Logs:Party Foul

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Party Foul
Dramatis Personae

Fiona, Heath, and Eve. Nacho as GM.

3 July, 2008


A supposedly fancy gathering takes a turn for the weird.

Location

Halekulani Hotel, Waikiki, Honolulu

Plot(s)

Plot:The Happy (Eco) Warriors


The Halekulani Hotel is one of the swankier places in Waikiki -- and one of the more expensive. Therefore, it isn't generally known for its accessibility to all comers. Tonight, however, it's hosting a beach party, and while one still had to buy tickets, one could probably have scored them some way or other that didn't involve paying the full price. Or maybe one just payed the full price.

Either way, it's pretty busy at the moment. There's a private beach area that's cordoned off from the rest so people can't just wanted by too close, and a dance floor has been placed over it. There's a very well-stocked outdoor bar on the side, and the affair spills into the restaurant, too -- La Mer, in case anyone's keeping track.

Nacho is there, of course, and while he has done much of the preparations of the food, he's also supervising the wait staff, some of whom are just for this occasion, and because of this may need some...well, extra supervising. He's currently conversing with one of them in low tones, a waitress who has the right look in terms of her face and attire, but maybe not her expression, which seems a little nervous.


A party where she doesn't have to tend the bar is a good one in Fiona's book. She definitely didn't pay for her ticket but had one "tipped" to her from some man who didn't have enough cash to pay for his drink *and* the tip. Fiona accepted it without much intention of going to the soiree, but it turns out, she has the night off and nothing better to do, so she's here. Alone, which makes for some awkward moments, since she doesn't know many people here and, let's face it, she's not the social butterfly.

She's near the bar, sipping a drink that's a vibrant shade of pink. She's in a creamy white cocktail dress that sets off her naturally tan skin; her hair has a bit of a wave in it that it normally doesn't at work, and her makeup is... well, she's wearing makeup, which is something she doesn't always do on the job. She might even, at a glance, look like a different person altogether -- one who is making an effort rather than trying to slide into the shadows.


When the brand new, shimmering, black, Bentley rolled up in front of the Halekulani, it was the driver's door that opened to reveal a man wearing all black, and when he stepped out, the fact that it was an actual cheuffer's uniform, complete with a cap, became apparent. He moved to the back door directly behind the driver's seat and opened it, standing and holding it as the occupant seated on that side of the vehicle came out. As it would turn out, the first out of the car was Eve.

A long set of legs escaped the confines of the car first, feet covered in a set of black heels that looked long enough to use as an ice pick, or a scraping device for an inner skull itch. As Eve came to standing, a silken, almost transparent skirt slinked its way along her legs, loosely and flowing, til it hit nearly to her ankles at the hem and rode low on her hips. For a top, a black, one piece bathing suit that looked pretty damn brief considering it was all one piece. Her entire back was bare, all the way down to just above her rear where the skirt rested at the very end of the curve of her lower back. The front top of her swimsuit was simply two, wide triangular strips of fabric that stretched up over her breasts, leaving a central V of flesh open to expose the inner curve of her breasts, all the way down to her belly button. While the two strips of black fabric did tie at the back of her neck, the sides of the fabric didn't cover much either, and left most of her sides exposed along with hints of side-boob as she moved.

Looking over the top of the car once her door was shut, Eve waited til the driver ran around the front of the car and opened the other rear, passenger seat, calling out softly. "Oh, grab the tickets, Heath darling. I left them in the back pocket of the seat!" She ran a hand back along the side of her head, assuring herself that the absolutely smooth finish of her sleeked back hair was complete. Sure enough, the tightly braided bun at the base of her skull didn't have a single hair out of place. Along with her ruby red lips and the stark line of her black lashes and smokey eyes, Eve's pale, silken skin almost looked like a smooth, blank canvas waiting for color. "Bar first." She stated, after she was satisfied with her hair's texture.


