[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/oBJ38oL.png[/img][/center]

Man, what a riot. This place was stinking with money - not as much as Brennan liked to toss around, or use for kindling on missions, or craft into bikinis for Kawaguchi, but fucking [i]money[/i] all the same. Old, old-ass money. The kind of money that made and broke families, companies, [i]kingdoms.[/i] And Brennan Griese had accomplished more than most of them put together would do in a lifetime before he was even twenty-five. Imagining what he could do with the remaining three-quarters of his century was among his favorite ways of passing the time during bullshit black tie affairs like this one.

That, and giggling at the more unfortunate among his friends who weren't so used to working crowds. Like the backup (backup) woman in his life, Nura Volkov. The woman who put the Brat in Bratva. Currently being chatted up by some schmuck who was barely fit to be serving her champagne as it was. 

He got her attention the only way he knew how. Pointing at the back of her arm candy's head and miming a kissing face.

[color=aba000][i]No.[/i][/color] Nura shook her head only fractions of an inch to each side, but it was beyond even the idiot to miss the emphasis of its meaning.

When he'd found Nura, Brennan's gaze had been narrowed slightly, watching the crowd with a wary, predatory gaze that only those who had fought him would expect to see on his carefree face. Now the rich man's eyes had gone wide, round, and manic. His fists were balled, pointing upwards; he was practically bouncing on his feet with glee. 

[color=0072bc][i]Y e s![/i][/color]

[color=aba000][i]N o.[/i][/color]

Slowly, like a pendulum, Brennan thrust forward and retracted once. He would have done more, but was too busy clutching his stomach to stave off the urge to double over and laugh at her.

This was too sweet. Long had Griese enjoyed the sick thrill of taunting Nura about her relationship status. What had started with playful jabs about her refusal to click 'like' on his and Umeko's couples pictures on holiday had devolved into an obsession consisting of anything from spamming her Scroll with pictures of cakes every Christmas to sending poor lads into the lion's den on one-sided blind dates.

Buuuuuuut...it [i]did[/i] look like Nura needed some help with this smirking suedehead. She was clearly not bothering to repress her trademark scowl, and whenever she looked over the man's shoulder to Brennan's mischievous, beaming face, he would mouth the word [color=0072bc][i]Help?[/i][/color] Her eyes - which, around most people, growled a succinct [i]No[/i] - were clearly screaming [i][color=0072bc]oh gods Brennan fookin YASSSS![/color][/i]

She picked it up from Umeko. And just like Umeko, he would be perfectly happy to let her squirm until she begged for him. He would have held out, too, but after a minute it looked like she was going to give in to the urge to shoot him, and then Umeko would've found a way to blame poor ol' Griese for letting Nura give [i]another[/i] boy some point blank brain surgery using [i]Grazdrakona[/i] as her fuckin' proxy. Once again, it looked like Brennan Griese would have to do all the talking.

Now. How best to distract someone with their eyes on a golden girl (or soon to be, anyway) like Nura Volkov?

Simple.

Give 'em some platinum.

Brennan waved down a waiter for a little ball of something that, upon inquiry, turned out to be some kinda beer-battered chicken on a little toothpick. He was reluctant about putting it in his mouth without assurances that the brew was Atlesian, but upon deciding that the server was being truthful about the morsel's origins, he stuck to the wall (ignoring many of his more extroverted tendencies screaming at him helplessly in the process) and began approaching the happy couple. Nura's scowl loomed over him, closer and closer, as he crept up behind her would-be suitor. He could practically read the mixed signals in her eyes from here.

[color=aba000][i]If you stab him in the carotid with that toothpick, I will let you carry me away and ravish me in the bathroom. Y-Ye fookin' idiot.[/i][/color]

Or something like that. Her glares always looked the same to him. Well, sorry Nura...

[color=0072bc][i]But Daddy's already got himself a soulmate.[/i][/color]

[i]SMACK![/i]

One hand, renowned the world over for grasping victory in the Vytal Festival five years ago, smacked the waiter harassing Nura right on the outside of his delicate upper thigh. When his eyes, and Nura's, both turned to refocus on the man who had done the smacking, Atlas' handsomest, most charismatic, most insane-in-the-fookin'-brain captain of industry walked right past them with a wink and parked himself on Nura's opposite side. Brennan placed the ball of beer-battered chicken between his teeth and pulled it off the toothpick slowly. Deliberately. Scraped a small droplet of beer off his bottom lip with his teeth.

Somewhere, Noel's ovaries were goin' off like fookin' atom bombs. Poor thing.

[color=0072bc]"Hayyy, cool kids. What in the 'ell do we got ourselves goin' on here? Nooooora~!"[/color] the Atlesian champion sang. [color=0072bc]"Does someone need 'erself an a-dult?"[/color]