NaturOil Tower Story You are cordially invited to NaturOil Corporation’s end of year party, to celebrate the record breaking profits for this annum We would like to welcome you to our tower in New York City, where we will be praising the hard work and dedication of our fantastic employees. You will find the party at the NaturOil Tower, on the 42nd floor of the 50-storey building. Snow is expected so please dress according Please RSVP as soon as possible and we look forward to seeing you there P.S There has been malicious rumours of safety issues with our wonderful tower. These are completely untrue. Please disregard such comments and come and enjoy the party. We take your safety very seriously and would never stage such an event if there was the slightest chance it would risk your safety Thank you,Jeremy Steele CEO of NaturOil Corporation Ltd __________________ This is NaturOil Tower. This is a disaster RPG. You are one of the guests that has been invited to the party mentioned above, and are currently mingling with other guests on the 42nd floor. Soon though, the whole event is about to be turned on its head with disaster striking and fires breaking out. The objective of this RPG is to survive and escape; however not everything is what it seems… Now as a character you can take on many types of roles, like one of the employees of NaturOil, perhaps a plus one for another guest, or something that fits well with the tower or the company. For example perhaps you are a reporter that has been able to sneak into the party to try and get some dirt on the corporation’s dodgy dealings. Levels The tower is 50 storeys high, so I want to point out some of the most important Levels, where a lot of the story will take place. If the story progresses to a floor not mentioned I can either come up with a description, or allow the first person onto that floor to describe it. 42nd Floor Location of the party, highly extravagant level with lush crimson decorations and furniture. 43rd Floor balcony overlooking the 42nd Floor, with bar areas and luxury rooms for guests to stay in. 49th Floor The CEO’s office, a large open space with a large oak desk in the middle. There is a staircase that leads to the 48th Floor, which is the only entrance to the floor. 44th-47th floor Normal offices for NaturOil Corp. Character Sheet Please post this in the Discussion Thread after you get it approved by me. Name: Gender: Age: Appearance: Short Bio: Personality: Profession: Misc. Info: RPG RULES 1. Do NOT control other characters, including causing direct injury to other players. It is each players option to decide the degree of injury his own character receives. As an example you can grapple and try to break your opponents arm, however, your opponent decides how injured his character becomes. You succeed in the game by how well you write and how creative you are, not by how much you injure your opponent. 2. GM is law and can break and modify his own rules without notice. 3. No god moding. Strive for balance among all other players. 4. You cannot kill other players 5. Players can make Non-Player Characters if necessary 6. No out of character content (OOC). Keep that to the Discussion Thread. 7. Write the NEXT part of the story. Avoid re-capping. Use showing in the present to respond to previous posts; avoid re-telling entire previous posts from your character’s perspective. 8. Character Templates need to be approved by me, and afterwards must be posted in the discussion thread with the character’s name in the post title. 9. No one-liners or short posts. Let’s shoot for 100 words + 10. Read all posts (or the last post well enough to keep the story flowing without plot holes.) 11. Abandoned characters will be simply dropped. 12. FLAMING, INSULTING, OR ANY OTHER TYPE OF HARSHNESS THAT IS DELIBERATELY USED TO HURT SOMEONE ELSE’S FEELINGS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED AT ALL, NOR ACCEPTED ANYWHERE ELSE AROUND THE FORUM. 13. Edit before posting. 14. View the Discussion Thread for less formal details and to direction in the game. 15. Dialogue from other characters should be put in BOLD type 16. Put your character’s name in the title of your post 17. More than one character not allowed unless special permission is given. 18. Please feel welcome to make suggestions and negotiate with the GM! I will try to throw plot twists and action your way to try and challenge your writing skills, however please bear with me as this is my first RPG I have run. Good luck and have fun!
Lance Dresden “Hey Lance, coming for a drink?” A reveller said, stumbling into the balcony door frame. It was Paul Shreeves, one of the guys from sales. His slick back hair and cheesy grin didn’t help to hide his superficial persona. He was just another empty suit. “No thanks, I’m working tonight.” Lance watched the words chill in the frozen air. Paul shrugged and turned to go back inside before quipping, “Aww come on man, loosen up... it’s a party!” And with that, he walked back in like a new-born lamb taking its first steps. Lance pulled down on his black tie, relaxing the noose round his neck. Leaning on the balcony railings, he looked out at the arctic of New York City, letting the snowflakes drop on his face. The harsh cold tightened its grip on his chest, unrelenting and bitter with no amount of clothing able to warm him. It had frozen the city completely, as hundreds of yellow taxis stood below him, motionless. Blasts of impatient horns rippled through the night, and the only flickers of movement came from the falling snow. These blizzard winds were warm and fuzzy compared to Jeremy Steele’s party entrance. Lance’s night had started earlier that evening, escorting the fat cat CEO along the red carpet into the tower, with reporters and photographers grabbing their attention whenever they could. Each snap made Lance’s body stiffen, reminding him of the flashes from a rifle muzzle. One reporter burst through the pack, shoving a recorder in Lance’s face before realising the CEO standing next to him. The recorder switched over to the VIP’s nostrils and shouted above the madness, “Two questions Mr Steele? Two questions?” Jeremy gave a slow nod, mixed with an uneasy smile. “Are the rumours true that your company has found a more efficient way of extracting petrol from crude oil?” The reporter asked. Steele’s smile rose like a balloon, as nothing pleased him more than talking about business; especially when the topic was about making him money. “Well I personally have nothing to report, but the boys in the lab are working day in, day out to bring the world better and cheaper fuel.” With a quick smile and a nod, the reporter moved onto his next question, “And how about the rumours that your company is using mercenaries to forcibly remove civilians from their homes in the Middle East, in areas where there are potential oil wells, hmmm?” Mouths were left gaping and cameras stopped snapping, leaving the entire media group in silence. Steele twisted his neck with a loud crack that echoed along the carpet, making Lance’s skin crawl. He wasn’t the only one. The CEO beamed down at the reporter, and his eyes darkened with shadow. “Now.” He spoke slowly, spitting every word down the recorder, eyes locked with the man’s. “Those rumours are vile, despicable and false. The fact that you would bring them to me – to my face – shows us all the snivelling little rat you are. I detest your puny existence for trying to tarnish a fantastic corporation; one which is helping to supply the world with cheaper oil, in this time of crisis.” A faint buzz rang in Lance’s ear. It was a noise he loathed, but he had a duty to do. Hidden from view, the CEO had pressed a little button, and without a second thought Lance raised his arm and pointed down at the reporter, as if judgement was being passed. The media group parted like the sea and two massive agents in suits grabbed the reporter and dragged him kicking and screaming into the building. No one dared snap a photo. And with that, the CEO moved on. A large snowflake fell on Lance’s nose, bringing him back to the balcony. He rose from his perch and edged closer to the door, but all Lance could think about was that reporter. It had been a David vs. Goliath moment, so brave to put such a question to someone the public viewed as untouchable. But Lance knew the reward the brave soul had earned himself, the beating the guards had given him, the tears of blood running across his face, and the snow covered alley he had been left in. Lance knew all too well, gritting his teeth. With one last look at the outside world, he swiped a glass of champagne and threw it down his throat. He slid unnoticed into the sweaty room of empty suits and botoxed dresses, before whispering to himself, “Showtime.”
