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.

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[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.

[sunnydalealum]

The staff has already served the champagne (and the bloodwine and the Vashfire liqueur and half a dozen other variously traditional drinks), and they’re now clustered at the back near the bar where Ramon is dispensing tiny glasses to everyone. Beth snags hers and steps hastily aside, making way for the last few servers.

She’s heard the term before, but never really understood it until now: contact high. They’ve been run off their feet for the past few hours, and they’re all tired – but the prevailing mood among the staff is good, almost giddy. Triumphant. It’s been a damn good party, and they made it happen.

As the countdown chant rises, she’s not even really surprised to find herself joining in.

”Six! Five! ...”

[nomorekaraoke]

The mass of voices all synchronizing as the ETA grows smaller, the smiles and the glint in everyone's eyes, from the humans to the vampires to the demons of all kinds, it warms Lorne's heart. It makes his horns hum with anticipation of the new year about to be born.

"Four! Three! Two! ONE! Happy New Year everyone! Cheers!"

From corner to corner, people are hugging and kissing and raising their glasses in toasts. Lorne just grabs the nearest person and gives them (himherit, hard to tell) a smooch, caught up in the buzz of it all.

Tomorrow can't be as bad as yesterday. It just can't.

[sunnydalealum]

She downs the one swallow of champagne in her glass, and it's sweet and cold and tastes like a promise of a second chance.

All around her people are singing, most of them faking most of the lyrics -- though not too far from her Seth is standing with one hand over his heart in an absurd and rather beautiful pose, as though singing the national anthem, and enunciating every word: "Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?..."

Oh god yes, she hears herself think in painful hope. Yes, please and thank you god, okay?

And since almost nobody knows the words, they probably don't notice her deliberate variation when she opens her mouth to join in the singing: "Let auld acquaintance be forgot, and the days of auld lang syne."

Maybe there really is a chance. Maybe this year it'll be okay.