AINT NO PARTY LIKE A SAFFIT FUNDRAISER (DAY :47)

[unsea]

Just prior to the mission, everyone will receive handwritten copies of Sheena Frey's lists, previously held by Lexa. These lists contain the names of friends and enemies that Sheena Frey believes are not associated with H+H1. The Darkling has acquired the list, and immediately dispersed it among the nest. Because he is That Guy. There is a neat note from him at the top of each page, indicating that one of their goals is to match names to attendees at the fundraiser and to either confirm or debunk Sheena's legwork. There is also the matter of the well-earned findings, dredged up from Ngozi's files.

Under the cut, you'll find the mods description of the venue, some of the NPCs you might find there, and other general information!

THE VENUE --

The event itself is a benefit dedicated to raising money for those injured in the recent bombing, as well as for the families of those killed in it. It is being held at CAVANAUGH HALL - aka "THE OPERA HOUSE" - a live theatre and performance hall in the Beta Block. Some hosts (cough Mara and Hux cough) might be more acquainted with the layout of the building since they recently attended a performance there.

Most of the fundraiser is taking place in the Hall’s grand foyer rather than the theater itself. The foyer is four levels tall with balconies overlooking the main floor on each level. There’s a fabulous stained glass dome roof. The whole Hall is primarily decorated in shades of red, white and cream - white walls, ornate naturally cream woodwork, stunning glass-like fixtures, red carpets. For tonight’s event, a number of small white cocktail tables have been scattered throughout the foyer and a small circular platform has been erected in the center of the room where a small orchestra is playing music at any point that someone isn’t speaking over the microphone for the purposes of the fundraiser.

The catering is extensive, the outfits are lavish. The security is tight, so expect to either be in possession of an invitation or get ready to use your credit card to buy one (this IS a fundraiser after all - and for such a good cause!). Sorry Nathaniel, this is mostly a mingling and eating party and not so much a dancing party. On the plus side: that sure is an open bar!

THE MISSION --

The hosts initially have a twofold mission for this one: Carata, Aoba and the Darkling have secured a private meeting with Goram Saffit, and will be picking his brain for information. The rest of the party is a free-for-all for intel-gathering and - you know - in case you want to actually contribute to charity. There are a number of events-within-the-event to experience as well, including a lovely and rather familiar lion tamer, a silent auction ( all proceeds go to charity!! ), a live orchestra, and whatever else you all want to throw in there.

THE ATTENDEES --

Most of Saffit's guests are as follows:

middle (and above) aged politicians

business professionals

media figures

There are also a few theatre stars, but it's unclear whether they're actually there to support the fundraiser or if they're part of the deal with the opera house. Despite that the event is a fundraiser, most people in attendance seem to be Saffit supporters and more or less share his sensibilities - that androids are useful for production, but they’re just advanced machines and their increasing numbers of the workforce are creating problems for people on the economic fringe. Many of the politicians are for increased regulation of androids in the workforce, though that point is clearly one for casual debate among even Saffit’s supporters. By and large, everyone is mortified about the violence that’s recently plagued the city; some seem to be unsurprised - “It was really only a matter of time” - but no one seems happy that bombs are going off in the city.

There are a few people in attendance, and they are clearly there for the charity and not for Saffit. There are a few small time politicians, or media affiliates - and there is at least one journalist from a semi-serious EXTRAnet news outlet, though she spends most of her time camping by the bar and eating hor d'oeuvres. This is probably the fifth or sixth fundraiser she’s covered this year.

For the hosts who were not as gung-ho about fraternizing with a bunch of wealthy anti-synthers or attending fancy-schmancy events, feel free to take a much-needed and well-deserved break. Have a movie night at the Bearings - I hear that one flick "keeping tabs on your fellow hosts through the security cameras at the event and commenting on every move they make while throwing popcorn at the screen" is a great one. You can assist with observations, hack where you please, run detail and defense from the outside and even feed intel to the hosts at the party. Otherwise, you've got the Bearings and the whole city to yourself for the evening.

Comments

PRE-EVENT THINGS.

[unsea]

[ Any lingering questions, concerns or thoughts that need to be addressed or voiced?

Need a dose of liquid courage, a second opinion on your attire, or to check in on your plus one? Best get it out of the way! ]

closed to the Darkling

[adamance]

[Nearly ready for the event (she left earlier to have her hair and makeup done, and she's now returned to put on her dress), she shows up at the Darkling's bedroom door without her purse and shoes for the evening. Lexa is not yet ready to go, but it's clear that she has business to handle before she does.

Her presence outside of his door is not announced by a knock, but instead her opening her mind just enough so that he can feel the nudge and weight of her standing outside. Once she feels she's made herself known, she closes off her mind, setting up the same, practiced walls that she's been working on in decent meditations since Kylo Ren's invasion. They are not as stable as many people's here, but her emotional control offers her some aid.]

EVENT THINGS.

[unsea]

[ LESS A POST THAT NEEDS TO BE USED - MORE A PLACE HOLDER. ]

AN INTERESTING DEVELOPMENT.

[unsea]

[ During the course of tonight, there is one man who draws very little attention to himself. He's slight, with a deferential cast to his eyes and a suit that is clearly designer but understated to the extreme. He's never far from Saffit's side, and can be seen consistently with a slick, black datapad, which he is openly preoccupied with. At times he speaks quietly into the Representative’s ear, but he engages almost no one else. It’s no surprise that the rest of the guests seem to treat him like furniture.

His name is Elian Font, and he’s Goram Saffit’s personal assistant. Now, isn't that something?

At some point, it might be a good idea to find out exactly what is on that little datapad - ( Carata herself will suggest it if no one else thinks to first ). ]

mid-event | ota!

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ He's dressed to the nines for this fund raising event, suit perfectly tailored and expensive as hell, but might as well go for broke when he's not paying for it. He looks good, if he doesn't say so himself, and that's what matters.

