Maximantics Corp.

[Deleted]

Lukas sighed, glancing around the room from his spot by the refreshment table. The sounds of meaningless chatter and boring conversations filled the room. The music just barely managed to overcome the sound of all the guests' voices. He didn't plan out this soiree, nor did he even want to be here. Yet there he was, standing by this table and drinking punch. No socializing, just doing quite the opposite. His father should be grateful he even showed up. He knows very well how Lukas doesn't wish to speak to the other people of his "class". They only care about his money and nothing else. He has no need to talk to such...leeches. Yeah, that would describe them perfectly. Sticking to you and sucking you dry of everything only to fall off when they're full. Useless freeloaders...

'I made it clear I didn't wish to come...yet here I am, giving into his demands like one of his servants...' he thought, frowning slightly as he shot a small glare over at his father's directions. As usual, the old man seem to notice that he was there at all. It was as if Lukas didn't even exist at this point in time. 'Couldn't expect more of him...' he thought with a small sigh. He took a sip of his punch, returning his gaze to the large crowd of people. He didn't even know what this party was for anyway. He was just hanging around upstairs as usual, then next thing he knew his father dragged him to the ballroom. And that's basically how he got here, minus the small argument that happened.

He checked his watched and internally frowned. The soiree was sure to last for quite a while, much to the Norwegian's dislike. 'If only I could sneak off... That wouldn't happen though, since he's sure to catch me. Or one of his employees would run into me...' he thought, his eyes scanning the room. Everyone seemed busy, so perhaps there was a chance of him being able to get away. Then again, his father probably hired security. There was no way he would be able to sneak past them. He could always try, but that doesn't mean that he would succeed. Seems like he was stuck here until the very end...regrettably. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. Scratch that, make it "he didn't have anything better to do that his father would approve of."

"What a shame... If only it were possible to get a refund on stolen time..." Lukas said, speaking his mind aloud. He took another sip of his punch, glancing at the different kinds of food set about the table. None of it looked particularly appetizing to him. He knows how bad the food is. If only his father would hire more...talented chefs. Everyone else seems to be enjoying the food though. Apparently they have no sense of taste, or they're faking it. From the food he's been force to swallow all these years he's lived here, he was pretty sure it was the former. "How can they expect me to like this?..." he muttered, picking up what he assumed to be a scone. It look like a giant burnt rock to him. He set it back down, the normally emotionless expression he had showing a hint of disgust. He made a mental note to make sure there was actually edible food whenever he took over the company.

Well, whenever his father decides to give it up, that is...or when he croaks. If only he would kick the bucket, Lukas would love that more than anything. But unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. The old man seems immortal at this point. Well, at not kill-able at the very least. Any assassination attempt or serious illness doesn't take the old man's life. It's bound to happen soon, old age is creeping up on him...if only it would speed it up a bit. The faster, the better...and the sooner Lukas doesn't have to up with his bull anymore.

Perhaps if he was more religious, or at least bothered to be religious in some way, then maybe a miracle like that would happen. Well, it would be a miracle in his eyes. For everyone else...not so much. Perhaps luck will be on his side. Or maybe one of his "hallucinations" can help him out. Surely they would enjoy it, getting back at the one who did destroy their home back in Norway. Then again, if the old man were to die all of a sudden, it might strike as suspicious, then all eyes will turn and suspect him. He is the heir, so the media could say that was the motive. And his relationship with his father never was the best, so they could stay that was only more fuel to the fire.

If only one of those assassination attempts would work, then he would be out of the clear. Then again, the media might suspect that he hired someone to get rid of the old man. Then it would go the same as the other plan. Well, darn it... If only everyone else would mind their own business. He already saw a few reporters out and about. It seems like his father wants his life intruded on. Well, it doesn't really matter. He'll just wait for old age to settle in. 'Surely the media will figure out a way to make it seem like I killed him...' he thought, frowning ever so slightly.

He glanced over back at his father, who was talking rather loudly and occasionally made gestures towards Lukas. He was probably bragging about how he was "the best heir a man could ask for." If he was, people were sure to come over and talk to him. Of course, if people do walk over he'll just seem disinterested and refuse to talk to them until they leave. Works every time...for the most part. There are some people who are too stubborn to leave and insist on staying until he says something. That's when he throws some punch in their face and walks off without a word, leaving his father to rush over and apologize, simply saying it was "that temper of his that just comes and goes out of thin air." If only he would just admit that Lukas did it on purpose because he didn't want to talk to them at the moment...or ever, for that matter.

At least now he's alone and hasn't been bothered. Everything will be fine... Lukas checked his watch again. All that thinking only took a few minutes. Perhaps thinking up more murder plots that will forever just stay passing thoughts, here one second and gone the next, would make time pass by faster. Taking another sip of his punch, he continued watching the crowd.'Stupid leeches are up to no good...' he thought. This was going to be one long party, that much he could tell. Maybe sneaking out wasn't such a bad idea after all...

