necessary, to snap the vessel's slender glass stem as if he were picking a bouquet. "Go fuck with them," he suggests, winding the smaller man around as if he were a toy, to face said lesbians and Aviators. He is smiling again, pirhana-like, and harmless.

Don't worry, women in variously offensive shades of purple. EVERYTHING IS FINE. Just: the motherfucking lowai.

Danko has arrived.

There is gin and vermouth running down the bared column of Sasha's throat in fat, ugly rivulets that stain the dress shirt and suit jacket he wears under his double-breasted coat. Tie, too, and that doesn't even belong to him. He sneezes more of the stuff out his nose, coating the back of Raith's head in a fine spray after Bing has turned him around, one arm swung up to scrub furiously at his mouth and nose.

That stings. A lot.

"Svoloch'!" he spits at Raith, his voice low, hissing and harsh. Even in his fury he knows better than to raise it above a certain volume. "There is something wrong with you!"

Commotion does indeed get attention, Logan even craning his neck a little to see. By now, his eyes are an acidic green, comfortably negating Nicole's ability on the off-chance something could go arwy, even out here, and he picks up his red wine to swirl it absently. The purple they happen to be wearing is not offensive, by the way, and nor is one half of the pair particularly worried. "Normal? Yes," he offers. "In this city, at any rate — but look, they're sorting…" …it… out…

…are words Logan doesn't say, falling silent as his squints, now, at the scuffle, especially as Russian hisses loud enough to be heard. Any recognition is indicated only in muteness, expression unchanged, rapid blinks over highlight green eyes that do much to clash— okay a little offensive— with twilight purple. His own cigarette has gone out from the misting rain, forgotten in his hand.

"Yeah, and it has a lot to do with the crushing sensation in my arm," Raith hisses back, albeit in English, "Down boy. Sit." He's doing a fine job of putting up with the abuse, but there's something obviously familiar about the man smashing his bicep. Starting a fight of any sort would be very, very bad, he can just tell. "And he spilled me drink. One of you owes me a marti- you can let go now, seriously."

The shade of purple worn by Nicole and Logan is most assuredly not offensive, thank you. Slowly, the woman is turning her attention back to her date under the theory that maybe if she ignores it (the scuffle), it will go away. A quick study of Logan's expression however causes Nicole to glance around again. "Something the matter?" she asks, casually taking a drag from her menthol cigarette, as though people watching rather than looking for a point of concern.

Hands still locked around his quarry's little twig limb, the Chinese ex-Vanguard operative lets humor seep into his blocky features. He turns his head, perfectly deadpan, gives at Sasha's dampened-kitten frame a speculative stare of perhaps three seconds; asks, "So about that raise."

A beat.

Bing is just kidding! \^_^/ He spins his head back around on its stem, releases Raith in nearly the same gesture that brings the blunt flat of his hand clapping down on the American's upper back, as chummy a hi-ho as you like. By some coincidence (of Bing's being nearly three hundred pounds of muscle and disfigurement), the friendly gesture is enough to rocket Raith a few feet toward Sarisa and company. "Haohaor wan ba!" he suggests, brightly. "Drink for me. Wozai gongzuo. Can't drink on the job."

Now it's time for things to occur before Raith knows what's happening. Unfortunately, that's pretty fast. Sasha is free to remain unmolested- for a few minutes- while Raith is now in the presence of Sarisa Kershner, et alii. He is also now face-down on the rooftop, and not terribly happy about it. "Ow… ow…." Bing is just kidding. Raith thinks he will lie here until the ow stops.

Who's the man with the fuzzy head who tortures evos then kills them dead?


5'7" of 100% condensed bigotry is on his way up the stairs in a tuxedo that's appropriately all shades of sable and jet, from cuffs to collar to immaculate tie and spit-polished shoes. And if the shadows around his face sink and shadow in just a little deeper than the norm, it's hard to tell up here exposed to the night, where the lighting is kind and cold air brushes fondly at the austere sheer of his burr.

He has a flute of champagne in one hand and a cigarette on its way to his mouth in the other, presence negligable on the fringes of peripheral vision likely thanks to the presence of Drinkintheface and Quasimodo.

Snatching the offered cigarette up, Aviators pinches it between his fingers and then just tucks it behind one ear. "Forgo practicality for presentation…" he admits with a nod of his head, glancing over towards the commotion with a furrow of his brows, momentary worry tracing across his face, "Yeah, you know… I think you might be right about that." Avi's gaze levels back over on Wendy, lips crooked up into a smile. "Thanks for the advice…"

Nonplussed by the entire situation, Sarisa tugs one finger at the scarf around her neck and levels a narrowed stare at Noriko. "I'm… well, I'm in a good mood but not a talkative one, maybe we could discuss this sometime closer to nev— " Having moved away from Wendy with his last comment, Aviators slaps a firm hand down on Sarisa's shoulder, one arm looping around her waist before he draws her back and away from Noriko.

"Sorry," There's a look over Sarisa's shoulder to Noriko, and Aviators flashes a toothy smile, "she's not in the mood for candy right now." Sarisa's eyes fall shut at the embrace, drawn back and away from the hydrokinetic, and Aviators turns her around, leading her between a group of smokers and around the cluster of Bing, Sascha and Raith and the rest of the commotion that Sarisa is drunkenly starting to become aware of.

Aviators does his level best to extricate her from the scene before Jensen does anything stupid or Sarisa notices him and does something even more stupid. But as he's trying to keep it clear that he's just dragging his blonde floozy out by the waist, Aviators and his stumbling — and someone drizzled upon — attache come face to face with five-foot-seven of bad timing.

"You." Aviators brows give a twitch, staring down at Emile with a dry, awkward swallow. There's a roll of his tongue over the inside of his cheek, and Sarisa levels blue eyes on Danko, lips curling up into a smile. "Oh, he doesn't look s'bad now does he? I always knew he couldn't— " Aviators squeezes Sarisa's waist tightly, jaws clenched like a steel trap as he flashes a funny seeing you here smile to Emile, and tries to sidestep the shorter man, against //all better judgment.

