the formal (icon of hell optional)

[molotovmartinis]

WHO: [OPEN]
WHERE: the Brandt Banquet Hall
WHEN: Sunday March 29
WARNINGS: B|
SUMMARY: the superhero formal. Will things explode?
FORMAT: whatever you feel like

Comments

[darkprophecies]

Raven had both dreamed of and dreaded this night since the day it had been announced - scenario after scenario of what might happen played in her head. Now, being here, it seemed rather surreal - a beautiful location, the man she worked for would no doubt never have anything less. As she walked the large open room slowly, her eyes attempted to take in every detail, treasuring it in some strange way.

She did not try to hide herself, or make any signs of being shy whatsoever - she had psyched herself into stay out in the open. But she would never get the look of obvious nervousness out of her eyes, regardless of who she would talk to throughout the night. She had never done this sort of thing before...

Smoothing out the red silk of her floor-length dress, she inhaled deeply.
Things couldn't go that badly, could they? Surely she was overreacting. She would have pleasant conversation, perhaps dance - on top of that, she even had a rather handsome man escorting her.
It would be fine...

[molotovmartinis]

Quite abruptly at her elbow, Balthazar scanned her in a clinical fashion, approval forthright. "It's a very flattering color on you."

In all his unpleasant oiliness, he had a certain precision in skeeve that ranked the comment several notches below icky. It helped that he possessed a certain aloofness tonight, one borne of highly internalized uneasiness as the fact that the Fallen would be attending. His thoughts were occurring in capslock and at high speed, but he managed to appear attentive to Raven, offering her a flute of champagne.

He himself was uncharacteristically clad in a black suit and tie, pinstripes nowhere to be found for once.

[darkprophecies]

She gave a soft jump of surprise at hearing his voice suddenly speak up - her emotions distracting her to the point that she hadn't sensed his demonic energies even enter the room. However she feigned a smile at him. "Thank you, I thought the color was quite appropriate given who I work for."

She let that sink in before she took the champagne he offered her, sipping it quietly before reading over the aura he seemed to be giving off.
"Is everything alright?"

[molotovmartinis]

He narrowed his eyes at her but it was with amusement rather than anything negative. Both lines of conversation coincidentally (or not coincidentally, if you are Hush) had to do with the same thing, so he answered with that in mind.

"The Fallen has indicated he may make an appearance," he said with a bit of a drawl, affecting nonchalance and squashing the impulse to look over his shoulder. Because even if he wasn't there, he might be there when Balthazar looked back. "He might tell you that gold is the color of greed. But that wouldn't look nearly as nice."

Pretend I bothered with a nice icon.

[notyetwritten]

The second party in a week. Well...

Fakir was dressed in a fairly old-fashioned dress-coat, Victorian style, complete with a dark green cravat and a lapel pin in the shape of an oak leaf. This was far more his sort of gathering. He helped himself to a Shirley temple, then found himself a back corner from which to observe the rest of the room.

*pretends?*

[willofjustice]

Ah, but there was no hiding forever, Fakir. Especially not from nosy princesses who are set on having a good time and are making rounds of the room. Amelia's gown did not seem to be from any particular era -- certainly not the modern one, with its full skirt, and yet not a particular previous one, shoulders exposed and the sleeves long. It must also be noted that the dress was pink.

Pausing before Fakir, she beamed at him. "Enjoying yourself?"

[notyetwritten]

Well, she didn't seem completely irritating, so he shrugged.

"More or less," he said. "The person I wanted to go with couldn't come."

[willofjustice]

Not completely irritating -- now there was a compliment one could take to the bank. Hopefully Amelia wouldn't completely alter that perception by the end of the conversation.

"Is that why you're sitting back here?"

[liverletdie]

Tony had arrived to the party relatively early, and although the suit he had managed to find wasn't exactly a Georgio Armani, but it would do for the event, at the very least. He straightened his bow-tie, and took a small sip of the water he had managed to find.

His eyes scanned the room, keeping an eye out for anyone he should probably avoid, although he was Tony Stark, and meeting and greeting was what he did best, after all. He was perfectly willing to swerve and move through the small amount of people who had arrived, feeling somewhat at home in the ballroom.