[Asunara Wisdom]

MOD - AUDREY PECK

A young woman enters the bus with a notepad in hand and a pencil in her left pocket. Despite the bus being somewhat empty and there being quite a few free seats, she deliberately takes the seat next to Kiku, and obviously doesn't mind sharing the space.

She suddenly turns to Kiku and with great vigor, she passionately says "If I told you that you had a nice body, would you hold it against me?"

[Deleted]

Arthur had never been one for large gatherings or parties—he preferred to stay at home with a good book, curled up near the fire with a warm cup of Earl Grey tea. He was grateful for the little things in life and he did well to remind himself not to spoil himself unless he had completely deserved it (not that he regularly ever thought he deserved it; he liked to say that there were still things that could be improved, and he hadn’t completed his goal yet anyhow).

He didn’t like crowds much, and maybe it was his general distaste for most people that made it difficult for him to enjoy himself at something as big as a soiree. Most of the people here had tastes too rich, too fancy for his own. Even though Arthur had grown up in a well-to-do family, it’d been a big one, and he’d had to provide for himself in college. He knew exactly what it was like trying to live on minimum wage. So really, Arthur would rather not be here.

The only problem was that he needed to be here. Arthur William Kirkland was a name often mentioned in conversations as the Labour Party gained more and more seats in Parliament. He had to be seen at the right occasions. The media was all over him for the most part, and attending such a big event could either help him or severely hurt him.

He hoped for the former.

Arthur needed to get support from the right people, or they could undermine all his work by throwing around just a little bit of money. Certain people could sabotage him easily, make him look like a fool, and the media would be on it like vultures on an abandoned carcass. They tailed him everywhere and it was getting nerve-wracking, being followed like that, as though he was a celebrity when he was everything but.

Arthur wanted to get support from the right people though—being on the good side of certain corporations meant he’d have some security that they wouldn’t be plotting against him. They’d support him in his efforts to reform the country. His goal was to make Britain strong, to make Britain self-sufficient, and to give all the people equal opportunity. He wanted to see the homeless off the streets and in well-kept shelters with warm beds and food, then eventually off the streets permanently with secure jobs and good pay. He wanted to see the adoption system boom, all the parentless children with a home where they could feel loved. He wanted social services to be better, get all the children in horrible homes somewhere they’d be safe.

He couldn’t do much if he wasn’t making an influence and wasn’t making connections with people that mattered in the big picture.

Frankly, this all meant that when he got the invitation to attend a soiree held by Norwegian company Maximantics Corp., he couldn’t turn them down. That would’ve been an insult to the man who ran the company and Arthur would’ve found himself with a powerful enemy.

He couldn’t risk that. Politics was tricky business. It was hard to appeal to everyone. Arthur had already established himself as a voice of the people, not a pawn of the rich. He held true to the ideals of democracy and equal opportunity, and the polls were saying that the majority wanted him as Prime Minister. It was encouraging, to say the least. The polls had gone up too, after he’d made a speech the previous week, outlining the major problems in the UK that needed to be fixed.

Maybe that’s why Maximantics Corp.’s founder had invited him here. Mr. Bondevik needed to be seen with the right people as well.

Arthur guessed they were both alike in this aspect.

But by god if he wanted to stand in the same spot all day and listen to the man drone on about—well, he didn’t actually know. Arthur had long lost track, to be honest, and had just been pretending to be listening attentively for the past five minutes. He took a tentative sip of his wine and did his best not to make a face at the taste and the burning sensation as it slid down his throat. Maybe if he loosened up a little, talking to these people with rich tastes and snobbish attitudes wouldn’t be so unbearable.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed a man, not too much younger than himself, standing by the refreshment’s table. He recognized him—Lukas Bondevik, heir to one of the biggest companies in the world.

Quietly, Arthur excused himself from the little group that had formed. He inched his way through the crowd, broke free and made a bee-line to the refreshments table. Less people meant it’d be easier to breathe, and Arthur supposed he should attempt to get to know the young heir.

Once Mr. Bondevik keeled over with age, it’d be Lukas that Arthur would have to deal with, and making an enemy out of him wasn’t ideal.

He stood next to Lukas in silence, observing the crowd: The ladies in their fanciful, colorful dresses, low-cut and sparkling, tip-toeing about in their ridiculously high-heeled shoes; the men in their sharp suits and polished leather shoes, wearing ties, their hair slicked back, a rose in attached to their suit jacket.

Arthur felt a little plain in comparison—he wore a suit, same as all of them, but he hadn’t put a rose on his jacket and he’d left his hair in its natural state, feeling gel to be too much of an effort to look like something he was not.

He let out a light chuckle. That's all people ever tried to be though. They wanted to be something they couldn't be. That's why most of them were here, after all.

“They’re all the same, aren’t they? Qui se ressemble s'assemble,” he said to Lukas with a light attitude. “Birds of a feather flock together, and from where I’m standing, they all look rather like pigeons trying to be peacocks.” He swished the red wine around in the glass and watched it swirl. "Meanwhile, what is the great heir of Maximantics Corp. doing avoiding everyone? Though, I must admit, it's much nicer over here. I don’t have to fear being suffocated in that crowd.”

