7:50pm, February 9; The Iceburg Lounge; Edward Nygma

After Monday's 'Celebratory Drinks' for Kowalski scoring such good seats, the guys collectively seemed to decide they weren't going to hit any other bars for the rest of the week. It had thrown their schedule off and apparently they needed a week off to 'recharge' and 'burn off the excitement'. Frustratingly, however, Flass had still hit Ed up for his weekly payment. To cover the tab at the Lounge, he'd said. On top of that, the bill for his car ended up being close to twelve hundred.

And to make matters worse, his landlord had sent a notice of rent changes. Since his lease was renewed in March every year, bill changes were negotiated in February. The previous year rent had gone up by fifty a month because of changes in the market. This year his landlord was wanting to raise prices by another one hundred and fifteen. When he'd gone down to talk to the man in a fit of panic - there was no way he could cover that, utilities, other bills, and food on the budget he'd already worked out - his landlord had apologized, but said that loft-style apartments were en vogue and he already had eight offers for twice as much on three empty units. More profits meant more money for renovations and blah blah blah.

Bullshit was what it was.

The man was just a greedy bastard wanting to capitalize on the housing trend while he could and screw his tenets that had been there for years.

With a week like that, Ed decided to head out on his own to try and de-stress. Not that the bus ride to the Diamond District helped with that, but the lights of the Lounge coming into his view as he walked the two blocks from the stop to the club brought a sense of peace to him. Like all his troubles would melt away inside those walls.

He knew, in the logical center of his brain, that this reaction was entirely based on the sense of importance the staff was carefully trained to cultivate in their customers via the personalized experience of grandeur they catered to. But it didn't change that he felt it.

He'd picked Saturday night to come out instead of Friday because the VIP Loft would be open to the public. Saturday nights were the only nights anyone who hadn't reserved the room could come up and see what it was like to be one of the important people. Well, if they didn't sneak up there the way he had that first time.

Getting inside meant waiting to be allowed entrance in the line that snaked down the block. He figured with the kind of crowd there was, he'd be in line for at least forty minutes. People were only being let in a couple at a time as others stumbled out or left for other venues on a bar crawl or in a party posse. There was a guy on staff who walked up and down the line and indicated who could come in next while the rest had to wait until they got to the front of the line. He tended to pick the really glamorous looking people and those in fashion and make-up that stood out. Ed wore his best suit, of course, but it was a far cry from the people being pulled. This whole line thing, wasn't how it was handled during the early part of the week, but it being a Saturday, they were packed by default.

Strangely, however, the man curating the line pointed to him as he passed and said to head inside without so much as second glance. Ed, and the people around him, all looked to each other, not sure if they'd understood that right. Ed clearly wasn't dressed to stand out, nor did he really look the part in any other way. The woman next to him raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged, murmuring, "Maybe he was pointing to you?"

She raised her hands in confusion, "Maybe? But he wasn't really that clear."

"It was kinda at the wall between you two," the man in front of him offered. "Maybe he thought you were a couple?"

"Oh!" Ed laughed nervously, "We should uh, probably clarify that we aren't if that's the case."

The woman shrugged, then grabbed his arm, "Who cares if he thinks we're a couple if it gets us inside faster? It's cold out here. Come on."

He let out an awkward squawk as she yanked him out of the line and started to drag him along. He caught up after a couple stumbled steps and a quick jog to match her pace.

"No offense to you hon," she said, leaning in and smiling like they really were together, "But as soon as we're in, I don't know you and I don't want to know you."

"Un-understood," he stammered, doing his best to keep up with her quick pace.

Sure enough, when they got to the door, the bouncer let them in without question. The woman broke away after they got about ten feet in and the crowd could hide their parting from outside eyes. So it must have been their luck that the line manager thought they were together. Alone neither were anything to talk about, but as a 'couple' they had probably seemed just odd enough to be interesting.

He pushed his way through the crowd in short bursts of speed here and there, the mass of bodies shoving him from side to side while he attempted to weave his way to the back hall. The line there was just as packed as the rest of the main hall. And it took what felt like another twenty minutes to get himself to the stairs and up them.

Eventually he even made it through the upper hall - now brightly lit and dazzling as the light bounced off of polished marble walls, art deco doors, and extravagant black and white crystalline wall fixtures that hung for no other purpose but to be there. The crowd in the hall was a mingling mass of people trying to see and be seen. The lucky few who'd managed to stake a claim at the one of the tables were zealously guarding their privilege by never getting up despite whatever invitations those walking around were making. It was pretty much standing room only.

Ed managed to make his way to the railing and found barely enough space to get a short breather before the mass jostled him with those coming and going. He was getting a sense that coming up there had been a bad idea. He'd wanted to see it, but hadn't realized it'd be an even worse press than the main floor. At least down below he could have grabbed a table made for two and been left in relative peace to people watch.

He tried to center himself and straightened up, taking a more thorough look around. Figure out if he should try going back the way he came or attempt to make it to the service entrance and get downstairs via that exit. A third option presented itself when he realized that there was one table still unoccupied. The one he'd shared with Penguin. No one seemed to be going near it, but there also wasn't anyone blocking it from being taken. No security. Nothing. Just an empty booth with a nice bubble of about six or seven feet of distance the crowd maintained in clearance.

