The gentle pitter patter of the rain filled the evening air, dampening the shoulders of Alistair's well tailored suit as he darted into the brightly lit convention center. A soft breath left the artist's lips as he stepped inside, only to be greeted by a young man equally well dressed with his hand outstretched, waiting for Alistair's ticket. Beside him, on a gilded display easel, rested a sign welcoming him to the annual Gala for Sacrosanct's Center for the Arts in a beautifully cursive font - one he had stared at for far too long on the days prior to the event. Every year, his company donated their time and services for the Center for the Arts in an effort to assist the event's fundraising for art scholarships for the underprivileged. It was a splendid tax right off, or so their CEO said, not to mention the free publicity when every piece of marketing material tonight featured Pentagram's name or logo. This year, Alistair had been given the opportunity to head the project and, as a result, his own work was largely featured on various posters, brochures, and letterheads throughout the Gala - not to mention a single canvas work of art in the evening's silent auction. It was, as Alistair had found out quite at the last moment, also required of him to actually attend the function to show their company's support, prompting the man's appearance at the event. It was hardly that Alistair disliked the cause...quite on the contrary, on some level he did support it...but he wasn't one who enjoyed such tedious socialization.

He fished his ticket from the inner pocket of his suit, it's presentation quickly admitting him into the event as the usher gestured towards the open double doors at the end of the hallway. The carpets muffled the sound of his dress shoes as he meandered down the hall, only to end a large, well decorated room. It was dimly lit in an effort to set the mood - one wall was filled with large floor to ceiling glass windows, showcasing the falling rain and the wet, flourishing garden below. Inside, the room was decorated with small circular tables decked with white tablecloths, golden plates, and napkins folded in various origami shapes in some one's 'cute' idea to showcase the 'arts'. A small group of musicians were on the stage at the far end, their classical music sweetly filling the air as mere background ambiance. The other end of the hall sported a large bar decked with a plethora of glass bottles promising a plethora of liquor in an effort to coax the donors of tonight's event to open their pocket books even more. To his right, an area had been sectioned off for the silent auction - one that was already underway as people milled about eying the works of art, newest technological gadgets and the grand prize of an instant wine cellar complete with 60 bottles of 'amazing' wine. At the very least, Alistair supposed this year's prize was better than last year. Last year he'd heard it had been a various assortment of 'smart house' features that had brought in less then the desired amount.

Alistair meandered towards the bar, certain that he'd need a stiff drink to survive tonight's surely dull event. It was only with a glass of his favored bourbon in hand that the artist finally saw fit to join a large portion of the evening's donors in the silent auction. He wandered lackadaisical through the various tables, glancing with vague intrigue at the various prizes - anything from artwork to a free photoshoot from a photography student, designer bags and a meet and greet with the mayor, and a hot air balloon ride. This year they seemed to have stepped up their fundraising efforts...which, frankly, Alistair found rather surprising given the current pandemic. Then again, maybe the Center was that desperate for funds. He shook his head ever so slightly as he continued to peruse, only to pause at the large canvas featuring Sacrosanct's cityscape beside his own. A small simper graced his features as he glanced over the bid sheet, altogether aware of exactly who the artist was. Teasing his coworker with buying his own art was far too appealing to pass up. Maybe he'd hang it over his mantle and purposefully invite the man over for drinks...or talk his boss into putting it on the front wall right in the office's entryway. He reached for the pen, easily writing down his name and his bid, altogether inattentive to the rest of the event's attendees around him - after all, he hardly knew anyone here.