[Deleted]

Lukas watched as large groups formed here and there. Surely there would be enough people around for him to make his escape. He glanced at the exits, trying to see which one would be best to leave through. The main exit wouldn't do any good, since someone would be sure to see him if he tried to walk out...

'Perhaps I should wait until a group covers it well enough...'

The Norwegian tensed slightly as he heard a voice speak. He glanced over and saw a blond slightly older than him. 'Arthur Kirkland...of course father invited him... he thought, looking at the Englishman.

Should he answer the man's question or just ignore him. If he answered, he would most likely get dragged into a conversation, which would postpone his fleeing from the soiree. Though, if he ignored, the man might leave though Lukas's father would sure be displeased. He could always excuse himself and try to find something to seem busy with. Though that might end up with him talking to someone less tolerable than Arthur...

"...Simply because I don't wish to socialize with people who are only interested in my status," Lukas replied, looking back over at the crowd of people. He wouldn't have to deal with them once he takes over. Perhaps he could get some useful allies whose only interest isn't his money.

"And from what I can tell, you probably came over because you want something from me...correct? Or do you just wish to talk?" he asked. Surely there was a reason as to why Arthur joined him by the refreshment table. If the Brit did want to talk, it will most likely not be about useless things, that much Lukas could tell. Arthur wanted something from him. Then again, so did everyone who tried to socialize with the Norwegian...

Well, the least Lukas would do was hear the man out if it turned out he did in fact had something to say.

[Deleted]

For a split moment, Arthur thought Lukas was going to ignore him—or rather, disregard him. He didn’t care if it was the first one, but if the latter happened… Arthur could already feel his blood boiling. He wasn’t one to be disregarded.

Then the other spoke to him. Arthur tilted his head and watched the crowd once more. People were dancing to the music which was provided by a nice, little orchestra consisting of two violins, a piano, a cello, and some flutes. He really wanted to ask ‘Why flutes?’ He never did understand the appeal. Then there was the small (and growing) cluster around Mr. Bondevik, laughing their fake laughs and smiling their plastic smiles.

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

Arthur hummed and set the wine glass aside. He’d had enough of that. It was starting to taste worse than it had earlier.

“Want something? Depends. Does it count as wanting something if I want to avoid getting dragged into another conversation with your father in which I can’t get a word edgewise? I’m a bit tired of him droning on and on about how wonderful his sons are—I don’t believe things until I see them, and the people hanging onto his every word are absolutely suffocating.

“Actually, I just want to avoid them all. To be perfectly honest, I hate gatherings of all sorts. Waste of money, time, and breath, if you ask me.” He shrugged. “I’m only here as a courtesy. I would rather not be here.”

Arthur paused for a moment. “Don’t tell your father I said that though,” he added with a nervous chuckle. “It wouldn’t bode well for me.”

Considering he had the money and power to knock Arthur flat on his back, Arthur didn’t want to be on Mr. Bondevik’s bad side. This, though, he left unsaid.

[Deleted]

Lukas glanced over at his father and the group around him. How could the old man stand to be around a bunch of fakers? Actually, how could people stand his father? Lukas didn't like the man, that was for sure. Having the two next to each other was the worst thing anyone could do. The tension between them would be unsettling for anyone nearby.

"I would call wanting to avoid my father common sense...and as you can see, most of these people don't have it," he sighed, turning his attention to the people dancing. Why did his father have to get an orchestra? Just because they could afford it doesn't mean they had to get one. 'He must want to show off...as usual...and of course everyone overlooks that fact...' the Norwegian thought.

"And I won't tell him, only because I find no use in wasting my time to go over just to say one person doesn't want to be here when I would rather be someplace else as well...very far away from my father and his so-called friends..." Lukas added after a few seconds of silence. He said nothing of his plans to sneak out, since he did not find it relevant whatsoever.

Besides, those plans weren't exactly...done yet. Though it wasn't as if Lukas was going to tell anyone in the first place. He was still trying to think of where to go once he did leave... It's not like he could go home, judging on how that would be the first place his father would send people to look. After that would be the rest of the building. Lukas didn't really go out all that often, so his father would be at a loss as to where to look next.

'It would be like a game of cat and mouse...' he thought, looking back over at his father, seeing him chat away without a care in the world.

...Oh, if looks could kill...if only they could...

[Deleted]

Arthur could tell that Lukas wanted to leave, from the way he was glancing at the nearest exit. Arthur couldn’t blame him. Still, he couldn’t help but think that Lukas, having grown up rich and with more opportunities than most of the world, would appear more grateful that his fortune was good and that his family even had the money to hold these sorts of events.

Arthur could see the money being put to better use elsewhere, and if he had the money the Bondeviks had, it’d definitely be going to charities and hospitals.

But then again, that was what Arthur would do. He couldn’t speak for Lukas, or his siblings, or anyone else in the world. But Lukas—he looked angry at everyone here, and if Arthur bet someone that there was no good reason for it, he’d probably win.

