![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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.
gambling table
Where it's on her right wrist, she catches herself against the table with her company - the older politician that bought her the trinket in the first place. Easily the age of her father that's got his hand on her exposed back, where her skirts float and ruffle about her, and he is taking his seat at the gambling table with a nod to the dealer to deal him in the next hand. her turns to her after it's done, and from a waiter that comes past, she fishes them both a drink of something sweet and undoubtedly expensive to give to him. Playing her part well, all simpering and sweet like she's just one more ladder climber. Her lion comes to pad up beside her, and she bids it sit on all fours so she can sit on it in a sweep of skirts that she had practised with Gio before she'd come. One hand on the lion, stroking across its head like it had fur instead of metal plating, the other is wrapped around the man and she's just that, a perfectly matching piece of decoration to suit him as she leans in and nods obediently and explains the rules of the game to her. One that makes him look powerful.
She does not know Kavinsky, doesn't need to, she feels the hum of the hive on him and watches how he plays. Knows that this table is probably nothing less than high stakes and with a soft gasp and murmur to her companion like there's honey sweet in her mouth her eyes flick up and across the table, in turn reaching with her mind out to him. ]
( Are you any good at the game? )
[ Not insulting, more, if he's game, she's got an offer. Petty and mean, but an offer all the same. ]
no subject
He looks at her mark. What a guy. No fucking clue he's being played, just thinks he's special enough, rich enough to genuinely have a shot at a girl like that. Some things never change. Kavinsky could travel from space station to space station, all throughout the universe, go astral, become a god himself, and all the little ants look the same.
One last look at the lion. No one can blame him. None of them have one.]
( I'm cheating. )
[The dice are loaded, the cards are stacked. Kavinsky's grin widens, but it's no less private.]
no subject
[ Her hand comes up in a bubbling little laughter, as she's leant into by her company. He's whispering what passes as sweet nothings undoubtedly. That he's going to win her the earrings to match her bracelet, that she's the most beautiful woman in the room, and she's going to be adorned like she deserves. Echoes back to her present company with a tingle of thought that is similar to gagging noise for how he praises her by praising himself.
Like she's the Mercenary Day trees in Gingerton and Tinsel Waystation, waiting for him to hang these things on her.
Her hands with glittering nails sweep up to hide her smile as she ducks her head, gasping softly like she's genuinely flustered by it all, that oh no - not her. She can't ever be worthy of it, she's just so grateful.
She's consummate down to the way she ducks her head and turns away, shy and abashed. But the lion stares fixed and forward, robotic backlit eyes watching everything that moved around her. ]
( Let him win a little bit until he's over confident. Then take him for everything he's got. )
no subject
[Kavinsky's been serving the ol' softball, letting himself win stacks only slighter greater than the ones he lets escape. He's been waiting for The One, and here the old fucker's come, a slender trophy on his arm with eyes that burn over two thousand degrees Fahrenheit. So, blue. The one subject Kavinsky mastered all on his own, no textbooks necessary, was chemistry, and he knows when he sees a flame that's made to bubble up everything around it. Combustion's soon to follow and he's always wanted to be at the heart of a bomb.
She's come to the right place if she wants to see someone squeezed dry.]
I like your cat.
[He nods his chin at the lion; the mark can't tell if Kavinsky's being a little shit or genuinely charismatic which is the line he likes to straddle. He spreads out the cards in one line of decorative backs, gold filigree and open-mouthed ravens.]
Who's in?
no subject
[ Outwardly, she gives him a look for his comment, immersed at a moment, and then the next she's giggling, flushed all pink in the cheeks where's white as a china doll ( smash her head up and see what comes out ).
Because he's right about the fire ( all chemicals burning under there ) and her compatriot doesn't see the smoke, apparently, he just glowers at Kavinsky when she's clearly spoken for and she smoothes her hand up his arm slowly. Beckoning him onwards, just enough of a hint that he needs to keep fighting for attention.
Voice that cuts across arrogantly that says he's in before he puts down a hefty number of chips. ]