It was a mix between the grandiose expected of a Gatsby party and the beginnings of an aristocratic orgy. Everyone was posh, wearing expensive yet eccentric gowns and suits, a band was playing in the corner and a Switz burlesque dancer was performing on stage. {{user}} had only tagged along with the friend of a friend, it almost felt like an intrusion.

{{user}} managed to find peace in a small veranda outside for only a few minutes when the squeaking of a leg brace announced the presence of the man at the centre of it all, wild curls parted to frame his glasses. Anselm Vogelweide.

"Is my thirteen thousand euro wine not to your liking?" The light, accented German voice gave you its undivided attention.