Because really, it's funny to see him here.

Kaylee has arrived.

Noriko frowns and reaches out to try and grab one of Sarisa's arms. "Without any way of contacting you, I don't think I'm going to get another oppurtunity to talk to you, Agent Sarisa, so, if you would be kind enough," Noriko says, as she attempts to play tug-of-war with Aviators while he drags her away. She doesn't notice Danko, and if she did, he's really just another short bald man to her. Someone else to laugh at behind their back and resist the urge to rub their heads while murmering mystical words to see into the future.

A few minutes is plenty of time for Sasha to extricate himself from the situation before the scales tip again and it is no longer in his and Bing's favour. "Xie xie," he says, and it's the one phrase in Chinese that he knows, the one phrase that his employer made sure was hammered into his head before he threw the suit he's presently wearing into his face and demanded that he get dressed. He may have suggested that he get his drunk ass out of bed first, but Sasha doesn't remember that part. It isn't important.

What's important is getting away, and as tempting as it is to drive the heel of his foot down into the small of Raith's back, he opts to step over him instead on his way toward the exit. Leather shoes crunch through snow — in his haste, he clips Logan's shoulder but does not recognize his face. Probably because he isn't looking at it.
Wendy just watches Avi head on off to Sarisa, brows down, forehead lined, rubbing her thumb against her middle and forefinger. The commotion gaining slight attention thanks to someone down, face first in the rooftop. It's when the cigarette borrower comes face to face with Danko and thanks to the inches of height that she has on most people, wendy's face drains to white and suddenly there's not enough Refrain in the world to counteract what's forced up in her mind or the way she clenches her left hand into a fist. Something's spooked the Hunter Communications representative and completely erased the ease with which the smoke had put her to.

With a small amount of agony, Raith picks himself up off the ground to find, thankfully, that Cousin Avi has done him a favor by leading Sarisa elsewhere. All the better. This allows him time to figure out the next move to make. And also time to figure out what he's going to do about the slightly ripped seam under his left arm. "Shit."

Nnnhh. Logan doesn't answer Nicole, because he's busy being a deer in the headlights, especially because the truck in question is coming right towards— ffss. The Brit manages to keep his expression entirely neutral as Sasha brushes by, unsteady, and he watches him vacate the rest of the way before taking a long enough sip of wine to finish it off entirely. "Me? I'm fantastic," he tells Nicole, setting his empty glass down before studying his cigarette. Deeming it ruined, it's pitched over the side of the roof before he gets out another, movements brisk. There's not much to say, especially not while he's trying to move swiftly in getting his nicotine fix. "Fucking rain, I hate this fucking weather," is muttered around the filter.

Master calls, and mastiff heels. At least, Bing is a good enough person to not step on or over the man he had just discarded facedown on the roof, giving him a courteous wide berth and a brief downward glance, though most of his attention is on his metrosexual Russian guard-ee. He is, after all, on the job and ergo not permitted to partake in various festivities. Like drinking, and gloating, or getting to know fuzzy balds despite that the amount of attention that Danko is commanding from CIA's finest does mark a brief glance of interest.

He'll ask Dreyfus later. "Good evening," he pronounce at Nicole in passing, nodding his boxy head. He shifts after Sasha like a shadow far greater and darker than the object that casts it.

Sasha has left.

Bing has left.

It took a bit of time to search for one particular person, finally she's checking a final place… the rook. Fingers curled into the slate grey, sheer and silk fabric of her dress, silver straped shoes clicking softly. Kaylee makes her way up carefully, blue eyes searching the crowd with a small frown. Manicured fingers, lift to tuck long loose curls over her ear. Of course, the person she's looking for requires she look down. Brows go from a frown to surprise as she spots Jensen Raith on the ground.

What the hell happened to you?

Yes, that question pops in Raith's head as he picks himself up off the ground, Kaylee's mental voice recognizable for the older man. A glance goes towards the retreating Avi, taking a step back, before glancing back to Raith, unsure if she should even get close to him.

Nicole helpfully lifts her cape upward to help further shield the rain from Logan's flame and cigarette as he lights up. Even if the gesture does somewhat resemble that of a stereotypical caricature of a villain. Her eyes track and follow Bing, offering a quick smile in response to his pleasantry. Dropping the cape back to her side, Nicole is quick to put a hand on Logan's arm. She doesn't ask him again if he's okay, but just gives him that physical reassurance that she's here.

With her power negated, the warmth generated by the build-up of electricity within her has been slowly ebbing away. To combat this sudden bit of a chill, Nicole picks up the pace with her drinking, allowing the warm sensation of alcohol in her belly make up for what she now lacks. She also edges closer to Logan, but doesn't quite take up a position as arm candy. Not without invite. "Have you seen the roses yet?" she asks conversationally.

Contrary to expectation, Danko has had a fair amount of experience with the whole socialite 'thing.' His champagne is held just so; Sarisa smiles at him. He smiles thinly back, distinctive brows elevated at an easy slant over eyes of slush and cold cement. One might even deduce some kind've proclivity for dancing in fluid ease with which he box-steps just the right amount sideways to cut off easy exit. In that direction, anyway.

"Sure looks that way," replied in a mild kind of confirmation that he is who he is (as if he could possibly be anyone else) Emile lets his brows twitch into a knit, near pride-stricken concern playing all too earnest into the lines etched fine across his forehead. "Surely you two aren't packin' in early on account've me. Your teeth look fantastic, by the way," he takes a drag on his cigarette, as comfortable amidst sheet-white faces and little tingles of fear up spines as a crocodile in a fetid waterhole, "You'd never be able to tell from down here."

Smoke kicked back out again through his sinuses, he slides a look over Wendy's way like oil over water and lets his smile stretch just a little further sidelong.