It's a few drinks in when Sam first touches one of the people he's talking with, just a casual brush of his fingers against their arm. He doesn't miss the warm flare of his symbiote ability, or the way his head feels as clear as if he hadn't had any drinks at all, or the way their smiles get wider and their words flow more freely. And the more he tests it, the more he realizes that his symbiote ability works both ways, and he can transfer his impairment onto anyone he touches.

By the time he gets to talk one on one with with first Janina Lennart, then Barden Albers, and finally Leyva Roggins, he’s more or less figured it out. He's careful about it, interspacing his obvious drinking with what looks like water and always acting at least a little bit tipsy, but he's definitely using it to his advantage to stay sober. And once he's talked with Roggins enough to start figuring out that Frey seems to be right about them, he reaches out to the other hosts there. ]

( I love fancy cheese as much as the next person, but if I have to hear Roggins talk about what I'm pretty sure is the Concordia equivalent of Roquefort much longer, there might be a scene. I've hit up all the ones on Frey’s list, and I'm gonna keep making my rounds - but if anyone sees someone who looks suspicious or like they might have more to say if their inhibitions were a little lower, point me at ‘em? )

[ He's already extracting himself from Roggins as he speaks, with a friendly smile and a promise to talk later, heading back into the thick of the party. ]

[narcissithstic]

( Roquefort? )

[Pinned between self-absorbed socialites currently engaged in a thinly-veiled popularity contest near the lower stage, Ren is more than quick to let his attention wander for as many seconds as his companions allow. Chin straight, eyes half-lidded in a lazy show of interest; anyone not inhaling the fumes of their own importance would see right through it.

They don't.]

[adamance]

[At least Sam had done the kind of schmoozing that Lexa couldn't break character to do. Too well established, she had made it no secret that she had some uncertainty about the kinds of figures that would be here. Thankfully, her security guard job still covers for her inability to have social grace ... or the kind of social grace that's more suitable here.

She has plenty enough for her own culture, thank you very much.

(Because her people just love blunt instruments.)

She relaxes where she is, settling into one of the chairs beside a cocktail table to reach out to Sam.]

( I will tell you more about Frey's list than I did before. It wasn't the matter of those she distrusted that I thought needed to be proved or disproved.

It was the matter of those she trusted. )

[headinjuries]

( You are making me so glad I'm skipping this one. )

[batmotif]

[As much practice Bruce has conducting himself at fancy parties, he's still managed to find himself skirting around the room, making what observations he can while undistracted by pretty faces that wish to cling to his arm, and expensive suits that hope to strike up a conversation. During this time, a somewhat unremarkable individual shadowing Goram Saffit has sparked Bruce's interest; moreover, he wonders just what exactly the man keeps tapping into his sleek little datapad.

And when Sam's familiar voice rings in his head, he sees an opportunity to point out this lingering curiosity.]

(Did you notice Saffit's assistant? He's good at pretending to be invisible.)

[But not good enough to escape Bruce's notice.]

[erbier]

[ She feels like she should be able to make conversation with him, but when she determines to make the attempt she just ends up blushing faintly instead, hiding behind a champagne glass saying nothing at his side. ]

OTA

[narcissithstic]

I: ARRIVAL

[The media outside are largely ignored: wincing against bright pops of light in passing, Ren keeps his eyes trained straight ahead as he and Hux skirt lines of local photographers clamoring for a sellable shot. There are brighter stars present, more renowned public figures, and it means that initially he isn't accosted with questions or intrusive, jutting cameras until they near the entrance where a smaller cluster of more gossip-savvy headhunters take note of Ren's unmistakable scar. Most of the inquiries are political ('Do you personally know Goram Saffit?' 'How do you feel attending this event after the previous bombing? Is this a political statement?') but a few eventually skew towards Saffron and her presence— or more accurately her absence at his side as she had been only a month or so prior.

His answers are slow. Blunt and predictably heavy-handed. Still, he fields them without attracting any immediate suspicion: he sides more with Saffit's agenda than those rallying for android rights, defers to Hux's invitation rather than his own notoriety — and as for Saffron, well...]

We're in contact with one another.

[So curt and dour that it serves only to fan the flames of their curiosity rather than sating them. A successful diversion away from the Nest's existence, but a painful headache for what feverish accusations follow as Ren peels himself away from the sidelines to duck irritably inside the main foyer. There's less noise inside (both audible and what the symbiote or the Force pick up where proximity is involved), and Kylo Ren draws the back of one gloved hand across the lower side of his jaw where it hits the high line of his collared jacket.] Ugh. Repulsive.

[Diplomacy.]


II: MIDWAY

[The middle of the evening is busier than he'd anticipated. By the time a heady mix of alcohol's sunken into the crowd's collective blood, the barriers between personal space— between strangers— begins to rapidly dissipate. Even dustier officials have taken to searching for more interesting conversational partners, and Ren, dressed in rich crimson and glossed, fitted leather, certainly seems to be fitting the criteria.]

I wasn't aware of the impact it has on our workforce. [It's an absent, evasive comment, gold eyeliner catching the light as he flicks his gaze off towards his nearest Nestmate. His current conversational partner is a younger attendee, beautiful if not fixated in her attention (and her insistence on standing close enough that her perfume's mixed with the pungent scent of brandy), slight, hawkish features trained upwards towards his own.

He was promised she'd introduce him to Nojus Ólafur, but so far she only seems interested in introducing her own opinions. On everything.

Lacking subtlety, he pulls a long, long sip from the wine glass in his hand, lip twisting upwards in a grimace for only a second. Barred from cruelty, there's no immediate (known) cure for incessant, blossoming affection. Affection steeped in contempt for droids, and the problem they're apparently causing for Concordia proper.

'You should consider visiting our offices once this is done. We could use more publicity for our latest campaign concerning android segregation in high-traffic areas - to protect citizens, of course.']


III: DOWNTIME

[He's grown tired of waiting. Of feigning attentiveness and courtesy. By the near end of the night Ren can be found sitting alone and sullen at an empty (used) table, gloves and cloak discarded, irritably pulling at the clasps at the base of his collar to try and dislodge it. Hours have passed, the crowds have thinned and the gilded decorations seem more hollow than opulent; he wonders if the Darkling's proved successful in his hunt.

