[OPEN] ain't no party like a D̴̡̀R̶̵̶A̷̵̡̛͜G̷͟ ̀҉̸̀͢Q͝҉͟͏U҉͘͟͜͡Ȩ͜҉͞E̷͢Ņ ̷̷̕Ṕ̷̧̛͞A̷͟R̸̛̕Ţ̀́Y̵̴

[fuckingcool]

Who| Oceana Gunn and all you party people
What| Oceana's throwing the craziest party of the year to celebrate the end of the Arena, and you're invited. Feel free to mingle, post open starters, and tag around to your heart's content!
Where| Her bachelor(ette) pad in the Capitol
When| Post-Arena, pre-Crowning
Warnings/Notes| Uhhh. Drugs, alcohol, sex, language, etc are all possibilities within!



It's high time that someone threw a really great party in this town.

Oceana's been laying low, working on costumes for the upcoming Crowning and watching her babies kick ass in the Arena, but after a while she gets an itch. An itch to invite hundreds of strangers to her penthouse apartment, dress up in her most sickening clothes, and let the booze pour. So that's exactly what she does. Invitations are sent out, crates of liquor are ordered, food is catered in, and the lights are dimmed way down low.

Her apartment is spacious, minimally decorated because it looks fucking cool and she's barely around anyway, and full of dark corners. The living room has a huge table full of finger foods along one wall, a champagne fountain, and a full bar with virtually endless liquor. The music is loud as hell, and the drag queen has even gone to the trouble of paying people to come early and dance, so that the dance floor is never empty.

The hostess herself will be mingling all evening; the glass of vodka in her hand is never empty, and always garnished with at least six olives. She may not be the classiest bitch in the capitol, but it's apparent by looking around that she knows how to throw a killer soirée.

Comments

[tevintage]

"... Actually I'm fairly sure that worrying the people who care about you is exactly the problem," He said, frowning to himself, before finally forcing a smile.

"Never mind. I'm exhausted by my own dramatics. What say we rejoin the party? I am sure I will need to get to know you better somehow, doing so while drinking ourselves into a stupor sounds like the best way to go about that."

[dreadinquisitor]

He brow wrinkled, lips pressing together, but before he could say anything, Dorian had moved on and he decided to let it slip. He had said he would leave it be and... he wasn't the man's Inquisitor, was he?

Wasn't his friend, from the mage's point-of-view.

He would need to learn to accept that, sooner or later.

Do his caring from a distance.

He snorted lowly, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh, and nodded.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Re: Calendius; OTA

[whatisay]

By contrast, Jason's own color palette is subdued, not because he doesn't know that Stylist parties tend to call for bright colors, big hair and bigger statements but because he's currently rotating through a wardrobe of only three suits, all of which are kept as pristine as possible and mended regularly to try and avoid the appearance of shabbiness. He can't help that tonight's is somewhat out of season, but the family Avoxes did their best to tailor the fit to be something a bit more of the times, and the cufflinks and silk shirt underneath add a pop of color that fit the night's aesthetic. His glasses are tucked into his breastpocket in a way that cleverly hides the only indication that they're a knock-off brand.

He doesn't have anything against Calendius except a bit of envy about him getting such a desirable District to Escort, but at the very least the Reys are an influential enough family that it makes some degree of sense rather than seeming a cosmic injustice. Though Calendius looks as old as Jason is, Jason had already entered his "early retirement" before Calendius became an Escort, and Jason knows his name and face and reputation but nothing else.

"Calendius Rey." It's not that Calendius is conspicuous about nursing his single glass of champagne; it's just that, as the perpetually sober person at any social gathering, Jason's developed something of a sixth sense for people who're having a rather dry evening. He's sucking on his wedge of lemon without so much as a pucker as much as he's drinking from a tall glass of water. "Looks like I'm the only one here drinking even less than you. Kind of a shame that people here are so eager to poison themselves stupid."

It's not an entirely judgmental quip, but there is a disdainful edge to it.

[tevintage]

"Good," Dorian said, pulling back from the railing and stepping back towards the doors, the party glowing inside.

"What's your poison, Inquisitor? Or do you feel like being adventurous."

