[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/PIvGkgx.png[/img][/center][indent][sub][COLOR=7ea7d8][sub][b]Location:[/b] Outside Hotel ➟ Gala Fundraiser[/sub][/COLOR][/sub][/indent][indent][sup][right][COLOR=7ea7d8][sub][b]Interactions:[/b][/sub][/color][/right][/sup][/indent][hr]
"Couldn't you have worn something nicer?" 

Boris was holding the backseat door open to let the bickering man out. [color=7ea7d8]"Mr. Osborn, you don't pay me to dress nice."[/color] He said extending his hand out to help, but Mr. Osborn ignored it and promptly pulled himself out on his own. With his back to Boris he pulled out a cigarette and searched his pockets for a lighter. "No, I pay you to drive me around and look intimidating." Boris noticed and quickly opened the car door to grab a lighter from the glove compartment. He tapped the lighter on Mr. Osborn's shoulder who continued "not to look lazy in jeans and a cheap hoodie." He grabbed the lighter and lit his cigarette, inhaling the smoke. Boris looked down at his hoodie with a blank stare [color=7ea7d8]"this was 30 dollars"[/color]. The man threw the lighter back for Boris to catch as he began walking toward the Gala Fundraiser Hotel. "I'll have a talk with Spencer about this..." 

Boris watched the man walk away, rolled his eyes and sighed. Ever since he materialized after the blip, he had to get by with doing odd jobs like this, sometimes hired for security, a bodyguard, or a chauffeur, all for his size. His friend Spencer, one of the only people who still talk to him after he's been fired from the police force, was kind enough to let Boris step in for him while he was away. Something he might not do again if the rich asshole doesn't get drunk enough tonight. He was angry enough that there was no more parking left in the hotel's parking lot, and Boris had to park out on the street infront of the gala, but now apparently his clothes weren't up to code. [color=7ea7d8]"At least for security they give me a uniform... what, was I supposed to buy a tux out of my own pocket for this?"[/color] he said to himself, in Russian.   

He leaned back on the car and pulled out a cigarette of his own, but did not light it. He used to like smoking, but ever since he was injected with the serum, his sense of smell heightened, and the appeal of cigarettes has dropped entirely - their smell being too strong. He tried to sniff toward the gala, but anything he could pick up was overpowered by expensive perfumes, and champagne. He put the cigarette to his mouth and pretended to smoke it as he looked around the building, people watching as men and women in fancy attire came in and out of it. 

He put his cigarette back in his hand when for just a moment, he thought he saw something; a slight movement on the rooftop visible from where he was standing, hidden in the lightlessness of night. He continued his stare, trying to see it again.