9:48pm, January 8; The Iceburg Lounge; Edward Nygma

Lights pulsed around him, encouraging the growing headache as he searched the crowd for any sign of Flass or the others. The waitress had just set the bill down on the table and was waiting expectantly. He could cover the tab, but he'd covered the tab for the last three outings and his bank account was feeling the strain. At some point it had to stop being his turn to pay.

Unable to spot any of the guys from work with the crowd milling about and waitstaff moving through like the smoke that clung to half the faces and coiled around the room like snakes waiting to squeeze and choke the life from their prey, he smiled sheepishly up at the woman - Lark was it? Or Nightingale? All the waitresses had bird names and were styled to be nearly indistinguishable from each other - and ordered another grasshopper. 'One for the road' slipped out of his lips and she grinned at him and gave a soft laugh like she found him to be some combination of genuinely amusing and adorable. The check was removed and she slid back into the crowd to get his drink from the bar.

Once he could no longer see her, he stood up, fingers rising to press against his eyes, pushing his glasses up and unsettling them. It didn't help the pain starting to throb across the outside of his eye sockets. Between the noise, lights, and sudden stress of being abandoned with the check, there was little relief to be found even if the pressure had managed to help. Giving up on that avenue, he opened his eyes once more and pushed his glasses back up so they'd settle correctly on his nose.

He scanned the room again, hoping to find the others with his slightly better view. But the only one to meet his eyes was the waitress as she turned and held up the glass filled with his sickly green poison of choice. Having made eye contact, he forced himself to smile and then pointed at himself, followed by a quick finger gun toward the back with a mouthed 'bathroom'. It took her a moment, the distance and lighting causing everything to slow down, but she seemed to have gotten the message as she nodded back and then shifted her attention to maneuvering the glass through the crushing waves of people.

It had been a spur of the moment decision. He had no plans to abandon the check, of course, but he really needed to get somewhere quieter if he couldn't find someplace dark. The restroom was about the only spot in a public place one could do that.

His course through the crowd was less fluid than the waitress'. He bumped into someone new with practically every step, apologies spilling from his lips, a chant he kept up until he made it to the back hall. It was less packed there, but a line of people led toward the doors labeled with penguins that probably indicated gender. Which genders he wasn't sure. There were four of them and the only difference between them was the pose and how they carried their umbrellas.

Deciding that this was unacceptable, he muttered a couple of 'excuse me's and headed further down to where the hall split into a T. In one direction was a sign pointing toward backstage and in the other was a cordoned off stair case leading to the VIP loft. It looked closed, but there wasn't a guard posted. With a quick glance back down the hall to make sure no one was paying him any attention, he hopped (carefully unhooked and rehooked behind him) the cordon.

Finally he'd found some success. The upper hall that led to the Loft was lined with doors to currently unused private party rooms and so dark that the only light to lead him on came from downstairs where it leaked upward through the two-way mirrors that acted as the ceiling for the main room. He moved toward that light and leaned on the railing to look down. Everything was shadowed because of the coating, but he had a great view of the floor and, more importantly, he was away from the noise. Barely any leaked through the glass - the rest of the construction was obviously meticulously soundproofed so the cacophony from below didn't disturb those privileged enough to be allowed in the Loft when it was actually in use.

He could see his table. The grasshopper sitting there and the waitress waiting patiently next to the table for him to return so no one would steal it. Or maybe to make sure he didn't duck out on the check. Maybe both. He'd noticed the first time the group had brought him here that the waitstaff was incredibly attentive and there were far more of them than any other bar he'd been invited to. There seemed to be one little bird, as they called themselves, for every three customers. He was certain that ratio wasn't accurate, but the way they mingled and merged with the crowd and could pay such close and personal attention to only one or two tables at a time spoke to the place being over-staffed in a way that was probably meant to invoke a sense of needless opulence. A taste of the sort of life most of the regular crowd below could only dream of and watch on television or picture shows and play at in the few places like this. Islands of extravagance in a sea of the downtrodden.

"You aren't supposed to be here," a voice, soft and cultured and calm and without obvious judgement, broke through his reverie. It came from the bar that sat against the far wall, behind the curve of the U that was the Loft's general layout. When he looked up toward it, he found that the voice belonged to a man with a slight build and hair styled to spike up in a forward crest that invoked the image of a bird of some sort. But with the only light source coming from below, it was difficult to tell more.