[darkprophecies]

The small band that played the music that echoed throughout the ballroom seemed to liven up Raven's spirits a bit, allowing her to loosen up, greet an occasional person she felt was important to speak with on behalf of her gracious employer.
She slowly made her way around the ballroom, having done her best to avoid the dance floor at all costs so far - and she took another slow sip of the champagne in her hand. Eyes grazing the crowd, she then spotted him - the way he seemed to hold his posture, how he was dressed... this was definitely someone important that she should speak with.

Raven casually walked towards him, casting him a warm smile the moment she believed she had caught his attention.
"A beautiful evening, is it not?"

[liverletdie]

Tony's eyes shifted from admiring the slowly growing crowd of people to the woman who approached him. He couldn't help but allow a small, coy smirk float to his lips, and he reached out to take her hand. "I do believe it just became so, yes," he said simply, moving to kiss her knuckles in a greeting.

When his head rose from the debonair movement, he lifted an eyebrow, and his smirk broke into something of a grin. "I don't believe we've met," he said simply, releasing her hand as he did so. "I'm Tony Stark."

[darkprophecies]

Raven couldn't help but smile, forcing herself not to roll her eyes at the charm he slathered on. She allowed herself to let out a soft laugh at the kiss he gave her hand before gently pulling her hand back to her own side.
"Quite the charmer, I see."

However she immediately gave pause at the mention of his name, a smirk creeping up at the corner of her lips. Ah, she should have figured as much.
"Tony, that should not surprise me." taking a longer sip of her champagne, she paused before continuing, "You'll know me as Raven."

[meowminx]

Selina had chosen a silk chiffon gown in a deep shade of plum. Low-cut, but not too daring. It floated when she strolled into the banquet hall. A beautiful woman without an escort, perfectly at ease in the formal surrounds.

She gave the room a once-over -- nice, but not nearly as ostentatious as she might have expected from a demonic host -- snagging a glass of champagne for herself. She'd hold off on the bar for now. Nice to have it as an option as the night wore on.

She was a little curious who would show up the the event, she had to admit.

[betwixting]

Although modeled after the potentially most wooden man in his world, this did not mean that Owen did not at least recognize beauty or elegance, even if he did not act upon it. Having selected his glass across from the tray when Selina chose hers, he nodded to her, taking up a post close to the the dance floor -- an ideal point to at least watch the majority of the room, if not to partake.

[meowminx]

Selina returned the blond stranger's nod. Something about his stiffness, the slight air of bored disapproval, reminded her a bit of Alfred.

"Looks to be an interesting evening," she said softly, a hint of amusement in her voice.

[betwixting]

True to her assessment, Owen was indeed giving the room an only-half interested glance-over, taking in the positions of people in relation to objects, taking a sip of the champagne before replying to her.

"A well-done, if so far fairly standard affair," was his reply. "They will talk, they will drink, and they will dance, and everyone will say it was a wonderful evening." A slight smile into the rim of his wine glass, as though enjoying a thought known only to himself. "Barring incident or partycrashers, of course."

[meaculpable]

Quite appropriately, Lucifer waltzed into the place as if he owned every disparate atom of its making, his gold-colored eyes darting here and there to take in all those assembled in a single, arrogant glance. Of everyone present -- the half-demons, the reality benders, the heroes -- almost none of them piqued his interest; perhaps this meant that it would be a quiet night after all.

"I supposed that it seems like at least one member of Nephilim still remembers how hard it was for his forefathers to integrate themselves," he stated, half-chuckling beneath his breath.

[molotovmartinis]

If he happened to so much as catch Lucifer's momentary attention, he would lower his head before disappearing into the crowd. The way he saw it, the less time spent around Lucifer, the less likely he was to displease him.

[meaculpable]

And yet, as these things went, once the Morningstar grew tired of whatever trite words passed for conversation between whomever he last spoke with and himself, he turned and tried to find out where Balthazar had gone off to.

It wasn't an overly hard thing to do. Lucifer moved through the crowd with relative ease, passing hero and villain alike without fanfare; when he finally reached the man, Lucifer held up his glass of wine, and offered him a smirk.

"Mr. Angler, I presume?"

[molotovmartinis]

He had, at certain points of preparation for the event, considered hanging out in the kitchen or maybe the wine cellar, not that those would be actual deterrents or anything. It was just tempting, was all. His instincts, he found eventually, had not been entirely awry.

Black tie, black suit, and holding champagne, Balthazar said neutrally, "Indeed. How have you found the evening so far?"