Monica Scotts Monica pressed a button on the elevator and it rose slowly towards level 42 where the party was being held. "Be careful Agent Scotts, but remember...this is your last night to get the evidence we need or this whole operation will be shut down." Monica ajusted the hidden mike in her ear and responded with a quiet voice. "I know, Cheif. I'll find something. Don't worry. We aren't going to let NaturOil continue hurting innocent civilians." The numbers on the elevator were now at 37. Only a few more levels. She adjusted the single strap of her blue evening gown and brushed her straightened hair behind her ears. Level 40. Monica moved the gun that was strapped to her thigh a few more inches towards her knee so that she wasn't waddeling like a duck. For the 100th time, in the years she had been an agent, she wished she was a guy. That way should could have hidden her weapon somewhere more comfortable. Then again. Being a woman did have it's advantages. *Ding!* Level 42. The elevator door opened revealing a wave of colors, lights, and sounds. She stepped through the door into the party, carrying a small blue hand-purse. Several single and possibly married men looked at her as she walked by; a hungry look in their eyes. She smiled politely and brushed the hair out of her eyes clearly showing the wedding ring she wore. She wasn't married. At least not any more. Her dear husband, Johnathan, had died in the line of duty; leaving her with a little boy to take care of all by herself. However, letting the men think she was married usually kept them away and her free to do what she needed. She took a seat in the corner of the room where she could see almost all the angles. She could see the door, the balconey, and the room. Not many exits but it would have to do. A smiling waitress handed her a glass of champange and walked off to serve other guests. She would wait a few moments, talk to some people, then explore Lance's office when she was sure he wasn't there. There had to be some evidence...somewhere. There always was.
Jo Turic Jo was going to kill Dev for recommending she take this job. Okay, that wasn't really fair. She was earning more for one night of this than she did in a week at the bakery. Unfortunately, she wouldn't earn a penny if she didn't make it to the end of the evening and if one more overpaid, entitled sleaze pinched her ass she was going to get herself kicked out for making a scene. Jo put her tray of empty champagne flutes down on the counter and took a moment to breath. Next semester's tuition was more important than her pride right now. How bad could this evening really get? She needed something else to focus on. People watching was always a good bet at these kinds of things. Her advisor kept telling her that law was nine tenths reading people. As far as Jo was concerned, that was where the similarity with poker ended. In court there was generally a lot more at stake than just money. Still, Jo could play a mean game of holdem and could certainly do with some practice at transferring the skill set away from the table. She collected a tray of canapés and headed back into the fray. The lady in blue who had taken her last glass of champagne was still sitting in the corner. She was alone, though by the way she watched the doors she might be waiting for someone, perhaps a boyfriend. Jo noticed the ring on her finger, make that a husband. Actually, she looked more like she was watching for a good time to make a break for it than waiting for someone to arrive. Jo didn't blame her. She offered the woman a canapé, tried for a smile, and was a little surprised to receive one in return. For the most part, folks here appeared to fit into one of two categories. The first didn't even seem to realize that the wait staff existed except in as much as something was causing the trays of champagne to move. The second noticed they were there but seemed to relegate them to some lesser category of human, worthy of a leer, a pinch, or the occasional condescending remark. It was nice to get some proof that not everyone here could be categorized as such. It gave Jo some hope for the human race. These were some of the richest and most powerful people on the planet after all. The last thing the world needed was for them all to be entitled idiots living in their own little silver lined bubbles.
