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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The whole affair was kind of, a little bit, his fault, so it was reasonable that he put in an appearance, but that didn't meant that Tony had to be on time. As long as the right people saw his face, Tony had been there and done his requisite socializing and could duck in after most of the cameras had moved on, and get back to the garage before Jarvis had even closed the curtains. Ideally, the mystery would lead to a handful of rumours of who he might have arrived and left with that could keep a few papers entertained for the week, and anyone considering getting close at a reasonable camera-shy distance. It was a balancing act that Tony could do with his eyes closed, or four drinks deep as it happened to be this evening as he gestured for the bartender's attention once more, then waved to the small group that had followed him here for any orders to put in.

"Here's the thing: I'm not saying the Saint-Tropez villa is a good deal right now, and you're probably not going to be able to see it for another six months judging by how slow the clean up after Doom's latest tantrum is going," he was already explaining to the glittering ladies who had been doing just fine figuring out where to put their money before he had arrived, Tony was sure. His shirt collar hadn't even survived the drive over, that was his own fault, but he did have to keep himself very still as one of the women laid a pale hand on the placket to pluck coyly at the button, her skin iridescently pale against the black he was layered in, then sat like a pearl in the gold scarf he slipped from around his neck to capture her palm and bring it quickly to his lips instead, diverting her with a flushed giggle away from touching him any further. "However..." he purred, twisting the scarf between both hands and draping himself back against the bar, "you know he's going to move on soon, you're supporting a most excellent cause, and I could be convinced to sweeten the deal with a dinner next week to celebrate." He was going to need that drink, any minute now.

Since Lark was still out sick and no one had a real good idea of where she was Cobb offered to cover the fundraiser. The idea of a blind gossip columnist amused him. That's why he agreed to take the assignment. It had nothing to do with a certain secretive billionaire that was attending.

Nope. Nothing at all.

Cobb wore his one good suit, a tailored black number with a white shirt and, according to Merrin, dark red tie. She said he looked good but he trusted his daughter would be generous even if he didn't.

He got a glass of whiskey from the bar and started to mingle. People had all sorts of questions for him. Which charity did he run? Had Padme's organization helped him and fellow blind people? Did he need help finding his table? The usual questions sighted folks asked blind people.

It was fun to joke and explain but after awhile Cobb needed to get away from all the ignorant good intentions. He made his way to the silent auction which was quiet and allowed him a moment of peace. He even took off his sunglasses and folded his cane away so people would assume he could see as he browsed the offerings with no real idea what he was looking at.

What the heck is he even thinking coming to this thing? After the events of the past few few days, it feels like a bad idea. And yet... When a hero offers you tickets to a fancy party to apologize for destroying your car, how can you say no?

The invitation said black tie, but he doesn't have a tux so he hopes his suit is nice enough. The paparazzi mostly ignore him, but one recognizes him from his outburst at one of the heroes after his car was thrown at a space ship. They start flashing photos and shouting questions about if he's going to sue anyone and how many cars he's lost. He covers his face with one hand and hurries inside. Seriously? Is he really going to be known as the angry car guy now? He feels irritation bubbling inside him and he has to swallow down the bile rising in his throat. Forcing a smile at whoever he just brushed past, he steps to the side just inside the entrance to take a breather before going inside.

Once he's calmed his nerves, he steps inside. That's a lot of people. A lot of rich people. He's going to need a drink. He makes a bee-line for the bar. "Can I get, uh, I don't know. A scotch on the rocks?" He needs something stronger than a beer. When he gets his drink, he steps aside and sips it, trying not to look as out of place as he feels.

Richie needed some extra cash and there was a temp job as a bartender for a party open. He was pretty good at that. Years of heavy drinking means you know your way around a cocktail. And better yet, no one questions a quiet bartender, usually. It was a good way to pick up some dough and also just chill out after his disastrous few days.

Or it would have been, had a vision of heaven not walked up to his bar all cleaned up in a nice suit. Richie was in one himself but it didn't look nearly that good. Nothing could. Eddie, as always, was just gorgeous. It nearly made his heart ache to even look at him.

Richie's mouth went dry as he went to make the drink real fast while Eddie was distracted. He handed it over with a napkin that he'd scribbled onto:

If you told me you looked this amazing in a suit I wouldn't have suggested a movie as our date...

