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WHO: Daenerys Targaryen and anyone who enjoys looking pretty and open bars.
WHERE: Venice Theater House, Heropa.
WHEN: April 14.
WHAT: The fashion label launch of STORMBORN X MARQ: a show, a drink, and some dancing. While some invites were dispersed amongst acquaintances to ensure imPort presence (and, frankly, moral support), the doors are open free of charge to any imPort dressed to impress, and word is quick to travel. You are most invited to make an appearance!
WARNINGS: n/a

It's here, the fashion event of the season! Local Floridian designer who exclusively goes by De Marq has teamed up with imPort Daenerys Targaryen to bring you the most exciting luxury transdimensional fashion label that America has yet seen! Or so the promotional material may tell you. Hosted at the Venice Theater House, the venue is glitzy, buzzy with excitement, and plagued with natives who are probably only somewhat understanding of the fact a lot of you are probably recovering from or are still in the middle of a dream sickness!

Whoops. But the show must go on.

THE SHOW;

After a little preliminary mingling, guests are invited into the showroom and seated onto elevated rows where you may find yourself in conversation with aloof designers, prying journalists, and fellow imPorts alike. The stage is glossy white and silver, and becomes the single lightsource (save for the glittery pop of cameras). Most of the women who walk are models, professional and sleek and six foot tall. Among them, however, are also imPorts -- any imPort lady who wished to volunteer her time and grace ahead of time will find herself squeezed into the most likely dress and directed down the catwalk. The cameras tend to frenzy whenever a more familiar face marches down the stage, and Daenerys among them to finish the show, her stride practiced and her smile only a little ironic. The clothing is sleek, in colours of black, white, and metallics, and sheer illusions and patterns. It ranges from evening gown to business attire (allegedly), and the heels tend towards tall.

And if you need an excuse to participate, the luxury tokens and vouchers gifted each model might win you over. It is, after all, for a good cause! The good cause being Through The Glass, which Daenerys explains in a brief speech in the show's conclusion, before passing the mic to a spokesperson.

But never mind all that. The free champagne is just outside.

THE AFTERPARTY;

A wide open space hosts the muddle of media and party goers, although much of the press is ushered out after the first half an hour so that networking opportunity can transform into celebration. The champagne, as mentioned, is free, offered in tall glasses on serving platters, but a bar for anything more particular is set up towards the back of the room. Food is bite-sized and adventurous, mostly vegetarian, seafood, or dessert. A live DJ ensures that all awkward pauses are underscored by pulsing music. You still know where you are, though, with curtain banners erected displaying the relevant brand of STORMBORN X MARQ, some with Daenerys herself photographed, others with ambient art backdrops of storms and lightning and other expected aesthetics. Models mingle, wearing cocktail dresses from the collection.

Dancing is permissable but most people seem more inclined to chatter, despite Dany's hopes and dreams. There is a lot of group selfie-taking, giving the impression that this is a specifically influential social media event, and a lot of conversation revolves around what everyone is wearing, the fashion staples of other worlds, and critique and commentary on the event itself.

The afterparty is also a silent auction, set up on tables out of the way, security guards presiding over the items on display, from necklaces to perfumes, from fashion show tickets to expensive dinners in New York City, or an exclusive fitting with De Marq himself, and of course, some items from the collection. All proceeds go to Through The Glass. Every now and then, someone raises a glass to an especially generous donation, and polite applause breaks up the conversations.

AND BEYOND;

And if you need an escape for all this glamour, empty balconies, a courtyard, and the side alley where smokers huddle might be your speed. All of the signage inside, too, make for quick little escapes if you need to step aside, make a call, or duck out of the way of a particularly determined gossip columnist.

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[ It isn't impossible to find a moment with Daenerys Targaryen. In fact, it's an inevitability that you will! Nailing her down for more than a few minutes at a time is the real trick.

She wears the dress she wore on the catwalk, with the cape now detached, leaving her a little more free to move despite the best efforts of her trailing hem and heels. Her silver hair is out and down in shining waves, but decorated with small braided intricacies of her own design. Her makeup is simple, silvers and rosy blushes, touched up here and there throughout the night. Her smile is gracious and ready.

