nomorekaraoke | New Year's Eve

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New Year's Eve

Being the most important night of the year, and the very last one, this is a night where no expenses have been spared. Lorne wouldn't have it any other way.

The preparations have been going strong for well over a day, and that's not counting the planning and booking stages. No, tonight is the night of nights. Nothing is allowed to go wrong.

No one gets in if they don't have a ticket and their personal card - no one gets in even with these very vital requirements if they don't pass the obligatory screening. Everything will be fine. He's gone to quite some lengths to make sure everything is creme de la creme, cream of the crop and top notch all around.

It's what he's known for.

~

But, right this moment, there are more important things on his plate. He's meeting and greeting the newbs. His brand new, wet behind the ears employees.

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She grabs for a glass of water along with everybody else; she's been working harder than she realized.

Seth collapses theatrically onto a barstool as he snags his own glass, his six-foot-some frame sprawling bonelessly, making several of the newer employees giggle and several of the old hands roll their eyes at him. She's not one of the gigglers, but it does make her smile behind her glass.

The poor unfortunate shape shifter is right there, taking it easy just a bit to the side. Might want to make sure you don't accidentally step in any of her - she's dripping all over the place, and we're not talking water.

"Good job everyone. Ya got about half an hour more 'til the boss starts letting people in, so make sure you know your tables and your dos and donotevers. Get acquainted with the floor, we'll be dimming the lights down low in a few. You don't want to haveta watch your step when the party starts."

She has the slight advantage over the other newbies of having been here before. It means she learns the layout a little faster, and can spend the extra time going over the rules.

All too soon the lights are dimming, and the candles she helped set out are igniting, and with a strange shock of recognition she sees the two doorkeepers heading through the room for the front door.

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. At her side, Seth gives her a glance and an encouraging smile. "You're gonna do fine," he murmurs.

One thing that becomes immediately clear is, that the cliché of being fashionably late just doesn't hold true for Aequitas. Certainly, every last one of the patrons that start filling the vast establishment wants to make an entrance - and that, most of them pull off with ease and flair - but not being on time means standing in line. At Aequitas, no one gets the privilege of being let in before it's their turn.

One after another, they are shown to their tables or find their own way to the bar; there are a few familiar faces among the many strange ones, most notably that same dark, more than vaguely leonine demon and his entourage of variably evolved feline qualities...

Just so happens he's made reservations, and his table is one of Seth's and Emma's. And Lord Vayan of House Varadeem is known, among other things, for his rather mercurial nature.

Edited 2008-12-24 23:23 (UTC)

She recognizes him, of course, from the last time she was here. Wonders if he'll recognize her, in the guise of staff instead of patron.

Seth nudges her toward the House Varadeem table. "Go ahead," he says in an undertone, "you take the pride of lions. Nadbornik's at the next table and I'd better take him."

"What?" She blinks up at him. "Why?"

"I'll explain later." And he heads toward the other table, and the perfectly human-looking couple sitting there. For a moment she wonders if he's deliberately dumping the harder job on her, but then she puts it out of her mind. Just go.

A practiced smile as she nears Lord Vayan's table, and the first words of the practiced spiel: "Good evening, my name's Emma, I'll be your server tonight...."

"Ah, yes," Lord Vayan notes airily, locking onto the face of the new servant with gleaming dark eyes.

"How amusing. I never would have thought the Host would invite a Slayer, much less make of her a servant."

One of those other things he is known for is his tongue; sharp and raspy, as it is; he never fails to speak his mind.

Her first thought shocks her a little with its caustic sharpness: Why not? Everybody else does.

She wouldn't say that aloud under the best of circumstances. Smile, smile and ignore it.

"Are you gentlebeings ready to order?"

Lowering his gaze to the menu laid out on his table - and everyone else's, he takes his time to consider his options. "We shall have the carnivore special," he decides, speaking for all of his entourage.

"As far as I see it, a Slayer belongs to none but herself." He is intrigued, and unashamed enough to make it perfectly clear.

"Very kind of you to say so, milord," she says -- milord, not sir, they had the short course on modes of address earlier. "And to drink?"

It's another kind of hiding, the smooth bland wall of courtesy protecting anything she's really thinking.

"Kindness rarely enters into things. Observational skills do. Cloudberry wine for myself, water for my friends."

Turning his big, paw like hand over, he surveys the state of his claws - long and sharpened, buffed to perfection - they'll do.

"Ahm willing, your current employment has little to do with kindness. A Slayer chooses for whom she Slays. Or not, as the case may be. Ahm willing."

"Ahm willing," his 'friends' echo in unison.

Nobody briefed her for this, she thinks in fleeting panic -- should she repeat it after them? Will it be considered rude if she doesn't? Or if she does?