He wonders if he'll sense it once it either succeeds or fails.

Ren's senses turn outwards towards the waning sounds of conversation, searching for a faint brush of symbiotic contact, however distant.

Wake me up inside-]

IV: WILDCARD!

ilde option

[erbier]

[ She knows where he is in the room most of the time, they are brood, it is not difficult to keep a mental map of his movements. Easier still to keep herself at the opposite end of that directional. He had not responded at all when she had awoken, but which one of them is being stubborn at this point is unclear. Maybe both, and neither particularly wants to take the weight of it.

A fragile detente by omission.

Its fragility all the more apparent when her attention is pulled away by yet another irritating journalist asking her questions, and when she finally turns away, he is there in her line of sight. She meets his eyes with a flutter, startled that she had lost track of him. Her desire to evade him evaporates. ]

( Ren. )

mid-event // OTA

[100mitsubishis]

A: Gambling Table

[Kavinsky isn't generally the right man for a game of espionage. When he breaks in somewhere, it's usually his own home when he's forgotten his keys and his lush of a mother locked the door without thinking before passing out on the couch. At least, that used to be the case.

He prefers crash landings and the look of shock slapped onto someone's face when he bursts in. But this is no time for a showy display or being the very center of the party; it isn't his gala and he's been made to help. That one guy who sent them all the Goodies and Baddies list may want him to be checking people out on a personal level, but he's found a method where people will loosen their tongues all on their own without him having to do much at all.

He's working one of the gambling tables, collecting money for charity, and cheating so ruthlessly it's doubtlessly illegal. Then again, no law has been made to directly handle what Kavinsky is capable of. The loaded dice are a dreamt pair that under any scrutiny wouldn't seem to have been tampered with. The cards flow between his fingers because they've been created to ripple in pretty waves; Kavinsky isn't a card sharp and has no experience running scams. The bets he used to place had to do with which car would survive a collision, who could overcome a purposeful overdose, where would they end up that night after the sixth bottle. This is sophisticated.

He isn't wearing a tie, but he has on a dress shirt, a blazer. The former is unbuttoned a gratuitous amount and he's wearing sunglasses despite being indoors; his chain hangs around his neck, his one earring glints whenever he tilts his head, mockingly sorrowful at someone's bad hand or shit luck with his dice.

The tokens which indicate money lost by the gala's guests stack up. Kavinsky starts humming the rudest song he knows under his breath. His fingers are always tapping. People keep talking, treating him as near invisible, and it makes him itch. He should be listening, but the snatches of conversation don't stick with him as well as they should. Only the itch. An itch that anyone else with a symbiote might feel as it spreads from where he's settled. Kavinsky is growing bored and that boredom is a problem.]

B: On a Balcony

[cw: drug-use]

[Finding a balcony with a population of zero took some time and patience that Kavinsky didn't feel.

Hours ago, in his room, he'd prepared for a night out, tingling from head to sole by the time he was done loosening up. He spritzed on cologne with his head in such a haze he swore he could see the particles waltzing through the air around him. For a time he batted at them, like a cat seeking out dust motes in a ray of sunshine, before it hit him that he was supposed to go. Bag of tricks packed, he stepped out, tucking an itty bitty ziplock of white powder into one of his pockets.

That same powder is spread out now, on a balcony that's lost its last pair of lovers, its last grouping of gentlemen wanting to chat about stocks or whatever boring people enjoyed. Kavinsky is alone as he creates a thin line on the railing before he lowers himself over it. He doesn't breathe, cautious about causing the coke to scatter as he angles one nostril and presses with his thumb to plug the other. The whole line is snorted up in a single stroke, barely anything left behind as he sets his hands hard on the railing and leans as far back as his arms will allow.

The balcony spins. All noise from beyond the doors behind him turns slushy, underwater. He shuts his eyes and breathes again. Much better.]

C: Wildcard

[ooc: I'm open to most hideous things with Kavinsky! Just let me know where you'd like him.]

B

[erbier]

[ She follows his euphoria outside. He is not the first to do this, Petre plays with drugs in the streets of Concordia, her brood has gotten wildly drunk on their own, and from what she has heard there was too much drink at that street fair. She disapproves of it all, a creature of control and judgment.

She steps up alongside him and slaps his leg, swift stinging little strike with the back of her hand. They're in public so she isn't going to slap his face, but she'd rather like to. ]

If this was your only interest you should not have come.

ilde | open wildcard

[erbier]

[ She isn't exactly thrilled to be here. She's exhausted with the facade of Saffron; the girl she isn't, with an aspiration that isn't hers. She's exhausted with the investigations of all these people they can't ever truly know in a world that isn't theirs. How sweet would it have been if the mission had simply been completed while she slept? If she could have awakened back on the Station, returned to the Circle Gardens, like she longs to. That would be asking too much, and now the day after rising from the empty sleep, she is here. Pretending to be this girl, again.

Her dress is a vibrant yellow, hurriedly picked out with Giorno in preparation, and lips bright red but her expression belies the enthusiastic colors. Her bearing is bleak, concerned by how many they've brought with them, concerned by the way information has passed hands, concerned for their safety, and certainly not enjoying herself. ]

[unsea]

You are beautiful.

[ The media presence is exhausted enough by the bountiful nature of these fundraising events, that he has to tread cautiously around her - in public. 'Saffron' has been seen in the presence of Kylo Ren's facade, but to overlook her tonight would be a crime. They had shared a great many somethings, so quick, so brutal, and then she had slept. Those here have volunteers, and should have someone with them - each to watch the other's back. ]

We'll be done as quickly as possible, I promise you.

lexa | open

[adamance]

[since I actually put effort into looking stuff up: dress | hair | makeup]

[Lexa sets out for the evening fully prepared to be judged for her presence among the other people there. While her meeting with Mind Life had been private, she has no desire to be seen as sympathetic to her cause (their cause), as she hopes to feel out whether any of the individuals present might be willing to budge on their perspectives. Even slightly. Before long, it's more apparent to her than ever that these people see themselves as removed from machines, unable to acknowledge that there may be any similarities present. It confirms her beliefs, including the one where she feels like the Flame might alter their thinking.