"Well, this is most infuriating," Raith remarks about his torn seam. Oh well: Can't be helped, not now. "I am thoroughly put out. Surely, the only cure for this is another drink and a pretty lady to enjoy it with." And with that, he focuses his attention on Kaylee. "You'll do nicely," he says, crooking his arm in the way that a gentleman might when asking a lady friend to walk with him. "Come on, chickadee. Let's blow this banana stand."


As the rooftop fills with people, two more ballgoers head back inside— and are almost swept out of the way by a woman in red. Not a dress, no, but a very elegantly cut scarlet tuxedo. Adrianne Lancaster sets her hands on her hips, almost striking a pose at the warmly lit mouth of the doorway, the white shirt beneath the red open at the collar in unfettered wings of cotton and blowing a little in the wind. An eagle-stare is hawked around the rooftop, before she makes her sweeping way towards where Raith is situated.

He'll never see it coming, unless she does, but she doesn't stop — there's a sudden slap as her hand connects with his butt. "Hey partner," she says. "Long time no see. Hello tiny," is added to Kaylee, then back to Raith. "I smelled overpowering perfume and arrogance and came to investigate, but it seems like Kershner's made a getaway, to my delight."

Giving him an amused look as that arm is offered, one blonde brow arching upward. "Chickadee?" There is a touch of flatness to her tone, but she slips her arm through his, giving him a bat of her lashes. "Oh, hell… why not." You better tell me what happened. Her other hand keeps a hold of her dress so that she doesn't end up tripping on the way back in. "You can buy me a non-alcoho….."

And arrives the woman in the scarlet tuxedo, and literally, Kaylee have place a hand over her mouth to stop the smile at the woman's hands on approach to greeting Raith. "Hello… love the tux." She comments, when her hand comes away, laughter in her voice, but not over the get up. Not at all. "Come on, handsome." Kaylee gives Raith's arm a light tug.

Wendy swallows hard, lifting her chin and staring down danko from across the populated rooftop, nostrils flaring slightly. Take that you mother fucker, while I gather my courage. She stalks away then, off towards it seems, Noriko, brushing against the other woman and carrying without even bothering to stop. She already knows what John does so there's no effort made to go over there, oblivious to the fact that Nicole is an evo. That and she's touched Kaylee before and recognizes the telepath.

Nope, she's heading for Lancaster and Raith and Kaylee. Her hand comes out to touch the scarlet clad womans arm. "Do I need to find someone to get him a towel?" Inquired to the other woman oh so innocently.

"I have not," Logan says, extracting his cigarette midway through those words and breathing out a steady stream of smoke through his nose, though he's distracted — unfortunately unable not to spare glances towards Wendy and her wealthy, colt-limbed self, and the way her expression is getting all pinched and angry and it's not directed at him. Curious. Whatever had shaken up the former pimp seems to be forgotten or at least smoked and boozed away without much effort, tracking a glance to whoever it was that incited that reaction before remembering Nicole, turning brilliantly glowing green eyes back to her. "Oh, but I can't imagine they'd be as pretty as you are," is spoken like a script, allowing for a fleeting smirk.

Raith, honest to god, gives a yip when Lancaster's hand finds its way into contact with his ass. Just another of his quirks. "There's only one woman in the world with the gall to try that…." he says conspiratorially before whirling around to face his assailant. "And there she is! The Rocky to my Adrienne… yeah." Raith has, let's face it, a lot of quirks. "Honey, it's been years, how are you? Don't worry, 'risa Dearest and Counsin Avi have gone off to, whatever." When Kaylee tugs at his arm, Raith is resistant to being moved.

"Hey, not so fast," he says, "You know what they sat, after all. Two company, but three's the musketeers. And there have been a lot more movies about the musketeers than company. My argument is infallible."

Noriko is jostled as Wendy bumps into her and she frowns a little, though Wendy will probably notice that the part that bumped her, kinda became dry. She shrugs her shoulders, however, and lights up another smoke. Eyes looking over the various disturbances as she just falls into lurking on the fringes. Such a natural state for her.

"Hey, hands off the merchandise," Lancaster fairly snarls at Wendy, although her face is pretty impassive as she does it — she's kind of always snarly, and she jerks her arm away from any groping mits on her tails jacket. "I don't need a towel, I'm as dry as the Sahara. Step half a foot back from me, thank you." Hands returning to her hips, she focuses on Kaylee, and then Raith, and a smile will have to be inferred because it never makes it onto her face. "It has been years, you son of a bitch," and she lifts a hand in a fist with the expectation that Raith will dap her. "Frankly, I don't want to know what Epstein and Kershner are off doing even when they're alone. Or especially, for that matter.

"Don't worry, honey," she then tells Kaylee, "the night's young and if Jensen doesn't buy you a drink, I'll make it up to you."

"You don't have to do that, you know…" Nicole's voice drops in volume, her eyes scanning the others gathered on the rooftop rather than actually look at Logan. "I'm not some… one you have to feed lines to." Many other alternative words came to mind to complete that thought, but none of them were very kind to her gender.

Dark brows furrow faintly. Maybe, though, that's all Logan considers Nicole to be tonight. Much like her date, she drops her spent cigarette over the side of the rooftop rather casually. Like it is completely acceptable to drop trash off the sides of buildings. Truth be told, it's out of character for her. "I like you," she says honestly, with some emphasis on the third word in that sentence, "not some lines you come up with."

"Well.. I won't argue you there.. you are much older and wiser then me, after all." Kaylee gives him a sweet smile, patting his arm gently to take the edge off the fact she just called him old. Then she turns her attention to the dark haired woman, "Wendy." Kaylee greets the woman brightly. "Hey… Glad to see another familiar face."

A glance goes to the hand on Lancaster's arm and Kaylee gives Wendy a knowing look, before adding.. glancing at Lancaster, "Totally, alright.. my date is entertaining the female population of the ball, so I figured I'd see who else was about and found this guy." Her head motions to Raith. "I won't be hurt if he doesn't buy me a drink… other fish out there, I'm sure are willing."