`Dirk Derguson Dirk Derguson, the young president of D.D. American Oil Transports, slid elegantly out of the back of his limousine, nodding his head appreciatively at the gentleman who had opened his door for him. As he stood, he straightened the sleeves of his white tuxedo jacket and brushed a sliver of his onyx black hair from touching his eyebrows. Besides wanting to be perfect with his physical appearance, he was here tonight in hopes of making a couple perfect monetary decisions..and maybe a couple of perfect one night stands. Dirk's smile was a smile that could swoon a girl and break her heart with just one glance and he was flashing that smile at everyone tonight. Dirk's most pressing reason for attending this party tonight was in order to determine if NaturOil was a company worth buying stocks in. He had heard all the rumors, all the talk of bloodshed and he wanted his facts straight before he was going to make ANY hasty decisions with his money. "Mr. Derguson! Mr. Derguson!" Called out a female reporter to Dirk as he strode down the red carpet towards the illustrious entrance of the building. He slowly turned his head around to see a beautiful young woman holding her voice recorder up in front of her. "Yes, my dear?" He asked her with a coy smile. "We hear you're here tonight possibly seeking some major stock with NaturOil. We know that your business is only a year old but it has sky rocketed, leaving all the other competitor companies in the dust. Have you heard these bloody rumors about NaturOil? Would you really be comfortable supporting such a company?" Asked the blonde and busty reporter with a forced smile. Dirk grinned. "I, of course, have heard these rumors and I am here tonight in hopes that these rumors will ring true to their name and be just that, rumors. I have complete confidence that Mr. Steele knows well what he is doing and only wishes the best for his company and as do I. No one tells me how to think except for me, my darling." He told her, his voice full of gusto and confidence. The reporter nodded as if she had gotten all she wanted to hear and Dirk continued on inside and up the elevator to floor 42. The bell dinged upon the elevator's arrival and soon Dirk found himself in a beautifully decorated room, donning elegant crimson decoration. Dirk took a slow breath in and out, unshaken by any amount of important and beautiful people. But, his first plan of action was to sip on some champagne and watch the other guests flood in. His eyes darted around the room and fell upon a lovely woman in a blue evening dress sitting alone. He held his champagne, grabbed another glass from a champagne tray and sat casually beside her, handing a glass to her while flashing her is infamous smile. He noticed the wedding ring on her finger and smirked. "This may come as a shock to you but you -did- know that your wedding ring is made of cubitz zirconia, right?" He asked her after he took a sip of wine. "Forgive me, I just have an I eye for diamonds, and what you are wearing is not one.. I wouldn't normally bother with presenting such observations with my subjects of observation but, you, my dear, are far too beautiful to be without the best of the best. But, on another note, what brings you to this soiree?"
Bryn Michaels With each breath, she could feel her heart rate begin to drop. She hated the lead up to an event. It seemed like the more she prepared, the more nervous she felt. And, as she thought about how many people would be clustered together, her stomach churned with warning. But those people meant another prized article and a hefty paycheck. Bryn knew it was pathetic for her to have to hide inside a restroom stall to prep herself mentally. She snuck her way into events all the time. Though, NaturOil was an exception. Getting inside with her fake employee ID had been scary enough, but to get into the party itself would be even worse. They probably had double the security swarming. “You’ll be fine, Bryn. You always are. Now go do what you're best at, and at least try to have fun.” As she closed her eyes, William’s encouraging words from earlier echoed in her mind. He was right and she had done the excessive research this time around. The rumors of NaturOil had been easy to delve into, being posted on numerous websites and written in dozens of magazines. But, not one of them showed solid proof. Will had given her the task to capture inside the gorgeous dinner party, but the unsettling rumors still lingered in her mind. Unknown to Will, this was a bigger task for her, an overwhelming one. Bryn took a final reassuring breath; she had stood here for far long enough. “Better late than never,” she muttered, unlocking the stall door. Peering into the golden-framed mirror, she brushed a loose curl behind her ear before exiting the room. The sound of her high heels clicking on the tiled floor was all she heard as she made her way to the only open elevator. She had read in an article that the party was on the 42nd floor. Bryn took another deep breath, more anticipation was all she needed. Tightening her grip on her purse strap, she walked inside the small-enclosed space. After pressing the elevator button, she slowly began to make her ascent. 42 levels. This could take awhile. Twisting around her purse, Bryn unclasped it, and wrapped her slender fingers around her camera. Despite her co-workers frequent teasing over the humorous size difference between her and her camera, she felt the most calm while holding it. She flicked off the lens cap and raised the viewfinder to one of her brown eyes. Moving to a few different angles, her view finally landed on the bright elevator buttons. The shutter went off once, twice, three times. The sound was strangely comforting. Bryn smiled as she continued to snap detailed pictures of the elevator, her blinding flash bouncing off the walls. This was what she lived for, to make art out of anything. Even inside elevators. A sudden high-pitched sound rang out, causing Bryn to jump at the reminder of reality. She quickly pocketed her camera into her bag before stepping out into a large decorated hallway. Muffled voices reached her ears, making her previous smile fade. Her anticipation was over.
Monica Scotts "This may come as a shock to you but you -did- know that your wedding ring is made of cubitz zirconia, right?" He asked her after he took a sip of wine. "Forgive me, I just have an I eye for diamonds, and what you are wearing is not one.. I wouldn't normally bother with presenting such observations with my subjects of observation but, you, my dear, are far too beautiful to be without the best of the best. But, on another note, what brings you to this soiree?" A handsome black-haired gentleman fingered a glass of wine and spoke with a rich soothing voice. He had the most adorable smile she had ever seen. Her heart was doing flip-flops but she managed to calm it down before it flew out of her chest. This man was just another one of those charmers who went from woman to woman looking for that next one-night-stand. She wasn't going to be one of them. "I thank you for your kind words but I know my diamonds are fake. When Johnathan and I first married we couldn't afford anything nicer and unless you are a diamond expert, no one notices the difference." She smiled sadly and twirled the ring on her finger. Thoughts of her husband's funeral, though it had been two years ago still flitted through her mind." <Concentrate, Monica. See if he knows anything.> Her chief's voice buzzed in her ears. Monica cleared her throat and leaned forward towards him a charming smile on her face. "I'm here because I'm Lance's personal secretary and he invited all his employees. Rather nice of him. By the way, I'm Monica." She held out a hand.