“Common sense, huh?” Arthur said. He smoothed down his suit and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. Though he looks to enjoy being the center of a conversation, he seems an amiable enough man. I just get bored hearing someone drone on about something—in politics, it happens all the time, though, so I’m slowly getting used to it…”

He glanced where Lukas was looking. “You know, go ahead and leave. No one can stop you. You’re a legal adult, no one can force you to stay. Doesn’t matter where you end up, if they go to get you, they can’t do anything because you’re legally old enough to make your own decisions. Keep in mind how lucky you are, though. There are millions of people out there that would gladly trade places with you in less than a heartbeat,” Arthur said, watching the sway of the crowd to the music.

Hell, maybe it wasn’t so bad being here. After all, it was a privilege very little people were entitled to. Arthur would just be grateful he was there at all.

[Deleted]

Lukas glanced back over at Arthur. That's when the silence sort of settled in, apart from the background noise full of chatter and music. "...No one can force me to stay? If only that was the case..." he sighed, looking out to the crowd. He's seen many like it, and sure enough he would see a lot more. His father would make sure of it. "Unfortunately for me, my father keeps me on a leash. Worried I might try to run off from my 'responsibilities'. If all else it would just be him for no longer than an hour or two. But no, I can't go out and enjoy myself without him at my side. Apparently it's too dangerous for someone of my 'social rank' to be out and about. I understand that at least, but really...I can handle myself..." he went on. There was another reason as to why his father kept him close by, and that one he understood well...

He kept his eyes on the guests, shifting his gaze from one to another, as if studying them. "I know people would love to be in my place. In fact, I wouldn't mind trading at all. They deserve better, and I would love more than anything to get out of all the pressure on my shoulders already... To at least spend a day being like anyone else in this city..."

Picking up a glass, full of what appeared to be vodka, from the table next to him, Lukas looked down at it. This conversation was starting to bother him, in more ways than one. He was practically a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any given second. As usual, he showed no signs of being angered whatsoever. Seemingly relaxed as can be, an emotionless expression, eyes as "dull" as ever...nothing out of the ordinary.

"Not everyone gets what they want, now do they? Not even me, with almost anything I could ever dream of at my fingertips. No, there are some things that we want that are just impossible to obtain, and others that are given to us whether or not we want them," Lukas said softly, his grip on the glass slightly tightening as he looked up at Arthur.

[Mihai Chimet]

Mihai Chimet reclined easily against the walls of the Maximantics ballroom, a flute of champagne resting between his fingers. His eyes darted around the large area, taking note of guests, exits, the security posted near the edges of the soiree, trying not to allow his lackadaisical mentality to convince him that this had been the exact same scene he'd been observing for at least the past three hours, and therefore he should just stop. He had quickly lost interest in his surroundings after the first hour or so, true, but he tried to be attentive in case anything went wrong, and though he completed this duty of observation as carefully as his bored psyche would allow, he privately thought that it was a right shame indeed that he had to keep himself distanced from the rest of the guests. He was at a soiree, after all, and it was unfortunate that he couldn't enjoy more of the wines or chat up the particularly cute redhead he'd been eying since a few minutes ago.

Swirling the golden liquid gently in his glass, he raised the flute to his lips and took a small sip. He wasn't allowed to drink too much on the job—not that anyone was monitoring him per se, though it usually reflected badly—but he reasoned that as an invitee to the soiree (sort of) he may as well blend in a bit, and a little bit of alcohol never did any harm. Besides, with the small leeway they'd been granted, he was hardly able to scout beyond the floor he currently occupied. In his opinion, rather a senseless restriction for the threat they were supposedly facing.

Roughly a month ago, the Home Office had intercepted a message detailing an assassination attempt on the senior Mr. Bondevik to take place during the soiree. Maximantics had been notified, of course, and advised to cancel the event but in true rich-people style, they had refused to do so. Complicating matters even further, his detail had been obliged to operate separately from Maximantics' personal security after the board of the corporation had refused to allow the agency to take charge of protection, reluctant to leave the outsiders to protect their precious head and heir. Maximantics had even conducted its own security sweep before the soiree rather than allow his team to run a threat check.

Mihai, more commonly known around this scene as Michael Collins, had scoffed at the business' arrogance but had been instructed not to push the matter further. That was how they had been tied down to the first floor, undercover, with nothing more than a handgun at their disposal. Fat lot that would do against a Mafia hit, he had argued, but Maximantics was either competent enough or reassured of their competence enough that they were willing to run that risk. Mihai himself would've just left the issue stand long ago and allowed the head to be shot or stabbed or strangled or whatever, but the Labor Party had insisted on protection for their best bid at party dominance since more than a decade.

As his earpiece sounded with his men's scheduled check-in, his eyes wandered over to the man in question at the far end of the room. Blond hair, green eyes (too far to be able to see, but he knew this from a few previous encounters), dressed in a suit like the rest of them. Currently the ace for the Labor Party, who had hinged their hopes on him to bring their bloc a sweeping victory at the next election. Arbitrarily, his memory jogged as his gaze passed over the other, some other facts came to mind: age 25, height 173 cm, weight 63 kg, first name Arthur, last name Kirkland. Ill health from childhood too, or so he'd heard. If Mihai hadn't been the chief of protecting that man from terrorist threats, he would likely have been arrested at the most or surveilled at the least for knowing that information.