Box steps, circling predators fighting over the same meal, two men tied at the wrist and handed knives to fight ot the death, a mating dance; so many steps in nature have that circular shifting. But when Aviators and Danko circle each other, the former laboring to move Sarisa in a timely fashion while Raith is distracted by the zoot suit riot of Lancaster's sudden appearance, the look exchanged between the silent bald faux-socialite and the man he'd last seen in a predicament in Antarctica is settled with noding but a silent nod of affirmation.

Later, it implies. Because right now neither of them are there for the other one, it would seem.

By the time Raith's escorted Sarisa's drunken figure out of the roof and into one of the stairwells, he's trying to get her inebriated carcass as far away from Jensen Raith and whatever gaggle-fuck of chaos is about to be following hot on his heels, because if he knows Jensen — and he does — he didn't come to this gala to schmooze.

He came here to specifically make his life more complicated than it needs to be.

Box steps, circling predators fighting over the same meal, two men tied at the wrist and handed knives to fight ot the death, a mating dance; so many steps in nature have that circular shifting. But when Aviators and Danko circle each other, the former laboring to move Sarisa in a timely fashion while Raith is distracted by the zoot suit riot of Lancaster's sudden appearance, the look exchanged between the silent bald faux-socialite and the man he'd last seen in a predicament in Antarctica is settled with noding but a silent stare.

"Perdition has wonderful dentists…" Aviators offers up quietly, upper lip curling back as if to show those fancy new teeth off; though it's more of a snarl. "You should move." There's a hastened tone to his voice, throat bobbing up and down as he swallows dryly. "I don't have time for this right now." Sarisa furrows her brows, looking a little more woozy than she was a few moments ago, now practically hanging off of Aviators simply to keep her weight up.

"Did…" The blonde offers a side-long look to Aviators, "what did…" her words slur together just a little, and there's the touch of confusion on her face as she tries to parse together something going on inside of her head, but there's a bit of a fog there screwing everything up. Impatiently, Aviators takes a step forward, one of Sarisa's arms now looped around his shoulder and one of his around her waist, keeping her on her feet as best as he can.

"Move." This really isn't the situation Aviators wants to be in right now. Not in the least, and Danko can see in his expression that he's losing that subtle touch of composure the more and more obvious it becomes that Sarisa looks like she's drugged, more so than drunk.

Schoolboy giggling isn't particularly flattering for either of them, especially when it hitches dubiously on an exhale of smoke, closing Logan's throat enough to choke before he waves the moment away with hand and cigarette both. "Sorry, sorry," the Brit says, a hand pressing to his chest. He's not, unable to wipe a grin off his face. "You're being serious, aren't you? Come on." He drops his cigarette, despite it being barely touched, and he smears it under one gold-rimmed heel. "Let's get the dancing part of the evening out the way before we become too standing up falling down sloshed. How's that for a line?" And he offers an arm.

Backpedal, backing up, taking that half a foot is exactly what Wendy does at that itch behind her eyes and a shake of her head. Definitely obeying this person. She offers a smile to Kaylee and skirting around Lancaster, gives kisses in the air to either cheek of the telepaths. "kaylee. I'm sorry, I can't stay I have to go, but I'll see you at the store soon yes?" Stay the fuck away from her eyes.

mission accomplished, and in need and desirous of feeding one addiction since she can't feed the other and it's already making her feel queasy and horrid, she gives a bit of a wave and keeping an eye on Danko, a flicker over towards Logan and his date, she heads out towards the door to get out of the inclement weather, zipping out ahead of Logan and his date and Avi and his.. roofie.

"Well, how d'ya like that, huh?" Raith says as he surveys his immediate surroundings, "I fall down, and women flock around me. Just like… well, okay, that's not really like anything usual so instead of trying to make sense of it, I will simply say it is an absolutely thrilling and pleasant surprise to see a familiar and friendly face. Especially while considering that I'm probably not supposed to be anywhere even close to here but…" offering up a weak shrug and a sardonic smile, what else can Raith do but wryly ask, "Do I not have a history of getting places that I'm not supposed to be getting into?"

Even as he engages lancaster in conversation, however, Raith's divided attention is only half-focused on her; the other half is on the retreating Epstein and Kershner. He can't help but wonder just how much she had to drink. More importantly, however, he needs to be sure they don't get too far away. Without radios to keep in contact with Eileen, it'll be trickier to find them once they get back in with the masses of people.

At first, Nicole is somewhat insulted by the way Logan doesn't take her seriously. But then again, part of her suspects he's not used to women who expect to be taken seriously. At least, not in his company. And so, she forgives him. Maybe it's the champagne, or his smile. Or maybe it's the way that she seems to get lost in those damned eyes of his. At any rate, Nicole is smiling when she takes his arm. "That's more like it."

Wendy has left.

Noriko merely watches from the shadows of the roofs, cigeratte glowing red every time she takes a puff. Her eyes watch the Sarisa, noting the way that she is starting to act, an eyebrow arching up before she shrugs her shoulders not her business. She just smirks, and takes a seat, the rain-water that had collected on the ground moving out of the way for her while she settles in to enjoy her smoke.

"…I see," says Danko, who does see. Maybe a little more than the average partygoer even if he is limited to the visible light spectrum and the thoughts contained within the gently ridged dome of his own skull. Calculation takes the place of alarm or concern, glassy rings of fishy silver and inky pupils reflecting Aviators' irritation at a dull smudge until he gives Sarisa a more thorough looking-over, nose to toes with uncharacteristic emphasis upon her hips. Possibly because they suddenly seem incapable of supporting her weight.

A skeptical glance down the stairs later (there are many of them) and then nearer down to his own post at the top of them in prime kicking position, he angles the edge of his smirk just a touch smug and steps carefully aside to allow the pair of them passage. He is inviting, even, in a passive gesture of his left hand while he sizzles another few millimeters off tobacco off the end of his smoke and narrows his eyes past them at Noriko.

