ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Die Hard: Party Harder
| Vignette - Die Hard: Party Harder | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-03-28 Caleswood leads the Daedalus crew in mingling and gossiping; Saint-Quentin pulls an unnecessary McClane; Tatters is too nice to fit in. |
| Location
<NYC> Hellfire Club - Upper East Side | |
<< Are you fucking /kidding/ me? >> Cameron Caleswood adjusts his glasses, doing his best to keep the twitch of a smile off of his face from dislodging the expression of practiced politeness as he conducts a conversation with a military advisor and his wife. "Yes, of course, I'm very happy to hear that..." blah blah blah. The voice in his head is /far/ more interesting, at the moment. << What is it now? >> << Fucking Norman has /barricaded/ himself in the fucking bathroom. Scrawny Shaw won't let me in. >> << 'Scrawny Shaw?' >> The second voice is young, female and unfamiliar, even though he has spoken to the owner many times. It's interesting how soft her mental voice is, in contrast to the harsh croak her vocal chords lend her. Another thing Caleswood has done many times is make use of Zarita's telepathic network; he has gotten practiced enough to choose not to make this observation public. Still, a titter of amusement tickles at his consciousness; she is still watching. And little miss Jill continues talking. << That guy? He doesn't look /that/ scrawny. >> << Yeah but the /other/ Shaw is fuckin' /jacked./ This guy's the supermarket to SS's fuckin' steel mill. >> << That's nice. >> << Interesting. Did you see what got poor old Norman's goat up? >> Caleswood lets the expression of curiosity show through as he leans forwards, inquiring politely about some tedious element of his present engagement's life. Ah, apparently they have bought a /boat,/ how interesting. Tell me more about that. << No idea, but he was talking to what's-his-face, the Holland guy. And his /date./ They're laying it on pretty thick, maybe Norman got some /gay/ on him? >> << Maybe he's afraid of cooties? :P >> << Perhaps he is diabetic. >> << OH oh oh they have a /channel/ too this is exciting! I should introduce myself, it'll be so nice to have someone else to talk to at these things besides Emma. >> Zarita's mind-voice is the opposite of Jill's -- she is standing by Caleswood's shoulder now, smiling blandly and letting her employer do the talking, looking blandly ladylike to contrast with the chittery, avian quality of her thoughts. Even these days it's often a bit odd to see her in person, even though he does so daily: the voice from her mind is regal, powerful and accompanied by an undercurrent of menace. In the flesh, she's just another young administrative assistant, one of several dragged along by their employers to keep track of things they don't have time for. Sort of the opposite of the gray-skinned behemoth who is -- where /has/ Jill gotten to? Oh, she's over there, talking to the shadowy lady. With her, it takes a mind-to-mind connection to remember that she's a little girl. With Zarita, one needs to constantly remember that she /isn't,/ something that amuses her greatly. And where has the other girl vanished off to? Unlike Jill, the little blonde is /less/ easy to pick out in a crowd. Hmm. Eh, she'll keep, and he has other matters that acquire his attention. << Make conversation if they notice you, but do not reveal yourself before then. We need to keep /some/ cards close to our chest, after all. >> << Aww. You're no fun at /all./ >> << Okay that's interesting but I still need to piss. Fuck this, I'm going in through the air vents. >> << ...really? >> << Sure, I know this place like the back of my fucking hand. >> Raising his head, Caleswood spots a blond, tuxedoed man amble his way towards the doors, and surreptitiously sneak out into the hallway. Suppressing a sigh, he turns back to the couple and asks another question about their boat...oh, I'm sorry, their /yacht./ They didn't like when he called it a boat, that was his mistake. << Is that your left or your right? :P >> << Girl, I am ambi-fucking-dextrous. I'll be in and out before he fuckin' notices me. >> << ...is that what they call you? 'Quentin the Piss Ninja?' >> << That's SAINT-Quentin. And-- >> << And there's a /lot/ you don't know about his college days, Miss Francis. >> Caleswood says this with a straight face. Zarita /cackles/ silently. << Anyways, I'm going in. >> << Uh, does this place /not/ have more than one bathroom? >> << This is a fuckin' /principle/ thing. >> << It's antics, Miss Jill. Every so often someone implies that Mr. Saint-Quentin is to old for them, and he feels obligated to prove them wrong. >> << Okay but, like, future reference? I don't need to to friggen liveblog your bathroom breaks. >> << Whoa actually nevermind, it's -- he's fuckin' /wreckin'/ the place in here. I'm gonna abort. >> << Um... >> << It's okay, poor old Norman is just having an /episode./ They happen every so often, we try not to mention them. The...stress of the event must be getting to him. >> << Oh man, now he's getting a phone call, this is /great./ >> << Michael, give the man some space, please? If he spots you he'll ask /questions./ >> << Just a sec. >> << Snoopers gotta snoop? >> << See, Cam? /Jill/ gets it. >> Despite the glibness of her remark, a wave of discomfort is rolling off of Jill through the channel. Are we really harassing a guy who's having a panic attack in the bathroom, guys? Behind him, Zarita's expression twitches and she sends out an emphatic mental eye-roll. Caleswood sighs inwardly and adopts a reasonable, even concerned tone. << Miss Jill, I assure you that this man is /rabid./ If you wish to show him kindness go ahead, but I assure you he will only see it as weakness. If he were harmless he would be pitiable, but he is not -- he is very /very/ dangerous. >> << ... >> Jill does not words, but does not sound happy. << I see you are beginning to understand us. >> Caleswood sighs, and smiles ruefully as he excuses himself from the conversation and meanders through the gala, plucking a glass of champagne from a serverdrone as he passes. << Welcome to the Hellfire Club, Miss Francis. >> | |