The glass in her hand is the same one she's had for some time, disinclined to drink very much with so many eyes and recordable devices on her. She mingles and has brief but meaningful chats, tries to shift the conversation to the charity they're sponsoring whenever she can, and moves on. She pauses for photo opportunities, professional and amateur alike, and seems to know which side is her good side when she does.

Occasionally, she ducks behind some signage to have a moment, to finish her champagne in a hurry. She might latch on to someone she knows better and use them as a sort of shield against random approaches.

But every now and then, her smile appears more crooked than perfect, and her laugh crinkles in her eyes. You might even accuse her of enjoying herself. ]

[The show was far from his interest, but because he had been offered an invitation by Daenerys, he couldn't find any reason not to attend. Sansa fully intended to go and even participate, apparently, and with Lucy pulling him along, there were three strong women that overrode his usual misanthropic tendencies.

Jon had been cleaned up and handed something nice to wear. Enough that he wouldn't offend the sensibilities of others in attendance by the smell from his Westerosi clothes. Between the clothes and the crowds, he was not in his element and far from comfortable. Still, he tried to smile and be social.

After a glass of champagne, it at least felt a bit easier to try. It didn't stop him from standing to the side and watching others. He had eyed the silent auction briefly, but with his funds so low, he couldn't take part. (Not that he would know what to do with any of the prizes up for bid, save give them to Sansa and Lucy.) All he could do instead was eye the exit and contemplate escape, but really...how far could he get before someone stopped him?]

( once off the cat-walk - where even heels could not make her look other than dwarfed by amazonian models - gwen changes from the show look into one that's mostly her own, blue velvet off the shoulder and glass-effect heels in a not terribly subtle bit of play. the necklace is borrowed, on the understanding that this event will be photographed and its provenance easily sourced for the interested; a lack of ambition to race to the top of the public face pile is not a lack of ability to navigate where it benefits her, and she's been looking forward to playing dress up since daenerys first floated the notion.

her cape gets left with the coats and some champagne claimed instead; she is still optimistic about dancing, for all that it doesn't seem to be the hit hoped for, but in the meantime she mingles, joins in obligingly with the selfie-takers - although she only posts beforehand - and keeps a weather eye out for anyone she knows and/or thinks can be relied on for intelligent conversation. or at least one that'll pass the time without making her feel as if she's become slightly stupider by any means other than the champagne.

it's not really her natural habitat, but a glance mightn't tell you that. a lingering one, though, or one that tracks how often she isn't holding a glass, the way she very slightly squares her shoulders - maybe. )

[A fashion show? Ehhh. A fashion show by someone within their little population? That's more like it. He's dressed to the nines as usual, thick black ascot to cover his neck instead of tie, hat and pocket watch and cane and all, expecting...well, he isn't sure. That's part of why he came.

So when he spots the teeny tiny lady with the enormously mysterious aura, he can't look away. In fact, he smiles and leans forward so much someone near him asks if he likes the model or the dress more. Or is it the combination?

Naturally, he gives her room after. He's not a true gentleman by any stretch of the imagination, not really, but even he understands that she'll need some time to unwind, likely won't appreciate a strange man being right there when she's just gotten off the catwalk. Helpful he doesn't have to keep too much of an eye on her. She stands out like a sore thumb oozing purple glitter. Goodness.

She's just about out of champagne when he appears out of almost fucking nowhere, extending a fresh one her way. It's all bubbly, still, and a waitress passes by with only one missing.]

Almost out there, aren't you? Here. [Just bein' earnest and helpful, what a swell roarin' twenties weirdo.] Was that your first time on of those walks? Aphrodite born upon a shell, you were. Absolutely stunning!

[He...might be close. But it's less of a creeping invasion and more enthusiastic small animal since he, too, is a wee person who makes up for it with a "whoa nelly" aura.]

( where the fuck -

oh, he has champagne. she sets her mostly-empty glass down on the tray of that passing waitress, a three-person straight trade, and takes the one he offers her with a willingness to momentarily overlook the fact that he just shaved ten years off her life for the sake of champagne. she might live thousands of years if she plays her cards right

(so she probably won't)

- what's ten years? he's very...enthusiastic. )

Thank you.

