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"If you say so, Kaida," Albert said uncertainly. He would have added more, but the music started, the crowd rushed about, and..... purple fog? That was odd... Somewhat unsettlingly so, to a mind that was growing ever more vigilant for trouble.

Then again, there was a lot of new tech available these days...

He could only vaguely hear Kaida over the sound of the music, but he nodded when he caught her saying his name anyway.

"Yes???"

----

"It's... so loud here," Erika mumbled, wishing for the ability to sink into the floor rather than sit here and listen to the screaming. "The music's nice but - what is that screech?"

It was just barely audible to her above the singing, but there nonetheless and...

Purple fog? Something wasn't right - no. No, she was being paranoid again and she knew it. Taking a deep breath, Erika grinned at Trinna and nodded.

"Yeah, okay. Let's have some fun."

She was going to stop letting her paranoia get to her already and start enjoying things. If she didn't she would probably end up living a very short, unpleasant life.

"This might not be the best question to ask." Especially while the paranoia between Paris and he was growing, and being in Paris' arm reach. "But uh... Fog shouldn't be that color right?" He wasn't sure if there were ways, special machines or what not made for changing the color of ********..." Was his only answer when Paris confirmed that Peter was here, ignoring the way they both stared at him. "We might want to try and find him. Call him. Text him something." It probably wouldn't work unless Peter had the thing set to vibrate. "Or get closer to a wall or something..." Get off any 'open' floor. Just in case.

He blinked when Chris grabbed hold of his vest. ...Well okay then. That uh, settled that. It was probably better they didn't get separated anyway. So next course of action. Try and calm Paris down. "Paris." He called, moving as close to her as he dared, if only so that she could hear him. "You're fine. We're not going anywhere okay? We're gonna get through this." He had to get her mind of this. "Come on. Talk to me about something. Anything. You can play 20 questions and ask me if I've done stupid or personal stuff."

Lazarus had done well at happy half-hour. He knew this because he'd spent ten dollars on two-dollar shots -- and because the floor was wobbling underfoot -- and because he was feeling mellow as s**t. He wasn't going to need another drink for almost . . . like . . . another thirty-five minutes. Or fifty-three minutes. Or, like. A while.

This concert was amazing. Eli had obviously had good taste in bands. Or, like. He had good taste in bands that had good taste in venues.

Two dollar shots! Who had invented them? Who was that unsung genius. Lazarus so wanted to know. He would shake that person's hand and buy them a two dollar drink. For two dollars.

It was a good night.

The braided look was something she wore every once in awhile, taught to her by a friend it took her too long to do by herself to wear often. Had she known his thoughts about her hairstyle, Melody might have preened a little bit. She had a hard time wearing anything but pigtails.

As it was she was just glad he didn't seem upset she'd bumped into him. There were people everywhere and while she was sure that was common place in concerts it wasn't helping her concern about something bad going on. The longer the fog continued to roll about people's ankles, and start to drift up, the more worried she became.

Which was a shame because she'd bumped into quite the attractive male. And he was lamenting the fact he was too distracted by the growing fog to hit on her? This was completely unfair.

"I'll admit this is my first concert, so I don't know much about what displays they put on and all that." She'd moved a little closer to him in hopes she wouldn't have to continue yelling. She disliked yelling. "But this really doesn't seem like a natural fog. What do you think could cause something like this?"

Besides a youma. Please don't let it be a youma.

The purple fog has started to reach ridiculous levels, you can hear people shouting out to the organizers to shut the machines off as it begins to float above their heads ruining the view. You even start to loose sight of your friends and partners, the panic in peoples voices outweighing the lyrics until people are shouting out against it.

And then the music stops.

