who: open to all when: post-frenchie’s dramatic exit where: a corridor off of the main event room
There was only one reason Nick was in his current situation instead of still laughing on the curb with French and that reason was Cassidy. Sure, he may have actually whooped out loud when French’s fist connected to Tall, Blonde, and WASP’s jaw, and maybe he’d gotten a little rowdy himself arguing with the guards escorting her out of the building until they decided to help him out the same way, but he'd be damned if he'd stay on his ass cracking jokes outside while his best friend remained stuck in there with the mob after Toxin blood. So, Nick had nicked a spare pair of black trousers from the catering company ( – just a bit too tight, but what the fuck else was he going to do when he’d been stupid enough to go in something as identifiable as red fucking striped pants ), shoved the offending suit into the bushes in the museum's narrow side gardens, and hauled himself sideways through said bushes until he was crowded up against a window. At least four of the sangrias in his stomach from gossiping with Frenchie said excellent idea.
The floor inside was at his waist and the bottom window pane had been slid up just an inch, for the sake of circulation Nicky guessed, still too awkward for him to heft from his angle while he caught his breath. But there was someone on the other side. Someone who could potentially take one look at him and call the police or, if he was really lucky, decide to go the nontraditional route for philanthropy. Whatever. He was gonna get back to his date one way or another, even if it ended with Cassidy bailing him out at the end of the night.
Nicky smoothed down the collar on his button-up, knocked against the glass twice, waited til the poor bastard inside glanced down for the source and then put on his best pleading kicked-orphan/drunk Oliver Twist face as he mimed opening the window before pressing his hands together for good measure, prayer-style. Talk about the kindness of fuckin’ strangers.