"Visual confirmation of Arthur Kirkland established," he murmured, the microphone pinned to his lapel picking up his words. He tore his gaze from Arthur as the man chatted with the elder Bondevik son and searched out the few other politicians who had decided to attend the event. He rattled off some names, easily locating the others, before he paused and skimmed the room once again.

"Alexandra Ivanovich, absent," he added. "Anyone seen her?"

A chorus of 'no's echoed in his earpiece and he sighed, prepared to have one of his agents leave her post in yet another useless expenditure of time. "Miss Tachibana, if you wouldn't mind checking the restrooms."

He settled back to watch the rest of the guests as her assent came through, not feeling all too concerned. Ivanovich hadn't been the target of the intercepted message anyway, and they'd already run through the same process earlier that evening with another man, only to discover him outside the building while engaged in an exasperated conversation with his wife. Not even professionalism could stifle Sergei Anderson's giggles as he conveyed that the man's son had apparently shaved the pattern of a smiley face onto the family cat and proceeded to dye the animal neon pink.

Feeling slightly more anxious as the soiree went on, he stole a glance at his watch. The event was nearing its end already—he heard that Bondevik senior would be making a speech at that time—and yet there had been no disturbances. Best-case scenario dictated that the occasion would come to a close without any attempt at killing everyone in the building (Mihai had had a fair amount of these scenarios in his experience), but worst-case scenario indicated that everything their intercepted transmission had conveyed would come true (Mihai had had many more of these in his experience).

He shook off the slight unease—tension did no favors in emergencies anyway—and drained his flute of champagne, leaving it on the serving dish of a caterer. Then, he righted himself. Tachibana would be reporting back soon, probably having located Ivanovich reapplying make-up in the restroom or something of the sort, and hopefully then Bondevik would make his speech and Mihai could go home, applauding himself for having spent yet another day guarding the delicate lives of the rich and famous. Just as he'd always dreamed of doing, he thought sarcastically.

But realistically, there was no escape for him at the present time. He figured he might as well enjoy the soiree a little since that was the case, and having a chat with the cute redhead he'd seen earlier seemed like an adequate way to spend the next half-hour.

[Deleted]

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[atrb=style, background-color: #1A1A1A; border-radius: 35px;] YOU ONLY GOT ONE LIFE TO LEAD SO DON'T TAKE FOR GRANTED THE LITTLE THINGS Italian journalist and socialite Mr. Feliciano Vargas had been invited to this soiree to work. To work to glorify Maximantics through the press... and to give the soiree a bit of a glamour factor to the soiree. It always seemed as if people were intrigued by the name or reputed an event to a higher standard when the name was plastered onto the guest list. He had no say in why that was. All he did was simply enjoy himself the way he wanted to and talk to whoever he felt like talking to, after all. It's probably because he writes articles? He really can't put his finger to it. Nonetheless, there was work to be done here, and Feliciano was quite distracted by the festivities. He'll get the work done some way... just not with his notepad in front of him and scribbling incoherent notes that he probably wouldn't be using later anyways. And anyways, soirees weren't the most fun parties ever. They were the most expensive and fanciest, though. Now then, instead of doing work, he was flanked by women and chatting away with his usual charm. The selection at this soiree happened to be a great one... cute women everywhere, dressed their best in honour of Mr. Bondevik Senior. He had a glass of red wine in one hand, his other hand gesticulating quite a lively story that was every ounce true... even if a bit dramatic. "And then that was a bad move to go into the bear exhibit during the review because suddenly, the bear decided to be hungry... and that's when I ended up having to run my way out of that safari as fast as possible!" And of course, he wasn't lying. All these stories he'd tell had quite a bit of truth, even if his emotions would sometimes overdo it. Then again, his emotions overdo everything. It was expected of none other than Mr. Feliciano Vargas. He had been surrounded by women throughout most of this soiree, though he easily could dismiss them to talk to a manly man of business or politics. After all, he still at least attempted to get his job done. But pleasing the ladies (and some men) was his eternal duty, no~? Alas, he really didn't have to worry. Even if he came up with no notes, he'd still be able to write an article and be a critic of the food and a judge of the crowd. He'd still have his final word. So let's just enjoy ourselves~ He had at least noted down a list of some important politicians and rich people who are attending the soiree. Among them, he had listed Arthur Kirkland, that government upstart that Feliciano had done an article on not too long ago, Michael Collins, head of the Counterterrorism Initiative, Lukas Bondevik, heir and soon to be successor of Maximantics, Sindri Emil Bondevik, younger brother of Lukas, Mr. Bondevik Senior himself... Well, there were quite a few important people. He had already taken some mental notes on what the heck they're doing. Arthur talking to Lukas, probably to get on his good side. Michael making sure that security was well for the politicians he had to protect and looking at a redhead... Ooh, she looks cute. No, Feli, focus, you can talk to the redhead later. Miss Hannah Templeton was cavorting with that one CEO from that one company and... After having completed his thrilling, heart-racing tale on his encounter with that bear and how he had outran it, hehad to get some work done. No more lollygagging for real now... but oh dear the urge to chat up that one— No, focus. Focusing is good. Let's focus. Let's actually get some interview notes because you are here to work, and if you get some interview notes, it'll look like you did more than just spent your budget on a new tie and drinks. "Excuse me, ladies, I have some work to attend to~" he said with a little salute and the charming wink. A couple of them giggled in that sort of way that would probably annoy those loveless "forever alone" girls. With smooth strides, Feliciano pulled out his notepad and prepped notes. He decided to go kill two birds with one stone. After all, the article he's here for is to glorify the soiree. But he could always get the interview he was supposed to schedule for Michael Collins for the next article had to be finished sooner or later. Might as well get it done right now and go party up at the soiree... however you're supposed to do that. Because yeah, the soiree was kinda stiff on the collar. And it was probably frowned upon if he spontaneously decided to strip and run around until he needed to sleep. That kind of action was meant for another kind of party. He approached Michael Collins, camera swinging around his neck (He was supposed to be taking pictures at the soiree... but had neglected to. Might as well start now), trusty pen in hand, spiral-bound notepad ready for some action. Collins appeared to be...ooh, checking out the red-haired lady~? Well then, Feliciano would have to learn that lady's name to keep on top of the gossip. But not now. Stop getting freaking distracted. Let's work... Urgh, but tha— Let's just start the interview, shall we? "Ciao, Mr. Collins! Vargas, Crown Royale Gazette journalist and reporter, at your service. Scusa, this is spontaneous, but I'd like an interview with you straight away!" made by kiwii at btn & ote!

