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AINT NO PARTY LIKE A SAFFIT FUNDRAISER (DAY :47)
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.
B
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.
no subject
[If it isn't Mistress Buzzkill. He snickers, less bothered by the slap than he would have been ten seconds ago before the whole of his existence went fuzzy around the edges. The sting of the hit is a sensation that melds into the overwhelming sense of comfort afforded him by the drug.
There's enough left in his baggy for another line and he dangles it in the air between him and Ilde before tucking it into the inside of his pants, where she's unlikely to reach.]
I have other things in mind.
[He shares the memory of the loaded dice with her. Ingenious, right? For charity!]
no subject
Saffron.
[ She corrects him with a different name this time, the one that the people of Concordia know her by. Her utter disdain for the farce radiates off of her. She too is bored with all of this, but that makes her no more interested in his chemicals. ]
( You should be paying more attention, that isn't helping you, and you're undermining those attached to you. )
no subject
[Kavinsky wonders if she felt the angry snarl of his mind from before he did the line, or if she just came running when she felt there was some joy in the world needing to be snuffed out.]
How is that better than 'honey?' Strippers use both.
[Now she has free reign to hit him wherever she'd like. He's given her the opening and he's turned, planting his elbows on the railing so that he can press the small of his back against it comfortably.]
( Have you ever been to a real party before? Not like this. This is a joke. )
no subject
Watch your tongue, or I will push you off this balcony.
[ She would do it. It would draw a little attention, maybe, if anyone chose to notice, but ultimately it wouldn't hurt him, not with the symbiote there to protect and heal him. ]
( This event is enough wasteful frivolity for me. )
no subject
( This is a funeral. )
[The impressive part is he means it. All the nice suits and dresses, the polite speech and donations given purely for showmanship (or tax benefits, he isn't entirely sure how that works out here in space).]
( You'd like one of my parties. )
no subject
( I doubt that. )
no subject
( Defrost. )
no subject
She takes hold of his arm, her grip tight and her face close. Her blue eyes are somber in her pretty face, she's seen so many terrible things.
But now she wants what frightens him. Her symbiote power rises in her like a fever, her cheeks flushing and eyes dilating, sweat prickling at her neck, her chest.
Where is it. Show me.
She will grab hold of anything and then she will stab it in to him like a knife. ]
no subject
But there is a man. He has Kavinsky's hollowed, innocent eyes, but he hasn't chosen to hide them behind a pair of designer shades. In Kavinsky's memory, within his selective memory, the man is large. His brow is heavyset, he has a weight to him his son will never development with his minimalist diet (Kavinsky fills up on fumes).
Kavinsky's pulse twitches, staccatos, rises. Phantom hands around his throat, words in a coarse language that he translates for her. Words of violence and hatred for such a worthless son. He will die. Kavinsky will die. He will have no control of it and he will fade into a dreamless sleep, brutal and quick. Oblivion and he never asked for this.
Why did he have to be that way?
The knife sticks, but he lets out a woof of a breath and it's the same as when his father tried to kill him. He retaliates. He slams his heel onto her foot and he jerks his arm wildly out of her reach before he backhands her. It's kneejerk, he would've rather punched her, it's not that he means to hold back, but that it was the easiest way to force her off of him.]
Get the fuck off me, bitch.
[The inferno screams within Kavinsky. His fingers spark with multi-color energy, his teeth chomp at the air between them.]
( Do you want to know what happens next? )
[What happens next won't be good for her. He doesn't die. Kavinsky isn't the one who died.
He is waiting. That will be his.
But there is a part of him decayed. There is rot and there is the promise of the grave. This is a funeral and he is the corpse in a high price blazer.]
no subject
Her disgust for him is hypnotic, infernal in its twisting heat. She learned this somewhere. Learned this sickness from a madman who had tortured his sons, but none of them had ever been strong enough to kill, though plenty enough of them tried. She can hear their cries in her memory. ]
( Keep your vices to yourself. )
[ She is absolutely not above blaming him for what she had tried to do. ]
no subject
[It is not a request, it is a threat. Touch him again, see what he does. Touch him again and hope to keep breathing. The entire brood can fall on him, he would welcome it. Kavinsky's fear involved death, but it was not of death, the great root of all terror for most mortals. He abhors a variation.
His rage spreads like fire during the dry season, hopping from tree to tree, blackening the bark, reaching down toward roots. All future growth prevented.
A muscle twitches in his neck and he wants nothing more than to hit her again. The reddening of her skin isn't enough to sooth him, but alone as they are on the balcony, he can't guarantee it will last much longer.
The coke does the job of keeping him right on the edge rather than tipping over it. She doesn't know how lucky she is that his vices, as she calls them, keep him soft and quick to forgive.
Within reason.
The flames won't be doused, but he can contain them with a circle of grit. The fight isn't worth it. Kavinsky sidesteps the witch and makes a b-line toward the crowd. It isn't fleeing, it's just this isn't his party.]
no subject
She lets Kavinsky go, turning and gripping the edge of the balcony with white knuckles, staring out at nothing. Burning on the inside.
It's not the first time she's lost control. ]