New Year's Eve

[nomorekaraoke]

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.

Comments

[nomorekaraoke]

"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."

[sunnydalealum]

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.”

[nomorekaraoke]

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?"

[sunnydalealum]

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.

[nomorekaraoke]

The moment they come to an agreement, the senior wait staff come alive in a flurry of economic, professional movement; the Overlord's table is checked and neatened to perfection, one of the more notable women bring a bottle of something the color of tar, black and glistening and absolutely complimentary.

Further into the room, they help patrons to their feet, righting their tables and un-ruffling feathers every which way. Another touch of damage control, now the red alert is no more. Finally, people are moving towards the bar, or placing their free drink orders.

"Now, if there's anything at all I can do to further enhance your evening, Milord, don't hesitate to ask for me." Excusing himself with a smile, Lorne hurries on over to check on his staff, new and not so new.

"Everyone all right? No one's hurt, pride or otherwise?"

[sunnydalealum]

There's a little knot of newbie waitstaff clustered near the entrance to the kitchen, surrounding the poor shapeshifter, who got grazed by a flying splinter and has come very close to falling to pieces again. (Not literally; her ears and fingers may be sagging a little, but they're nowhere near dripping off.) "I'm okay," she's saying thickly, "I'm okay."

Beth is standing a few feet away, feeling curiously untouched by the panic now that it's over.

Either that or it's shock.

[nomorekaraoke]

"Take five, everyone. Get something to drink, pull yourselves together," he winks at the shapeshifter. "Anything you need to get back into the groove, all right? Great job so far.

Emma, sweetie, get some sugar in you, ya look a bit pale. Georgie, you too, or else."

Now that that's done, it's time to do his second round of meeting and greeting the guests. If he's out there, making sure everyone's all right and that everything is too, then all the better.

[sunnydalealum]

She's been answering to Emma for close to a year now. It's been months since she last felt the jolt that goes through her at the sound of it this time, the impulse to look over her shoulder to see if the real Emma is there.

Okay, she hears herself think distantly. Shock, then.

Obediently, she starts over to get a glass of juice from Ramon.

[nomorekaraoke]

Even if there isn't a set pattern to Lorne's checking up on his regulars, some might argue there's at least a method to his man about town madness. After all, who in their right minds would keep such a club going so long, never mind remembering all the different quirks of his patrons?

Speaking of quirks and patrons; before long, Lorne reaches one of his most favorite, most rarefied regulars - a tall, tall, gaunt darling of a demon, with deep set eyes hidden partially by halfmoon shaped glasses tinted a dark green. He's wearing what Lorne would bet his horns is an Armani suit, custom tailored to perfection. The white of his shirt and motherofpearlescent tie only emphasizes the matted gray smoothness of his skin.

Yummy.

"Joe! Darling, let me look at you," he beams, throwing his arms out. "So stylish, I'm green with envy." Kiss cheek, kiss cheek.

"You are just fine, aren't you? Nothing amiss, no stray piece of Jarvis end up in your starter?"

[sunnydalealum]

Joe smiles back, and permits the kiss. "Quite all right, my dear. That was an unexpected addition to the evening's entertainment."

He lifts his glass of mineral water in one graceful, long-fingered (and two-thumbed) hand, and sips delicately.

[nomorekaraoke]

"I do apologize." Lorne pulls out the chair opposite and takes a seat. Offering a cigarette, he glances at the double doors being put back on their busted up hinges. At least Lord Mirazhamoth seems to be enjoying himself.

"If I'd known it'd amuse you, I'd made sure it was all part of my plans for the evening. What can I say, I'm too goody-two-shoes for my own good."

[sunnydalealum]

It says something about the deep regard Joe holds for the Host that he has no objection to sharing his table, if briefly.

His other hand makes a brushing-away gesture. "No need at all to apologize. I am intrigued by the discovery that Overlord Mirazhamoth has acquired the services of a zhuir'arel bodyguard. Was this a new discovery for you as well?"

[nomorekaraoke]

Briefly, very briefly, Lorne is struck by a wayward thought: So that's what they call it these days.

"Yeah... Big surprise for me too, I'm afraid. I'm usually better informed than this." He shakes his head in familiar self-deprecation. "...that word you used. Is it anything at all like zhirel, or am I so far out on a limb I'm about to lose it?"

[sunnydalealum]

Two long elegant eyebrows slowly float upward.

"That is a degenerate pronunciation of the word, yes. 'Slayer', I believe, is the vernacular?"

[nomorekaraoke]

"Sorry, sweetie. I'm just not cut out to do your language justice, so I have to make do with the horrible mangling thing." He lights up, careful not to get any of the smoke in Joe's face.