[dreadinquisitor]

He pushed open of the double doors and held it with his arm for Dorian to pass through. Meeting the mage's eye as he glanced back, amusement and more than a little challenge in his gaze.

"If you think there's anything in there meets those terms."

[fuckingcool]

"Good," Oceana smirks, swaying a little where she stands--but whether that's due to the vodka or the alarming height of those chrome-finish heels she's got on is up to debate.

Ugh. This guy is too hot. She needs to go find her girlboyfriend. Time to backpedal.

"What's your name, delicate?" Shit, that came out wrong. "I'm Oceana, but if you didn't already know that you're fucking stupid."

[fuckingcool]

Oceana shudders. "Reasons I could never ever be an Escort. I can barely keep mine in line long enough for a fucking fitting. Forget trying to get them to behave in interviews." No sirree, that is not her gig at all. She watches that olive pass over Jason's lips and smirks, taking his hand with hers--all black nails and surprisingly soft skin--and shaking it.

"Oceana. But I'm sure you already knew that. I'm sort of hard to forget, once you've heard of me."

[fuckingcool]

Oceana's eyebrows only go higher and higher as Harley babbles about her markers. "Fuck," she remarks, "I'd go to town huffing that shit if I were you. Give me a cherry one and I'm in heaven."

The queen waggles one black-manicured finger at the mentor. "As long as you don't fuck up any pictures of my perfect mug, you heard?"

[fuckingcool]

Oceana lets out an incredulous scoff. "Girl, what? Honey, you have more game than a fucking bear trap." She shakes her head sadly.

"I don't get it, what about that sexy hunk of man in the sunglasses you were messin' around with awhile back? What, he decide he wasn't a power bottom after all?"

[tevintage]

"I'm actually quite certain that everything here is poison in one form or another," Dorian said dryly, thankful more than Maxwell could know for being allowed to turn this conversation to humour rather than his cowardice.

"I was witness to 'Peach Schnapps' the other night, which sounds appropriately awful."

[dreadinquisitor]

He blinked in surprise, head quirking at Dorian. Then he laughed, a warm, full sound.

His first real laugh in days.

"I believe her name was Beth," he replied as he followed Dorian through, leaning slightly closer to be heard over the pounding noise they called music. "And I thought it was quite fitting. She was very sweet."

[tevintage]

"Ah, then you met her as well? Yes, she seems a dear girl. I didn't quite have the heart then to try it, but my mood tonight is significantly more masochistic."

He waved to an avox, and quickly ordered two shots of peach schnapps. Might as well get this night off right.

[dreadinquisitor]

"I did," he admitted. "And... I did, but in my defense, the menu was quite extensive and I was very tired."

After the day he'd had, he defied anyone to not want to drink themselves into a temporary solution. Especially considering it was the only option available.

The drinks arrived and he stared at the tiny glass for a moment, eyeing it like the aforementioned poison, before turning to Dorian.

"Shall we toast to your escort, and perhaps timely fires?"

[tevintage]

Dorian took his own glass and raised it with a wry look. "May the Maker find time for happy accidents," he agreed, before knocking the drink back in a single swig.

He made a face and coughed.

"Maker, but that tastes like liquid sugar."

[dreadinquisitor]

He had a hard time swallowing his, his stomach apparently remembering all too well what was coming, but after closing his eyes and swallowing hard, he managed to get it down.

With a shake of his head his eyes blinked open again and he forced out a hard breath.

"That was my first impression as well," he murmured huskily, setting the glass back on the table. "And now my second."

[tevintage]

He coughed again before frantically waving down an avox. "Wine," he asked, a little desperately, "please. Immediately." As soon as the request was granted, he took a big gulp just to get rid of the taste in his mouth, and then sighed.

"There, much better. That was absolutely awful."

[dreadinquisitor]

He laughed ruefully, raising his glass to his lips.

"You did say something about masochism, didn't you?" He took a mouthful, held it, and slowly swallowed, letting the bitter edge ease the lingering sweetness. "I think we can safely say that is a wish granted."

Though, to be fair, he hadn't really needed the drink for that.

[tevintage]

He snorts, not because he thinks she's joking, but because he knows very well that she is not.

"I am heartbroken," he says, smiling. "If it's all the same, that is the one confirmation I would very much like to avoid. I'd rather keep you worried forever than ease your fears in that manner."

