Chloe waited outside the front of her house, hands fumbling with the buttons of her pea coat. The building behind her was a humble two-story she and Raleigh called home – a property left behind by her parents who were both now deceased. Its sides were cloaked in beige with near-orange shutters, and an iron fence trailed down the side of brick steps that led from the front door to the sidewalk. Scraggly green bushes met a small wall made of the same kind of bricks as the walkway.
Just at the time it was promised, a black Ford Crown Victoria pulled alongside the curb by the sidewalk, braking to a stop before Chloe. An exceptionally tall bald man wearing a black suit popped out of the driver's seat, walking around the car to open the back seat for the redhead. She gave him a nod before settling into the leather seats. As he returned back to the front, the car pulled away and headed towards the dinner party.
"This is very pretty. Does the Lambrick family live here?" Chloe asked as the car drove up the cobblestone driveway of a seemingly large mansion.
"Not exactly. The property's owned by the Foundation. It's used for holidays and special events." The man opened the car door a second time, letting Chloe out and motioning her to walk towards the front door. "This way, please."
The two entered the foyer, which was adorned with a red Persian rug and a single wooden entry table. An exquisitely carved staircase covered both the left and right walls, leading to the upstairs level.
"Dinner will begin shortly. You can wait in here with all the other guests. And please, help yourself to any of the provided refreshments." The bald man instructed Chloe before announcing to the crowd in the next room: "Our eighth and final guest."
Prompted by the new person in the room, Chloe is greeted by two other guests who walked up to her with small drink glasses in hand. One was slim, taller blonde woman and the other was a small brunette whose paleness was heavily contrasted by alternative-styled makeup.
"Lucky number eight." The latter woman spoke, eyebrows lifting as she brought the glass rim of her drink to her lips.
"Does everyone get an introduction like that?" Chloe asked, slightly embarrassed by the seemingly loud interruption to the party.
"Oh, yeah, it's been very formal." The taller woman shrugged, indicating she had been there a while to see most of the people filter in for the event.
"It's nice to meet you guys. I'm Chloe."
"Beca. And this is, uh..." The small brunette blanked on the name of the woman next to her. Although they had been sipping drinks side by side for a while now, they never exchanged names.
"Aubrey." She finished for her, nodding her head with a downward acknowledgement and flashing a smile.
Chloe looked around, observing the eclectic mix of people that filled the entryway of the mansion. "Have you guys been here long?"
"Not long. Couple minutes for some. Hour or two for the rest of us."
"Are you both from the area, too?" Chloe wasn't exactly briefed on the clientele of the game, and it seemed like she knew the least. She tried to see if she recognized anyone, even from a trip to the grocery store, but she came up empty.
Beca decided to answer first. "No, they flew me in from Seattle." The relatively downcast climate of the city seemed to match her personality.
Aubrey answered with "Virginia," and Chloe continued her mock interview, trying to get a grasp on the setting. "So, what do you know about the others? Anything?"
"Mm, a little. As you can see, they're not exactly friendly people." Aubrey began, attempting to be polite about the people around her. Beca started to quip in little comments to accompany Aubrey's, devoid of care for whether they were too sharp or blunt for a new audience.
"The gal over there is Cynthia Rose." Beca pointed with the hand holding her glass. "Supposed to be some sort of high stakes gambler from Vegas. Not that any of us have actually heard of her."
"It's the way she made it sound." Aubrey interjected.
Beca continued to go around the room, pointing to people one after the other. "Lady in the wheelchair is Lily. She doesn't talk much. Kid in the corner is Jessica; she's an Afghanistan vet."
"What about the other girl?" Chloe paused her eye scanning, settling on a rather icy-looking girl with crossed arms and a deep frown. An innate sense of beauty regarding carefully styled makeup and hair was contrasted by her dismissive aura.
Beca squinted, challenging the likes of the intimidating brunette. "Her name is Stacie. Yeah she's a real charmer." She finished with an eye roll.
"And the older lady?"
"I don't think I'd call her that."
"Older?"
"'Lady.'"
"Why?" The women looked relatively harmless with large features and bright hair that she flicked into a ponytail.
"Amy's a bit of a sourpuss." Beca finalized, frowning before sipping her drink again.
"Yeah, she's, um, she has some conspiracy theories about the Lambrick foundation. Don't get her started." Aubrey made the mistake of talking to him earlier and someone else had to save her from the conversation.
After a few moments of silence, Chloe broke the air with a quick exhale: "Maybe I will have a drink."
"Good. I'll prepare you my very own specialty B.L.T." Aubrey led them towards the self-service bar, putting down her own glass on the counter as she readied the weird concoction that could barely be called a cocktail. Chloe ended up taking the drink graciously, and the trio of guests continued to drink and wait around until further instructions followed.
"Bevans has informed me that the last guest has arrived. We ought to get downstairs soon." Shepard Lambrick sat in a red leather chair that accompanied the rather ostentatious desk of his private office. Around the other side of solid mahogany was a punk-looking character wearing a white blazer over a gray t-shirt.
"Do we have to sit through an entire dinner? Why can't we just get it over with?" The man whined in a juvenile tone, smacking his hand down on the armrest of the chair across his father.
"Julian!" Lambrick hissed with impatience, knowing this was a repeated conversation he had with his son every time they hosted one of these dinner parties. "That's not the way it works, as you know. There is a process involved."
Julian waved his hand in the air before using it to rest his head. "Of course."
"I trust that you will be on your best behavior tonight."
"I'm not even drinking."
"I'm serious." Lambrick narrowed his eyes at the character in front of him. "The integrity of the game requires minimal participation on our part. We must remain an objective observer, even if one of these people is eliminated. Do you understand?" Julian nodded to himself. "And if one of them has to be removed from the game, Bevans will be the one to handle it. Your job, as a Lambrick, is simply to observe. You can engage these people with questions and conversation, but you will not so much as touch any of these people tonight."
"I know." Julian glared at him, picking at the end of his armchair.
"Julian. Look. I appreciate that you've taken an interest in the foundation... I do... but what happened last year was unacceptable."
"For the last time, I understand." Julian insisted, attempting not to snap at his father, the one who had continually let him join in on the Lambrick Foundation festivities since he was a teenager.
"OK, OK, OK. I won't bring it up again." Lambrick put his palms up in compliance, figuring that Julian knew the gravity of the task at hand.