Now there's a slight smile from Lancaster, a wry twist to her mouth as her hands come to clasp behind her back. "You being here isn't at all usual, either," she states. "It's not your crowd, but I'm not a hundred percent clear on what your crowd is anymore, bucky — still, colour me all shades of surprised. But hey, you should go take your little lady out for some dancing before I ask you what you think you're trying to do this-a-way and a whole manner of complicated questions. I've had a hard time running out of those lately, don't you know it."

Logan spares one last glance to where Wendy is making her sashay on out, before laying a hand on Nicole's and guiding her off the cold rooftop once he's sure the power detector has vacated the way completely. He leaves behind an empty glass likely to be knocked over by the next brisk flurry of wind and Italian shoe shaped footprints on the damp concrete.

Logan has left.

Nicole has left.

Returns the air kisses and then watches Wendy go, with an odd expression on her face. "See you at the store.. we'll talk about the gala." Kaylee gives her a wicked grin, even though she still gives the other woman a curious look. Huh. Eyes drop to the ground as she considers the woman's parting thought.

Then Kaylee's attention goes back to Raith and Lancaster, though she ends up looking past them to Epstien and the woman… then there is a blink and narrowing of her eyes when she sees Danko. Lips pressed tight, not a good thing. Not that she can do much about it, she pulls her eyes away from him, to watch Logan leave, before giving Lancaster a smirk.

"I'm already debating heading in and seeing what else is out there." Kaylee says with some amusement.

Noriko feels eyes on her and looks up to see that funny little bald man looking at her weirdly. Granted, she's used to having complete strangers do that to her, or at least, look at her weird and she doesn't know why. Too many strokes are bad for your mental health. She offers Danko a wane smile, before asking, "Do I know you?"

Turning to angle a side-long look at Danko, Aviators' brows furrow and that snarling expression fades down. Their eyes remain locked on one another for a moment, and with Wendy's cigarette still tucked behind his ear, Aviators moves around Danko's side-stepped periphery, watching him all the while as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. By now, Sarisa seems to be having trouble keeping her eyes open, tongue constantly weting lips that feel dry and cottony. She makes a noise — maybe she's trying to call for help — but it comes out just as a grunt.

Through the doorway and at the top of the stairs, Aviators looks back to Danko, brows furrowed, and then reasserts Sarisa's weight over his shoulder when he and Danko's gaze breaks and he begins descending the stairs, hefting her weight over his shoulder more and more as her feet stumble and drag behind him down the steps.

Now he has to devote time to his captive audience.

"Hey now, don't leave me behind?" Raith says to Kaylee pleadingly, "I fell down out here, you know. I'm liable to damage my face if left to my own devices. More so than I already have." This time, he moves in the previously desired direction whether or not Kaylee is still tugging on his arm. "Adrienne, darling, we simply must have coffee soon. I'll even be extra foppish, just for you," he says foppishly. Almost too foppishly for it to be an act. "Unless you'd prefer Churchill's, if you still eat there. I can't imagine why you'd stop."

"Damn, Jensen, you're turning me into a regular fag hag," Lancaster states, blithely, before she claps him on the shoulder. "Don't get dead and it'll be a date. You," and she points at Kaylee, down, finger less than half a foot from her face. "You've got grade A steak is what you have, tiny. Don't pass up steak. Go, devour that, or I'll assume you're a vegetarian and punch in your teeth for killing the rain forest, or a dyke, in which case, you're just his type. Later." And she moves off to do what she came here to do — have a cigarette. There's no sound of a lighter, but her cigarette is lit not soon after it's taken out, headed off for another wall to occupy.

"Hey… I only have so much patience…" Kaylee comments lightly, "Since the night is still young and there is a good looking man, who might start wondering where his date slipped off too." A matter of fact look is given to Raith, even as she leans in a bit, hands resting on his arms like a good girl.

When they are far enough away, Kaylee says softly, sounding like she wants to chuckle. "Grade A steak?" She arches a brow at Raith, quite for a moment, then… . "I like her. Well.. in the way you like a tiger. Don't really want to turn your back on itm cuase it might kill you, but you like it." She declare finally chuckling, course she think about the same of Raith. "Another old buddy of yours? I take it?" One hand is removed from his arm so she can gather just enough fabric in her fingers so as not to trip on the way down…. she really hates dresses and heels really.

Brow-furrowed looks are met with placid, inscrutible indifference. Danko has the height advantage way up here with the roof lighting washed over the back of his skull like a halo, frigid eyes invisible in the shadows pitched in under his brows while he watches Aviators retreat from on high.

He came up here to smoke, so. That's what he does, tip fizzling from black to red in time for him to swing a look back around at Noriko, who is talking to him, apparently. That's what he gets for looking. "Thought you might be someone I knew. You people all look the same, you know."

Noriko brows knit further while she sits there, enjoying the fact that she is not getting wet. After a moment or so, she asks, "Well, not that often I get that. I'm a little over endowed for one of my people. But, I can understand if you missed it, I suppose. Nothing wrong with being gay." He didn't notice his honkers, so obviously, he is gay. This makes perfect sense in buzzed Noriko-mind.

Magnes has arrived.

"Au revoir, baby." It's a simple enough goodbye, and with it, Raith and Kaylee are on their way to leaving the rooftop proper. "The best of old buddies," he says in response to Kaylee's question, "You know how everyone has a friend that's just a little too much like them for it to be a coincidence? Well, she's mine, and I couldn't be happier for it. I have a slightly better haircut, though. Can you tell?" In most cases, this would be grounds for not having any more drinks. For Raith, this is expected. Another drink can only help him.

When Magnes arrives on the roof, there's a very loud slam of the door. He doesn't realize there's other people yet, and takes this opportunity to throw quite a tantrum. He starts kicking the door, yelling, "Fuck that guy, fuck Abby, just, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Each f-bomb is loud enough for the whole roof to hear, and followed by a loud slam of his shoe against the door.

In his black five-hundred dollar suit, he almost looks like an angry rich boy, but when he turns around to start taking flight, unbuttoned jacket swaying in the air with his black tie in front of his dark-gray buttoned up shirt, one can get a better look at his face. Anyone who recognizes him, will easily know it's the gravity-manipulator being uncharacteristically pissed off, and ready to leave.