Heath rode out of the back of the bentley. The man is decked in a pair of black and tan prehistoric fish vilebrequin trunks, white and pick cherry blossom patterned Hawaiian shirt, and a pair of deck shoes that could have been someone's morgage payment. The man snorted as he patted his breast pocket, a broad grin talking over his features. "The essentials are here, m'lady. And Jesus Christ, you are thoroughly owning the sort of hourglass that makes me want to flip it over and watch it drain out slowly. I'm hitting the bar... Too much blood in the alcohol system." Making a clicking sound with his mouth, he strode to catch up with Eve, offering the crook of his arm. "I already forgot why we're here, but fuck it, I'll make sure they never forget." The man sniffed the air again, pulling his shades down over his eyes.


Whatever has been said by Nacho gets a nod from the waitress, and she's sent on her way, tray in hand to the bar. Nacho turns away then to greet some people who are here, smiling and shaking their hands and generally doing what he does best, which is clearly precisely this.

The bartender, happily for us, is quite fast, and soon he's gotten to Fiona. "What can I get for you, Miss?" he asks her with a bright smile, the kind of smile that belongs on the front of a catalogue of university courses, as does the rest of his clean-cut look. None of that is worth noting, perhaps, except that maybe to make our nameless NPC worthy of a tip.

There's a waterfall of sorts that has been set up on one side of the dance floor, and things are being projected on it in coordination with the music that's being played. It shifts right as Eve and Heath enter to a music video -- Everything by Mary J. Blige. The actual music that's being played is a sped-up, danced-up version of it, but it still gets cheers for its Hawaii scenes.


Fi sets down her newly emptied glass on the bar top and smiles at the bartender. "How about a Blue Hawaii?" she asks. May as well go with the tropical theme, right? That and she trusts him to be able to make it -- mixed sweet drinks taste decent even if the combination is wrong, unlike more complex and less sugary cocktails. She glances over at the waterfall/projection screen when the cheer goes up for the song and video choice. She also notices the duo of Heath and Eve entering nearby, but she doesn't call out or wave them down; instead, she simply waits for her drink to be made. Sadly, there's no flairtending so it's fairly boring to watch.


Eve chuckled darkly, less a laugh and more a huffing of breath with a smile, and slid her arm through the crook of Heath's elbow. "Your silver tongue is going to get you into trouble. That should be fun to watch tonight. I like the shirt, reminds me of that stained glass window that used to be in your father's house in Naples." The woman was well over 6' in her heels, pushing to closer on 6'6" really, and she walked with the shorter Heath without so much as shortening her long-limbed stride. Listening to the music, a small, slash of a smile curled at the edges of her ruby red lips and she cocked her head to the side. "Ah, the classics." The air of irony on her voice was unlikely to be mistaken from anything else. Once Eve spotted the bar, she happily beelined that way along with her escort, the razor's edge of her smile softening to something more akin the real thing when she spotted Fiona at the bar. "Well Aloha and oh my, a night off and still forcing yourself to stay at a bar, dear Fiona?" She greeted the woman when they were closer, giving a soft nod of her head to Fi and a wink. "Not that I would have it any other way, though it's a pity you aren't here to critique other bartenders, we might get some more loosely poured drinks." She lifted her chin to the bartender and smiled smally "A bourbon, lemon, and ice." Then she glanced at Heath and raised a brow. "I don't remember either, but I had the tickets.. And I had the swimsuit. There's nothing wrong with a little benefit in between our benefits, especially if a bit of night swimming's involved, hmm?" She hadn't spotted the waitstaff much yet, or Nacho giving instructions, but the bar.. well. The bar had her full attention for the moment.


Heath rolled his tongue in his mouth, "If this tongue doesn't drop for the thirty pieces of silver kind of trouble, I'm doing something horribly wrong." The man got a puzzled look as the music changed. "Classic indeed. I'm not sure if they dug this one from a Nazi art vault or Tyler Perry's 10 disc-changer. I should have brought some prostitutes, easier to get the skinny dipping started." The man made took a deep breath as he neared the bar, "Open bar or otherwise, we'll be fine." The man held a self-satisfied smirk as he offered a nod to Fiona, "Don't worry, I find my proximity to the alcohol improves on mood too." The man paused to glance of the attendees of the party, sorting out if he actually recognized anyone.