Richie stands behind the bar, waiting for someone to come over and ask for a drink. This was just a temp job for the night. A way to make some extra cash and relax a little. The past few days had been more than eventful and, honestly, he needed something a bit slower. No battles or robberies or robots telling him about alien clowns. No. Just a nice, quiet bar and the quieter bartender.

He gets an order and shows off with a little spinning of the tumbler and juggling of bottles. He can't talk so this is his way to secure tips. The drink is poured nice and clean with the extra going into a shot glass for himself.

Smirking, he bends forward and takes the shot in his mouth, tipping his head back and then letting the glass tumble to the floor. Hell, he might as well have a little fun here, too.

Of course Jon had to attend this party. The invitation had been on his desk for a good while and the Head of the Magnus Institute tends to be expected for these events.

What happened roughly a week ago? Come on. That's last week's news. And most affected areas have reverted back after that little... Mishap. Not that Jon himself has any remorse regarding his actions. These things happen in the line of paranormal studies and research. And that the Institute apparently remains transformed into some sort of apocalyptic tower... Well. That also is a thing that happens. The creatures circling the top of the tower and lurking around its base and occasionally follow people around may take some getting used to, as will the fact that every camera in and around the Institute remains being made out of eyeballs, but it's fine. Everything is fine...

Jonathan Sims arrives at the party in one of his well-tailored white suits, wearing a pair of expensive sunglasses in place of his regular glasses to hide those still faintly glowing eyes along with a bruise. The paparazzi are eager to snatch their share of pictures of him and the mothcats accompanying him while Jon ignores any questions and heads on inside.

The mothcats are quick to spread around and find their own places while serving as additional eyes for Jon. One settles down on that expensive car put on display as if it belongs there.

With his felines off and about, Jon finds himself a place to sit with a glass of champagne in hand and letting his own eyes roam through the room while muttering to no one in particular. "Right... Raising money for children again, are we."

Eddie hadn't even looked at the bartender as he ordered his drink. He was too nervous to really notice anything.

He took the drink with a nod and muttered thanks as he tucked some money in the tip jar. When he looked down and spotted the writing on the napkin his eyes widened and he looked up at Richie. "Holy... Wait, are you working here?" Shit, Richie complimented him. He gave him a lopsided smile, hoping that it wasn't obvious that he hadn't really slept well in a few days. "And, uh, thanks. You look good, too."

There was a gentle throat clearing behind Tony. Padme smiled around his shoulder, looking ravishing in red. "Pardon me, ladies. I'm afraid I must borrow Mr. Stark for a moment."

She'd noticed that little move with the scarf. She wasn't certain if he needed rescuing from the gaggle of women, but maybe if they were temporarily shooed away they'd actually bid on the items instead of flirting with the billionaire.

Padme recognized the reporter as he made his way through the event. She felt bad about the well-meaning people offering help he clearly didn't need. It took her a while to get away, but she sought him out once she was able.

He'd hear her heels as she approached and catch a whiff of her delicate perfume. She stops behind one of his shoulders and smiles. "It might be more convincing of you turn to your left a little."

Edited 2021-05-19 16:42 (UTC)

Padme appears behind him, looking quite unimpressed. Any of her own bruises from recent events are tastefully hidden under her dress and with makeup. She's not about to make a scene, especially while unarmored.

"Yes, we are. If you insist on bringing your pets, I'm afraid I must insist on you keeping them under control."

That smile was going to be the end of him. Richie's face broke out into a dopey grin of his own as he looked at the other man and accepted the compliment. He made a gesture and expression as though to say 'Yeah, sure,' but didn't otherwise argue. Instead, he went for his notepad and pen. Good thing he always brought one.

Just picking up some extra money for when my car insurance goes up.

He drew a little winky face next to that and chewed on his cheek. Finally he looked up and noticed for the first time the bags under Eddie's eyes and the general air of exhaustion he held. Richie frowned.

Are you okay? You look drained. Another car get killed?

Eddie took a sip of his drink, suddenly feeling the need for liquid courage. At a party he has no right to have an invite to, and now he was face to face with the first man he'd ever had any interest in. After everything that had happened that week? Yeah, this was great.

The first comment got a laugh. "Alright, funny guy." Then Richie called him out and he winced a little. "Ah, yeah. That's how I got the invite to this thing. One of the heroes felt bad for me."

"They are under control." Jon replies, not bothering to hide that annoyance from his tone. "Where I go, they go. You should be aware of that by now, Miss Amidala. My cats are better behaved than some of your guests."