As the night goes on, there's a low hum of irritation in Lexa's mind from the surrounding individuals—as well as the sense that she isn't bothering to hide it from the Hosts. She doesn't like that she's here, and there's a definite air of judgment from what politicians she does meet. Where she comes out in the end is as someone who believes these are politicians acting on their own interests, and not their people's.

Her outward expression is cool and distant, and she can often be found alone with a drink in her hand, eyes open as she observes the surroundings. If a Host (even one she has little favor for) draws closer at any point, she will acknowledge them to the degree that she's curious about their findings.

That all said, Lexa is here to observe and answer her own questions over the course of the night. She is not here to seem aligned with any of the individuals meeting with Saffit, and does little to contradict that.]

OTA

[shiro2hero]

+ ARRIVAL
[Well, he's definitely had better ideas. By all rights, he should be back and watching this on TV like a normal person. Like a sane person, who shouldn't be out in public. Not after what happened a few days ago. Even if he looks the part of a socialite, complete with gloves covering both of his hands. He feels like he's standing out like a sore thumb. No pun intended, for once.]

[He doesn't have an advance invitation, so there's a bit of a fluster while he pulls out his card to purchase one. Namely holding up the line and making apologetic faces at the crowd growing behind him.]

[Either way, he'll slip in, and try to find a decent wall to blend into.]

(Here goes nothing...)


+ MIDWAY THROUGH
[An open bar means there's other drinks around, right? Of course, he gets a few Looks from the attendants there when he asks for a water. Offering a sheepish smile in apology, and some excuse of "an allergy". It worked sometimes, he remembers, at the Garrison, when nothing else would.]

[At least here, no one is paid to question him further, so he gets a bottle of water, like a nerd, and awkwardly leans against the bar with it, watching the room. And the people in it. Trying to keep an eye out for their people.]

[That's why he's here, isn't it? As backup, in case everything goes pear-shaped.]

[Maybe he should pretend, at least, like he's enjoying himself.]



+ ANYTHING THAT CAN GO WRONG
[He'd leaned up against the wrong thing.]

[Some bit of decorative wall molding a little too sharp for the thin fabric of the expensive glove. And, of course, it just so happened to be the one covering metal fingers from view. The glove rips. Right across the palm. The part you're supposed to extend when you shake hands with the people at a fancy party.]

[Meaning he's trying to excuse himself from whatever cluster of people who had circled him. Which proves a little more difficult when a slightly more intoxicated young person wearing too many glittering stones latches onto his arm with a sultry smile. Crap. And prompting him to reach out to anyone nearby:]

(I hate to be That Guy, but -- anyone have a spare glove or needle and thread? And a crowbar?)


+ WILDCARD
[Choose your own adventure!]

wrong, so wrong

[vocalis]

[ Aoba is close, hanging around the edges of the room when he's not stuck on The Darkling's arm. He'd been swirling his club soda behind a decorative pillar, bored and trying to keep his nerves in check, when Shiro's call for help reaches his mind. ]

A crowbar? What for? Oh-

[ He doesn't have to scan the room for long to see. That sure is a drunk girl in a sparkly outfit hanging off Shiro's arm. The one he's sensitive about, too. It immediately puts a sour taste in Aoba's mouth as a memory of Koujaku surfaces. He was always surrounded by clingy women, and they would glare and pull his friend away. He wanted to tell them off, that they were being annoying, but Koujaku would never treat his clients as anything less than princesses.

But this is an open invitation to do something he's always wanted to do. ]

I don't have any of those things, but... I have an idea. Just try to remain calm.

[ It'll work if Shiro is struggling with what he suspects. Asking for a spare glove, a needle - it doesn't take much to guess at what's happened. Aoba leaves his drink on a nearby table, but plucks the garnish from it first. He then makes his way through the crowd. It doesn't take long before he's suddenly in front of Shiro and his new unwanted friend, hovering as if concerned. ]

Oh, what's... what's wrong with your hand?

[ He grabs it from the girl, pressing it in his - and the garnish. The sticky red cherry he was hiding there bursts, dripping. ]

You're bleeding. Here-

[ Quickly, he takes the blue kerchief from his jacket pocket, and starts tying it around Shiro's hand. ]

mara jade | ota.

[snaphiss]

a. SCHMOOZE 'N' BOOZE.

[Mara was made for events like this, and today she's in her element. Wearing a glitzy low-cut dress, laughing at every joke and pretending to drink, she hangs off the arms of influential business people and politicians. Anyone who knows her from the Nest will find a completely different person here: a ditzy party girl easily wowed by simple pleasures.]

[Somehow in the conversation, the two of you are introduced. Mara can recognize a host easily, though she doesn't show it.] Oh! Nice to meet you!

( Play along, follow my lead. )

b. LIAR IN AN ALCOVE.

[Later in the night, Mara disappears into the crowd. She's still chatting people up occasionally, but she has a different plan in mind. If you're on the edge of the crowd, her hand finds yours, and she pulls you into a more private alcove.]

[Once she's sure no one can see you, she puts a finger over her mouth, then taps her temple.] ( Keep it on the private channel. I want to do a sweep for bugs. ) [Her hair is done up in an elaborate coif; from it, she pulls a small, thin rod, and begins to press a knob at the base.] ( Keep watch. )

c. GAMBLIN' GAMBLIN' GAMBLIN'.

[There's a gambling table, how... quaint. The night's been long, and Mara's satisfied with her work so far. Why not have fun? And maybe test the character of these rich idiots when their chips are down.]

