#event 1

The girl on stage is young. There is a childlike roundness to her face that offsets the glasses she wears just enough for it to be on the right side of endearing. She's half wrapped around a harp, strumming away. A nothing tune. Elevator music. Something to keep the conversation flowing and to fill the awkward silences when the people that don't know each other beyond a passing glance, get sick of talking about the weather.

Viktor stares at her and thinks with another few years practice, she might be halfway decent, and then thinks what the fuck does he know? he can't play the fucking harp.

He sips carefully at the mostly rocks scotch that was poured for him when he arrived and claps politely against the back of his hand along with the rest of the peanut gallery, when she rounds her piece of with a artful flourish and smiles.

"Hardly Debussy-" Viktor says dryly and mostly to whoever was standing at his elbow. "-but the attempt was fair." he turns to them and his smile is sharp, pointed. Mocking perhaps, if someone looked close enough "-Drink? I'm buying."

the party was going, drinks flowing, music pounding, and rock was feeling good. they thrived at events like this. they always did well with the attention and the energy, after so many years in this business, they would have to do well. sink or swim, baby. they were teetering right on the edge of fun drunk and messy drunk, they should probably dial it back a bit but so many people keep offering to get them drinks, how can they say no? now they were feeling good and going around the room with their phone in their hand trying to find a willing participant to film tiktoks with. "-i swear, it will stay in the drafts until we're sober, nothing will get posed, but i think it would be fun! and help the label if we pop off, ya know? what do you say?" they ask the poor person who happened to get sucked into the excited rant.

Olimar: and if I can recall, the ship’s landing site is up ahead.