He doesn't elaborate on which guests he is referring to, but they are most likely to be getting drunk over at the bar.

Richie smiled and turned around for a second. When he goes back to Eddie, he is holding two shots of something yellow and rimmed with sugar. One gets slid over and the other is held up for a toast while he writes what is going on.

Sweet. I was going to get all self-conscious if you actually belonged with these rich snobs. But you and me are both the infiltrators.

Cheers to that?

She smiles as a generous donor walks by, giving them a nod of greeting. Once they've passed, she turns that smile to Jon. "In that case, Mr. Sims, it shouldn't be too much to ask to keep them from the auction area."

She doesn't like him and she doesn't trust him or his pets, but she'll be damned if she's going to let them ruin the evening.

"Should you be drinking while you're working?" Eddie laughed as he took the shot from Richie. He looked down and watched Richie scrawl across the page. Finally, he shook his head.

"What? No, this is definitely not my scene. I manage some of their money but beyond that..." He shook his head again, "To tell you the truth, I feel so out of place here. So, yeah, I'll definitely drink to that." He lifted the shot in a toast, giving Richie a smile before he downed it.

Poe's not really on the guest list exactly, he's there as an added security measure. Plain clothes of course, and he does his best to blend in as he does his rounds.

The car's the big ticket item, but there's plenty here for someone to try and steal, and plenty of famous faces with deep pockets to go after as well.

"You thinking of bidding?" he asks, approaching a figure who's been making eyes at the car for a while now. "You win are you going to set it up an impressive showpiece, or actually let the tires hit the pavement now and again?"

Richie grinned before doing his shot the same way he'd done the last one. This time, he made sure to grab it with his mouth and tilt his head back in strategically careful and blatantly showing off way. Instead of letting this glass fall he pulled it free and slammed it top-down on the bar.

He had like, two skills. He had to make them count.

Taking Eddie's glass, he dropped them both into the sink and went back to talking. Or "talking" as it was.

Well, you can just stick at the bar, now. You get free drinks for the whole night and I get to see you in a suit from up close.

Which... seriously. You look amazing, Eds.

Entrance;
Making an appearance at this kind of thing is all but required. Well, maybe not required, but he'd hardly disappoint Padme by not showing. So Bucky's there in a bespoke navy suit, clean shaven and sporting a small lapel pin shaped like his shield. He'd hoped to stroll right inside in the wake of the couple in front of him but a reporter has caught him for questions and pictures, and he hasn't been able to escape yet.

Save him? Ask for a pic with him? Or are you the reporter?

Auction;
Bucky circles the auction hall more as an extra eye on security than anything else; he certainly can't afford (or would be laughingly outbid) on most of what's here. Still he does enjoy looking, mostly because Stark always manages to pull out a few interesting pieces for events like this. Bucky has no idea where he finds them all, but such is the life of a billionaire, apparently. But the auction hall seems quiet, in terms of mischief — until mischief itself finds him, latching onto his arm with surprising strength in aged fingers.

"No, Mrs. Sweeney," he's saying to a society matron who now has a death grip on his arm. "I'm not actually part of the auction, but there are some interesting pieces over here—"

Mrs. Sweeney, of course, would prefer to buy her favorite heroes, not auction memorabilia, and behind her back Bucky sends a pleading look to anyone who looks even minorly willing to rescue him.

Mingling;
[The open-to-suggestions option. Hit me up with an idea and we'll roll with it. If you prefer brackets, go for it and I'll match your format.]

Thank whatever gods are listening that there's a bar at these things. After escaping from some mingling of the less-than-fun variety, Bucky definitely needs a drink. Or five.

He waits patiently while the bartender shows off for the hardly-paying-attention patron in front of him — their loss; this guy seems pretty entertaining — and steps up to order when the woman walks away with her drink and her nose in the air.

"Whiskey," he says, tucking a twenty into the jar. Hey, it's not like he can afford the auction, may as well spend what he can on the staff just trying to make a buck. "Whatever you've got that could peel the paint off these walls."

Richie looks over at the newcomer and gives him a playful salute before starting to look around what they have. Before he gets to the whiskeys, Richie pours out a shot of something strong and almost astringent smelling. That gets slid over with a note on a napkin:

On the house. No one in their right mind would actually order this and it's guaranteed illegal in 48 of the 50 states.