Archibald McDaniels Archibald McDaniels stood in his place by the elevator doors, greeting people as they entered the floor. His face was the placid mask he took so much pride in holding on the job, but his mind was racing over the details of the night, arranging and rearranging them to fit the circumstances. So the kitchen was running low on caviar. He had already sent one of the waiters out for more, of course, but the only roe of acceptable quality was sold on the other side of town. It would be at least twenty minutes before he would return, and even when he arrived more time would be needed for preparation into dishes before it could be served. The deviled eggs were out then; save them for hour two when they could be properly garnished with the caviar. And they would need to be sparse with the champagne. He had carefully selected the alcohol and the caviar to perfectly compliment each other, and it would be a shame for it to run low on the former before they even began serving the latter. His focus returned to the doorway as a young woman passed into the hall. She was dressed appropriately enough, but there was something misfitting about her. Perhaps it was the way she glanced about, or the way she carried herself, or the general air of discomfort in her expression. Whatever it was, she clearly did not belong in this environment. She likely was a guest of a guest - a businesswoman's dear friend, perhaps, or a middle-class girlfriend some executive sought to astound with a journey through life at the top. Still, if that were the case, why was she alone? McDaniels smiled and extended a hand - politely, never too forcefully - to the woman. "Good evening, madam. Is there anything we can get you?"
Dirk Durgeson "I'm here because I'm Lance's personal secretary and he invited all his employees. Rather nice of him. By the way, I'm Monica." She held out a hand. Dirk returned a smile as charming as a prince and took her hand. He gently kissed the top of it and looked her over modestly, a twinkle in his dark eyes. "It is more than my pleasure to meet you, Monica. My name is Dirk, Dirk Durgeson." He said warmly. He took another sip of his champagne and straightened his tie. "I'm president of a Transport company. I'm here to explore the possibility of investing in stocks." He told her, his eyes scanning the room of big shots and beauty queens. He sighed and leaned closer to her ear. His eyes narrowed. "May I ask your honest opinion, Monica?" He whispered. "What-.. What do you think of these rumors?" He asked her, setting his glass down on the coffee table infront of them, giving her his full attention.
Bryn Michaels "Good evening, madam. Is there anything we can get you?" Bryn jumped again slightly, startled by the sound of a deep voice in front of her. With a turn of her head she realized the voice belonged to an older man wearing an expensive suit, with his hand outdrawn in a sign of etiquette. Her heart resumed to its faster pace. She had barely stepped down the hall and had been spotted. Her assumptions on security had been right, although it was obvious the man wasn’t a security guard. This was a game that she didn’t feel like playing, but Will was counting on her. She couldn’t let her bad vibes get in the way of her work. Bryn stared at his hand for a second, before hesitantly putting her delicate hand in his large one. She shook gingerly, forcing a smile in return. It was surprising to her, she couldn’t remember the last time she had accepted a handshake. The fact that she worked alone and never with clients made her not form relationships with strangers. Which she was grateful for. But since this man had quickly taken the initiative to speak to her, this was going to be a rough night. “No thank you, Sir. I-I’m just a bit lost,” Bryn pointed down the hall, “The party…it’s through those doors, correct?”
Monica Scotts "May I ask your honest opinion, Monica?" He whispered. "What-.. What do you think of these rumors?" He asked her, setting his glass down on the coffee table infront of them, giving her his full attention. Monica's first instinct was to draw back and find a way out of the conversation. For all she knew he was an undercover spy for Lance and his coporation trying to weed out people the police could possibly use. Her trained face showed none of these thoughts, however. "Oh, I don't know. Lance seems like a nice enough guy. If he does have deep, dark secrets they are hidden very, very well." She chuckled innocently and took of sip of her champange. All of this was true, unfortunetly. And she was running out of time to find this aledged evidence. Dirk nodded at her understandingly and briefly moved his gaze to the floor as if lost in thought for a moment. He took the last sip of his champagne and handed the glass to a passing staff member who placed it on a tray and continued moving through the crowd. Dirk sighed, leaned back and rested his arm behind Monica on the couch but at a respectable distance from her back. After a moment, Dirk cleared his throat and a smirk spread across his face. "Well, enough business talk. I am sure you get that all of the time in this building." He said with a coy grin. "What I would like to know more is why, if you are married, that your husband isn't here with you to see you in that lovely dress?" He asked her in a friendly tone. "I truly don't mean to poke and prod into your personal life, but, like I said, I have an eye for diamonds." Monica looked down at her ring and sighed sadly, "He...um...he was killed in action, in Afghanistan, two years ago. Our little boy still asks where he is at night. I guess I haven't quite gotten over him either." She sighed and wiped the hair out of her eyes, looking into the crowd as she tried to regain her composure. She had no idea why she was telling this stranger her life story, especially when she was supposed to be on duty but there was just something about him that made her want to hug him and curl up in his arms. It was probably just his smile, or his adorable facial features. Or maybe it was something more. Suddenly, taking down this company didn't seem like such a life and death situation after-all. If it was supposed to be taken down, then someone would figure out a way to do it.
Riley checked the time on the car’s dashboard and groaned. She was late, by five minutes already, and was still ten minutes away. Not to mention the two-minute delay that would inevitably occur as soon as she stepped out of her vehicle. The press was all over the party; no matter what radio station she turned on, someone was talking about NaturOIL Tower and what they were calling the “gathering of the year.” And she was late. “Screw this.” Riley mumbled as she pulled off of Main Street and onto some alley. The engine roared to life under her foot and she shot through the narrow road, neatly dodging multiple dumpsters and several homeless people who stared at her like she was crazy. And she probably was, but that didn’t stop her from swerving back onto the boulevard leading to the Tower, right in front of a dozen other cars that were still moving. As she approached the red carpet, she turned down her booming music and geared down to a more normal speed. Riley parked the car and opened the door herself, pushing aside the busboy’s awaiting hand and sliding into her oversized black fur coat just before the cold air could chill her. She pocketed the keys to her platinum Lamborghini and shut the door, smiling as it instantly locked. Someone would park it for her, but she only trusted one person with her baby and it wasn’t the kid who had just stepped out of high school and couldn’t take his eyes off her. A million reporters turned her way and started called her name. Cameras flashed, recorders were shoved in her face. She walked past it all. Riley smirked as she passed the line of employees waiting to get in, moving straight through the front doors, barely even nodding at the security guard who opened the door for her. The elevator ride was quick, a mere twenty-two seconds, and soon she was faced with the luxurious furnishings of Level 42. She kept walking, right up to the man standing at the door to the main room. He was talking to someone, someone she didn’t recognize, but Riley just ignored her. “Evening McDaniels. Be a doll and park Lacy, will you?” She pressed the keys into his hands and kissed his cheek in greeting but didn’t linger. Riley stepped into the crowded room and instantly noted how warm it was. She slipped off her coat and allowed some staff member to hang it for her. Eyes glancing over the room, she pointed out her father across the room and started walking in the opposite direction, towards the large glass windows that provided a perfect view of the city. A waiter offered her some champaign but she shook her head. “No thank you. Piña Colada, please. Silver tequila, not gold.” It was going to be an interesting night.
