maskormenacelogs | new years eve party! ota

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new years eve party! ota

WHO: Everybody!
WHERE: De Chima Grand Hotel (and the entire block around it)
WHEN: December 31st, 2017
WHAT: New Years Eve Bash!
WARNINGS: Drinking, partying, etc.

[De Chima's Grand Hotel is the city's most luxurious and expensive hotel, mirroring the sophistication and art-forward nature of the neighborhood that surrounds it. The space inside is an electic mix of cast-iron detailing and majestic masonry columns, all of which create a leap from the street outside to the accomodations inside. Bruce rented the entire hotel months in advance, wanting to make a gesture to imPorts and native citizens for all of the turmoil they endured over the past year. Now, instead, they could all come together and celebrate their entry into a new year, and hopefully, better circumstances.

The hotel leads party-goers up the iron wrought grand stair, hand painted silver leaf ceiling overhead, to equally beautiful hand painted elevator doors. It takes them all the way to the rooftop, a spacious outdoor oasis with unobstructed views to De Chima's own glittering New Years Eve ball. There's a premium open bar, with catered hors d'oeuvres and dessert stations. Festive hats, horns, and noisemakers are complimentary as well as Champagne at midnight.

Not to be outdone, Tony Stark has the entire street outside of the hotel set up with a DJ and the largest speaker setup anyone has ever seen, blasting an upbeat playlist of blood-pumping music. Woden is, unfortunately, uninvited from performing after the events of last month, his photo passed around to security and bouncers alike to remove him from performing. Unfortunately, Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo, who had planned on attending, is immediately removed from the premises by mistake. He can be heard screaming through his vocodor that there is some sort of mistake, but his cries go untended. As with the rooftop above, complimentary Champane and alcohol is served at ground level.

At midnight, the countdown begins to 2018, with a fireworks display the moment the ball drops at 12:00, a joint effort between both billionaires, and one of the few things the both of them could actually agree upon for the evening. HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE AT MOM!]

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( Gwen watches the fireworks, for a while.

Eventually: )

Sorry you're back in this shithole.

( HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY. )

[He raises his glass of water gently.]

I'll drink to that. [He gives her ankle a little squeeze.] Come on, why don't we get you home.

Ugh, it's so far away-

( is a stupid complaint to make when she'd been trying to go home in the first place and now she's just being contrary because she doesn't like being managed, but still, she'd got comfortable, taken her shoes off, now she has to deal with getting all the way back to fucking Pennsylvania which is not, before she found herself here, a state of America she'd ever even thought about, much less considered living in.

It's probably too late to actually get a hotel in De Chima, on New Year's Eve - New Year's Day, now - of all nights. She'll go home. She'll sulk a little, but she was probably going to do that anyway. )

Maurtia. Right. [That was far. Luckily, though...]

Come on. Up you go. [He takes her hand.] We'll get you a room here.

( Her feet go back into her heels, clattering on the rooftop floor, and she sways upright gripping his hand; she's had quite a lot of practise being this drunk, because 'making bad choices' is definitely what at least one of her middle names mean.

Not so drunk she can't think ahead: )

I can pay for it.

I rented the hotel, Gwen. [The entire hotel.] Don't worry about it.

[He holds on to her hand tight, babying her towards the elevator. Luckily she's light as air to him, so keeping a hold on her is hardly a problem at all.]

Uh, you have the subtlety and restraint of someone throwing a brick through a window, I want you to know that.

( - but she's appeased, her objection being less a matter of pride or point-proving than the vague awareness that eventually when rich men keep buying you things, it starts to Look A Certain Way. Which is fine, if you're actually getting laid.

It's fine if it's just the whole hotel. Then it's not for her. )

I'll take that as a compliment. But maybe try to shut up now, alright.

[Actually, renting the whole hotel was sort of for this very reason. A way of keeping people out of trouble after midnight. Always thinking two steps ahead, he is.]

( She thinks about that (not the part where Bruce possesses foresight and the resources to do something about it sensibly, the bit about keeping her smart mouth shut) watching numbers above the elevator- )

Alternately,

( dragging the word out, )

no.

Hn. Alright. [He grunts, watching the numbers as well as they tick by FOREVER. God, he could just... put her to sleep. Just a quick pressure point. Right at the carotid artery. It wouldn't even hurt. But... that would be wrong.

How many floors did this stupid hotel have?]

( They end up waiting for the elevator in silence, anyway, because beyond sheer contrariness Gwen doesn't really have much else to say.

She'd probably have more smart remarks if she were sober, but she goes one of two ways when she's been drinking and if not seized upon a topic early, the other one is just - this: huge eyed, quiet, probably thinking about something illegal, it's just statistically likely. )

I want a room with a bathtub.

( Not for illegal purposes. )

[He pinches between his eyes.]

It's a five star hotel, Gwen. They all have bathtubs.

( affably: )

That makes it easier, then.

Makes what easier.

[Why is he even asking.]

Getting,

( into this elevator, )

a room with a bathtub.

( serenely. )

[After what seems like an eternity, they reach the ground floor, and Bruce exasperatedly reaches the front desk with her. After greeting him formally, all Bruce does is ask for a key to one of the rooms for her.]

...preferably on one of the lower floors. [There is no chance he's going all the way back up trapped in an elevator with her again.]

He's grumpy because I'm drunk, so I don't get a nice view-

( hey actually maybe don't let the drunk fairy talk to the hotel staff. )

Don't mind her. She just likes to talk. A lot.

[He snatches the key from the attendants hand, brow furrowed, and heads back to the hotel like he has an unruly child in tow with him.]

( In the elevator, she says- )

Hey, Bruce. Hey.

( A little tug on his jacket sleeve, in case he's thinking of ignoring her because she's wasted, which he would be perfectly within reason to do. )

Bruce.

What is it, Gwen.

[1... 2... 3... up they go. Slowly.]

( Sufficient delay that he might think she's not going to say anything else, or that she's actually forgotten she was going to say anything in the first place, )

Are we friends?

( Definitely pick now to ask that, when she's at her least endearing. )

Sure we are, Gwen.

[4... 5... 6... with friends like this...]

If you're going to humor me,

( there's a Tone happening, )

at least don't half-arse it, I'm not that drunk.

( Like, she is. But. )

Luckily your actions speak louder than your words. [A pause.] Your heart's in the right place, Gwen. That's enough for me. Come on.

[Thank god, they're here. Bruce slips an arm in hers and shuffles her off of the elevator and towards the room.]

( Gwen drags her heels to stop, loosening her arm out of his grip so she can take her shoes off and walking ahead of him, determined, once she's carrying them. )

Yeah, they say what I want them to say,

( easily, like she's not had a sudden shift in mood and there is nothing to worry about. )

What number is it? I'm fine. From here. Thanks.

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the_caped_crusader - 2018-01-01 08:13 (UTC) - Expand

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trouvaille - 2018-01-01 08:16 (UTC) - Expand

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