#tdrstarters

     “It is a beautiful night for a party...” though, to Soleil, every night was a beautiful night for a party. Nevertheless, this one in particular was breathtakingly beautiful. He could tell that no expenses had been spared. He knew that the Golightlys had more money than anyone could count, but, even if he hadn’t known that beforehand, the visual of this event was enough to prove that to anyone. 

     What was he doing at the party? Just some fresh-faced artist in a city full of fresh-faced artists; he really had no place there. Despite that, he’d been invited by Damien Olivier himself, and who was he to say no to the Parrain? In fact, who was he to not go above and beyond for him? Yes -- it was a beautiful night for the party, but it was a beautiful night for Soleil, as well. Some may call him dramatic, coming with an entire outfit change for after the sun set, but he was surely no more dramatic than most people here - he was just taking advantage of the party as anyone should. After all, in a room full of the richest people in New York, one could surely sell a few paintings, gain a few commissions. A good night to be had, beautiful clothing to be worn, money to be made, drinks to be sipped.

     A party like this wasn’t a party worth going to, in Matteo’s mind. He didn’t know what the point of putting a suit on for a few hours was. He didn’t understand why they’d call it a party if it was really just going to be a bunch of people with sticks up their asses holding drinks but not actively drinking them, talking, and feeling as if they couldn’t touch anything around them?

     He understood why Luca wanted him to be there -- he understood that he could be a pair of eyes and ears that blended into the crowd easily. He wasn’t a big name - he wasn’t anyone special. Hell, a bunch of people within the Italians didn’t even know who he was, let alone those outside of his organization. Luca’s organization. Dante’s organization. God - chain of commands were exhausting, especially when Matteo tried to please everyone above him.

     Never assume that Angel Beckett went anywhere unarmed. Not even to this fancy party that she didn’t want to go to in the first place. She owed Alex more than one favor, though, despite the aura she consistently gave off around him. She trusted Alexander, she actually listened to Alexander, and when Alexander told her that she had to be at the Golightly party, she obeyed.

     That didn’t mean that she was going to enjoy herself, though. There were far too many faces that looked just a little too familiar to her. People who she recognized but couldn’t quite pinpoint. And she knew she couldn’t revolve solely around Alex or Ray the entire night. They had their own ideas of what was going to happen at the party that didn’t involve Angel.

They were somewhere here. They had to be. Alex hadn’t come all this fucking way to spend his night celebrating some spoiled brat’s nineteenth birthday to walk away empty-handed. Currently, Alexander found himself posed at one of the tables scattered around the grand banquet hall, his phone before him on the table alongside a half-eaten plate of filet mignon and herb-roasted veggies.

Pushing away his plate of food, Alex stood up and slipped through the crowd, making his way around the ballroom where guests young and old danced; some among friends, some among more intimate romantic partners, as he slipped onto one of the vast balconies that scattered the hotel property, unlocking his phone and searching for a specific contact in his phone.

“Balcony’s occupied,” he said without glancing up from his phone at the first sound of the balcony doors snicking open. “Find somewhere else to be.”

     She’d decided that this party wasn’t worth the stress it was causing her. Monica knew that there were plenty of people who were equally as stressed as she was, but everyone - including Monica herself - were keeping that stress from their features. 

     Monica had lots to do at this party, from mingling with the other Cartel members (mostly to just show her face as a guest of el capo’s), keep away from Luca D’Amore while dancing around other Italians to try to find out more information, and, most importantly and least stressful to Monica, hopefully spend some alone time with Taika.

There wasn’t a word in either English or Russian which could accurately describe her feelings. She’d never been in a place as... as beautiful as The Garden Hotel. She’d never worn anything as elegant as the dress she was borrowing, or the pin in her hair or the pearls in her ears. This was a dream, surely. She was dreaming and would wake up at any moment to find she’d fallen asleep in the middle of ironing the Pakhan’s shirts. But the dream kept going, and only the solid feel of Tatia and Emmaline beside her was keeping her grounded enough to believe this was actually happening. To keep her from being overwhelmed.

Anya stayed close to her friends as much as possible. Emmaline was fluent in English, and Tatia’s English was much better than Anya’s, so she felt better being near them and knowing they could field conversations that she might embarrass herself in. But in such a massive building with so many people, it was hard to stay with them without literally holding their hands, and eventually a moment came when Anya turned around to ask a question only to find that her friends were not there. Panic swelled inside her, churning her stomach like river rapids until she felt sure she might cry or puke or faint. All she could do was back up to the nearest wall and close her eyes for a moment. Deep breaths, she told herself. Don’t make a scene. Don’t draw attention. The only thing worse than losing track of Tatia and Emmaline would be being found by one of the boyeviks, or even Viktor himself.

So she waited. Breathed. Counted to ten. Opened her eyes. The panic was suppressed, for now, but she would have to find her friends in order to banish it permanently. Time to start asking. Anya timidly approached the nearest person and spoke up in a quiet voice, “Excuse me? Um, forgive interruption. Have... erm, have you been seeing two girls? Short, one is blonde in pink dress, and one is having brown hair and blue dress. Both very pretty.”

A day off. He wasn’t sure when the last day off he had really was. Now of course it didn’t really mean a day off of work considering work never seemed to stop for him. But it did mean that he could work from home and that he could take the longest lunches without anyone telling him to get back to work. Sure, he had lived in the city his entire life, but there were still so many restaurants he hadn’t been. Long before he was a cop, his true passion had always been food, seeking comfort in dishes of any shape or form as long as it had good flavor. The one he had picked out today had been on his list for awhile, he had only ever heard good things about it and he could tell just from the aroma in the air outside of the place that it was going to live up to the hype. Though quite honestly, as long as it wasn’t Chinese take-out for the fifth time in a row that week. 

Gabriel wasn’t interested in friends, had a bare minimum interest in socializing in general, and felt that the entire party would be better admired from the comfort of his own room--miles away from the gossip of society’s elite and those too poor to be considered worthy of Upper East Side attention, but still trying (almost desperately) to cling to relevancy. Presently, he was seated at one of the lone tables that clung to the back of the ballroom, watching with vague disinterest the people gliding across the floor as the orchestra played a soft ballad in the background.

Crossing one leg over the other, Gabriel leaned back in his chair and reached for the glass of wine before him, taking a sip as his eyes scanned the people in the room. He had an itch to reach for the small, leather-bound novel he’d slipped on the inside of his breast pocket and read, but had made a promise to himself--to Damien--that he would at least attempt to show interest in tonight’s festivities.

Not like that would ever happen.