[An hour later, and Mara has amassed a fair amount of chips. Not enough to raise suspicion-- she purposefully looses every now and again, to keep anyone from suspecting foul play. Instead, she's presented herself as a very savvy card player.]

[For the first time, a host joins the table. In a display of solidarity, she decides to extend the con.] ( Do you want to win this round? )

C....sort of

[narcissithstic]

[Between rounds he finds her, a hand at her shoulder— broad and heavy and demanding attention about as nonverbally as he can manage. The dealer's concerned only for a moment (Ren is, after all, unmistakable owing to marred features) before noting the returned stare and dipping her chin down towards the pack in hand without a word: shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.]

You've done well enough.

[Call it a day, Aunt Mara.]

mid-event | open

[vocalis]

For most of the night, Aoba can be found on The Darkling's arm. He's reluctant about it, sour, but he's just doing his job. He has to stick with his cover and his opening at Saffit. He's posing as an escort after all - he should be good at this sort of thing! Though as much as he looks the part, dressed to the nines in white with his hair up, Aoba isn't the best on-the-spot actor, and some old habits are hard to break.

I. Gawking at the venue.

[ This place is a lot to take in, and Aoba has never seen anything quite like it. His island home was humble and small, the streets tagged and dirty, and the rich were secluded away behind the walls of their pleasure dome. Perhaps this is what it looked like inside. This isn't the smooth and simplistic halls of the Station either. Decorative, intricate, with something to look at gilded into every inch. It's difficult to focus on conversation when he keeps getting distracted by the fine glass sculptures, the elegantly draping fabrics, and the rainbow stained glass ceiling sparkling above them.

It's a bit embarrassing when he's caught staring. It isn't the first time tonight he's heard someone loudly whispering, intending to be heard - He's gawking. Is he really the new Champion's escort for the evening?

It makes his ears and face burn. ]

II. Not drinking.

[ What's worse is Aoba can't drink to take the edge off his nerves. First and foremost, he can't because of the mission - he needs a perfectly clear mind to perform Scrap when the time comes. He also can't hold his liquor. Not a drop. The last time he had half a beer with Koujaku, he blacked out and had to be carried home. That was bad enough when it happened at home around friends - in a place like this he'd be mortified.

In a brief moment alone, he stops at the bar to ask for water. When it draws a few looks, he last-minute asks for it to be sparkling, with a twist of lime. That's slightly better, still water, just fancier. He retreats to the shelter of a decorative pillar with it, not drinking, just twirling it and watching how the ice doesn't move. ]

Maybe I should loosen up...

[ An idle thought mumbled aloud. He knows he still can't drink. ]

III. Not smiling.

[ It's bad enough he had to come here with The Darkling, that he can't even sip on a cocktail, and that he knows he'll likely be dragged out of here with a mirgraine by the end of the night. It's no wonder he's hardly smiled since arriving, and his standoffish demeanor only makes the questions and rumors of his actual status worse. Not only that, but the last time he used his abilities he failed to find anything useful... and what if that happens again?

Any host can likely feel his nerves buzzing on edge from across the hall. Unlike Nirad's buzzing, it's somewhat musical. A concentrated rhythmic beat that goes along with the string quartet at times, a classical hybrid all his own. It's not much, but in the moments he's alone, it helps. It's keeping his thoughts from wandering too far into the negatives, because when they do... ]

Destroy.

[ Yes, he knows. He knows he's going to destroy part of a mind tonight. He doesn't need his brain acting out of control and reminding him, so he turns up the volume to drown it out. ]

II

[sizeofyourbaggage]

( If you need to drink for appearances, I can take away the effects. )

[ It means Sam'll be stuck with it until he sobers up normally, but Sam's pretty damn good at holding his alcohol, and with just how much he's been drinking and transferring away, being genuinely tipsy for a while might not be a bad thing. There's a pause, then he adds, ]

( I'll be around after, too. If your headaches get bad. )

outside surveillance/stakeout

[decommission]

EARLY.

[ No fancy hor d'oeuvres outside the party, instead there's a couple of grease stained paper bags containing Opia's equivalent of burgers and fries (sweet potato...ish, and with a kick) and some of those cardboard cup holders with frothy milk drinks. Not enough napkins got thrown in the bag, and he's missing ketchup.

Steve's at a spot on a bench just near the station, a short walk from the opera house. The white walls and glass dome can be seen from this distance, lit up with bright colors. Guests are still arriving, some of them in the back seats of fancy town cars that drive by. He might've tried camping out in some suit and tie bar across the street from the place, except some of their group is a little under-aged and they're working on this whole 'don't draw attention' thing.

Still, his spot's well within the limits of their mind links and there's the twenty four hour fast food joint near the station. He's appropriately dressed for someone eating greasy food on a bench next to a trash can as opposed to the black tie affair going on down the block, which is to say he's wearing his normal garb (sorry, Giorno). Anyone's welcome to join him. ]

PIDGE.

( How's the camera hacking thing work? )

[ When Pidge turns up he'll offer her one of the bags of food and a drink. ]

[headinjuries]

[ This is much more Sam's wheelhouse. Cheap fast food and waiting outside with the trash while the rich snobs are rich and snobby. Even if he hadn't already figured he'd look out of place when he's been working the Mind Life side of the problem, there's really no way he could look in place, no matter what approach he were to take into that party. Too young, too blunt, too messy, too everything.

So he's perfectly content to join the stakeout with Steve and close his eyes and try to pretend that the thing he's drinking tastes a little bit more like a chocolate shake. ]

That car looks like it cost more than our old house.

'cause a saffit fundraiser don't stop till there's alien subterfuge and mind wiping

[circumspector]

BACKSTAGE | OPEN TO ANYONE BACK AT THE BEARINGS / OUTSIDE THE PARTY, ETC.

[ She's there a little earlier than the "guests". It gives her a little bit of time to get used to the layout at least, work out how her performance is going to be on the stage.