( the ease with which that answer is given mostly reflecting someone who is prepared to see compliments given to the way she improves something by walking down it as just her due, yes, a woman this in control of her own appearance is a woman who knows exactly how fucking good she looks down to the devil in every detail. )

It's a bit different to when they want to take your picture on the way in, or something - and I've never felt shorter in my life - but you know, what Daenerys wants.

( daenerys gets; gwen sounds fond. )

[Should Han be here at all? The answer is a definitive no, but free food and champagne has called Han anyway, and so he's shown up in his nicest outfit, which consists of a white shirt, pants, and a leather jacket. No, really. It's free of coffee stains, engine grease and everything.

He feels incredibly underdressed at this party, which is why he hasn't exactly tried to be social—after all, he's just here to get a free dinner, though he does eye the silent auction with interest until he realizes he can't afford any of it. So instead what he does is drift closer to one of the people who also looks more than a little bit out of place.

Which means that there's a guy in an outfit that is completely outside of the party's theme moving up closer to Jon.]

If you want, [he whispers conspiratorially] we can ditch this party for a bit, eat on the balcony. [He offers up the dish he's been using to pile his food up on.] Might've gotten a little more than I can eat.

[End limbo or bardo or celestial pivot or whatever cosmological construct one could choose.

He's alive. Jyn's alive. They have a chance to be alive together.

Which means… being in life. Participating in it. Committing to it. And the prerequisite to that, for him: learning about it.

This is not the sort of thing he's done voluntarily before. He's attended ceremonies for others. (He'd have ducked out of them for himself—but it rarely came up. In Intelligence, one's accomplishments tend not to have fanfare.) His main event-going moments in [last] life were all when he was embedded undercover as "Joreth Sward", aide to Imperial Admiral Grendreef. His job was supposed to be handling the Admiral's paperwork. Instead, it turned out to be a lot of keeping Grendreef's children diverted away from meetings, intercepting Grendreef's wife in the gut-twisting Imperial politics of trying to keep "women" secondary to "work" (such artificial, self-sabotaging subdivisions, no wonder Imperial minds seemed all so stunted and distorted), and accompanying them all to official functions. Like this. Mon Mothma and Bail Organa had even taught him Core ballroom dancing—which he'd then had to put into practice, with Grendreef's wife and kids, in turns.

It's extremely strange being at an event like this… as himself.

But because of his experiences as Sward, he knows how much one can learn at events like these.

The clothes he's acquired for the purpose aren't quite up to the standard of most of the congregations', but the outfit is well adorned, if not transmuted, by his immaculately straight-backed posture and high-held head. (Not here under an alias, but falling back into Sward's physical affect on reflex.)

He'd wanted to stop being the spy… but he's not ready to commit himself to the organization that brought him here without further vetting. So… some same techniques may apply.

…This may also be testing himself. See if he can reconcile those techniques with… —without lying.

It's its own kind of tiring, being at a party like this; even mainly as an observer. Though the point is to absorb as much information as he can—whether or not he processes it all consciously now, it'll be there, in his technique-enhanced memories, to run through and analyze later; nonetheless, he finally decides to cut himself a break. And ducks behind a barrier for a moment alone, to gives his eyes a break, quiet his mind, catch his breath.

He nearly bumps into a woman who seems to have had the same idea, just managing not to knock the champagne into her hand all over her dress.

…Her long white dress, which, even without the collared cape that had made it look so strikingly like Mon Mothma's on the runway, is still instantly identifiable. As well as her silver hair.]

I'm so sorry—please pardon me…

[ Sometimes, Daenerys thinks back to the aquarium Jorah Mormont showed her in the early days of her arrival. A tunnel of plexiglass, suspending gallons of blue water over her head, while eels and stingrays and schools of fish glittered by. Most times, when it comes to these sorts of events, that is how Daenerys feels -- a sense of serenity, control, and peace, while the circumstances, most unusual, are felt around her as if through glass, hers to admire.

And then there are times when it feels as though she has submerged herself among sharks.

The press, mainly, but other designers, socialites, and less commonly, other imPorts. The opportunities to take a deep breath before plunging back in are fleeting, and so she stands behind a giant banner silkscreened with ocean storm photography, and does just that. From behind, the light is diffused, and the words STORMBORN X MARQ are visible in backwards-mirror.