"Right," he replied, tone firm for a split second before his composure collapsed and he gripped the railing in a nervous hold. "That is... I was just looking for a place that wasn't so full... of noise, I mean." He laughed nervously, feeling more self-conscious with the man's singular, intense gaze on him than he had with the waitress waiting for her payment.

"Clubs like this aren't usually frequented for their lack," his tongue clicked on the 'ck', emphasizing the word without really stressing it or changing his tone, "of noise, friend."

He gulped and shook his head, "Yes. I suppose that's true. I uh... Sorry. I'll go. I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

"You're not interrupting anything," the voice hmm'd, tone somehow maintaining an odd neutrality that didn't condone or condemn him for being there. "There's nothing to interrupt at the moment."

"You... you're not busy?"

"Oh, I am," the man's head bobbed slowly. "I'm cleaning the glassware. But you being here doesn't interrupt that. It's just..." and now there was a shift, neutrality becoming curious, somehow with a hint of venom waiting to be injected if he didn't like the response he heard, "I'm certain there were signs saying the loft was closed tonight. And security to enforce it. How did you manage to get past them?"

He blinked and looked back the way he came as if a bouncer was going to suddenly appear behind him at the end of the hall. His brows scrunched and he shook his head, "No. Well, I mean, yes. There was a sign. I ignored that." His statement was matter of fact as he looked back at the shadow of the man and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "But there wasn't any security."

"Really? That oversight will have to be corrected." The soft thud of a glass being set down just a little too hard on a wooden was the only indicator the man found the information upsetting. "Thank you, friend, for bringing that to my attention. I'll have to inform the general manager so it can be seen to. I'd offer to compensate you with a free drink, but you're technically trespassing at the moment, so..."

A soft laugh echoed across and it wasn't exactly the kindest sound, but he found it oddly fascinating. He couldn't help but echo it and though he supposed he should feel embarrassment, a feeling of intimacy over a shared secret settled over him instead.

"Yes. That's true," he ducked his head, smile spreading and headache forgotten. He patted the rail once, twice, then jerked his head toward the hall. "I'll see myself out."

There was no answer to follow him down as he hurried back the way he'd come.

Thrush - he was certain it was Thrush, or maybe it was Finch? He hadn't been paying attention when she'd introduced herself, distracted by Dougherty's poor but genuine attempt at a riddle - was still waiting for him when he wadded across the room. He had his hand in his pocket for his wallet already and pulled out his credit card for her. He handed it over with an apology for making her wait, and a thanks for the last grasshopper. She told him it was no problem and waved his apology away, saying she'd be right back.

He was left alone, a bubble of personal space created by the small table that gave him just enough space to breathe and attempt to relax as he enjoyed his drink. He'd pretty much confirmed that the others had already left the building while he was standing upstairs. He already knew what the bill was going to be when she brought it back and gave him is card. Gratuity had been included automatically. It was going to make the next week a bit tighter than he liked, but he had some money in savings and could dip into that until the guys paid him back.

..If they paid him back. He wasn't really sure how the whole taking turns on the tab thing worked with the five of them. Now six with him included. He hadn't learned the rotation yet, but it had managed to be his turn each time he'd gone out with them. He knew he'd missed a few of the outings, so logically someone else had to get the check those other times, but he didn't have all the numbers yet to calculate which outings to partake in that would let him enjoy a night with the guys without his wallet getting lighter by the glass.

Since he was alone, he took his time with his last drink, eyes drifting upward to the mirrored ceiling. It was far enough up and paneled in a jagged layering effect that made it look like an Iceburg cresting just above the ocean's waves from above, that he couldn't quite catch his own reflection in it. That was okay though. He didn't really want to look at himself at the moment.

He imagined himself as one of the many inconsequential penguins swimming under the ice while the emperor, the only Penguin that mattered, stood on top of the burg above him, looking down and watching. His crested hair falling forward over his forehead and his piercing gaze able to see everything.

How funny was it that he'd gone looking for the dark and found a King instead?

He'd been much nicer than any of the reports and written accounts about him had indicated he would be. Edward hadn't even been afraid.

How thrilling.