More importantly, to listen in on the chatter of the other performers, mingling with the orchestra staff, and chatting to the few security guards that would respond to her. Ultimately, thought, even as she gets ready, the way Gio helped her sort out, it's a little dull compared to the set of nerves in her stomach. Both for performing and everything else that is supposed to happen tonight. In turn she ignores the murmurs from some of the other performers, that they've never seen a machine move that quite in sync with another person like that before. Because the lion sits at her side, head in her lap, and she absently pets it as she leans over to adjust to lipsticks at the edges. Absent things to do whilst she waits.

So she reaches out, brushing across the minds of whoever might be open to her. The image from her mind is open wide, her, in the mirror, and behind her in the dressing room, a dozen other people moving around. ]

( Are the cameras holding up on your end? There aren't any problems so far? )

[ It might be the third or fourth time she's checked so far. But hey, maybe. ]

PERFORMANCE

[ Eventually, it is her turn on stage, all done up to match the stage, and she knows, ultimately, she's not half as skilled as someone who'd been doing it their whole life. But what she can makes up for it. A glimmer of illusion on her, her markings all glowing brightly and isn't that just the most impressive body mod?

Doesn't matter that as long as anyone is in the room with her, they're prone to her illusions - though it's tame, it's a light show to match her movements, to make it glimmer, make it entrancing, make her seem other worldly, makes her glow, makes the air around her seem hazy and dream-like, rather than real and here - something for people to buy into easily, and in that, she knows herself. A role, just a role, a dream, and she smiles so sweetly like she might be one rather than something tangible as she and her lion prance about in a series of tricks and rolls and sharp darting movements. Little as she is, it makes it easy to clamber and stand on it. Balancing her weight on one leg, and the lion moves. They won't remember her, she doesn't think, she's just a performer, and no more or less than anyone else that's come up on this stage. But she makes sure to give it her best, exaggerates her slips and falls just to show her control. Where she moves, the lion moves, where she stands, the lion stands. It catches her, it bends to her, and that's the point to everyone in the room, isn't it? They're so much better.

Plays into it easily. It is after all, what she was made for. Her costuming and overly done up hair where it is falling, hides the implants, the metal plates that make her so much better.

She's going to sleep for a week after this is done, admittedly. It costs her a lot to keep it up for the whole performance, testing the edge of her endurance. But she's not slipping up now.

Eventually, it does end, and she and her lion sweep a bow to the applause they receive from polite party guests. Hoping that, hazy as she is, bright as she is, she makes her way down the stage to have what she really wants - middle-aged, fussy old politicians fawn over her and want her attention. Not her, certainly, not at all for her. Purpose done, she smiles so very sweetly at them, and the lights trapped in her skin she watches them blink and daze with it. But she keeps the waiting, wanting her attention.

Rather her barely there performance clothes and all that matches the decour perferctly, she reaches for any member of the hive first, that she can. Leaning into them in a fawning appreciative way. ]

( Everything went okay? There's been no problems? )

[ Because in this she knows herself, playing one role while being utterly focused on another. Two faced to say the least, the way she only has her mind on the mission to the way she turns to a gentleman that touches her elbows and smiles so becomingly to him. ] Oh, thank you, so much. I never thought I'd get to perform somewhere like this. It's such an honour.

ARM CANDY

[ A little while later, she's more sedately dressed, if still - showey like a performer ought to be, and that's the point of the attention she draws. She's not a real thing, she's an idea right now. Of a beautiful unreality. A lion trailing her, and for the sake of continued interest, she uses it around her for the amusement of her new found companions. She lets waiters put their drinks on its head and walk them back to her and her four or five fawning politicians, men and women both, that she wraps in close to her. Then, sometimes she perches herself on it's back like some - dominating princess. Her skirts sweeping about around her and at the edge of the lion's leg below her. Her markings glowing brightly down the one side of her body, where the sheer skirts just show them off, and she leans on one side, her arm propping her up. Holding her weight in reassurance by way of the heavy metal creature below her.

Because that she doesn't let dim, step too close to her and she is just that, and why they're so enthralled, supposedly. She's so bright under the eyes, her skin made so pale with it. The gold of her dress, the glitter around her eyes and under her hair, glimmers, the markings seem to change and move on her. Like look at her twice and she might have changed completely. She's a chandelier, a glittering mirror, a jewel, she reflects so beautiful light and sweetness. The way she'd practised with Gio until she's got the way to lean in when she's being talked to down pat. Her eyes turned down when she laughs to be demure. But she laughs at all the jokes, offers only curious acceptance of their politics and cooing noises of approval.

Eventually though, when she has studied one group enough - and ultimately when someone gets too handsy, she turns her head away in a mock blush for the brush of knuckles against her jaw, her neck that makes her breath come short in a way that has nothing to do with being enthused by the gesture and wanting to wrench them away and melt skin for daring to. Smiling into the curl of her fingers, the thought cuts across sharply to whoever might be nearby. ]

( They're getting handsy again. Can you get me out of here? )

[ Still utterly removed from what is going on. ]

SILENT AUCTION

[ She gets passed around as arm candy from one person to another as the night wears on, and eventually she's at the silent auction. On the arm of someone apparently with money to throw at a beautiful bauble, something he insists will suit her.

It's a bracelet that is worth a considerable amount of zeros attached. The bidding goes higher and higher, silent flurry over it. She's sweet still, of course she is all silent gasping that they would spend so much money on her? oh thank you, thank you.

For anyone else in the hive, however, come too close, and she rolls with disgust. A sneer of thoughts, cold and cruel and disgust high in her throat that never comes to the surface. Another thousand is added to the price tag, it starts to come down to the people that have the money to truly throw around. She's ideal for a charity fundraiser that way, they fling their money down, and she's not the only feinging idiot on a person's arm to be used like that. ]

( He has a partner, I'm fairly sure. They couldn't make it tonight. ) [ Her fingers curl on his arm as the price rises higher and higher. ] ( Kids too, I think. )

[ No, it's more than just sneering, coldness, of using these idiotic people fawning over her. It's disgust, utterly, cold and cruel. Things she feels that don't show, and she's just so good at that. They like her, she reasons out in her thoughts and communicates it idly, because she represents what they wished they could do. She's a space between, above the androids, for her complete control, but below them because she's just this too close. What a reassurance of control she gives them, of the rightness of their place.

