Celebration Time

[Dane Gregory]

That's right. Declan was dead. People probably shouldn't be so chipper when they're in mourning.

"We weren't that close. I hadn't seen him in years. The only reason I even know he was dead was the unexpected swelling in my bank account and I called to find out why."
Part of Declan's income was siphoned off to a kid of his, apparently Dane had nieces and nephews, or something, and a big fat payoff to some ex-wife. Dane met her only once when he'd been invited home before the actual wedding. Invited to a dinner but not the wedding, what a loving brother. Was fine with Dane. He went anyway and loitered on the edges, hands in his pockets, sunglasses perched on his nose, and watched the nuptials with bland interest.

He lifted his glass, inhaling the aroma of the wine with the sense of one used to judging them. He toasted after the fact, and uttered something about brothers and childhood memories, blah blah.

"So how did you know my dear departed older brother? You were friends? He must have confided much about me to you, then."

[Sören]

There was something off about him. Sören idled his glass after the half-hearted toast, contemplating that sense of oddness like a sour aftertaste. Letters notifying Declan's death had been sent, and Sören had assumed Dane to be among the recipients. It was a task he had directed but not overseen. An oversight? Or something more purposeful. The divide could not be too deep if Dane had benefited financially, though talk of money Sören frankly found distasteful. He shrugged it off.

"Through his work with the British Museum, mostly. I recall we first met in Denmark. I deal in art and artefacts, so our paths crossed frequently. It was why we went to India."
His single hazel eye contemplated the nuances in Dane's expression; his intonations, his choice of topics. Sören's interest was mild, like watching fish darting in a tank, and yet he still dissected the faint stirrings of curiosity. The brothers were little alike, or so it appeared thus far. "He didn't mention you much. I knew you existed."

[Hood]

White frowned slightly as the diminutive brunette occupied a piece of wall next to him, although he didn't actually divert his attention her way immediately. A brief surge of movement in the crowd was assessed and dismissed in short order, a moment of eye contact between himself and Nadejda Talanov, as she unconsciously checked that her safety net was still in place. Seeing White she returned her attention to the party.

Finally, White took a sip of whiskey and turned a brief glance to Danika, just as the woman grew a few inches shorter. Water. Responsible, at least. He took another shallow sip of whiskey before setting the glass next to the near-empty bottle he'd gotten from the barkeep before crossing his arms. Some felt that such a gesture was a subtle hint that one was closed to conversation and interaction, but in White's case, it was just a comfortable way to stand.

"I take it you are not like most of these people."
He freed a hand briefly to iddly gesture to the gathered party-goers; musicians and their ilk. "No offense. Most don't bother talking to my kind."
Some guests were embroiled in conversations with some of the other bodyguards, enthralled by their fake or stolen stories of past action.

[Danika]

She was a little offended at first. She knew her clothes and shoes weren't high end designer, but they were good enough for Manifesto. So what about her wasn't good enough to fit in with this crowd?

She looked him over awkwardly, as she was still balanced on one heel while the other foot was flat on the floor. Unless he meant something else. She'd not heard anything nearly so rude all night. Maybe she misunderstood. That had to have been it. She might have let it go completely then, but his question left her with more mysterious code to decipher.

"What kind are you? Tall, dark and handsome is usually ignored at Moscow parties?"
She laughed and worked on easing out of the second shoe.

[Dane Gregory]

The dark haired, pale creature in the blue dress moved away from the bar, and Dane openly watched her departure. Aria would have been attractive in such a bright blue dress and ruby red lips. He made note of where she went, and to whom she talked, leaning far aside to track her path. Nobody followed after her. Perhaps she was in attendance stag. That was always a good sign for Dane.

He looked back to Soren, brows raised as he absorbed what was said through his thick accent. Dane suppressed a roll of the eyes, but he did shrug casually. "Yes, Declan always had his nose in a book, or twiddling paintbrushes with his fingers. As children, he liked to dig in the sandbox. I detest sand."


India sparked the first inkling of interest in Dane, however. Dirty and smelly country. He had no desire to see it, but perhaps a hint of snobbery surfaced. He was heir to the title, now. A title that meant nothing but to inflate the ego, but he would accept it none the less. "He died in India? You were there. What happened? How did it happen? I was told nothing but vagaries."

[Hood]

White's attention shifted briefly from the room, even though to a casual glance he didn't really seem to be paying it much attention, and glanced down at Danika for a long moment. Then he flashed a grin and returned his gaze to the room at large. His stance and drifting gaze would have seemed, to most, entirely uninterested to the people around him or what was going on. Which, of course, was entirely his point, especially as he noticed a well dressed, pasty stick of a man that seemed to be a little too interested in his hanger-on.