The bartender's moves may be boring, but to Fiona's trained eye they are competent, and the drink that he sets in front of her tastes pretty good, with a good amount of alcohol in it. He gets Eve's in short order, as well, then looks toward Heath. "Sir?" he asks solicitously, just as the man turns away briefly to make his assessment of the guests.

It's just then that the waitress comes out from behind the bar again, her tray laden with drinks. She starts to walk by the trio toward the tables set up next to the dance floor, when suddenly she stumbles. Or something. Whatever the case, a second later the drinks -- a beer and some kind of highball -- end up in Heath's lap. At least the shirt is spared. "Oh my god," she exclaims, wide eyed, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" She cuts a glance toward where Nacho had been standing, and then says, "I'll get you a towel! I'm so sorry." She turns then to start hurrying away.

Nacho has glanced back just in time to see this mini-disaster, and he winces, the smile on his face getting a tiny bit tighter. He starts to make his way over there too, but it takes him a second as he's stopped by someone else. He doesn't stay and chat, but it takes up a second or two.


"Look who's here, the Vicomte and the Marquise," Fiona teases. "You're missing your Uma Thurman, though." That must be Conni. "Being served is definitely different than having to serve, so it still counts as a day off. Plus I get to pretend I'm one of the shiny people, like you." The last might be spoken a bit wryly, but it's hard to tell. She does smile, at least!

When the waitress comes their way and stumbles, Fiona frowns, jumping up to grab a couple of napkins for Heath, and then looking at the waitress as she moves to get the towel. Fi's head tips slightly, curiously, then in the direction she looked, toward Nacho. "What'd you trip on?" she asks the waitress curiously. "Make sure the flooring's secure." That is *definitely* said a little wryly. She glances Heath's way. "You know her, maybe forget to call her?" she asks with a smirk.


Eve took a moment to look Fiona over, eyes taking in and measuring everything about the woman, as if she were deciding whether to purchase her. After a moment, Eve nodded surely and gave Fiona the smile of a wolf, dressed up like a shark. "I'd do you. And you look beyond scrumtuous in white, it does fantastic things for that caramel skin of yours." If Eve had been another woman, she might have done something tacky and licked her lips, instead, she just gave Fi a wink and reached over to pick up her drink off the bartop. "Mahalo, young man." She offered the gratitude to the bar tender and turned to Heath.

Of course, she turned just in time to see Heath get a lapful of drinks he hadn't ordered. "Did you start the wet T-shirt contest early? Usually those don't happen until the after party, darling." She looked at the waitress with mirth in her eyes as she spoke, despite the fact that the poor girl ran off like she was afraid of lighting on fire. "Oooh, poor dear. Maybe it's her first night. Maybe she's pregnant and scared to lose a job." She stared after the waitress for a moment before she tore her dove gray eyes away from her and looked back to Heath. "Do you need my skirt, darling?" She made the offer without a second thought, reaching to her waist band to unfasten the top of it. As Nacho approached, looking a little tight lipped, Eve gave him a wide, dangerous smile that flashed white teeth so very evident against the red lips. "I hope your waitress is alright, it's damning to self-confidence to trip over nothing like that."


Heath stand there as the drinks were spilled on him, slipped Eve off the crook of his arm so she was doused either. The man was extremely composed as he spoke. "Honey, the only thing you have to apologize for is if that beer doesn't have gold flakes in it. It doesn't, but that's not your fault, there's no excuse for terrible taste." The man held up two fingers for the bartender, "Rule of two here: two towels, two club sodas, two doubles of scotch to soothe the ego." Holding his hand up to Fiona, gesturing her to pause, "You want to pull off a shine, let people work and stay clear." Taking a deep breath, he watched the waitress dart off, narrowing his eyes behind his spade as he tracked the waitress rear, "I don't think so, but it's not impossible."