You can no longer see the stage through the mist but you can hear the clanging of instruments being dropped to the floor. A voice orders the band to get off the stage, leaving you stood waiting for orders that will help out the audience, orders that never come. You can hear people all around you coughing and spluttering violently as they breath in the smoke, some asking for help as they catch your arm in passing but the mist is too thick and you are struggling yourself. You try and find your friends and come across people struggling to catch their breath before collapsing in heaps. Others are seeing the same thing and the panic rise.

You feel the cold realization that a stampede is building up as music lovers start to scream for help.

Unable to jump above the fog people start pushing through it. Unable to see more that 5 feet in front of them they start crashing into others, climbing over the fallen as they try and find their way out of the venue. Its utter mayhem.

And beneath it all you can hear the growl of something not entirely human.



INFO
.The fog is causing people to become paralyzed and collapse all around you.
.Your can try and escape but sadly there is no getting past the blockage of people in your way or the fact you cant see further than your hands in this smoke.
.You can try and find higher ground if you can or help those collapsed and unmoving to a safer place.
.Some of you, if you lucky to find someone else in this mist, may even start to question the fog's origins and the low growl you can hear!
.Or you may be one of the unlucky ones who has breathed in the smoke and collapsed along with the others (players choice).

The fog was wrong and Emily immediately felt guilt trolling her father with a Situation on his date. Well, she didn't dre henshin (If she was ast risk of blame, she wouldn't without cause) and the girl began to try climbing.

Climbing was not her strong point, but getting above the fog was priority, and she ingnored thrashing and panicking people to try climbing, half wishing Joseph were there.

Still, she had to asses the area, and at some point, likely henshin. Too much bad luck taught her to carry the pen and that trouble meant powered action, and she growled in her chest,

"God damn." She got out. "Never a dull moment when I actually do stuff."

Trinity blinked, then nodded.

"Maybe part of the music?" She said hopefully.

The fog rose though. It rose, and Trinity immediately reached in Erika's direction to try pulling her close in the pea-soup fog, hissing.

"OK, yeah, maybe it is dangerous out here." She grumbled, sounding none too pleased. "I'll make it up - for now let's find some air."

"I'd say fog machines, but I'd probably get smacked." Her question stood, though, since Slate could not recall ever seeing purple dry ice. Is this some kind of Negaverse operation? I think they'd give me a heads-up on that. Porsha and Shale didn't exactly go running to this place, and they would've told me if this was an operation. It doesn't preclude an operation - I'd be a fool to think that's the only option, though. So what does that mean for everyone here.

His gaze darted to the blonde before he looked toward the steadily building fog. "Some concerts will have pyrotechnics shows, or light shows, but fog's a thing of the past - it's more for cheap plays more than actual venues. I dunno if the person who designed their stage act just doesn't know what they're doing, or is trying to revive fog use, or..." He tapered off before mention of darker subjects, like Negaverse operations or the rampant appearance of youma. "Anyway, who knows what chemical's they'd have to use to make something like this. Probably a good idea to get out and get some fresh air - at least until they air the place out." He hoped its appearance was a fluke, and that the underlying cacophony was a result of technical failures on behalf of the stage crew.

That thought was short lived.

The fog billowed out at a clip, growing into great clouds that obscured his vision, and Slate coughed violently once he caught his first thick plume. "********," he stammered out to his companion. He pressed nose and mouth to the crook of his elbow, but it offered little mitigation. "Let's get out of here - there's something..." Another coughing fit overtook him before he could finish his sentence. Bloodshot eyes glanced up toward the stage after the announcement boomed overhead, but only the clatter of instruments painted any picture of what was going on. His mental faculties screamed for human error, for the stage possibly catching fire from smoke distribution, but the low roar of one of their ill-fated allies shattered all denial that Slate coveted so closely. Strangers he hardly saw pushed past him, jostling him around while he struggled for breath.

With half a breath, Slate managed one last command. "Go!" He shouted with a wave of his hand, shortly before the fog's magical properties took hold over his weak constitution. The redhead collapsed soon afterward, fully conscious but unable to support himself on largely paralyzed muscles.