How perfect!

Now to just... make it there.

8:03pm, February 9; The Iceburg Lounge; Arnold Wesker

He'd seen Mr. Nygma pushing through the crowds and had tried calling out to him, but hadn't managed to be heard over the noise. The bar was busy and there were four of them behind it to keep the drinks coming as fast as possible. It only helped a little.

He scooted along to the end where he could squeeze his way out and to the back room. The birds were flocking in and out of the doors to catch a breath and get some relief before returning to the fray. When he spotted Wren, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side, startling her and the others around her. He knew he was about to get slapped by a half dozen of the most capable security the Lounge had - despite airs put on in front of the guests, every last bird was a trained in one form of martial art or another.

"How many tables do you have?" he asked, breathless and urgent.

She did a quick mental count, each bird having more tables on Saturday than they usually did the rest of the week, "Uh... eight? Maybe nine if someone's already grabbed the last one in the pit."

"Find someone else to take them," he ordered, looking up at the others and pressing his lips together, "Mr. Nygma's here. I don't know where he's gone, I lost him the crowd."

Wren's demeanor changed immediately and she turned to the girls, "You see him, you spread it as fast as you can to me. Raven, Jackdaw, can you take my tables?"

The two nodded in the affirmative and he headed further in, "I'm going to let the Loft staff know, too."

8:08pm, February 9; The Iceburg Lounge; Wren

She skirted through the crowd, quietly pulling aside each bird she came across in turn, asking if they'd seen Nygma. Many of them didn't know what he looked like so she had to take time describing him. It was slow going but between all of them she was given a slightly chaotic map of a man who seemed very out of place making his way into the back hall to join the restroom lines.

Getting back there wasn't easy. She could use her status as a bird to get people to step aside a little faster, of course. But with the Saturday crowd that didn't give her much more freedom of movement than usual. In the hall she asked if any of the customers had seen a man matching Nygma's description. Eventually she got a positive response from one of the women.

"Yeah. I think so. Pretty sure that's the guy I came in with," she said, shouting to be heard over the noise.

"You don't know for sure?"

"I didn't get his name. We were in line next to each other and the guy pointed to the both of us. Thought we were together, I think."

"Where did you last see him?"

"Right after we got inside. Why? Is he in trouble? He do something?"

Wren shook her head, "No. Nothing like that. One of our... VIPs wants to talk to him. Said they're friends from work. We try to accommodate our VIPs with reasonable requests, you know?"

"Oh. Well, in that case, good luck."

"Thanks!"

The smile she'd plastered on fell as soon as she turned away. Her eyes scanned the area again and fell on the line heading up to the VIP Loft. It was as good a guess as any.

8:08pm, February 9; The Iceburg Lounge; Arnold Wesker

He hurried up the stairs, slowing down to a sedate pace once he was in visible range of the customers in the Loft. Despite the press of customers, everything in the Loft was done in an unhurried manner. As if they had all the time in the world to enjoy themselves and not a scant few hours once a week. He nodded and smiled at everyone he passed, politely requesting a chance to move past them as he crossed the ten feet to the bar.

He tried to scan the crowd as best he could, but it was just as easy to lose track of someone there as it was anywhere else.

When he got to the bar, he made his way behind it and Rockhopper greeted him with a smile while leaning in to murmur in his ear, voice edged with a threat the rest of her body didn't betray, "You're not supposed to be up here. You aren't a penguin chick."

"I'm aware," he whispered back, playing at the friendly greeting to all outward appearances, "But one of Mr. Cobblepot's favored guests is here and we can't find him. I wanted to give you a heads up and-"

"Shit. Hold on," he was interrupted as Rockhopper's eyes went hard and looked out into the crowd which had started to quiet down.

He turned to look at what was causing the sensation and the panic he'd felt earlier was renewed. He'd found Mr. Nygma. But Mr. Nygma was currently walking past the invisible line that everyone understood existed and going to sit down at Mr. Cobblepot's private table. And now he was setting his head down on his arms.

"Okay, you aren't supposed to be here, but I need to take care of that," Rockhopper shoved a cloth into his chest as the rest of the sound in the room died away completely.

It took a second for him to respond, grabbing her arm far tighter than he should and shaking his head, his words hissed out, "No! Do nothing. I'll take care of this."

He pushed the cloth back into her hands, took a deep breath, and headed out from the bar through the crowd that now easily parted for him. Wren caught up to him in his trek, coming from the guest entrance to the room. She was maintaining her composure far better than he was. Somehow she made their hurried pace look casual and her smile like everything was normal. As if this man, dressed in a seventy dollar off the rack suit using Mr. Cobblepot's table as a head rest was an everyday event.

They arrived at the table at the same time.

Together, they spoke, "Hello, Mr. Nygma."