At the sound of footsteps, she starts to turn, and only reverses the action as a stranger nearly collides into her, quick to put her drink out of harms way. Her eyes immediately go to his face, then down to his chest in search of a press tag, then back up at his face, her smile quick. ]

No harm done, ser, [ she says, lifting her glass. Still half full. She raises an eyebrow, and it's without demand, more good humoured, that she asks; ] Are you lost?

Edited 2017-04-16 12:46 (UTC)

[It may not be lying, exactly, that social interactions are still shaped by learned technique. It's become as second nature to him as unaffected/spontaneous/unrealized reactions are to… well, "normal" people, whatever creature that may be. In other words: techniques learned so young genuinely replace unstudied spontaneity.

He has no ulterior motive, no desire to manipulate, no particular aim, but his responses are nonetheless… if one knows what they're looking at… strategic.

First level: body language mimicry*. Subliminally establishes rapport, says to the other's subconscious I'm friendly, we're on the same team, we're the same; induce feelings of comfort and trust. Tends not to be recognized since most people are not aware enough of their own physical expression of a given moment to connect it with his. In this instance: his body takes a similar angle in relation to hers as her to him, he raises an eyebrow back, and flashes a matchingly quick and good-humored smile.]

Out there, yes, a bit. But I meant to come back here. If you need a moment alone, I can find my own quiet corner.

[March listens intently, a slight smile on his face — pleasant, personable, actually interested in whatever it is she has to say. A genuine interest, too, in her mind over anything else.

He is wearing a wedding band, after all.]

You pull off short quite magnificently. Not all of us are so blessed. [Gotta grow a babbu Gomez Addams stache and marry Mama Monster to compensate, as one does.] I haven't met this Daenerys yet. Damn shame, too, she's clearly of lovely mind. Have you been companions for long?

[He's not sure if it's just friends, okay, he's never sure any more, everybody be fucking everybody else, companions it is.]

( backstage )
Haen had volunteered when news of the show had come up originally. She'd briefly forgotten about it in light of whatever sleep affliction was hitting everyone, but had broken loose of its effects two days earlier. Upon arriving at the Theater House, there'd been some searching for an outfit she could wear-- at less than five and a half feet tall, she was considerably shorter than most of the models these collection pieces had been designed for.

But eventually a striking chevron piece is located and fitted, a couple inches add with the help of an elegant pair of heels, and Haen is clearly enjoying the pampering. She can be found either at the makeup stations or waiting behind the curtain for her turn on the catwalk.

( party )
The redhead has taken to socialite mingling with alacrity, considering the world she'd originally come from where such things were far out of reach except for the highest-Codexed members of society. She's hardly shy about whom she strikes up a conversation with, is able to carry on intelligently on a great number of topics, poses graciously for photos and accepts drinks freely. Assuming she doesn't get off on one of her many multi-tangential ramblings, you'd think she specialized in this sort of thing. If she's the one steering the conversation, she'll be quick to praise the charity efforts of the gala's central figures, the efforts made by imPorts like Daenerys to mutually benefit their cities and peoples, as well as the good done by those in Ambassador positions, among others.

( outside )
As the evening winds down, Haen finds a spot of fresh air in the courtyard, finding a stone bench to sit on and set the nearly-empty flute of champagne down beside her. She might be loathe to give up this beautiful gown at the end of the night, she thinks, but these heels she won't miss at all. "Perhaps I should have just Perked myself taller and gone with something less spiked..." she muses to herself.

Edited (done editing now I promise) 2017-04-16 20:53 (UTC)

A; Before & During The Show

With filming underway for That's So Raina, a reality TV show all about modeling -- it was no surprise that she had managed to wedge her way into this fashion show. Her film crew was there as well, hovering around her backstage to catch all of the bluster and drama of catty models as they got ready. The attire was not so much to Raina's liking. But they did manage to find something floral for her to wear that fit both the theme of the line and her own personal theme. Although, one rather Amazonian-sized goddess pitched a fit because she had much better legs than Raina and should have been the one to wear it, even going as far as to criticize her for being too short to be a real model. And those cameras kept on rolling because this was the sort of drama those fans were going to eat right up.

Of course, anyone who decided to intervene in this fight will find themselves filmed, too. Because what's better than a catfight? An even larger catfight! And that one model wasn't holding her disdain for imPorts back at all, more than ready to let the insults fly.

