revivalproject | Every hero movie needs a party

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Every hero movie needs a party

WHO: Anyone and everyone
WHERE: Some Ballroom
WHAT: PARTAY! AKA the Fundraiser Padme is throwing to raise money for Tony's philanthropic oopsie
WHEN: mid-April
WARNINGS: Nothing in general. Potential for villain violence.

((ooc: This is a general mingle post. Go forth and do whatever you want! I've set the scene for the party but what you do in it is up to you! Want to party and schmooze with some rich folks? Go for it! Want to be a bad guy and try to steal shit from under said rich people's noses? Fabulous! Want to be a hero and stop said bad guys. Awesome! Want to brood and sulk like the dark angsty DC character you've always wanted to be? You do you, boo. Go forth and have fun!))

Maybe you're well to do in the city. Maybe you just know a guy who knows a guy. Or maybe you just have the right connections and heard it through the grapevine. One way or another, you've heard about the party of the month. Padme Naberrie Amidala, on behalf of the Stark Industries Board of Directors, has planned the finest fundraising event of her career to help pay for the new wing on the children's hospital... And maybe some starving children Tony wants to save.

Arrival

The entrance sets the stage for the whole event. Lit posts leading up to a wide circular doorway. The red carpet from the sidewalk is lined with paparazzi looking to snap some primo pictures of the attendees. Pose for the cameras, mingle, or just grab a drink from one of the waitstaff as you head inside.

Dinner is Served

The tables are set with fine place settings and beautiful center pieces. Most of the room is decked out in black and white, so as to not draw attention to the lovely colored gowns worn by many of the attendees. The gourmet meal has several options to satisfy everyone. The deserts are even more elaborate. Grab a bite and socialize. Or steal a seat or a plate when no one's looking. I'm not the boss of you.

Time to Socialize

There might not be a formal dance floor but the string quintet is playing some lovely music while the guests mingle. Now's the time to grab a glass of champagne or something from the bar. Snag some fancy looking hors d'oeuvres from a wandering server and spend time with your fellow citizens of this fine city.

Auction!

It is a fundraiser, after all. Aside from the cost to get in (unless you're a filthy freeloader who snuck in the back door), there is also a silent auction set up for attendees. But there are no gift baskets or wreathes in this auction. Nay, my friends. There is a reason there are guards at the door. This auction includes such things as Rolex watches, diamond necklaces, ski trips to the Andes and other fancy rich people things.

But the cherry on top is Tony Stark's contribution. A car that mysterious billionaire Din Djarin is rumored to have his eye on. The car has somehow been brought into the event and is on display for anyone to admire. But remember, that car did belong to Tony Stark, so none of you villains even think about trying to steal it!

The Bar

Every formal event has to have a bar for people tired of champagne or those who just want to be antisocial and run away for a while. Does this really need any more description than that?

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Arrival
Director Starling showed up in her own car - a deep green Ford Mustang SVT convertible - and slid out from behind the wheel, gold and tiger's eye glistening at her throat and wrists as she handed the keys to the valet. Her sleek, black silk dress was impeccably tailored and cut deep, only a small strip of fabric preventing the low v-cut from shifting to improper positions and causing any wardrobe malfunctions. She'd worn her Louboutins for the occasion, as well, and done her hair up in a loose, retro sort of style. Her personal effects were in a clutch with a clasp that matched her jewelry, and she flashed the paparazzi a curated smile as she moved smoothly for the entrance.

"My God," she said to the first familiar face she found. "Those flashbulbs are about enough to make you go blind."

The Bidding
Clarice was, to some folks' surprise, a frequent visitor to the silent auction table, occasionally updating her bid. She had put her name in on several items, for the sake of the cause - especially knowing a Certain Someone's fondness for it - but there were two she was really chasing.

One was a package for a weekend at one of the city's most prestigious and fancy spas, because a girl could always use a little pampering.

The other? Well. A girl could also really want the hell out of a fancy set of wheels.

Dinner
"Mmm, mm, mm," she said to herself, looking over the menu. "This looks downright decadent." Half of the things she'd never tasted for herself before, and she leaned over to ask someone at her table. "Excuse me, but have you ever had --"

She froze, mid-question, as another flash of odd memories went through her mind: her own voice, reading aloud, in a dark basement surrounded by files and the glow of a single computer monitor, to a man in a suit that she did not recognize.