"I dunno… I think it's draw, I think." The young telepath teases, allowing Raith to escort her off the roof. She steps away from him a little even if her arm is still hooked in his. "You do clean up well, I do have to say.. well… " She brushing at the sleeve of his jacket, brushing off some of the roof dirt. ".. if you can avoid, taking a nap on the ground.. what they hell happened anyhow?" She finally gets around to asking out loud, stepping close again.

Course, the arrival of Magnes can not be missed since he's being rather loud and colorful about it. "Oh.. look who it is.." Kaylee says softly, to her companion.

Now it's Danko's turn to knit his brows, and for the briefest of retardedly pathetic moments, he resembles a Chinese Crested that's just been slapped on the snout with a rolled up newspaper. It's been a while since Bill Dean.

Given that his instinctive impulse involves a quicksilver glance to the nearest available roof edge, it's probably fortunate that Magnes's flounce up the stairs snaps his attention back over his shoulder before a Glance can evolve into a Plan. But it isn't until recognition of this latest arrival dawns that one of his brows tips gradually back up again.

He looks. A little. Worried.

Noriko looks at Danko, for a couple of moments while she sits there before she smiles a little and says, "Why don't you take a seat? Hmm?" She waves a hand at an area of the roof that is rather suddenly water free with a little bubble of dry around it. "My treat, its much more comfortable to sit and smoke." She takes a puff from her own cigarette while she sits there.

"Look who it indeed!" Raith exclaims. It's not as if Magnes' outburst hasn't already gotten everyone's attention. "Magnes, hey, calm down there." Pulling slightly away from Kaylee, he possibly makes the prospect of leaving just slightly unfavorable to Magnes by seizing the front of his jacket and, as if he were a parent who'd had just a little too much to drink, actually starts to straighten his clothes out. "That's no way to be behaving, now. What's gotten into you, chulo?"

Magnes hasn't noticed Danko or Noriko when Raith easily pulls his weightless body back to the ground. He's frowning quite intensely, looking a mixture of hurt and angry all at the same time. "I don't even care that some old guy is all touching and kissing on Abby, and wanting to meet her in private! But she didn't have to talk to me the way she did, she didn't have to tell me to shut up! Forget her, I don't care, Melissa's right, I don't need her or Claire! I'm sleeping with two women, screw relationships!" he angrily shouts, fists balled.

Peyton has arrived.

Letting go of Raith's arm so he can fuss over Magnes' like a parent, her arms cross as she considers Magnes. Her expression turns a touch flat as he continues to rant, "Boy.. Magnes.. Wow. Not something I'd be shouting at a social event like this." Kaylee sounds less then amused about it herself. "Seriously.. Calm down. Your making one hell of a scene." She's half tempted to make him.

Distracted by the fact that Varlane is floating around and furious enough about some business with a girl to be making Angry Fists, Danko tags a sideways look back to Noriko on a delay. Noriko and her dry sphere, which is in itself enough to earn a bare of his teeth that would be repulsed if he were more inclined to extreme emotions other than hate, fear and occasional bouts of immense self-satisfaction.

Cigarette discarded at a flick, colorless buzz only just beginning to succumb to the damp, Danko turns to disappear ophidian over the lip of the stairs while Varlane's distracted.

The stairs that Peyton Whitney is heading up, in a hurry to get away from too many concerned parties who interfered with her plans for the evening, even if in concern for her well being. "Excuse me," she murmurs, her eyes on the steps to keep her gown away from her heels, before her eyes lift and take in Danko's face. She pales, back to the wall at the top of the steps. Danko. This thought broadcast to Faye Crawford, left below.

Noriko shrugs her shoulders as her dry sphere goes away, and she stands up, flicking her own cigerette away. She hmms faintly, stuffing her hands in to her pockets as she debates on what to do next in the party. She kinda does like hanging out on the roof, but there's a lot of drama on it currently.

"She's right, you know." All straightened out, Raith releases Mages' jacket, freeing him to do what he pleases, really. "It's okay to feel emotions, but you have to keep them in check, or they'll get the better of you and then you won't be any good to anybody. So, here's what to do, and you can trust me, because I'm old.

"You fly on home, and then you just fuck off. Watch a movie, play some video games, whatever. And then, after you calm down, then you can start making decisions about your relationships. Now, what those decisions are, that's up to you, but make them when your calm. And if you still have problems, you know how to get ahold of me. Okay, chulo?"

"Yeah I guess so… But it really hurts, you know? You're nothing but nice to a girl, and you go out of your way to do nice things for her, but the second some other bastard is around, suddenly you're getting talked to like some dog…" Magnes shakes his head, and in his moment of clarity, glances over Raith's head and spots a bald one, a very familiar one that he performed unlicensed dentistry on. "What the hell…"

He crouches and leaps over Raith and Kaylee, starting to fall in Danko's direction. He's not sure, but he has to know, and suddenly calls out, "Emile Danko!"

"Old and wise." Kaylee echo's Raith, with a smirk and a short nod of her head, arms slowly unfolding. And then Magnes is jumping over them as she starts to say somethings, shakign her head she says instead, "And.. there he goes… " She turns following his progress and she sighs a little. "Oh dear…" She murmurs as she sees who he's after, siting closer to Raith, to keep her voice down, "He's gonna make me take drastic measures." The telepath says softly to Raith. "Though.. personally.. he wants to be stupid…." She lets that last part go, giving the older man a matter of fact look.

On the stairs, which happen to be scarcely occupied at the moment, and out of the immediate line of sight of those all the way up top or down below, Peyton moves quickly and Danko moves quicker still. Champagne dropped with a glassy tinkle that hardly registers under the murmur of conversation that fills gala events like a fog, he pins her into the wall she's already got her back against one iron-hard hand braced at her middle and another at the slender join of neck and shoulder. By the time his breath is hot and acrid on her face, his thumb's already sunk partway into the hollow of her throat, teeth bared and deep-set eyes slivered pale under the hood of his brow.