Lance Dresden The air stuck to him like glue. Beads of sweat raced each other down his forehead, along his cheek, before hitting the white collared finish line. It was his tour of Afghanistan all over again. “Lance here, can I get a check on the temperature here? What’s going on?” He stood there patiently as guests passed, and he smiled back politely. Soon chatter returned to his ear as one of his team answered, “I’m on it, going down to 41 to check the controls.” Lance didn’t flinch, his guards were trained by the best, and that’s what he expected. Lance swiped a bottle of water before making his way to Jeremy Steele. There was a reason Lance was Chief Security Officer and he had eyes like a hawk, already spotting potential investor Dirk Durgeson, troublesome daughter Riley Steele, and a female guest not on the list being welcomed by McDaniels. He moved through the crowd to find Jeremy chatting to other guests, hoovering appetisers from a waiter’s tray. Steele’s belly shook with every fake laugh, and crumbs fell onto his shirt with every bite. He had three hands as he switched between his scotch, cigar and sausage roll. Without hesitation Lance rose behind him, giving Jeremy the news firstly on his daughter and then on Dirk. The CEO’s eyes lit up, and Lance could almost see the dollar sign rise on Jeremy’s pupils. Jackpot. Jeremy loved money more than his wife, a fact that he openly admitted, especially to his “escorts”. Without a second thought he bounced through the sweaty crowds, unaffected by the heat. The bowling ball rolled towards Durgeson and Monica, and the CEO would probably have no idea who the brunette was. She wasn’t money, so she wasn’t important. Lance watched as Jeremy landed in front of the gent, hand out stretched, ready to meet his pot of gold, “Good evening, Mr Durgeson. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” Lance left the boss to the business and moved on. Guests chatted and danced around him, his presence ghost like. That’s how he liked it; he wasn’t part of this party so he didn’t need to get involved. The bar was heaving, many desperate to quench their thirst. The crimson carpet almost seemed to darken through the sweat of the party and the walls were beginning to get sticky. The room was an oven. A buzz zinged through his ear, talk from the 41st floor. “Sir, we got a situation down here. The heating controls are at 100%, and the levers have been broken off.” Lance took a long breath, silencing the party from his mind. “What are the exits looking like? I need to make sure our evacuation strategy can be achieved.” A solemn voice replied, “I checked that Sir, both stairways down to 40 have been blocked by office equipment; desks, chairs, cabinets, all piled up along the stairwell. And someone has spray painted the words ‘Operation Razorleaf’ on the wall. Does that mean anything to you Sir?” Lance stroked his stubble for a long ten seconds, wondering the game plan. He checked his mobile. 22:45 and no signal. “Anyone else got signal? My phone’s got nothing.” A chorus of ‘Negative’ ran through Lance’s ear and his heart sank. “Commence Protocol Red Delta, high alert boys. We’ve been sabotaged. Eyes open for all possible escape routes, hazard dangers and safe havens. Any problems with the elevator?” “No Sir.” A little bonus at least. “Ok, a pair of you sweep the lift and check it’s clean. Remember, everyone needs to remain calm – guests must not know – panic is the last thing we need right now.” Lance scouted the room and watched his guards snake through groups of guests, carrying orders through with subtlety. A final call came through Lance’s com, his mouth dropping. “Sir, there’s something else. 41 stinks of gasoline.”
Victor Deleoni Victor sighed as the elevator door slid open onto 42. He was not looking forward to this. Good old papa, sending me in to do his dirty work, He thought. It was just like is father. He scanned the room and was not impressed by the assortment of puffed up businessmen and trust funded socialites, all pretending that they were in fact the most interesting thing in the room. He strode in and immediate noticed the heat, it was sweltering. He nodded to the aged Maitre d' at the exit of the hotel and continued into the stuffy room. Lord its hot in here. Why don't they have the air on. He brushed it off and proceeded into the lavish reception, thinking about how the elites made him sick. He looked about the room again, looking for anyone he recognized. He noticed Riley Steele and tried to avoid making eye contact. They had met at his fathers club a few times. She was across the room however and Vincent would preferred not to be seen with her. Then he noticed the Up-and-Comer, Dirk Durguson talking to a beauty in a blue dress. He was all over the new the last few months, no one knew where his money was coming from. Vincent's father smelled competition, but he was a paranoid old man anymore. But, Vincent was for Jeremy Steele. He continued scanning the room but saw nothing of the CEO. I do not want to be here all night he grumbled silently. A plain, think looking young woman walked past with a tray of H'ourderves. He grabbed one as she passed. "Thank you!" He called out. Caterers were definitely under appreciated at these things. He chewed slowly and prepared for a long, hot evening.