The bartender looks pretty mortified, too -- but also relieved. At least it wasn't him, right? "Yes, sir," he says with a quick nod, "right away." And to his credit, he gets it all onto the bar for Heath almost before Nacho can get all the way over there to them. Not quite, though. "It really is," Nacho says in response to Eve, with an apologetic smile of his own. "I once dropped an entire tray full of dishes on a marble floor in the Governor's mansion." If he's picked up on any underlying tone beneath her words, he doesn't show it. He just looks to Heath, and continues, "I'm so sorry about that. Can I get any of you anything?" He shifts his gaze to include Fiona in the address.


"Oh, I don't want to, actually, other than pretending once in a while. I prefer to be among the matte and understated," says Fi to Heath, taking another sip of her Hawaiian. "If the club soda doesn't get it out, soak it in some vodka at home. The cheap stuff makes for a good cleaning supply."

When Nacho comes over to check on Heath, she quiets, letting him give his apologies to Heath. She simply shakes her head at the question posed to the three of them, but the others might need something. Like a pair of pants, in Heath's case.


Eve glanced over at Fi and shook her head. "Nothing wrong with either, they both have their place, and their reasons. Matte or Shiny. It's why I don't only own black shoes, but a plethora." She seemed to still be rather amused by something, if the glimmer in her pale eyes was any indication.

Turning her attention back to Heath, Eve just nodded and left her skirt on, since he didn't need to change. Swim trunks, even $250 swim trunks, were meant to be wet, after all. Giving a brief smile and a glance to the bar tender, she didn't make to help with the clean up, but did a quick check over the supplies handed out before she took a sip of her own bourbon with lemon and ice. Since Nacho had offered, it took Eve a moment to verify that Heath was alright, before she lookd back to the man in charge of the poor, tripping girl. "You could give her a tip from me. I haven't had a good chuckle at Heath's expense for a while." She slipped her fingers into the interior of a slim wrist band she wore that looked far too ornate to be anything but a bracelet, and pulled free a rolled set of bills, peeling one off them off the roll, which turned out to be a $100, she held it out to Nacho. "Just tell her that she made someone smile, would you?"


Heath wore a smirk as the bartender laid out the requested items, knocking back the first double scotch without so much as nose twitch. "It appears my good man here is taking care of." He took the towel and dipped it in the club soda, carefully dabbing on the material of his shorts. "Besides, it sounds like you're a man that understands that a spill doesn't scratch marble." Straightening up, he exchanged the towels, dabbing his that one as well. "Ms. Dasse and I were just discussing what a nice lovely gathering this is." He gestured to Eve, "The generous Ms. Dasse." Stepping back he gestured to Fiona, "And this would be our wildcard of the evening, and I do apologize for not knowing your last name, Fiona."


Nacho's eyebrows raise just slightly at the tip, but he's not so gauche as to gawk over it or anything. He just takes it without looking too hard at the number and slips it into his pocket with a nod. "I'm sure she'll appreciate that," he says, and he inclines his head to each in turn. "Nacho Garay," he says, gesturing to himself. "I'll pass along the compliments to the planner. I can't take credit for the whole thing, just the food and hapless waitstaff." He smiles again, before he says, "Please excuse me. Enjoy the rest of the evening." With that, he turns away and disappears into the crowd again.

It's about twenty minutes later when a waiter, non-clumsy this time, comes over with a plate of various appetizers that seem Hawaiian-inspired, though 'elevated' appropriately for the gathering. Or whatever thit's called. They are not the normal stuff that's being passed around, either. "Compliments of Mr. Garay with apologies," the waiter says. And if they should try them, they are all quite good.


"Chase," Fiona supplies, "but Fiona works fine. I'm a bartender, no one knows my last name. Sometimes not the first, either." There's a small smile though, as Nacho makes his niceties and draws away.