"Slayer, yes. I'm more familiar with that term, to be brutally honest."

Well, then, he muses quietly, this is a fascinating turn of events.

[sunnydalealum]

"Most are," Joe remarks, looking unperturbed. He lifts a morsel of ceviche on his fish fork and contemplates it.

"I wasn't aware that zhuir'arelin were on your non grata list, however. Is this new?"

[nomorekaraoke]

"They aren't. They've never been and they never will be as far as I can see it." He's never had a beef with Slayers - they have a purpose, and as long as they stick to that purpose, he's perfectly fine with them. There's room enough for everyone in the multiverse, and so on and so forth.

One paced exhale later, he turns to Joe with a smile. "She's with the Wolf, Ram and Hart, darling. It's written all over her in bold print."

[sunnydalealum]

An almost-soundless ahh, and he lowers the fish untasted.

"You will offend them beyond their capacity to ignore," he predicts, faintly luminous eyes studying Lorne over the rims of his glasses. "Eventually."

It's not a warning, and his tone makes that clear. Merely an observation.

[nomorekaraoke]

"I know, I know. It comes with the territory." Lorne shrugs, not really wanting to pursue this particular line of chit-chatting.

"I've snubbed so many big wigs since I set up shop, I've lost count. But the way I see it, if I let just anyone come on in, it won't be such an exclusive place anymore."

It's one way to tell the truth, by omitting such a big chunk of it you can't look your own guest in the eye. He hopes Joe will see it for what it is, and have an idea of the whyfor-art-thou-a-lying-twat.

"Listen, sweetie, there's something I've been aching to give you the 411 on and there's no time like the present. There's people asking around about you, go by the names Wells and Spike. They're with Angel."

[sunnydalealum]

"Indeed." He sounds unperturbed, but the glow of his eyes grows more intense for a moment. "I know something of the boy Wells from one of my newer children. And the name Angel is of course known to me."

The word children is an affectation Lorne should know by now; Joe always refers to both his employees and his clients the same way. He's never explained why.

[nomorekaraoke]

It also happens to be an affectation Lorne has never, and will never, ask about. Not as though he's one to be nosy about things (more than he usually is), he calls half the world 'darling', and the other 'sweetheart' without so much as missing a beat.

Not as if darling or sweetheart is even half as creepy as children is, but that's neither here nor there. He doesn't want to know.

"Angel is something like a household name to those in the know, yes. I'll keep you posted if I hear anything else, but as of now that's all I got. I don't want to take up too much of your time, sweetie."

[sunnydalealum]

The Sulcar’s smile is infinitesimal, a mere deepening of the corners of his mouth, but any wider smile would look out of place on his gaunt gray face. “A pleasant evening to you, my host,” he says, raising his glass. “May we ever part wealthier for gifts of truth exchanged.”

It’s hard to tell whether the ritual formality in his tone is genuine or ironic; Joe, like Lorne, is known to have very little respect in general for the customs and traditions of his own people.

[nomorekaraoke]

Lorne inclines his head, the corners of his mouth quirking in a similar way - when dealing with demons, upping the ante with wide grins is rarely a good idea, no matter how much you love 'em.

Whether the comment is a compliment or not, Lorne will treat it like it's either/or. They have at least one thing in common, and that's their shared appreciation for information. "Silence is golden, but good intel is priceless." He winks, and is on his way to the next table that catches his eye.

[sunnydalealum]

And what a lot of options there are. It’s a very well-attended party so far, and guests are still arriving: bulky figures and slim ones, smooth or spined or furred, wearing robes or ceremonial armor or tatters of velvet and leather or designer originals. (Credit to the hardworking staff of Aequitas -- the front door’s been smoothly repaired and all traces of the damage whisked out of sight, nothing remaining to disturb the newcomers.)

The room’s overall emotional temperature has settled at Having a Good Time. Even the initially disgruntled Overlord seems to be enjoying himself, to judge by the booming laughter that carries across the room from his table, where he’s talking to the white-haired Triune. Patrons are mingling, in pairs and larger groups that look random but aren’t, and not a few are eyeing the dance floor in anticipation.

[nomorekaraoke]

It isn't long before everyone has had their food and drink and is on their jolly way to be merry and bright just in time for the new year approaching. The dance floor's hoppin', the bar's busier than ever, and finally, Lorne is free for the night. Unless, of course, someone wants to make a really late entrance.

So far so good. So good in fact, after another not too long, it's time for the grand, final countdown of the year. The music fades away, patrons all over the vast floor go still in anticipation as Lorne gets down there right in the smack dab middle of it.

The tension rises, breaths are held, and then-- "Ten! Nine! Everyone! Eight!--"

The chanting begins.