But regardless of the drama backstage, none of that translated on stage by the time the show rolled around. And although Raina fit more in line with the shorter models, she proved that her legs did look damn good in that dress.

B; Afterparty

Raina had shed her catwalk attire for a beautiful dress in burgundy. The film crew had stayed on with her for an hour or two while she mingled, but ultimately packed it in because they had only been allotted a certain time to film. Enough to advertise the brand and catch something interesting backstage, but not long enough to capture anything truly incriminating that might happen after the fine guests drink a bit too much alcohol.

Either way, Raina breathes a sigh of relief when they're gone, heading over to get a refill of her drink and mumbling to whoever happened to be nearby. "Now the party can truly begin."

Edited 2017-04-17 02:04 (UTC)

"Can it?"

Unusually skeptical and sporting a whiskey neat, Chilton wore a suit to echo Raina's own brassy tones. He had been sidelined during her shining moments amidst the celestial hubbub, making his own Milky Way to and from the bartender. But now they had a moment together, now they could talk.

Chilton had been tense ever since his return from that damned dreamscape.

Edited 2017-04-17 02:29 (UTC)

( sometimes when a girl is friends with another girl it's a little bit gay. what of it. )

I met her around about when I arrived here,

( drunkenly offering to teach her how to drive and then deciding fuck it, why not, and holding herself to it once she was sober again, )

so not that long. A couple of months. She makes an impression.

( her neat gesture, made with champagne flute, encompasses the event in its entirety; case in point. a new kingdom built on the back of social media, nothing to sniff at. it isn't gwen's idea of a good time, exactly, but she's always been ready to throw in behind what her more glittering associates have got their eye on. )

"Do you fucking mind?"

--speaking of deciding to intervene, Gwen - wrapped in a robe over her knickers, ready to be laced into the equally affronting little dress and coat that make up her own runway look when time gets tighter - is right there with her sharp elbows and a finger jutting directly under the taller woman's chin.

"I don't know if you've been paying attention," in highest form, dripping elegant condescension, "but we're all doing this for charity. Wonderful people, TTLG, supporting women to get work? Why don't you fuck off over there and think about whether or not you want your picture taken supporting their work or needing their help?"

Or, in layman's terms: bitch I will have your arse fired so hard and so fast your extensions will still be here when the rest of you leaves.

"Well, perhaps not for you. Not during the event, at least." She nudged him lightly with her shoulder, quite pleased by his style. And he had even dressed himself to match her. Chilton had come quite far in the fashion world. Now if only he would incorporate fresh flowers pinned to his suit jacket. "This whole thing is probably a bit banal for you. But after the rest you already had, it's unlikely to put you to sleep at the least."

Raina flashed a cheeky grin and then reached into her handbag to withdraw her compact, flipping it open to give herself a quick check. "Your captors let you go cleanly? You didn't have to fight your way free?"

( it's more of a mutual latching onto - gwen linking elbows with her in the process of ducking away with their champagne flutes, quicker on her feet in those heels than she's got any right to be after several of these-- )

I may have threatened one of your models a little bit.

( Don't You Know Who I'm Friends With, I Can Absolutely Have You Out Of Here If I Want, etcetera. gwen wynne-york, never afraid to play the rich girl knows the who's who of ruining your life card when irritated. she's still flying high from the adrenaline of the - very successful - catwalk, delivers this information breezily as anything. it's totally fine. )

Oh, Gwen is absolutely Raina's hero. Raina couldn't hide the expression of delight as she watched the exchange between them. And that camera zoomed right in on Gwen, who managed to look as amazing on film as she did in person by some miracle. The model in question scoffed, however. "And who the fuck are you, huh? You think because you're some imPort you're all big and hot? Let me tell you, that's about the only reason either of you are in the show. Because otherwise, you'd sure as shit never make it as a model."

Raina gave Gwen a look at the stupidity of this girl's claims. "Seems to me like she's choosing the second option you gave her." Turning back toward the mirror, Raina begins to line her lips. "It's going to be a real pity for her when she outgrows her looks."

[ If there was drama backstage, Sansa did her best not to take part in it. She was used to horrible people, mostly because of her time spent as a 'guest' of the Lannisters, but also because of her job as a model now. She had experience with some of the models who liked to look down on her because she was an imPort and she had already learned to enjoy how much it infuriated them when she ignored them.