"Whenever I buy shoes in some crazy color, I regret it and end p sticking to the black or silver, myself. Luckily most of what I own is black, so it works," she says to Eve. Today's shoes are in fact silver, strappy sandals.

When the appetizers arrive, she raises a brow. "That was nice of him. Perks of being shiny," she says, taking a sip of her drink (well, okay, her third drink, somewhere in that time there were refills). Her eyes narrow, though, as she looks to the dance floor, before she raises a brow. "There's a weasel on the dance floor," she says, pointing it out. It's a mongoose, but she's not a zoologist, okay? "That sounds like a euphemism," she muses, chuckling a little into her drink.


Eve nodded her head to Nacho and allowed the slight grin to tug at the corner of her rouge-stained lips. "A pleasure, Mr Garay. I'm sure that your food is commendable and that your staff normally performs in a matter worthy of an ovation. Relax, smile, you've done a wonderful job and a girl slipping doesn't reflect badly on you in the slightest." She winked to him before he left, then turned back to Heath and Fiona.

"Chase, what a perfect last name for you, Fiona. I quite like it. And no woman should live without a collection of available black heels, or shoes in general. They are, after all, the one thing you can always count on. You're exactly right with the colors, unless you purposefully have your silks died to match the shoes because you can't live without them. It's a pain otherwise." Eve downed the last of her drink and set the empty glass down onto the bar before ordering herself another drink, this time a top shelf gin and tonic with lemon.

As the appetizers arrived, Eve looked them over curiously and raised a brow. "How kind, Heath, look at these delightful little treats. It reminds me of that fundraiser at the Chelspeth Organization, the one that brought in that chef from Charleston? I think we should at least try them if Mr Garay sent them over." She took one and popped it into her mouth, as.. come on... appetizers at events like this were meant to be one bite. Chewing thoughtfully, fully leaving the waiter there to stand, while she finished, she then took a second ofa different type.

"Mmmm, quite good. You should tell him they're well received, would you?" She asked the waiter, before she put the second flavored morsel in her mouth and turned to look at the dance floor where Fiona had directed her. "Oh my." Naturally, she covered her mouth while she was speaking, because ladies don't speak with their mouth visibly full. When she finally swallowed, she cleared her throat softly. "I'd venture a guess that the poor, fuzzy, fellow's not alone out there, the others are just trapped in suits and ties." Eve plucked up a third, different appetizer while she waited for her new drink and watched the antics on the dance floor.


Heath offered a polite nod to Nacho as he headed back in to mingle and manage. His tongue rolled against his cheek. Upon the arrival of appetizers, Heath plucked off one and slipped it into his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully and swallowing. "Navy and tan are vital colors for footwear. You think you'll never need them, but then it happens." Picking up his scotch, he took a sip of it, his eyes drifting to the dance floor. "It's a shame it isn't a euphemism, I would have thought the party had officially started." Since Eve was holding up the train, Heath took another one of the hors doeuvres. "Chelspeth Organization... I feel like I walked away with a steam tray just to see what they'd do."


"Thank you, I will," the waiter says, and he seems not to have noticed whatever is going on behind him yet. He just walks away, giving a better view to the three at the bar. And indeed, it seems to be not just one mongoose, but a few. More than a couple, less than several. So...three. They dart in and out among the dancers' feet, and one of them crawls up a leg, and another one darts toward Eve, scrambling up over her foot and clinging to the skirt. Its little claws are likely going to rip that to shreds, but at least it doesn't break skin. It jumps off quickly enough, rending yet another hole in the diaphanous material, to go and bother someone else.

