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 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."

"Reep, doll, you check on Jarvis and the people he crashed into." Lorne stands tall, patting Reep on the shoulder. This is damage control in the making. "Ramon! Start making drinks, the next round's on the house."

And then, neatly placing himself between his newb employees and the young woman, he puts on a bright yet professional smile.

"Overlord Mirazhamoth can talk to me any day, sweetie. He's just not welcome to Aequitas as long as he makes business deals with the likes of you."

She's crouching behind an empty table, hoping its cloth covers her, hoping she got out of sight fast enough.

"That's weird," murmurs Seth from where he's standing beside her, craning his neck to watch the tableau by the door. "I wouldn't've figured the boss for a Slayer-hater...." He glances down at her in mild surprise. "Are you okay? You're shaking."

And of course she is. Of course she is. Because if Erica sees her, there's no way she won't be recognized.

"The likes of me," Erica's saying with a dangerous smile, "oh boy," and seems about to say more until the hulking figure behind her raises a hand and whispers something. She subsides, and steps back a pace.

“You’ll have to forgive my bodyguard,” the Overlord says; his voice is a deep carrying rumble like an impending avalanche, but his tones are smooth and cultured. “She tends to grow a little ... overzealous when other people’s security personnel lay hands on me.”

Edited 2008-12-31 13:09 (UTC)

Despite the promise of free drinks, hardly anyone has moved out of their seats yet, nor has people moved away from the dance floor, some of them watching in awestruck terror as the giant blob of a bouncer is helped off the floor. To think someone so small could bring down something so big - no wonder people can't help but stare.

Smiling a tad more warmly, Lorne meets the Lord halfway, reaching out to bend down and kiss his bony old knuckles. "Milord. You don't need to apologize for anything.

"But you know the rules - consider my position for a momentito. I'm caught between a rock and a hard place, darling. I'd love to see you having a ball with all of us, but if I start making exceptions...what'd that make me look like?"

She watches as the Overlord considers, as he steps forward (dwarfing Lorne's six-foot-something frame) and lowers his voice to a murmur, audible across the room like the grumble of distant thunder. They converse for a while in an undertone, and she stays half-kneeling behind the table and tries to ignore Seth's increasingly unnerved glances down at her.

Finally the Overlord's stony face creases into something resembling a smile, and he inclines his massive head and turns to speak quietly to his bodyguard. Their words aren't audible, but don't need to be; he's clearly telling her to leave. Dismissing her for the night, or for the duration of the party.

Erica doesn't look happy, but she nods, and her lips shape what might be the words yes, sir before she turns to go.

Beth can't suppress the shudder of relief.

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