Jack, she realises, they remind her of Jack and the wave of revilement that sweeps out of her as the man beside her gets the highest price on the considerably bejewelled bracelet and stands up to collect her. She doesn't miss a beat, a silent gasp like - she cannot believe that someone like her, is getting something like that.

Jack spent money like that too. On his second wife, on Moxxi, on Nisha, on himself.

She wants to melt his skin off for touching her.

But for now, she braces her hand on his shoulder and lets him adjust and tighten it around her wrist. ]

( I should send it to his partner. See what they have to say about it? It'd ruin his career.)

[ It's what she used to do, after all, for someone just like him. Blackmail, exposure, there were a hundred ways to ruin someone's life through just a handful of jewels that now sit around her wrist. ]

[ ooc: anyone is free to the mental stuff, inside or outside the party. whatever suits your fancy! ]

dips in.

[deployed]

[ There's certain people within the Nest that Bellamy keeps tabs on, apart from his brood. He's aware of them in and outside the lavish hall tonight, and orbits them unconsciously as he circulates through the crowd. It means he's relatively close at hand when Angel's mind brushes against his.

He'd been talking quietly with an admirer of his own as the secondhand shudder of unwanted contact ripples through him, preceding Angel's request. Bellamy breaks mid-sentence and covers it by taking a sip from the delicate flute he's holding as he breathes past the kneejerk rush of anger. ]

( I've got you, ) [ Bellamy answers tightly, extricating himself from conversation with a sleek-suited Concordian. ] ( Sit tight. )

[ There's no need to caution against making a scene. Bellamy already knows there's no benefit in bodily shoving the offending party away from Angel. It would be momentarily satisfying, but it would end with him thrown out of the party most likely, and the Nest didn't need any more attention than it had already received. The momentary pleasure of landing a fist to the handsy bastard in question's jaw wouldn't serve them well long-term.

Which is why Bellamy appears with two flutes of bubbly alcohol, one which he hands to Angel immediately, freeing a hand to settle at the small of her back. His jaw is tight, smile more like bared teeth as he leans into her side. ]

I'm going to have to borrow you, for a moment, [ Bellamy tells her, though the words don't come across quite as diplomatically as he'd like. ] Sorry to cut in.

[ He doesn't sound very sorry. ]

bellamy | wildcard.

[deployed]

[ The fact that Bellamy looks presentable is entirely due to the combined efforts of Lexa and Murphy. The haircut alone probably makes a world of difference, nevermind the sleek-cut suit he's sporting. He doesn't look all that at ease, but at least part of that discomfort is down to the fact that he's never worn a suit in his life. Periodically, he tugs at his cuffs. There's nothing wrong with the fit of the sleeves; Bellamy's just uncomfortable in the suit itself.

He circulates through the hall. There's a lot of people and a lot of ground to cover, and Bellamy restlessly with a drink held carelessly in his hand. Unlike the festival, he doesn't seem very interested in indulging. He's drawn into fringe conversations, flirting a little while keeping an ear. Mostly he's paying attention to the flow of the crowd and the positions of their people within it.

Basically, he was ready to leave the moment he arrived. Accost him as you please, he's going to be doing laps for most of the evening. ]

[shiro2hero]

[That makes two of them -- in the uncomfortable in the suit, department. If everything were normal, he probably would have sought him out a lot faster. Well, at least as "normal" as things got in this place. If that weird fiasco hadn't gone down before this.]

[He probably stands out a lot more than Bellamy does, though, despite his attempts to blend in. He's a lot more rigid, up against a wall. Looking more like someone's personal security than an actual guest.]

(You make this look easy.)

[There we go - open with a bit of a joke. Right?]

MURPHY | open

[wrackful]

[Murphy is here for the food. Dressed well enough to fit in, an all-black suit with bands of gold at the cuffs and lines edging the lower lapels, he keeps to the edges of the crowd mostly because that's where he figures the people he'll be able to tolerate best will also end up. It's not an anti-social move. He chats, he makes dry jokes, he keeps all the necessary lies in place if people ask about him. But he isn't targeting anyone, doesn't route any conversations to particular topics.

Anyone really watching might notice that his attention cycles: the exits, the food, and then the other partygoers. And he's pretty much always got some variety of hors d'oeuvre in his hand.]

[circumspector]

[ The upshoot of using her abilities this much and having no eridium, means that she needs to inhale food, she's found. To stop her body exhausting itself, give her abilities something else to chew up except her. Especially if she's going to be here all night doing tricks to keep people amused with her enough to keep her about.

But every so often it means she makes her way to the food table and smiles at him once before - as mindful of her pretty clothes as she could be, begins to look over what's available to them, a smile and a nod outwardly to him in greeting, one party goer to another that she doesn't break character from, but after a moment, she chimes quietly. ]

( Anything taste good in particular? )

Nathaniel Horn | Open

[whowhatnow]

[You probably won't even recognize Nathaniel, upon first glance. It's not that he's shapeshifted into someone else using his powers (which he could do, but he won't, this time). He's still his regular self, but his appearance has been transformed via other means.]

[He's dressed to kill. Gone are the casual sweatshirts, the comfortable clothes. Dressed in a long flowery dress, dark hair long and twisted into a braided, flowing ponytail, and his face changed with makeup (with dark blue, shimmery lipstick and bold eyeshadow that makes his dark eyes even more intense), he's quite the striking and very androgynous figure. He has Giorno to thank for that, really.]

[He's here to mingle with people, ever so happy to chat with everyone and anyone he can. He's definitely pleased to show himself and receive the attention, so he'll forgive the party for not being much of a dancing party. When he sees someone from the brood, he'll walk up, letting a hand rest on their shoulders.]

Having fun, yet?