Suddenly the music cuts off, and instead there's a very 2008 computer-type voice that drones out, "//TOURISTS GO HOME.//" The waterfall display panel suddenly shows a picture of a sad dolphin in some sort of body of water, as well as a little land mass and a tree sticking out of it. Honestly it looks like it was done in Microsoft Paint, and not all that well. Along the bottom, it says, *RaNEW -- FIGHTING FOR NATURE*


"Well, who doesn't," says Fi wryly to the thought of dying her shoes to match her clothing. When Heath discusses the colors of footwear, she nods as if he's bequeathed them with very sage advice. "I've got a pair of navy Converse and a pair of tan Toms, so I think I'm set on the shoe front." Apparently she's over pretending to be one of the shiny people and is just going to tease them with sardonic comments.

"There's another," she says, pointing to another of the mongooses (mongeese?) just as it makes a break for their trio, climbing up Eve's leg. She's about to wack the thing off to help Eve out when it jumps off again. "Are you okay?" Fiona asks, but then the music cuts off and the terribly rendered motto appears on the water screen. "Middle school activists?" she muses.


Eve grinned darkly, looking back at Heath, her eyes glinting. "Heath. It was definitely the night you took the steam tray. You spent over an hour feeding Jonathan every little bite he could take while he was driving us home in all that traffic. When he finally told you to stop, because he couldn't eat another bite without being sick, you refused. And when he ultimately rolled up the divider window, you threw canapes at the damn thing for the rest of the ride home." She narrowed her eyes slightly. "It was the death of the Rolls, and why I got the Bentley."

Eve had started to turn her head to Fiona, simultaneously reaching for her new drink the bartender had provided, when... calamity. She didn't really have anywhere to escape, and leaping over a bar is something you leave to highly paid actors and bodyguards. So, up her leg came an oversized rodent, clawing through the fabric. "OH! For fuck's sake!" Shock was the primary color in her words, but somehow Eve's crisp, precise American accent didn't even falter when she tossed around loud obscenities. Eve gasped loudly as the fabric of her diaphenous skirt was fairly shredded by small claws, then leaned back against the bar when the creature ran off, taking a solid gulp of her drink.

There was a moment to nod to Fiona when she asked after Eve's status, before Eve blinked and looked at the horrible pictures done by an utter non-professional, and heard the voice over the loud speaker. Just after Fi asked if it was middle school activists at work, Eve took a moment to stare. "Ran. Ew." She scrunched her nose slightly as she said the last word, as her eyes lit up with absolute delight. "Oh, that's hilarious." While most people were likely just staring in shock, Eve let out a lighthearted, completely innocent sounding laugh. It was filled with cheer that shouldn't exist in a jaded person's soul. Almost like her laugh wasn't used often enough to grow up as much as the rest of her had, and it almost made her shimmer with youthful glee. "Oh that's so good..." And she kept laughing, leaning back against the bar, like someone had made a rather excellent joke and she might start slapping her knee.


Heath paused for a moment, nodded and smiled, "It is a game, and Jonathan lost. It wasn't make fault that he's a sore loser. Good times though." Heath's eyebrows raise over his sunglasses, the shit-eating grin that appeared as a mongoose tried to start pole lessons on Eve's leg was priceless. When 'RaNEW' made itself known to the party, the man actually laughed. "Remind me to check the tickets, because you can't get this entertainment just anywhere." Glancing at Fiona, he nodded, "Hundred dollars says its Native Separative Eco-terrorists. Sweet G-d, please say its Native Separative Eco-terrorists." The man crossed his finger before feeding them into his pocket for a hundred and offering it back to the bartender. "Slide me the rest of the bottle of Scotch. I think the party is ending early." He glanced at Eve and smiled, "At this rate, there will be no reason for an after-party."


It's only up for about ten seconds while people -- though not Nacho, who thankfully is not in charge of that portion of the evening -- scramble around to try and salvage...whatever they can. There's laughter coming from the floor as well, which doesn't bode that well for their prospects. After those seconds which must seem agonizing to the organizer, the display just turns off, and other music starts playing. It seems as though the DJ has just plugged an iPod into the stereo. However, Heath's prediction was probably right -- there are a good number of people who've decided that it's not worth it and are on their way out. Hopefully they'll get their money back.