“No thank you, Sir. I-I’m just a bit lost,” Bryn pointed down the hall, “The party…it’s through those doors, correct?” McDaniels raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "Yes indeed, madam. Unfortunately, I do not recognize you from the guest list. Would you mind telling me who you are accompanying?" He could see beads of sweat forming on the woman forehead, though that could just be due to the heat. It was starting to get uncomfortably hot in here. However, he could hear through his earpiece Dresden speaking with the security team on the matter. Without a doubt, the temperature problem would be resolved in no time. “Evening McDaniels. Be a doll and park Lacy, will you?” McDaniels nodded and pocketed the keys as the young heiress entered the party. "I apologize, madam, but if you cannot provide proof of invite, I must ask you to accompany me downstairs." By lucky chance, the elevator doors slid open on their own just as McDaniels reaches for the button and a young man saunters out. Quickly recognizing him as the junior Master Deloni, he answered the man's nod of greeting with a "Good evening, sir," then gestured for the woman to enter the elevator. For but a moment, he flinched as unpleasant news met him through the earpiece, but he quickly regained his composure and calmly pressed his finger to the device. "This is McDaniels. I was privy to all that. Do you think you can clear it out, or do you want to initiate a...code 1487?" He didn't want to actually say the word "evacuation." Not in front of the guests.
Bryn Michaels Guests were pouring out of the elevators and Bryn tightened her shoulders, not wanting to bump into any of them. One young woman greeted the man, calling him McDaniels, and then rudely brushed past her. As she watched her walk away, Bryn couldn't help feeling slightly self-conscious at the fact that she may be under-dressed compared to most. Even being a recognizable top-leading name, she never wanted to be noticed. She was just another face in the crowd. Unfortunately, she wasn't succeeding at that tonight. "I apologize, madam, but if you cannot provide proof of invite, I must ask you to accompany me downstairs," The man addressed her again, in a polite but forceful tone. Barely seconds after he spoke the elevator doors slid open once again and another guest, a handsome young man, walked out. After greeting him, McDaniels didn't allow her any time to stand around, motioning her towards the open elevator. Shoot. Bryn bit her lower lip in the realization of getting kicked out of a party she hadn't even stepped foot in. She needed to get inside to do her job. She'd hate to come back to Will in defeat, with only pictures of an elevator to show. And she didn't want to disappoint the media, the thought made her heart ache. "Do you want to initiate a...code 1487?" Bryn's ears perked up, catching half of what the man mumbled into his earpiece. What was that a code for? More wine? More music? It sounded awfully serious. Bryn took the distraction as the perfect way out of the situation. Her nervousness faded away as she put her game face on. She had to get through those doors, pronto! "I find it abhorring, Sir, that you would accuse me of such things. Now, if you would excuse me." Bryn spun on her heel, making her retreat without even a glance behind her shoulder.
Riley Steele Riley slid her phone out of her small clutch purse and checked the time again. Eight minutes had passed since she had ordered her drink, yet it still wasn’t in her hand or, more importantly, in her mouth. “Waiters these days. Don’t know who they’re working for anymore.” With a heavy sigh, she placed the cell back in her purse and pushed away from the windows with one last look at the gorgeous city. She never got tired of the view from her father’s tower. As she turned, she caught a glimpse of someone who looked quite familiar. As she did a double take, however, the man turned away. Victor Deleoni. She smiled to herself. She would talk to him later, after whatever business he was up to was out of the way. He’d come find her; he always did. Riley opted for the stairs, rather than the busy elevator. The constant soft click click of her heels was a welcoming sound compared to the loud party atmosphere. Level 43 was much less crowded and she easily found an empty seat at the bar. “Trix, you really need to work on your waiters. They don’t understand a dang order when they hear it.” The bartender chuckled and brought out a glass for her. “What’ll be tonight, Riley?” “Same old. Anything interesting happen while I was stuck in traffic?” He thought for a minute. “Besides the incident with the reporter and your father?” Her smile disappeared. “When?” “As he arrived, just outside. Some kid pushin’ were he shouldn’t o’ been pushin’. Private Security was on him in seconds, thanks to Mr. Dresden. They ain’t sayin’ much, ‘cept that the guy won’t be talking ‘bout NaturOIL anymore.” Riley massaged her temples and groaned. “That’s the fifth time this month. What does Jeremy think he’s doing?” Trix handed her a large Piña Colada complete with a salted rim and a single shot of Bacardi Rum. “Don’t bring it up tonight. I heard he ain’t in the best of moods.” “Thanks.” She wasn’t sure whether she was thanking him for the drink or the tip, but either way, she meant it. Her and Trix were pretty good friends, but like most of the long-time staff, he was about twice her age. Taking her drink with her, she walked back down to the party and headed straight for the card tables. At her insistence, Jeremy had installed multiple gaming stations, mainly for Roulette and Poker, though there were open tables for personal choice games. She walked around slowly, eying the players until a group of two gentlemen, one young and one older, caught her attention. The older man, who looked as though he had been born playing Poker, placed two stacks of one-hundred dollar bills, each about two inches thick, in the middle of the velvet covered table. “Four thousand.” He called with a perfectly disguised face. The younger gentlemen nearly dropped his cards. Riley made her way past the table, careful not to look at the other man’s cards. She hated people who cheated at anything, and vowed never to be one. She bent low and whispered in the young gents’ ear, “You really think he’s that good?” She sat down beside him, close so that their arms were just barely touching. “He’s bluffing,” she announced, staring at the other man. “Call it.” The man next to her coughed and shot her a sideways glance. She looked right back. After a second, he grabbed the shot she had placed next to her drink and downed it in one gulp. As he placed the empty glass back on the table, he smirked. “You’re bluffing.” “Raise him eight thousand.” Riley said, taking a drink of her Piña Colada. He gasped. “I don’t have that kind of money.” She smiled and flipped four stacks of bills onto the table right in front of him, but not yet in the pile. “You do now.” Riley only then noticed the crowd that had started to form around the table. Entertainment; there was no better price than suspense and uncertainty. “And you’re not about to pass up twelve thousand. Not in cash.” He swallowed. “I think I need a drink.” A few chuckles from the crowd. He looked at her, then to the older man, then to the stack of money. Finally, he threw her contribution in and sat back, running his hands through his hair. “Please, God.” He mumbled. Riley just sat there, smiling. The old man flipped over his cards. Four of a kind and a pair. “Nice hand.” She nodded her approval and then flipped the younger man’s hand for him, naming the cards as she revealed them. “Eight of clubs. Nine of clubs. Ten of clubs. Jack of clubs.” She paused and then threw the last card on top of the money pile. “Queen of clubs.” It seemed as though the party had frozen, other than the growing number of gasps making their way through the room as the news traveled. The older gentleman leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath of air. “Congratulations, Mister. You just stole my anniversary dinner.” He chuckled and got up from the table, nodding once at Riley, and then walking away. Riley stood and patted the winning man on the back. “Yes congratulations, Rookie.” As she walked away from the table, escaping the group of bystanders just as they started to swarm the area, she caught her father’s eye from across the room. He didn’t look happy. Then again, she hadn’t expected him to. What father in his right mind would appraise his daughter for throwing away his hard earned money on some man she didn’t even know? Definitely not Jeremy Steele. And just to make things worse, Riley grabbed a champagne flute off a nearby tray along with a knife. She started knocking the glass until an acceptable silence fell over the room. Then, the true Riley spoke up, the one who didn’t mind having a little fun at Jeremy’s expense. Literally. “Starting now, each winner of any Poker game played here on the premises will receive an additional two grand on top of his or her jackpot!” She smiled and stared straight at her father. “Compliments of NaturOIL’s CEO, Jeremy Steele!”