[Deleted]

Having read and reread the paperwork regarding Maximantics Corporation, Ludwig felt comfortable in his knowledge of the company and its policies. An hour and a half later, however, he regretted that he hadn't spent that time reading something more entertaining because hardly any of the information arose in conversation. Even the chairman, whom Ludwig had only spoken to briefly, seemed to want to talk more about his heir than about business. Weakly, the German had tried to raise the topic with some of the other attendees, but they didn't seem as concerned or curious as Ludwig was, and quickly shifted the topic of discussion to the stock market, or the price of gold, or even the latest celebrity scandal. Out of his element, Ludwig had politely excused himself to the bar, obtained a glass of red wine, and had lingered there ever since.

The event had turned out to be a popular one, and a fair number of well-regarded people had turned up, including several Ludwig knew well. Kirkland was standing nearby, talking to the rather unhappy looking heir to Maximantics; some distance away, Michael Collins was stalking after an attractive redhead. For a split-second, Ludwig contemplated approaching either of his acquaintances, just to have someone to talk to, but he caught himself quickly: both men were clearly preoccupied. Still, he couldn't sulk next to the alcohol until the gathering ended. Instead, he crossed the room to get a better look at the orchestra.

From this vantage point, the overwhelming buzz of chatter and laughter and clinking glasses died down a little, pleasantly drowned out by music. Ludwig had to admit he was surprised people were dancing. Not that it didn't make sense -- the party had been held in a ballroom -- but he'd always assumed people would prefer drinking and talking to dancing. Even so, a small contingency of couples had taken over part of the floor space, and as the foxtrot the orchestra had been playing slowed to a halt, Ludwig stepped out of the way to let a few of them pass by.

"Nice, isn't it?"

It took Ludwig a half-moment to realize the bearded man who'd materialized at his elbow was speaking to him.

"Oh, absolutely. Very nice," he agreed quickly. "Mr. Bondevik has outdone himself."

"Well, he's got a lot to celebrate and be proud of," he man replied with what was unmistakably a chuckle. Ludwig realized he looked like a corporate besuited Father Christmas.

"I hear he's going to be giving a speech later," he remarked. "Any idea what it's about?" The man blinked at him owlishly, then laughed again.

"You don't look like a reporter at all!" Ludwig's expression turned confused.

"I'm not a reporter."

"Could've fooled me!" the man chortled, before patting him on the arm. "I'm sure he wouldn't want to spoil whatever surprising news he's got planned." A woman with a tray of shrimp walked past and the man followed after her, trying to snag a few, leaving Ludwig feeling disgruntled. Maybe he'd go bother Arthur after all, perhaps to complain about how vague his native countrymen were.

[Mihai Chimet]

What he'd learned so far: her name was Rose Griffith, and she was enrolled in graduate school, interning with Maximantics for a semester. She was interested in being a business attorney, and was very honored that Maximantics had recruited her—with a paid internship, no less. She spoke highly of the company management (though Mihai wondered if that might change if the head managed to get himself assassinated that night). Aside from the praises she sang about the company, however, Mihai could objectively say that she was cute; the type of girl that naturally brimmed with excitement and had trouble composing herself for formal events. If it wouldn't have been considered rude, he would have advised her to try her hand at a more pleasant career.

Rose was a picture of enthusiasm, eyes bright enough to rival the chandeliers, really, in the middle of detailing the contents of a book she'd recently read when an interrupting greeting diverted Mihai's attention.

