Joel had remained sitting on the bench across the street as the helicopter descended and then settled on its gear. To his surprise the pilot had actually cut the engines and [i]parked[/i] as if it were a car. The big chopper blocked traffic in both directions and its apparent handlers were making sure no one got close to it or the frantic throng that exited from the side facing the record store. Joel couldn’t see any of it other than the paparazzi crowds the overflowed past the nose and tail sections. He took out his phone once more and thumbed the tail number into a search engine. [i]Vencorp International[/i] the result shot back even with a few photos of the very machine. He knew of the company and his brow furrowed slightly. [i]Kind of an odd place to be landing the company chopper[/i]. He thought. Then again maybe they [i]really[/i] liked jazz at Vencorp. 

His merry train of thought was interrupted again however as someone inside seemed to have quickly drawn the ire of the assembly. Booing, hissing and few colorful shouts were audible even from where he was sitting. The person on the microphone seemed to be arguing back and forth with the unruly mass. Joel could only see a little past the nose, but the pilot seemed to be getting nervous and began waving his hands at one of the coat and tie security detail. The voice on the microphone changed abruptly followed by a panicked uproar. Joel sat up slightly and looked around. The whole block was getting riled up. A man with no jacket stomped angrily across the way to the older SL Mercedes he’d noticed earlier. As much fun as it was witnessing the rich and affluent have their “jazz” night ruined, he was beginning to wonder if something legitimately serious was happening.

The voice on the microphone changed again. This time distinctly female. It was too muffled for him to understand against the background noise. For a moment he thought he heard [i]his[/i] name before it happened...


[center][h1][b][color=ed1c24]RANDOM EVENT[/color][/b][/h1][/center]

[center][b]The clamoring of an old fire alarm suddenly rattles through Swan Songs briefly after Marinalia hijacks the microphone cutting her off midway through her tirade against the Perfect Posse. The type of old alarm that rattles the teeth down to the nerve. The noise is beyond deafening, it’s nearly painful to those confined within the small record shop. Not far after the alarm, overhead sprinklers burst to life spraying the jazz patrons, but oddly enough those sprinklers positioned over Rupert’s prized record collections are not functioning. Chaos ensues. Sol City Fire & Rescue are dispatched and are now in route.[/b][/center]



[@Pilatus][@Furiosa][@Robo27][@Monacho][@King Tai][@Voltus_Ventus][@Jay Kalton][@aladdin_sane][@RabidPorcupine][@PrinceAlexus][@RoccanIronclad]