<strong>Midnight: Pacific Time (8 AM GMT)</strong><br/><br/><strong>"Yes, I'll be there in plenty of time for the event. I'll have to be, won't I? They're auctioning me off. I feel like a seized drug boat."</strong>His shoes, casual slip-ons to make travel easier, made no sound as he traversed the concourse at this unspeakable hour.<strong>"I know, I know, I'll behave. Sorry you two can't make it, I know you were looking forward to it. They're boarding soon, I'll have to go."</strong>He'd spent the entire night partying and the morning at a local waffle haus to wile away the hours until he left, and there was a headache brewing. He was traveling incognito, and was wearing the stereotypical hat and sunglasses. He was fairly certain he'd lost his followers somewhere between the waffles and the cab to the airport, or at least he hadn't seen anyone taking second and third glances at him outside of security or the ticket counter. He'd booked a first class seat to L.A. from Heathrow, and was prepared to spend the foreseeable future in blissful slumber. He boarded the plane, and even in first class was surprised to find himself the lesser of the personalities therein. He knew some of the others on sight, a banking magnate, an actor of note, and a famous writer. He was just another face in the crowd among them, and he couldn't have been happier. He sat beside the actor, as was his seat, and was prepared to lean the seat back as soon as takeoff commenced. The others would likely be taking care of some variety of business during the trip, but he would sleep through it. His headphones drew the surrounding world away and transported him to a realm of beats and rhythms. From there, sleep came swiftly.<br/><br/><strong>1 PM: Pacific Time</strong><br/><br/>Landing at LAX and proceeding through the international terminal carefully, Jun found a sign for the pseudonym he was to be received under. The car service was understanding and got him into a sedan quickly, to take him to the apartment in nearby Decatur. He would dress for the evening, he had originally considered something reminiscent of Prince with purple velvet but was now leaning more towards something reserved. This was after all a charity function, and he was raising money for... actually, he couldn't even recall who he was raising money for. He knew it had something to do with the military, but that might have been the U.S.O., or any of a number of service organizations. That ruled out the SS outfit he got from Prince Harry, certainly. In the end he went as he occasionally did at official functions, in a completely white suit. The suit, undershirt, tie, and even pocket square were white, as were his shoes. The only way he could have worn more white was if he painted himself. He briefly considered painting his nails white at the thought, but reconsidered again due to the nature of this party. He also packed some clothing in a garment bag for the after-party, so that he wouldn't have to wear his current outfit all night. Custom tailored suits were comfortable enough, but they didn't have the flair of his usual outfits. He still had a few hours left before the Gala, and decided to simply watch some television in the intermittent time.<br/><br/><strong>6:45 PM</strong><br/><br/>As the Town Car pulled up a block away from the venue, Jun could see the crowd already. He was expected to make an entrance, and would do so, but as much as he enjoyed the attention sometimes he wondered if it wouldn't just be easier to skip the red carpet and enter via a side door. His invitation was in an inner pocket of his jacket, and he doubted he'd have any trouble even if he didn't have the paper. He had his I.D. in his wallet, and anyone with a list of donors would see him thereon. Jun wished, at this moment, that he had some variety of arm candy. It could have been anyone at all, he just wanted someone to be with him and protect him from the penetrating gaze of the cameras. Upon his arrival into the ballroom proper, it is announced that they are presenting<strong>"Jun Kawakita, son of Taka"</strong>. He despised being referred to in such a manner, partially because his father did not even go by that name any longer, but mostly because he was tired of being known only in relation to his father. He'd spent a few hours the other day trying to come up with a DJ name so he could stop being known by the family name but everything was becoming taken. He'd have to lose the DJ nomer and come up with something like Deadmau5 or Daft Punk. He made the rounds and gave the usual pleasantries, but he desperately wanted a drink by this point and would have it or leave in search of one.