Victor Deleoni Victor looked about the room a moment longer before being distracted by a slight commotion at the elevator. He turned to look. "I find it abhorring, Sir, that you would accuse me of such things. Now, if you would excuse me." A woman said to the Maître d' and truned abruptly and sauntered into the party, leaving the poor old gentleman with a look of consternation, but he seemed distracted by something. Victor knew something was going on. A truly good Maître d' wouldn't allow himself to get frazzled unless something was really wrong. That coupled with the heat gave Victor a very bad feeling, but he pushed it aside, knowing that whatever it was was none of his concern, and returned his attentions to trying to locate Jeremy Steele. A few minutes passes and he still hadn't spotted him. He had however procured a champagne flute and was passively watching a roulette wheel spin, when he again noticed Riley Steele. She was leaning over the shoulder of a young man playing poker. As he watched, she pulled out a sizable stack of hundred dollar bills and set them on the table. She never seemed to run out of those. He watched on, amused to see how this played. The poor young man was sweating bullets, but he finally made the bet. It didn't look good as his opponent somehow had four of a kind and a pair. More shocking than that was when the young man laid down a royal flush. The crowd cheered and Victor joined in. He wondered about what exactly Riley had done. Had she rigged it? Or had she just been playing a game with them both. He though the later more likely. She wasn't the cheating type. Besides, she didn't get anything out of it. Just then she picked up a champagne glass and tapped it for attention. “Starting now, each winner of any Poker game played here on the premises will receive an additional two grand on top of his or her jackpot!” She smiled and stared straight at her father. “Compliments of NaturOIL’s CEO, Jeremy Steele!” Victor again chuchled to himself. That was just like her. Always eager to throw away her fathers money. But then he noticed her eyes locked at the other side of the room, and her teasing, slightly malicious smile. That would be for her father. Victor followed her gaze and spotted him. Jeremy Steele in the flesh. He was standing off to the side, talking to Dirk Durgeson. Victor immediately started making his way over. He pushed through the crowded room towards his target. "Mr. Steele." He said as soon as he was close enough to not make a scene. He extended his hand. "I am Victor Deleoni, and I'm here on behalf of my father, Gregori Deleoni. He would like to have some words with you."
Monica Scotts Before Dirk could respond to her story a gentleman practically danced up, an excited look upon his face. He completly ignored Monica and went straight for Dirk. They immediatly began talking about stocks and money so she stood and excused herself. A soft romantic song began on the speakers. People cleared the middle so that couples could have a dance with one another. Had John still been alive he would have tapped her shoulder asked polietly for a dance and then they would make the other couples jealous. But John wasn't here, she was. She had a firm to investigate and only a few more hours before this case was closed and given to another agency. She grabbed a glass of lime water from a waitress, nodded at her and began noting the people around her. An eldery gentleman stood by the door. Perhaps a greeter. He seemed worried. A woman with a black dress, painful looking heels and an oversized purse pushed the crowd, trying not to touch anybody. She looked anxious as if they might get her sick. Monica smiled at the thought and moved her gaze to the next person. A young couple had just finished a dance and were fanning themselves. They were sweating profusely. The gentleman removed his jacket and began rolling up his sleeves. It then she began to notice the intense heat. Others seemed to be quite uncomfortable as well. She moved over to a waitress and asked her to turn up the air conditioning. The woman replied that they had done so and it wouldn't go up any higher. Strange. Monica walked over to a nearby vent and placed her hand up to it. Only the smallest amount of air was coming through. Suddenly there was static in her ear. <Agent Scotts...*static*...hear me *static*> Monia tapped her earpiece. Why was there static? "I can't hear you chief. There's to much static. Hello?" A person walked by looking at her oddly. She smiled in return. "Cheif?" There was only an annoying static so Monica removed the earpeice and put it in her clutch. She was on her own.