Dressed in a stunning floral dress and lovely matching heels, Sansa chose to focus on the task of walking the runway and the party afterwards.

Sipping champagne, Sansa never stayed in one spot for very long. She would dance now and then when someone asked her to, mostly because it would be rude to say no, but she also would make it somewhat difficult to stop her in one place for very long. It was a useful skill that she picked up in King's Landing during their parties when she wanted to avoid Joffrey as much as she could. Still, there was a chance to catch her every once in awhile. Mostly when she needed to get herself another glass (don't worry, she is pacing herself) or when she needed to duck out of sight of someone looking for a picture. ]

Edited 2017-04-17 04:02 (UTC)

Once Gwen is safely the subject of ire, and not Raina - her head tilts and, probably somewhat infuriatingly, much of her irritation melts into the sort of cruel amusement that makes it so easy to dismiss the other woman as beneath responding directly to with less than a look. She leans against Raina's vanity, tilting backwards slightly into her eyeline, and pulls a most melodramatic face--

"And here I will never make it as a mouthy coathanger. Whatever shall I do." Her fingers catch on the sleeve of a passing dresser-- "Would you be an absolute darling and write down that girl's name for me? I just think Daenerys might not want to use her again."

The motto of posh girls the world over: if at first you don't succeed, pull rank.

( that gwen manages to catch her is not unrelated to her own unerring ability to dodge photographers when she's of a mind to do so; a camera pointed in sansa's direction gets nothing but the back of two women when gwen tucks her hand into the taller, younger girl's elbow and starts steering her in another direction as if they'd always intended to do so.

hi, sansa, she does this. )

We didn't get a chance to meet properly backstage--

( while gwen was busy threatening someone with a blacklist if she didn't back the fuck down, )

--but you're Jon's Sansa, aren't you? I'm Gwen.

"Are you speaking of this world, or the other one?" He couldn't help the sour hint in his mouth; it hadn't been a pleasant experience. And while Chilton would not abscond from a Targaryen exhibition, as he had already given his word, he nevertheless felt some anxiety over meeting with Daenerys once more. He wasn't sure how much she would remember, and if he would have any explaining to do regarding his own consciousness.

Drink to his lips, he scanned the room.

"I don't mind." He meant in reference to the banality. "This is glamorous, the sort of scene I've always wanted, and you have a stake in the matter."

[ Daenerys hasn't survived this long without being able to read in between the lines of people -- granted, she's had her share of close calls, and in this moment, learned behaviours are far too subtle for her to pick apart. Cassian holds up a mirror, and she smiles back at what's reflected. ]

No, stay, [ she invites, somehow both imperious and warm about it. ] What I needed was a moment of peace, rather than solitude.

[ And he doesn't strike her as chaotic. ]

Did you enjoy the show?

I wouldn't claim them as mine.

[ Dany's voice lilts exasperated, but Gwen shouldn't worry -- she is, at one time or another, always a little exasperated by her closest advisors, and done with a laugh.

Switching champagne flute to the hand of the arm captured by Gwen, Daenerys takes her phone from her clutch, only a little awkwardly pulling up the video -- and displaying it in its blurry, sneakycam glory, Gwen's voice ringing tinny midsentence. ]

I'm more astonished that you managed to drop Glass's name and purpose in there at the same time as utterly eviscerating the poor girl. No doubt the whole thing will make it front and centre of Raina's show.

[ --doesn't sound at all like she's telling Gwen off. ]

[ Not far at all, turns out.

There's a small hand at his elbow, only gripping long enough to pause any gathered moment and turn his attention. Daenerys is making it a point to see all those she personally invited, and even those she did not. ]

Should I be begging your forgiveness, [ she says, with the sort of half-smile that indicates she will be doing no such thing, regardless as to his answer ] or have you managed to have any sort of fun, while you've been here?

[ She gestures with her own champagne glass, half full. ]

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open.

daenerys targaryen. ota.

Jon Snow | OTA

gwen wynne-york. ota.

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idk idk at some point as the party's winding down??

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Haen Hithiel . ota

Raina | OTA

B

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sansa stark | open

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