"From the Iron Gate in New York, he ordered Grade A foie gras at two hundred dollars a kilo, and through the Grand Central Oyster Bar he got green oysters from the Gironde. The meal for the Philharmonic board began with these oysters, followed by sweetbreads, a sorbet, and then, you can read here in Town & Country what they had: a notable dark and glossy ragout, the constituents never determined, on saffron rice. Its taste was darkly thrilling with great bass tones that only the vast and careful reduction of the fond can give."

She came back to herself, and cleared her throat, trying to shake the latest in a string of strange imaginings from over the last couple of weeks. "--foie gras...?"

The Bar
Between all the altercations that had been happening, the managing of messes behind the scenes, and this strange nonsense of memory flashes she didn't recognize, it had been a very long week. Starling bellied up to the bar and slid a twenty across the marble top, meaning for the bartender to keep whatever was left after the cost of the drink.

"Glass of Chateau d'Yquem," she said, trying to hold on to her grace but still sounding just a little tired.

Wildcard/Mingle
((Whatever you like!))

It was not a good time to be tired, and the messes were not about to stop just because everyone had their good shoes on. While Tony had privately promised not to be the one causing them for Clarice for at least a little while, until she was ready to lock horns with him again, it was, unfortunately, Tony that was swooping in to intercept Clarice at the bar. He did so with a very casual saunter and blithe smile that was obviously tight and fake as he bared his teeth to mutter, "Problem," and took her elbow to lead her back the other way, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. They didn't get very far at all before Tony's focus on this very serious issue was fractured enough for him to murmur, "Christ, you smell good," but he didn't slow at all until he had them at an apparently safe distance and was bracketing Clarice against a corner where his gaze could dart from her to back the way they had come.

She'd seen him coming and was prepared for some usual Trying Too Hard flirting, the sort Tony did at public events, but that one word switched her from friendly banter mode into business real fast. His compliment only earned him the tiniest chuckle, even though she kept her smiling facade in place below serious eyes.

"What kind of problem?" She folded one arm across her stomach, the other still holding her champagne, feigning casual conversation. "Did something from your latest trip follow you home?"

That blocking gesture across her stomach made it look like Clarice was not being terribly receptive to Tony's purr as he leaned close, one hand braced against the wall by her shoulder and the other taking the chance to gently twist the flicked end of a stray strand of hair to curl back up her neck. The sweet offer he had for her, though, was, "Only a weird stomach bug. You don't want to know. Up all night. It's that HYDRA agent you've been tailing since January. She's here with the guy you were seeing last year, the..." Tony rolled his eyes, searching for a neutral enough qualifier to respect Clarice's dating habits without being obviously invested in them. The best he came up with was, "The one who couldn't dress himself."

"Pilcher," she hissed, making the name almost a curse. To onlookers it might seem like a warning for him to back up out of her personal space, and she fought not to seek the scientist out with her eyes. He'd been a consultant on something called Project Death's Head, nothing major, and gone away with nothing particularly leakable. Why would that agent want anything to do with him, unless ... damnit.

"So you think she's here for me. Is that it? I don't know how the hell the got-dam minx slipped under my radar. She wasn't taking tips from you, by any chance?"

"Pilcher," Tony echoed, actually swaying back slightly though with his fingertips kept touched to the wall, focus darting across the room over Clarice's shoulder. The accusation made him bring the other hand daintily to his chest, ever innocent and shocked that Clarice could think him slippery, then he shrugged.

"Bold to show up in public, isn't it? I mean, for him, obviously, still doesn't know how to pick a tie. I'd say she's either getting desperate, or has no idea you were watching her in the first place." He raised his eyebrows for Clarice's input, because she was both very capable of applying pressure and being incredibly subtle. If there was a chance the agent was desperate, though, they weren't going to be able to ignore it.

"I'd say a mix of both," she ventured, raising an arm to push his away from the wall and turning like she meant to walk away. In reality, she was using the turn as an excuse to get the two in her peripheral vision. Yes, there was her mark: there was a wig, maybe some color contacts, but no amount of contouring would completely change the woman's face. Some Italians were far too good at being beautiful, and Laura Pazzi - for that was the alias she was using these days - was one of them.