[Later, when he isn't mingling, he can be found by the bar and the food, making not-so-subtle jokes about people in the party. He's just having himself a great time, really.]

[erbier]

( Did Giorno also help you with your outfit? )

[ Really that look is so JoJo what is she supposed to think? ]

CLOSED: Saffit Mind Dive

[vocalis]

[ He tried to keep a low profile. Not just for the sake of the mission, but for his own peace of mind. It's too bad that effort was shattered on the ballroom floor like so many pieces of the elegant ice sculpture he accidentally took down.

It takes a while to recover after that, but Aoba knows he has to recover quickly. He's taken over a mirror in one of the upper floor bathrooms to get himself cleaned up again. He's splashed his face with water, dried away as much of the redness as possible, and let his hair down again. Keeping it up was starting to give him a headache, among other things. Jittering nerves. Speaking of headaches, he's back to mentally prepping himself for the big one he's going to have after this. Mentally and physically - he slips the small bottle of pills he brought from his coat pocket, opens it, and skips counting the contents. Just knocks what's left to the back of this throat and swallows dryly.

The bottle is tossed in the trash, and he focuses back on the mirror, hands braced against the sink. A few deep breaths, and he reaches out with the symbiote, his mental presence somewhere between a song and static. The humiliation he'd been trying so hard to keep contained is set aside, still fresh but locked tightly away so it won't interfere with what he has to do. What they have to do.

He's going look in this man's head and find something, or they're going to be stuck in this city even longer. ]

I'm ready when you are.

[unsea]

[ There is an ice sculpture that has been shattered, and the mote of agony that flickers ( again ) between Aoba and Shiro. Two hosts beating a retreat, shaken inside and reverberating with that tinny note of anxiety and shame. He cannot deal with his broodmate, in this moment, but has taken note that he is not at all good at improvising when under duress. The embarrassment felt by Aoba, as well, is not something he knows how to deal with. He is incapable of such feelings of shame.

He steps into the bathroom, as Aoba's mind settles and he calls out. There are things to say, consoling things, but it isn't Aoba that he sees, when he looks upon the young man. It's another, with many greedy teeth and a black hole of a mind. Whoever this is, it's not the one he believes to be THE Aoba. His neutrality is enough to convey that, if Aoba were ever aware of the presence within him. ]

Saffit will see us now.

[ He reaches out, to Carata as well. Calling to her.

As he does, he reaches out to take hold of Aoba's wrist, drawing his hand from the hold upon the sink and into his own grasp. ] If at any point, you need help - take my hand.

petre | ota | cw for drugs

[inflori]

[ And here comes +1 demon, next to a shape-shifter with a bright outfit and wide smile. Spoilers: it's Nate. They joked and came as a couple, but they soon drift apart so they can go be their ridiculous selves and cover more ground. ]

all you can eat
[ He goes wherever the food is, sampling a little bit of everything, either marveled at how fancy it looks, how good it tastes, or, in most cases, how unfulfilling it is. Most of the other guests are eyeing him with as much delight as a group of nobles would upon being served roasted roadkill. Who the hell invited the enfant terrible of that gaming platform? No one knows. And yet, here he is.

He finally has enough of being stared at, and eventually snaps. ]

What?

druggy drug drugs
[ A couple of hours later, Petre emerges out of some quality time with Kavinsky with a new look in his eyes. Some might argue that a demon with instant regenerating powers wouldn't be subject to inebriation or other effects, but what kind of Devil's creation would he be if he couldn't enjoy all the bad things life has to offer?

It's something he's just starting to explore himself. He'd done it weeks prior with a couple of drug dealers of Concordia, but he's handed something very Earth-like this time. It makes his eyes look brighter, his focus more overbearing, and his carelessness amplified.

He makes a fool of himself, claiming he's bored, picking fights, and generally doing enough to get security to come and escort him out if someone doesn't come put a leash on him. A metaphorical one, that is. Or not. ]

wildcard
[ Hit me

metaphorically

or not ]

i figure this'll be towards the end of the evening??

[circumspector]

[ She isn't exactly having a nice time, right now. But it wasn't the point to start with, she's here to work for lack of a better term. Work just happens to entail being a smiling idiot, being full of insipid laughter, and fluttering her eyelashes at however was inclined to fall for it. She's there to be just one more social climber, and my god if she doesn't do it well.

For that reason alone, she's got her walls up high as she can keep them to keep that smile in place as she's given jewellery, showered in praise from men and women twice her age for her performance. The lion trailing at her command, walking around her, pressing against her side - but not so long into the party, she finds another reason completely to make sure her mind's sealed up.

Petre's taken something.

She has no idea what and maybe if she finds out who and when she'll throttle them for doing it here and giving it to a demon of all people that liked to eat people when he's bored. Right now it doesn't matter so much that it's already happened anyway. It prickles in the back of the throat; kicked down as vicious as she can with a practised ease of craving. She can't afford to let her concentration falter. Besides, she's been giving Petre space as it is - she doesn't push it - and as long as he's behaving like a... well, like a spoiled celebrity, that's their cover wasn't it? He doesn't need her to be there, watching over him. It's best she doesn't rub this in his face if she can help it. That wasn't fair to either of them.

Right up until he looks like he's about to get kicked out. She didn't see it because she's done her best to keep her back to him, but in sheer-habit she tells her lion to watch him and it's it's the anxious whirring noise into her leg that gets her attention. Her head jerks to see the security personal encroaching on him. Finally picked the wrong fight with the wrong guest and then it suddenly becomes her problem. This close and they can't risk getting busted from him getting thrown in even overnight holding. That means paper work, paper work means records and files and -

She swoops in, as discreet as she can in party with the older politician that's sighing wistfully at departure with promises of her soon return, catching him by his forearm with a tug away from the oncoming security guards. ]

( Petre. Come on, now. ) [ They need to move - and thank someone else's Gods that she has rights to the backstage areas of the theater for her performance, she drag him off there. The hand on his arm seems light but between them there's nothing less than the sense she's taking him somewhere else, right now. ]