"You're awfully afraid've me for a person I've hardly met," is all he manages to spit at her through the clench of his jaw before Magnes is flying his way and calling his name and this is going to hurt a lot isn't it. He rankles his nose up at the top of the stairs, and so inevitability.

Noriko hears crashing Magne's scream and frowns as she stands up, peeking into the stairwell to see just exactly what is happening as Magnes makes his big impact.

Peyton's eyes fly wider open. Help! is sent urgently to her mother, and Kaylee might pick up on it due to the loudness of the plea. She swallows, mechanisms of her throat fighting against the painful pressing of his thumb. Fingers claw at the railing behind her for some leverage. She may be pinned, but her feet are free. With all the power that she's earned through jogging and fitness classes at the gym, she raises her knee as hard as she can to the man's groin — then comes down with four-inch stiletto heels, aiming for his foot.


That would be. Lancaster, who takes the time to snub out her cigarette on the icy cement railing. Who is also not packing heat in any kind of conventional sense, and from the way she is suddenly stalking across the rooftop and in the wake of Magnes' flight, she apparently feels like she doesn't need to be. She has a cellphone in her hand already, and some bystanders scurry out of the way of the statuesque woman in her scarlet tuexdo, tails of her jacket flapping with the movement, cropped blonde hair blowing as she makes for the stairwell. Cue Wicked Witch of the West music.

"Oh, Christ…." Raith mutters, abruptly hooking his arm around Kaylee's and dragging to and down the stairs. "Go. Just, go."

"You get your goddamned hands off her!" is all Magnes yells before the sudden collision of fist to jaw, just hard enough to loosen Danko's grip from Peyton. Then he moves both hands to send the man flying into the opposite direction, and stands in front of Peyton protectively. "Run into the party, I'll keep you safe." he instructs in a soft, reassuring tone.

"Thank god.. you see reason, Raith." Kaylee murmurs, not at all protesting being practically dragged off the roof by Raith. Fingers curling into the slate blue-gray dress so she can move as bunny quick as she can, without breaking an ankle. "Cause this can not end well."

Not a chance. The instant there's even the promise of potential movement through Peyton's torso, the lower of Danko's hands turns down and in to sweep the invasive jab of that knee well away from his groin. It is a practiced motion, nearly graceful — the hallmark of a seasoned old warrior or a guy who gets kicked in the crotch a lot — and one that carries her one hundred and eighty degrees with her own momentum into a spin and nose-smacking re-plant face first into the wall she had her back against a blink and a shock of adrenaline ago. Grace ends in a merciless lock of his higher hand against the back of her head and…

That is about the time he looks up again to gauge how much time he has before Magnes punches his face and discovers that the answer is none.

Static fuzzes grey through is field of vision and when it clears he is flying towards a wall or the bottom of the stairs or any number of things he'll wish he hadn't hit here in 3, 2, 1.

Raith has left.

Kaylee has left.

Noriko frowns as she sees Magnes send Danko going down the stairs, and Peyton, and mostly a lot of confusion. And right now, she doesn't know why anyone would be mad enough at a small old bald man to hit him, but she isn't about to see him die. So, in a move that will likely get /her/ punched by Peyton, the hydrokinetic reflexively bursts a pipe that runs close to the stairwell, manipulating the water to form a nice soft cushion for Danko to land on, just in front of Raith and Kaylee. She's even so considerate as to make sure the water doesn't actually soak Danko. Putting the water back into the pipe after giving Danko a safe landing, she idley remarks, "Someone may want to talk with the construction crew, seems there was a flawed pipe in there. Lucky I kept it from leaking every where.

Concrete walls that were not blanketed by water will leave a mark tomorrow, to say the least. Peyton slumps to the stairs, head spinning and blood streaming from her nose and lips. Crumpled there, she lies stunned a moment, before glancing down to see Danko. On hands and knees, she crawls back up to the roof, away from the stairwell though the roof is hardly the safest place to go. The silvery Grecianesque gown will be ruined from both the crawling and the blood splattering the front. "He's a … He's Humanis First. He's kidnapped and tortured people," she stammers, but due to her fat lip and bloody nose, most of it is lost, blubbering.

Lancaster's shoes echo down the stairs, a thumb hitting the number pad of her phone without yet bringing it up to her ear as her blue eyes go wide at the sight before her. Her hand suddenly clamps down hard on Magnes' shoulder, fingers digging in as if a very heavy eagle just landed there and stuck in its claws. "Easy tiger," she says, in a way that doesn't really sound like reassurance. More of a recommendation. Or a warning. The sudden break of a pipe gets a flinch from the CIA agent, and when Noriko is the first to speak, the younger woman gets eyed. "Oh that is a pitiful lie. Just disgraceful. Everyone, stop damaging things, including people, or I'm setting everything on fire and trying again."

She brings up her phone, still gripping Magnes' shoulder. "Yeah, you want to get some suits up here— no, I don't care about your problems. Get here or I'll handle it myself." She closes the phone. "Where are Kershner's mouth-breathers when you need 'em, I ask you? Hey, handsome," and she jostles Magnes' shoulder, pointing at Peyton. "Help that."

Insert Kershner's mouth-breather? Not that she'd appreciate such a nickname. With shoes in hand, Faye's running up the stairs barefoot until she comes across a sloshing mess of water that would ruin her dress. She really should have worn the dress uniform. It's not the same as the white flowy gown she opted to wear instead. Most if it went back into the pipes, but there's some there anyway.

I'm on the stairs, she sends back. And there's a man there/ He's not soaked, but the floor is damp. There's a man there at the bottom. "What is going on?" she calls out, hiking up her dress to expose the thigh holster with her side arm.

Peyton? You're hurt— I can feel that… Do you need a hospital?