He shoots the guy a friendly wink and then goes back to the drink actually ordered. The whiskey he needs is up on the top shelf and is probably more expensive than the guy expects, but it's good and strong. He holds that and a glass before gesturing toward the ice with a question on his face.

There were other billionaires in the building to find their fun with, and who might actually offer one of them the kind of smile that Tony turned on Padme then, much less tight and guarded than any of the flattering grins he had produced for the donors. They went fluttering away, hopefully charmed enough by then to write down a big number for that burned out villa on the chance that it might get them a date as well, letting Tony heave a sigh and detach himself from the security of the bar.

"'Mr. Stark'? Is that what we're doing?," he asked, but did manage to properly greet her with a kiss. He lingered there as he slipped the scarf he could stop clutching around her shoulders, so when he stepped back he could admire, "Perfect," with a smirk.

Padme spots that call for help from across the room. Excusing herself from her conversation, she makes her way over to the pair. She smiles brilliantly, her dress swishing about her legs as she stops in front of them. "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Sweeney, but I need to steal the Captain for a moment." She paused, then, tilting her head as if she'd just remembered something. "Hadn't you been saying that you missed the mountains?" Turning, she gestured towards one of the tables, "One of our items is a week long stay at a hot spring in the Rocky Mountains. Why don't you give it a look and see what you think?"

Once the aged socialite had left, Padme turned her smile to Bucky. "You looked like you needed a little help."

Arrival
Stark PR thought having a few of their 'bright young minds' on display would be good PR for the party. Amanda was not entirely sure that was true, she'd never been in a room with so much money in her life. If they hadn't arranged for her to be able to get a dress, jewelry and hair do she was sure she'd have come in clean overalls like some sort of trained monkey.

She knew no one here, so that was good. No one to walk up and ask her just what she thought she was doing here. She stood around the entry for a little while just getting the lay of the land and spotting the likely places to find a seat that wouldn't be running into trouble with people. It wasn't that she wasn't social, in fact she was smiling, she was almost always smiling, it was just that she was far more at home half way inside a engine housing than a gala ball room.

Dinner
No way was she going to miss the food. She was eating cup-o-noodle three times a week because ambition did not, as it turned out, pay the rent. Her only difficulty was mulling over the course selection. They all sounded so mouthwateringly good that she wanted to say one of each please and she'd take them all home.

If her mom and dad could see her now, they'd be so proud. She hoped so anyway. They'd said she'd do something big one day, well here she was at a party she didn't belong at getting great food. That was something. She leaned over to the person next to her and asked in a discrete whisper "What exactly is a 'compote'?"

Bar
"Whiskey. Two...." She look left, then right, then leaned in. "Three fingers." Amanda had made it through half the night so far without putting her foot in her mouth, that was something. And she hadn't spilled anything on her pretty dress all through dinner that was even better.

She almost reached up to run fingers through her hair out of habit but remembered someone had put time into doing that for her and stopped herself short. This whole dressin up thing was not really her usual and it felt awkward, fun maybe but definitely awkward.

She plunked down on a stool at the bar, party etiquette wasn't her forte so if that was bad she didn't really know. What she did know was she had a phone with Battle Barrage on it and she had a good winning streak going in that game so while she had some down time, why not play a few rounds? And if anyone else was a player the auto match system was sure to link them up.

Milling
It felt good to get a little fresh air by the large windows. So many people made a place awful warm and she still had to admit there was something about looking out at the city when the lights starting coming on at night. Something that had always taken her breath away.

It was a hell of a view for anyone who liked that sort of thing.

"What?" She blinked and turned, looking behind her. "Oh, um, no. I was just admirin the car. Don't get to see a lot like her. Not close up anyway. She's a beaut."

She'd been circling back looking at the car, work of art really, three or four times already. The body was so sleek she bet smoke just rolled right around it in wind tunnels. Her ground clearance cut the draft to make her handle like a dream. If she could get a look under that hood... she bit her lip.

Amanda looked at that car the way a lot of people looked at someone they found desperately attractive.

But it was way out of her league. "I hope whoever gets her they take good care of her."

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Every hero movie needs a party

The bar, where else? OTA~

Auction - OTA

Entrance and Bar OTA

Bar!

NOT EVERYONE IS FANCY | OTA

Around - OTA

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Can I help you? | OTA

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Entrance/Auction/Other

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Bucky!!!

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Auction

Arrival/Dinner/Bar/General milling about (The intern pity invite)

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