[tevintage]

"I really should stop setting myself up for it," Dorian replied wryly, taking another long sip of the wine. "This is also nearly as terrible but at least it's drinkable."

It was easy enough to be friendly when they weren't talking about home and Dorian wasn't constantly reminded. Like this, he could just pretend Maxwell was another new face - treat him as friendly as he did everyone else, before he made up his mind about them.

This - this was better. This was alright.

For now.

[dreadinquisitor]

It was harder for Maxwell. The laughing, the teasing - it was so familiar. It was so easy... It made it difficult to remember the new rules. The new place he held.

Stranger. A well-informed, well-intentioned stranger, but still.

He didn't belong.

"I don't know," he replied, joking softly. Half-humor, half-truth. "Everyone needs a hobby."

[perfectus]

Cal recognizes the suit immediately as out of season. Not sufficiently enough out of season to be vintage chic, but rather the kind of thing someone in one of the more affluent Districts might be tossed. The tailoring would probably disguise it from the untrained eye, and someone with enough bravado could carry it off, but it's something someone like him can't help but note silently, with no small amount of judgement. The sad thing is, without the tailoring, Jason might have just pretended as if he's busy to give a damn. Some men can pull that one off. Not a Rey, of course, but some. As it is, though, he just looks desperate.

Whatever, from everything he's heard, Jason's the only person in his family who actually works. Cal can respect that. It's not even like he's got a District worth working for, but there's dignity in that struggle as well. He smiles. It's a pointedly inviting, vapid expression which does everything to deny anything, let alone the classist suppositions presently running through his head. It's also dazzling. The white of his teeth even pick up the black lights of the party around them.

"Jason Compson," He offers a tanned hand in greeting. "I like to be up and moving early. It's never made sense to me how some people can waste half a day in bed. Unless they have a good enough reason, right?"

[revvinguptheharley]

Eyes lighting up at the throw away comment Harley twists about to fetch a small matching bag she'd had hidden and with flourish produces a red, cherry scented marker.

"You just ring me up if you want anymore. It's not like I'll be running out soon." She giggles and then winks "If I was rude enough to deface one of your pictures they'd have to invent a punishment bad enough to fit the crime."

To be honest it hadn't occurred to her to just get high off the scent of the markers, probably because she was already doing it unintentionally. She'd originally just bought them because they reminded her of childhood and the smells were really very accurate. Was there nothing Capitol Science couldn't improve?

[whatisay]

Jason shakes, that same smooth politician's shake of a kid who was raised in a three-piece suit more often than not. It's like a shibboleth between the old families here, and Jason can't help but think of the way animals sniff each other to make sure they're part of the same pack. Nor can he help himself from thinking of himself a little bit as a dog on its back, belly exposed.

He makes a sound that's amused but sounds almost disgruntled. "God knows half the people here talks about having those good enough reasons more than they actually have them." He tips his head over at Oceana, relaying a story that requires her to place her hands out as if she were measuring a fish (or something else).

"I wish my charges had your work ethic. I'm laying down ground rules, but with their attitudes it's going to be miraculous if I ever see them all up before noon."

[reallynow]

"Of course he does, doesn't mean I will though. Unless I need him for something quickly, anyway. It's like a squeaky toy." She even goes so far as to mimic squeaking a toy, if only because she's amusing herself at this point.

"God, no. I thank my lucky stars I didn't land more than one bad apple." But the less said about Lonestar and that crap, the better. Far better. "I don't even know what they stuck those assholes with now, career wise it'd be a death sentence." And it makes her realise she should be sincerely glad that they didn't go after District Eight or any of the people representing it when they took down that part of the rebellion. "Anyway, there's gotta be something good about it, right? Any hopefuls?"

[reallynow]

"I dunno about that, once you have a baby it all goes south." Her mouth tugs upward into a small smirk, but it quickly fades when she brings up Bro.

"Yeah, messing. Not really a serious thing and he's uh. Been busy with the whole Murderville thing." She fidgets, debating whether or not she wants to breach this subject at a party. Fuck it. Her voice is a low mutter, even if she doesn't think he's around. "It's Samuel. He's back. The fucking District Eight mentor."