Magnes freezes for a while, debating what his next move will be while Lancaster has her claws dug deep into him. Then when she starts talking, he puts all the pieces together; government. In any other situation, he'd probably be pondering just how he could get this woman to come back to his geeky apartment, but things are quite dire. "If you don't put a bullet in Danko's head, I'll pull his entire brain out." is the warning he returns, then quickly heads up the stairs to reach down and scoop Peyton into his arms, if she doesn't struggle too much at least. "I've got you, I'll get you to a doctor."

Water water everywhere and Danko finds himself dryer at the bottom of the stairs than he was at the top. Also, more deeply confused about the last two minutes than he's been in longer than he can remember. After some iguana-tail thrashing that feels like it should have sputtering attached to it (but doesn't) and ends in an impact that should be painful (but isn't) he gets somewhat unsteadily back to his feet and blinks uncertainly at the base of the stairwell. Then down at himself.

Noriko looks at Lancaster all innocent like. "I have no clue what you're talking about," she responds with a smile, before she begins to walk down the stairs, easily keeping her balance despite the slick surfaces from the water. She frowns as she sees Peyton's face, wincing a little, before looking at the bald man and then finally saying, "Can someone inform the brain-injured just what the frak happened?" Her eyes flick back to Danko, and back to the pipe, before she tries to slide some water shackles on him. Better safe than sorry.

"I'm … I don't need a doctor," Peyton protests. "Let me down." Still hard to understand. Danko on the stairs. I'm all right, but he attacked me. At least she doesn't sound like a duck with a sinus problem in her thoughts to her mother. "He's HF. He's a kidnapper." She knows why he is free, but she can't exactly say why in mixed company. The tears begin to flow, mixing with blood, salt and copper in her mouth. "Let me down."

"Officially?" Lancaster asks, a glance to Peyton, but doesn't say anything more than that, annoyance of some kind making lines that bracket her grimace. The use of water as a restraint gets a cynical eyebrow lift, and— promptly ignored, likely out of distrust for such a mechanism. "You wanna stay down there, Mr. Danko," she calls down, descending a couple more steps, and the alledged kidnapper will feel something uncomfortable — his suit is heating up, the prickly kind of warmth like it's just come out of a microwave. "Trust me on that one. We'll get this cleared up when the police eventually decide to— oh hey."

The sounds of footsteps can be heard from here, but more immediately from Danko's perspective, boys in blue moving in. "Save it for court, honey," Lancaster adds, again to Peyton, though doesn't risk turning her eyes to her.

The unfortunate truth of beinh FRONTLINE… Faye has no right to actually arrest the man. But at the sound of police coming up behind her, she leans down to put her gun away. The shoes drop to the staircase floor, and she moves a few steps closer, pulling one of her gloves off as she reaches out and touches him on the top of his bald head.

The connection starts to open up immediately. But she does absolutely nothing with it. … Right now.

"Are you all right, sir? That looks like it could have been quite a nasty fall. You shouldn't move for a while. Especially with the police on their way." And her touching him, skin to skin.

Before he lets her down, Magnes leans in and whispers into Peyton's ear, "I'll kill Danko, and you'll be safe."

She's gently released on to a step, handed a napkin, and he promptly flies up the stairs. "If Danko leaves alive, none of you did your job!" he calls back, for everyone in that hall to hear, then out through the exit, and up into the cold sky he goes.

Still disoriented enough that he's fairly occupied with disgustedly dragging his wrists free of still more random water trying to touch him, Danko hasn't made the first effort towards fleeing. He looks tired and stubbornly host to some risidual anger more than anything, eyes shining like dimes in the natural sink of darkness into their sockets when he finally lifts them to track back up the stairs after Lancaster et al.

The touch at his crown draws him down and away viper-like to coil back in on himself all spic and span in his black on black tuxedo, suspicion overtaking anger in a sulfurous flash. He's kind of fucked up and confused but he's stared unblinking at her photograph and the photographs of her teammates long enough to stare just as unblinkingly at her now.

Deeper than most care to peek, the hatred walled up in his skull is comparable to smother a hot coal with a close of your fist.

Noriko watches Danko while she stands there and she hmms a little, before shrugging her shoulders and deciding to have a little fun as she stops manipulating the water, the resultant spray of the pope pretty well hitting anyone on the staircase as she starts to head downstairs and homewards.

Officially what? Peyton stares at the blonde in the red tuxedo with a confused look, but then she's talking about court. The Ferry trial was hard enough — he was blindfolded for that, and clearly doesn't know it was her who testified, though he may have started to put it together due to her fear on the staircase and in Old Lucy's. Good going, Peyton.

When Magnes takes off, she turns, blinking, to look at him. "Thank you," Peyton murmurs blandly, no affect to her words. She's in a bit of shock. What do you say to a near-stranger promising to kill for you? At least she's polite. She stares at her mother down the steps touching Danko on the head, knowing what she's doing. "Are there… other stairs…" she murmurs, looking around for another way down, around Danko, napkins in hand coming up to blot her bleeding face.

"Thank you for your input!" is what Lancaster yells after Magnes, a baleful gaze making her eyes narrow, before she gets out her pack of smokes and starts up the stairs. The po-po down belo' can take it from here, as far as the CIA agent is concerned, and as soon as she turns his back, that uncomfortable heat in Danko's clothing is free to diminish on its own. Avoiding the arc of water making small waterfalls down the stairs, Lancaster ducks back out onto the rooftop, but not before whistling once to the bleeding woman. "Heel," she commands. "There's another way down out this way. Come along, kiddo."

No more contact. It wasn't long enough to do much, but long enough to do a little. To leave the impression of anger following her as she steps back and slides her glove back on. A glove that's getting quite a bit damp. "Whoever is controlling the water works, you're buying me a new dress," Faye shouts up the stairs, before turning her eyes back and watching the man whose scalp she'd been touching. It'll fade soon, and part of her may desire to snap it away immediately. But for the moment, it is a just a precaution. And a short lived one. And she'll be here in the damp until he's properly arrested, or some such thing.

Noriko brushes past Faye and says, "Not a chance, take it up with your government." Of course, the water doesn't touch her, or her clothes. Hydrokinetics are such boobs as she walks down to catch a cab back to her place.

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