"Given her profile, she's got enough of an ego to think she might be able to use you to her advantage if you were to go over and try some of your best party lines."

Was she insinuating Tony Stark be the pretty, flirtatious distraction in this particular scenario? Absolutely.

It was slightly stilted as Tony hesitated long enough to raise his eyebrows at Clarice in surprise, but with the brush of his arm he swung away in acquiescence, accepting his mission, or defeat, depending on the perspective. He had expected more of a cautious stakeout response, not for Clarice to recommend him for the firing line. While she was freed to walk away from his unwelcome propositioning, he didn't bother to keep his voice down any more as he called after her, "If you're looking to punish me, you know I'm always open to negotiations."

Blowing out a noisy sigh and feeling slightly like he had actually just been jilted, Tony had to slouch and recollect himself, scanning the room to consider his approach. He couldn't just walk directly over to the gal now, so a circuit to pick up a glass of champagne and catch up with her when she was isolated would have to be Tony's personal test of patience. Hopefully, Clarice was actually tracking him and not just waiting for the blood in the water.

"No negotiation necessary," she called after him. "You do that all on your own every time you come at me."

Oh, there was still a stakeout scenario involved, but she'd be doing it from the wine bar on the other side of the room, so that she could catch Pazzi if she bolted. Pincer movements were tried and true, even if there was no way the Hydra agent could know it was Iron Man on his way over to flirt with her.

Pilcher seemed to be doing a terrible job trying to hold her interest, but she was doing a great job at pretending she actually cared to be in his presence, one hand resting on his forearm as he droned on about his latest research. From what she could catch over the rest of the chatter it was going to be "better than anything that washout Pym could deliver", and Starling allowed herself a soft snort of derision, pausing to accept a compliment from a stranger on her dress.

Once she was in place at the other side of the room, she drained the last few golden drops of champagne and traded her flute for a glass of ruby-red sangria, positioning herself so that she could see Pazzi without being seen, and still have a view of where Tony had gone.

Even from a distance, the body language was unambiguous as Tony's patience wore out (unavoidable) and he approached the couple to ward off Pilcher himself. He didn't even conceal that his full attention was on the beautiful woman, disarming them with his radiant grin and very clearly telegraphing what was about to happen here in the space of their courteous greetings; a cursory handshake for the scientist, who visibly deflated as he watched Tony Stark offer a lingering kiss to his date's hand. His face grew slowly more red as Tony muttered dismissals that made Pazzi's laugh carry musically above the crowd, not allowing him to talk about his project. The glance she threw at him then might as well have bodily pushed him away, sending him stumbling back and likely muttering something about getting them some more drinks. Tony turned as though to watch him go, but his gaze scanned the crowd for a hint of Clarice, eyes widening slightly with a hitch of desperation as the HYDRA agent touched his arm.

Starling gave the barest nod of acknowledgement - something which she trusted Tony and his eagle eyes to catch from across the room - and started to move, picking up an auction pamphlet from an accent table and pretending that she was headed in that direction, keeping everything in her peripheral vision even as she feigned reading the details of the items up for bid. Pazzi was so disarmed and interested in Tony - as Starling knew she would be, because it was Tony, and who wouldn't be? - that she didn't notice the Director's approach until she "accidentally" bumped into her, sending that full glass of sangria splashing completely over her dress.

"Oh my stars," she said, that old Southern lisp she'd worked so hard to shed creeping in for just a moment. "I am so, so sorry... let me just -"

Both hands moved in a flurry, dropping both glass and pamphlet to clasp around Pazzi's wrists as she'd reached up to instinctively clutch at her ruined garment. "- place you under arrest for crimes against the United States government, including but not limited to acts of espionage."

The move combined with the slip of Clarice's accent was funny enough for Tony to snort as he took his chance to slide away and out of the splash zone, circling behind Pazzi with one hand up in case she thought that way was the exit and daintily plucking the silk from his pocket to offer very innocently. He froze with the kerchief brandished, though, with his own look of surprise as the agent stammered through her own shock at being captured by the simple feint. "We're arresting her?" Tony asked meanwhile. "I mean, of course, you're under arrest. I thought we were, I don't know, doing some kind of interrogation, information...gathering...spy stuff." Not his area, clearly.