"Ciao, Mr. Collins!

His gaze slid in the intervening man's direction as his conversational partner fell silent. Mihai allowed himself the luxury narrowing his eyes at the newcomer in mild annoyance before he conjured up the smile necessary to confront the other patrons of the soiree. It wasn't as though Mihai himself was particularly interested in economics, but it was somewhat more intriguing when a pretty girl with passion for the topic was explaining it.

"Vargas, Crown Royale Gazette journalist and reporter, at your service. Scusa, this is spontaneous, but I'd like an interview with you straight away!"

A reporter, of course. They never had any sense of timing. Flirting aside, there couldn't have been a worse time for Mihai to have been asked for an interview. At the very least he could hurry away from a conversation with other guests if things turned sour, but for all he knew, hurrying away from an interview could cause the journalist to spin the story in a bad light. To make matters worse, he'd had more than enough people from media pursue him as he'd tried to take his leave—honestly, they really thought that they were entitled to everyone's time, weren't they?

Briefly, he considered writing this "Vargas" off as having mistaken him for someone else, but it was painfully obvious that a ploy like that wouldn't work in such a setting. 'Grin and bear it' seemed to be the way to go, much to his displeasure. He'd never liked the media much, and being under their scrutiny was something he absolutely loathed—though he imagined that the Prime Minister had it much worse (not to mention the best and brightest of the Labor Party, which begged the question why Vargas wasn't interviewing him instead).

"Sorry, Miss Griffith," he said to the woman, who was looking questioningly between the two men. "Duty calls." If duty could be considered akin to a gossip-starved journalist.

Rose shook her head and muttered a quick, if slightly disappointed, 'it's all right.' In a small gesture of apology and intending to leave her with a favorable impression, Mihai swept a glass of red wine from the tray of a passing caterer and offered it to her.

"It's been a pleasure," he added with a smile. "I'll see you again later if opportunity allows."

A great deal less enthusiastically, he turned his attention to Vargas as the woman wandered off. He took a cursory scan of the other—the auburn hair and brown eyes, decked out in a suit. Vargas didn't seem familiar (and the name didn't quite ring any bells either), so Mihai assumed that the man wasn't a regular in the political scene. Though granted, the soiree was hardly purely political in nature this time around.

Now that he had Mihai's attention, Vargas was looking at him expectantly, camera around his neck and notebook flipped open, pen poised to write. A fitting example of a journalist, if Mihai had ever seen one.

'So, now that you've interrupted one of the more pleasant conversations I've had tonight, is there anything else you want?' he was tempted to ask, but refrained. A sour response would hardly earn him any favors, and if he couldn't escape the game, he might as well play it to the best of his ability.

"Good evening, Mr. Vargas," he greeted the journalist. His tone was that of polite disinterest which he used to deal with individuals he had saw no appeal in talking to, but had no choice in the matter. "It's quite a soiree Mr. Bondevik threw, don't you think? I hope you've enjoyed your evening."

Actually, he couldn't care less, but such trivial wishes were necessary for the scene. Anyway, by the rosy flush of the the other's cheeks, he could safely say that Vargas had very likely enjoyed himself, perhaps to some of the wine and the company of some richly-clothed women. Frivolities taken care of, he didn't afford the other much time to answer before he brought up what was of concern to him.

"I'm sure you also know there's also been an assassination threat on Mr. Bondevik," he said, "and that I'm here to make sure that they can't follow through." He looked at Vargas with a glimmer of a dare in his eyes, wondering if the other would be audacious enough to insist on an interview at the cost of diverting Mihai's attention. It was a perfectly reasonable threat, after all (if it could even be deemed a threat), and if it cowed the eager reporter, then all the better.

"We're operating in spite of certain constraints," he continued, emphasizing the difficulty of his position. He refrained from mentioning Maximantics' board of directors by name out of civility only. "And I'm expecting another quick check-in by my team in roughly twenty minutes." (Though speaking of his team, where had Tachibana gone off to?)

He directed a smile at Vargas, intended to take off whatever edge there might have been to his words. "I'll be happy to answer your questions if you can finish in that amount of time."

[Deleted]

Arthur stared at Lukas. He knew it was rude to stare, but honestly, it was hard not to at the moment. He stared right into the other’s face and looked for any trace that Arthur might have misunderstood the other, or that the other was joking. Maybe he would find a slight smile or smirk, just a twitch of the corner of his mouth, or maybe a tiny gleam in his eyes. Arthur didn’t find that.

Did he really just say what Arthur thought he said? If Lukas really thought trading places with absolutely anyone in the world was better than what he had now, then Arthur was just going to give up on the man right here, right now. He’d never heard something so—well, for lack of a better word—stupid in his entire life.

Arthur had met a lot of stupid people by that point.

So he laughed. Arthur couldn’t help it. His shoulders shook and he closed his eyes, grin spreading across his face. Hell, it wasn’t even funny. Arthur just laughed, though, because there was nothing else he could do. He could argue back all he wanted, and it wouldn’t do him any good. He could try reason, but then he’d be reasoning with the unreasonable, wouldn’t he?