8:09pm, February 9; The Iceburg Lounge; Edward Nygma

Getting through the crowd had taken less time than on the main floor, but it had still been stressful. The utter relief he felt when he hit the bubble of privacy was enough that when he finally sat down, he let himself collapse a bit, his head falling into his arms where they crossed on the table. Finally, that sense of peace he'd been seeking settled over him.

He was interrupted... well, he wasn't actually sure how long after he sat down it was, by a soft chorus of hello that seemed loud in the room for some reason. He lifted his head and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Blinked a couple times. Then grinned brightly and sat up straighter, "Wren! Mr. Wesker! Hello!"

Wren stepped closer and perched herself on the edge of the booth, reaching out to rub his back, "I know it's not your fault, Mr. Nygma, but I'm a little hurt you didn't come find me when you got here. I could have found you a wonderful table downstairs where you could watch the show. Saturday night is when we have the live shows. There's a new act debuting tonight, even."

"Oh, sorry," he apologized, looking up at her. "I actually wanted to come see the Loft tonight. I've never seen it in all it's glory before, you know? All lit up and filled with people. I think I miscalculated a bit though." Something he didn't really enjoy admitting out loud, but he'd never gotten a sense of judgement from Wren so far. "When I thought of it being full, I didn't think of it being this full. But fortunately, this table was empty. I know Mr. Penguin likes to sit here, so I assume it's for him. Does that mean he's here tonight?"

He really hoped it did. He hadn't been thinking about seeing him until just now, but it would make the whole endeavor more than worth it.

"No," Mr. Wesker answered, stepping forward with a nervous smile, "He's... he's not here right now. He doesn't usually use his table when the public is here."

"Oh." How disappointing. But probably sensible. And begged the question, "Does that mean I need to move?"

For this, Wren turned to Wesker and Wesker took a moment to cast a discreet glance toward the rest of the room. Which... now that he was paying attention to it, was eerily silent and staring at him.

"Oh dear. Did I... I should go, shouldn't I?"

"No," Wesker said firmly, smiling and shaking his head, "Not at all. In fact, I was just coming over to see if you wanted your usual. Or if you'd like to try something different. The Loft has it's own drink menu of specialty cocktails that we only serve here."

Ed wasn't sure if he should take that at face value or not, but after a second's thought, figured Wesker's judgement in the matter was probably safe. He'd be the one to know for certain if there'd be trouble for him being there.

Wren stood and leaned in to kiss his cheek, "I'll go get that menu for you, Mr. Nygma. You can decide after you see it." She walked off, the crowd parting for her and a murmur running through it.

Ed felt suddenly very small and under far too much scrutiny. He ducked his head and kept his eyes down so he didn't have to see the unwelcome stares.

He was startled a moment later as Mr. Wesker's voice called out very loudly to the room at large, "Is there a problem?"

The noise in the room returned to normal like the thunder clap hitting seconds after a lightning strike, and out of the corner of his eyes he could see the people quiet suddenly finding each other far more interesting than some guy sitting alone in a booth at the far end of the room.

8:12pm, February 9; The Iceburg Lounge; Wren

She arrived at the bar to get the drink menu and was immediately met by Rockhopper stepping into her space and giving her a greeting peck on each cheek, smile wide as a mile, while whispering in a very panicked voice, "What are you doing? You're going to get yourself killed."

"It's Wesker's call," she returned, shaking her head and giving a laugh like everything was fine. Just a couple of birds saying hello and catching up for a moment. "My orders are to see to Mr. Nygma's needs. His is to decide what comps and privileges are reasonable."

"Yes, but if Mr. Cobblepot is in a mood..."

"I'd rather he mad at me for doing my job than for not doing it," she laughed again and gave a quick wave of her hand, while stepping back. There was only so much time they could spend arguing before it became obvious that something was decidedly wrong. And at the Lounge, nothing should ever go wrong. Not publicly.

Rockhopper returned the wave and turned back to her customers at the bar who, once Wesker made a point of addressing the room, immediately tried to start gossiping with her about the man at Mr. Cobblepot's table. She said nothing, deflecting questions expertly as Wren retreated.

Everyone stepped aside for her now, making her job easier while Mr. Wesker crossed her path in the opposite direction. He stepped behind the bar like he belonged there and began cleaning glasses to help out while he waited for Mr. Nygma's order to be placed. A pleasant smile on his lips.

She wondered how sick from nerves he was going to be later for making that call. She was already on the edge of having to rush to the restrooms and empty her stomach. But she couldn't show that. Especially now. None of the customers could know that this wasn't perfectly acceptable or normal. That would make things even worse.

Mr. Cobblepot having a mysterious guest allowed to sit at his table was far less of a scandal than his staff being willy-nilly with who was allowed to do what. That could be called a mutiny. A threat to Mr. Cobblepot's power. This had to look like it was something he'd authorized to all outside sources. And to as many inside ones as possible, as well.

"Mr. Nygma? The menu," she said to catch his attention before perching herself once more on the backrest of the booth and resting a hand on his back. He reacted well to light touches like that. He thanked her with a smile, any concern on his part completely erased. Took what he was being given at face value.

She realized as worry coiled in her gut that she'd started to... like him. As a person. If he got shot in the face over this, it was actually going to hurt.

God damn it.