She reached into her clutch for the pair of cuffs she always kept on her at public functions: in a city full of superheroes and supervillains, you never knew when someone might need to be detained, and it paid to be prepared.

"Yep," she said simply, snapping them home on the Italian's delicate wrists. "Signora Laura Pazzi, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney." The words rolled off her tongue with a brusque, curt, rapid professionalism born of repetition, and in that moment she almost felt like she wasn't herself, and the most herself she'd ever been, all at once. "If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you once you reach the American Embassy. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

Pazzi spat clear in her face. "Vai a farti fottere, puttana!"

Starling raised her eyebrows. "Se lo facessi, passerei una notte migliore di te."

When the hell did she learn Italian?

"When did you learn Italian?" Tony voiced for her. While she was being very official and efficient, he found his place carefully dabbing at the spilled wine, which Pazzi largely took no notice of and was mostly ineffectual, anyway. Tony was about as good at cleaning as he was at spying. "You're just going to spit that out and--pardon me, ladies, but I would gladly listen to you swear at each other all night--and now you're going to take her out of here, party's over? I might as well go home, then, that's going to be my highlight. Hey, if you want to get a coffee when you've got this done, I know a place. Good music, too. Should at least get a dance in before the sun comes up. Here, that's everything that isn't, uh, sensitive." In the sangria-stained handkerchief, Tony offered an array of slim needles and some capsules that didn't feel like Tylonol to Clarice, making the agent finally stop her snarling to stare at the brazen theft then glare at Tony and his distracting blabbing.

"I think you may've just earned that dance, Tony," she quipped, taking the effects from him. "But we'll have to check her hair too, before security shows up."

Suddenly the room smelled, for just a moment, like stale air, a hint of men's sweat, freon. Then the rich scents of the dinner party returned to her nostrils, and not for the first time in the last few weeks, she wondered if something was really wrong with her.

"If you can hold her steady - such a tall order for you, I know - I'll check."

Pazzi continued to bluster and swear, but somehow the Italian didn't make quite as much sense to her as it had previously... "As for your other question, let's save it for the afterparty, shall we?" With Tony, there was always, always an afterparty.

Padme beamed, reaching out to take Director Starling's arm. She paused just long enough for the press to snap a couple of photos before leading her inside properly. "Director Starling, I'm so pleased you could come. The press are a necessary evil, I'm afraid, but you're right, those lights are a danger."

"You put a car like that up on the auction block, you know I'm gonna come fight Djarin for it," she chuckled, her hand slipping over Padme's.

"Thanks for putting this on. It'll go a ways toward softening the Board in terms of that mess Tony made abroad. Has he opened up to you about any of it?"

She laughed, "Good luck. At the very least it will drive up the price for him." She knew Djarin was good for it, especially when kids were involved.

The comment got a nod. "You're welcome. I sat down with him after it happened. This was his idea, actually." She confessed, "He went on a late night trip and met some starving orphans he couldn't not help. At least this way we can help everyone."

"Exactly. I don't get the car, no, but one more family gets a little more food in their pantry. I can't call that a loss by any means."

She knew some of the details about what had happened in Madripoor, only if through inference. Tony had bought some of his own tech back from black market dealers, but - she could certainly see that sort of run-in being a thing that could have happened as well.

"Don't you just love how he tries to pretend he doesn't care about anyone but himself? One of these days someone's going to have to break it to him that we've all noticed."

"It's a cunning plan." Padme laughed. And one for a good cause, so there was no harm in it.

"He tries, though those of us who know him well enough can see straight through it. I, for one, have no intention of breaking that illusion for him. It makes him happy."

"He's good at those, but if you ever tell him you heard that from me, I'll put you on indefinite assignment in New Jersey." She raised her eyebrows and pointed in a self-mocking aura of command.

"Yeah, same, darlin', same. Some men just like to think their little tricks fool us all, and they're the cock of the walk. You and I don't have to tell 'em we know better."

She laughed again, shaking her head. "Tell him what? I heard nothing, Director." She was perfectly innocent, of course!

"You're exactly right. Sometimes it's better to just let them believe. For the most part I see no harm in it."

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Every hero movie needs a party

OTA!

The...bar?

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Arrival

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