What decides her not to repeat it is that she doesn't know what it means. Instead she smiles again, and makes a half-bow while gathering up the menus, and slips off to deliver the orders.

(And if her heart's thumping like a triphammer, no one else can see that.)

(No one but the vampires, perhaps.)

Once she's returned from the kitchen, Ramon waves her on over. More and more people keep on coming through the double doored entrance, but so far, there are very few patrons at the bar. "You all right there, Em?"

"I'm good," she says quickly. "I -- can you tell me something?" She casts a quick glance around, and lowers her voice. "What's it mean when Lord Vayan says Ahm willing?"

"...uhuh." He nods knowingly, going along with the hush hush. "It means everything from God willing to Godspeed to Praise the Lawd."

And then, he rather unceremoniously gives her a wink. "Usually, it's a blessing and an admonishment wrapped up in one neat, confusing package. The boss would call it 'contextually conspicuous' or something fancy schmancy like that, but he ain't here now, is he." It's not often an understated insult is said with such impish fondness, but that's Ramon for you.

"Is there a, like, proper response?" She's already half-turned away as she asks -- there's four more tables in her section, and Seth's still at his first table.

"When you get a hang of what it means in context and stuff, go ahead and join the chorus. Don't overdo it, though. Nothing worse than a bobble head."

He takes the opportunity to pour her a glass of water. "But if you agree with the sentiment, go nuts. If you don't, just smile and go about your business."

"Oh," she says, a little blankly.

Because --

Because that's exactly what she did. Smiled and went about her business. Which means they'll think she didn't agree with the sentiment, which, what was it again? -- A Slayer chooses for whom she Slays. Or not, as the case may be.

No time to worry about it right now. There are vamps at the third table (and she no longer questions how she knows it), so leave that one for Seth and head for the fourth one -- practiced smile at the two orange-tufted patrons and the two glistening grey-skinned ones, and good evening, my name's Emma, I'll be your server tonight.

Keeping busy means you don't have to think.

Time flies, and in a matter of no time at all, the owner and proprietor makes his grand entrance, as is his wont. Wearing black for the occasion, highlighted by smoky purples and darkened golds, he looks every inch the Host of his olden, golden days.

"Darlings, darlings, long time no see, hi sweetie," kiss kiss, handshake, pat on the cheeks; it's being personable time, not only with the patrons, but also with the wait staff. Which, eventually, means checking up on Emma.

"Emma, my little love, how are we doing tonight?"

"I'm good," she says, a little breathlessly -- she's just returned from refreshing a round of drinks.

Breathless, but unconsciously smiling. She is good; she's doing well at this so far, better than she'd expected to.

"Oh, yes you are, just look at you!" He beams, reaching for her hands to squeeze them. "Fresh-faced and gorgeous, mm-mm-mm. You look like you're having a ball, I'm so proud!"

A small half-embarrassed laugh. "It's crazy, but -- this is kind of fun, you know?"

She glances over at House Varadeem's table. "Except Lord Vayan keeps ... making conversation at me, and I'm not sure how much I'm supposed to talk back?"

"Oh, I know. When I started out, all I had was a tiny little stage, a few tables and a handful of 'tenders behind the bar. I know exactly how much fun it is."

Takes him a moment for the second bit of her update to sink in, but when it does - after glancing over yonder and raising his glass in amiable greeting for the kittens - a new light surfaces in his eyes.

"He can be a handful when he wants to be, Lord Vayan. It's a good sign he keeps chatting with you, means he's intrigued. It's his way of showing respect." He nudges her gently. "Even when he makes you feel like you're supposed to soar high from the sheer honor of being in his presence, he's just trying to be nice. Inviting you to live and learn a little. He tells the greatest stories of his home dimension, oh! Better than prime time TV, I tellya."

"...Should I ask him to? Would that be polite?"

She's not sure how comfortable she is with that idea, but there's something oddly appealing about it.

"You know what?" Lorne leans in closer, at perfect eye level with his friend. "I think the old narcissist would love it."

But, as it would seem, not everything is to go smoothly on this night of nights, certainly not at party central. Not since one of the bouncers comes bounding indoors, wide-eyed and out of breath. It's Reep, his duo chromatic hair all up in a tousle.

"Boss! Boss! It's one of the red ones, code red, not taking no for an--"

The front doors? They go up in a loud crash-boom-bang, pieces flying everywhere. Jarvis just flies straight into the midst of things. There's a murmur of outrage, of shock and surprise mingling with fear. Nothing like this has ever happened at Aequitas.

And then, everything and everyone goes frightfully quiet. Even Lorne.

There's a girl standing in the doorframe, legs braced, hands planted on her hips. She's not visibly armed.

She doesn't have to be.

"Overlord Mirazhamoth said," she announces in a carrying voice, "he'd like to speak to the Host."

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