So, perhaps a sign that someone else recognized her, and that she was indeed someone important. But, there was no indication of recognition in the man's gaze. No, it was something else. A predatory sort of gaze; a man thinking with his penis. He was noted and dismissed, much like the shit-stain 'body guards' that had accompanied other important guests.

"See those guys? The ones comparing the size of their packages?"
He indicated towards a group of those useless bodyguards as they tried to impress the ladies with their cool stares and stolen stories, "Those are the ones these sorts of party-goers talk to."


"I'm the sort that guards the person everyone else wants to talk to at the Moscow parties."
He then indicated towards Nadejda Talanov, whom had gathered a few socialites to her banner, laughing and talking.

[Methos]

There was a lot going on. Bev's sound barrier was working it's magic as the music blared inside the room. And Troy's images of the Aurora Boreallis tickled the ceiling - he'd have to ask after the mechanics of that trick. It might not work so well outdoors.

Methos spied Danika chatting up a bodyguard. She probably felt out of her element here and he probably called to her. There were many high profile people here and a few high end wannabes. Methos didn't care who came to the noise maker parties. He hadn't forgotten the low life he'd come from. Everyone deserved that chance.

The man who'd been making out on his couch stood at the bar with another man. Though he didn't look overly impressed with their conversation.

Methos cast his gaze over the party collecting names and faces of those he knew and remember the faces of those he didn't. A shadow mingled through the crowd. Methos wasn't sure who it was but they shifted and glided with pure elegance. He watched as she moved through the crowd.

[Danika]

Danika wasn't sure of what she was looking at. The group of men across the way were definitely burly, well-dressed, and smart looking. Maybe all the cocktails were fuzzing her mind.

When he finally compared himself to them, she put two and two together. "You're a guard! I see now. Yah I didn't get that before. Can't say I've ever been anywhere where the people have private security guards escorting them places. So you're working right now?"


She wondered who it was he watched tonight. Must be someone important. "Guess I shouldn't try to jump them, then. Huh?"
She winked.

[Hood]

"Gathered that, kid. This isn't your scene. You're too wide-eyed and adorably interested. Honestly, half those sacks wouldn't notice what you were up to till you'd already struck. And the other half probably still wouldn't figure it out."
Most quickly learned to assume an air of distant boredom or disinterested. In his case, it wasn't an assumed air though; the light show, the music, the company, none of it interested him in the slightest. Just the job, although he doubted Marveet would be stupid enough to try and hit Mr Talanov directly ever again. No, that battle would be fought with lawyers and investment bankers and all that piddly shit.

"So the question now, is how the hell someone like you ended up at one of this Methos fella's fancy parties. I'm told he'll let pretty well anyone in here, but you didn't just waltz in off the street. And I doubt you were hanging out at home getting your pre-drink on before the big party. You're all dolled up, but too bloody innocent and friendly to be a party girl. Celebration probably."
The logic puzzles were a way to keep the mind sharp; deductive reasoning was important, and piecing together the puzzle, no matter how mundane it might be, was a good way of understanding the big picture. The more you could learn of your mark, the better your chance of killing them, or forcing them to do what you needed them to do. Not that that sort of motivation really applied anymore.

He'd gathered she was already had a few drinks down range. Probably not at the party, considering how much trouble she had getting a drink from the bar tender. Nor did she seem the type to pre-drink at home or at a pre-party. That was a trick to save money, and loosen inhibitions before hitting the big show.

So she was probably at a bar, or more likely a club, before the party. And had been with, or met, someone there that had brought her to Methos' party. But whomever had brought her had, apparently, cut her loose once they had arrived. Either because they were a self-absorbed cock-bag and forgot the pretty little fish in favor of a bigger catch, or because they were confident she would do fine on her own.

He surveyed the room again; it was only a small glimpse of the party-goers present; the party spanned the entire damn floor after all. He recognized Methos, only from what he had read about the fellow once he had learned that Miss Talanov wanted to attend the man's party. Something seemed to have caught the man's eye, but White couldn't quite spy what, or more likely whom, it was due to the crowd, at least for the moment.

[Danika]

She sipped her water. The place seemed awful safe. Wondered what he was looking for when he looked around.

But kid!? She scoffed. "I'll have you know I am a well respected and famous scientist."
She friend a big, toothy smile. He was right this was not her scene. She even had to go shopping just to buy something suitable to get into Manifesto.

"But maybe this is my bachelorette party?"
She waggled her brows at him. "And maybe the strippers will show up next."
She poked him on the arm, (oh my he had nice arms) feeling far too friendly than she would if not for all the Galaxies at Manifesto.

"Wouldn't you be surprised then! Besides. I'm not adorable. I'm sophisticated as hell."
She nodded.