“Are you sure that’s what you want then? You said anyone in the city, so you must be okay with these,” Arthur said once he stopped laughing. He stared down the other with his eyes narrowed. Arthur wasn’t pleased with the turn of events, but people had to get told off every once in a while, no matter who they were, even if they part of a powerful business. Especially if they were a part of a powerful business.

“Would you like to switch places with a little child in the hospital, suffering from cancer? How about the poverty stricken man who can’t make enough for his family and watches as his children starve? Would you like to be him? Or maybe you’d like to be the woman who has lost all her children? What about the homeless man who can’t even find a blanket to stay warm at night?” Arthur challenged, his tone slipping into a sneer, one tinged with poison. “Would you like to switch places with him?

“Or maybe you’d prefer someone in your age group. Okay, so why not switch places with a homeless youth who has to steal to buy some bread. What about the young girl so lost that she goes through life in motions? Would you like to trade with the girl who needs health care because she was assaulted, but will consequently lose her job and her only source of income?”

Arthur shook his head and scoffed. He might as well stop now, he guessed. He was probably digging himself into a hole that he’d find trouble getting out of later. “You don’t know what you’re saying when you say you’re willing to trade with anyone. You don’t understand the exact hardships people go through. I don’t even understand them, but at least I can see them.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked back at the crowd, unsure of what he was really feeling. He guessed he was just… “I’m disappointed now,” he said. There. That’s what he felt. “I thought you’d be good. I thought maybe there was a chance for you, maybe you’d be different from the others. But you’re only a boy. You’re two years younger than me and you’re a little boy with no idea of how the world really works.”

Arthur shook his head again. "Forget it. This is ridiculous anyway. I believe we're done here." Arthur fell silent. He was done talking, he was done listening.

He needed to get away from Lukas now. He was riled and didn't want to have to be near him any longer. Arthur searched out someone else. Maybe he should find Ludwig...

[Deleted]

Oh, Arthur had gone too far. No one insults Lukas and gets away with it unscathed. He was more than pissed, annoyance and a bit of anger visible on his face. That was not a good sign at all. Of course, the Norwegian said nothing throughout the Brit's little rant. Instead he waited until he was done.

“You don’t know what you’re saying when you say you’re willing to trade with anyone. You don’t understand the exact hardships people go through. I don’t even understand them, but at least I can see them.” the other said. Lukas grip on his drink tightened, making develop a small crack. He did know what he was saying. Who was Arthur to tell him off about this when Arthur himself didn't understand it.

“I thought you’d be good. I thought maybe there was a chance for you, maybe you’d be different from the others. But you’re only a boy. You’re two years younger than me and you’re a little boy with no idea of how the world really works.” the man had said. Why did he speak as if Lukas was inferior? So what if he was younger and had different opinions. Arthur knew nothing about him, nothing at all. He didn't know what he went through, what kind of person his dad was when people weren't around.

Soon silence fell between them. Then, well, he threw that drink of his right at the blond's head.

The chatter stopped and was replaced with gasps and hushed conversations about the action. Lukas didn't care though, he did not appreciate Arthur's words. Not one bit.

"Yeah, I still would. If you knew the man my father truly was, you would say the same," he hissed before storming off. Oh would Arthur regret the day he crossed him, he would make sure of that.

[Deleted]

His interest in the music and dancing having temporarily spent itself, Ludwig reintegrated himself amongst the party guests. While his efforts at making conversation still weren't working especially well, a few of the Maximantics board members had already had far too much to drink to care, which worked to his advantage; he even got away with some delicately sarcastic answers that he'd never have risked if everyone in the room was sober. The evening seemed to be in an upswing, and for a few moments Ludwig honestly felt glad that he'd come: this kind of elbow-rubbing could be good for his career. His cautious optimism wavered, however, when his eyes wandered beyond some stranger's shoulder and he caught sight of Arthur.

His coworker seemed to be in some kind of heated discussion with the heir to Maximantics. From this distance, Ludwig couldn't hear what words were being exchanged, but both men were clearly riled up about something. He couldn't say for sure what exactly he'd been expecting, but when the elder Bondevik son winged a glass at Arthur's face, Ludwig let out a startled gasp; from the sounds around him, more people had been paying attention to the exchange than just him. The room descended into odd silence, broken only by the quiet music; the band members had continued to play, exchanging supremely awkward glances.

Ludwig wasn't certain how much damage the glass would have done to his coworker, but he knew Arthur well: if the Englishman had been so riled up about something, odds were high it was for a good reason. With a short bow to the men and women he'd been speaking with, Ludwig said, "Excuse me," before walking calmly off through the crowd, now surrounded by buzzing whispers. The Maximantics heir had vanished -- fled the scene, Ludwig reasoned with himself. He stopped to relieve the shrimp lady of a towel she'd had draped over her arm just in case Arthur had gotten covered in alcohol, then walked over to join his coworker, who still looked incensed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, sneaking a glance at the other man before searching the crowd; most people had gone back to their drinks and gossip, especially now that they had something so new and shocking to discuss. "What on earth was all of that about?"