Dirk Durgeson What Dirk had wanted to say to Monica was how strong of a woman he thought she was and how he felt his heart drop in a way that he had never felt before when he looked into her eyes. But, before any of that was able to be said, Mr. Steele himself pulled Dirk away from the woman whom had more than sparked an interest in his hungry yet gigantic heart. He had briefly watched her walk away, a part of him feeling helpless. And helplessness was an uncommon and very uneasy feeling for the always popular, always perfect Dirk Durgeson. “Good evening, Mr Durgeson. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” Jeremy Steele said exuberantly, outstretching his hand to Dirk. Dirk grasped Jeremy's hand and shook it firmly. As beautiful as Dirk found Monica, money was still his first concern. "No, sir, the pleasure is sincerely mine." Dirk said, his voice portraying his genuinity. "I've modeled a lot of my "moves" so to speak, as a leader and top business man after you." He told him, suddenly beginning to realize how hot the building was getting. At first he thought it was just the alcohol, but was beginning to doubt that. Dirk took out a cloth and dabbed his forehead, wincing slightly. Dirk hated to sweat unless he was in his gym clothing and jamming out to Led Zeppelin. The heat was distracting. "Uh.. Sir, have you noticed the heat?" Dirk asked the fat-cat, Steele.
Jo Turic A grand total of two people at the party had now acknowledged her presence in a polite manner. This was actually somewhat better than average for these sorts of events, though she supposed that the various weddings and business dinners that they'd catered so far this month really couldn't be placed in the same category as this particular party, no matter how extravagant they might have been. Regardless, it was nice to be acknowledged. There was something about the man who had just spoken to her which gave off the distinct impression that he was just as out of place here as she was. Or, at least, he felt just as out of place. His suit and style seemed in keeping with the surroundings but, though he did a good job of hiding it, the occasional hint of dislike, or even possibly disdain, seemed to slip into his gaze as he watched the other guests milling about the room. That said, he was clearly here with a purpose and it appeared to be a business one. Soon after claiming one of the pastries she was carrying and surprising her with his call of thanks, the man had spotted Mr Steele making his way towards the corner of the room. His resulting beeline across the room had brought him right to the large CEO as the latter reached his own targeted destination. Unfortunately, Mr Steele had already begun talking to an extremely suavely dressed man whom he greeted as a "Mr Durgeson." Mr Durgeson, in turn, seemed notably more interested in continuing his conversation with the same beautiful lady in a blue dress who had smiled at Jo earlier. Perhaps this was her husband, Jo couldn't see from here whether he wore a ring. The whole thing could only have been closer to something from a comedy movie if the lady in the blue dress had decided that the person she was most interested in talking to was the man who'd just taken Jo's pastry. All that said, Jo thought this odd conversation variant on a love triangle looked more awkward than funny. At any rate, they could figure it out. She was nearly out of pastries and she was just beginning to realize how incredibly hot it was getting in here. She certainly wasn't an expert, but she would have expected a party of this extravagance to have at least one underling devoted to ensuring the guests enjoyed a comfortable temperature. Either said underling was grossly incompetent, the building had some technical issues, or Jo had missed the point where sauna parties became the new in thing. By the looks of annoyance and discomfort which were slowly materializing around the room, Jo was fairly sure that it wasn't the latter.
"I find it abhorring, Sir, that you would accuse me of such things. Now, if you would excuse me." And with that, the woman spun around and marched into the crowd. McDaniels sighed and flicked his earpiece back on. "Security, we have a breech. Woman, about five and a half, brunette, glasses, black dress. Seems to be headed toward the bar." He glanced around the room, quickly spotting a waitress. Her tray was almost empty, so she would be headed back to the kitchen soon anyhow. Nothing would seem amiss. "Jo, I need you to return to the kitchen and tell them to turn off every heat source. Ovens, ranges, bunsens, water heaters, microwaves -- if it makes things warm, I want it dead." And after a brief pause, he added, "And tell them to halt the eggs and hold back the champagne. Have them double up on martinis to balance. "And for Jove's sake, smile! We're not out to make enemies here; you least of all." Orders conveyed, he scanned the party again, his gaze soon finding Mr. Steele. A crowd of people was already forming around him, but that was no matter. This was important. Carefully, yet politely worming his way though the crowd, McDaniels made his way to the CEO's side, placed his hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear, his voice barely above a breath. "Sir, there's a situation. We may need to get you out of here immediately."
Victor Deleoni "Mr. Steele." He said as soon as he was close enough to not make a scene. He extended his hand. "I am Victor Deleoni, and I'm here on behalf of my father, Gregori Deleoni. He would like to have some words with you." As soon as he said it, he knew it was falling on deaf ears. Jeremy Steele was wrapped up in a discussion of figures and numbers with young Dirk Dugerson. He turned to Victor briefly and said, "Yes, yes, in a moment boy." Victor could basically see the dollar signs in his eyes. And he had called him boy. Victor turned and let loose and exasperated sigh. Yes, this indeed was going to be a long evening. His pride wounded, he sulked away. It used to be, when people heard the name 'Deleoni' they paid attention. Things weren't that way anymore. The old ways were fading away. I need to get out of this business. Victor thought. He again sighed. In his distraction however, he nearly bumped into the same young woman in the black dress who had been detained at the elevator. She recoiled away from him, looking almost panicked. "Pardon me miss. I didn't see you there." Victor said in apology. "I couldn't help but notice your, well... dramatic entrance earlier."
Bryn Michaels Bryn hurriedly made her way across the room, dodging people as she went. She needed to find a place to blend in, or at least a balcony of some-kind to take get a good shot. Just one picture, and then she could get the heck out of here. All of this worrying was making her sweat. Turning past a crowd of people hovering together, she didn't notice a man headed straight for her. They nearly touched shoulders, and Bryn gasped, jumping a few steps back. "Pardon me miss. I didn't see you there." The man said in apology. "I couldn't help but notice your, well... dramatic entrance earlier." She quickly recognized him as being the handsome young man who had exited an elevator during her "talk" with the greeter. She adjusted her glasses that had slipped down her nose, while she studied him carefully. From his eyes to his hair, he had a intriguing look of a male model. Bryn laughed uneasily, trying to hold her voice steady. "Ah, yes...I had a bit of trouble there. Left my purse in the car and could barely get let back inside. At all the parties I've been to, I've never seen such tight security. But, please excuse me...I don't want to keep you."
