tampered | OPEN; On Turning Nineteen

OPEN; On Turning Nineteen

When; Evening, November 17th
Rating; PG
Characters;

miss_waldorf and guests
Summary; Birthday soiree over at the penthouse.
Log;

When Blair turned sixteen, she wanted to be seventeen so she could seal the deal with Nate. Then when she turned seventeen, she wanted to be eighteen so she would be legal (not that she needed license to drink or that she would ever drive). Then when she turned eighteen, she wanted to be a proper lady, a 21st-century Grace Kelly with Hepburnian charm. But now that she is turning nineteen... she wants to turn around and grow younger instead.

After all, even the very Eleanor Waldorf said that she will never be more beautiful or thin or happy than she was before this. Apparently, it all goes downhill from here.

Blair doubts she is any thinner now than she was when she had the metabolism of a sixteen-year-old, but these days she doesn't recoil as much from the mirror. On good days, she can even watch herself eat without feeling sick to the bone. As for being happy, she bets that despite wearing black, she must be glowing from the inside like Chinese lanterns Love is what it's called. She must look so much like her mother does when her stepfather is around. She has found her very own Cyrus now, and with hair to boot.

So this birthday still calls for celebration. Tall white candles have been placed all over the penthouse although half lights keep the room from being too dark. A long dining table has been set with sixteen assigned chairs placed around it. Blair and Serena sit on either ends of it. Clockwise from Blair are Dorian Gray, Gabriel Sylar, Blue, Kanda Yuu, James Wilson, Arthur Pendragon, Peter Pevensie, Serena, Caspian, Peter Petrelli, Tony Foster, Sam Witwicky, Thom Reston, Faith Lehane, Rosella, and Blair again.

Eat heartily, converse with those beside and across you or declare a toast or two with the '95 vintage Krug.

[ ooc; if talking to a specific person or declaring a toast for everyone to respond to, simply indicate~ I'll be stalking all threads so Blair should be able to reply when mentioned. Also, feel free to play out any events after dinner. ]

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Dorian Gray understands parties.

This one is pretty enough, the guests intriguing to look at. One definite advantage that this particular place has over his own home is the definite proliferation of rather beautiful people, and Blair seems to cultivate an assortment of them. He knows some of the people at the table; Rosella, Caspian, and Faith, and he's being more polite than he usually is at these sort of events, gauging the atmosphere before he acts on anyone.

He would especially like to act on the girl sitting at his right hand.

Instead he leans back into his chair and watches. His brown suit is in a dark, rich tone, and is cut appropriately for the modern age, but the tailoring is exquisite. Dorian Gray has excellent taste, no one can fault him for that.

It used to be that Blair recruited the prettiest people with the richest and most powerful fathers to be her loyal minions. But power is very arbitrary in the City, and money doesn't matter much when there is no one to impress, but being beautiful is still a status symbol. As a wise man once said, beauty is a form of genius --higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation.

Had Dorian mentioned his observation, it would have taken a moment for Blair to realize the truth in his comment. The people at her table were all strikingly attractive in one way or another, but that was of no conscious effort of hers --although she might have unconsciously refused to talk to ugly people. It was unintentional, of course, she did talk to the likes of Dan and Nelly Yuki for a time, didn't she?

Taking a sip of her champagne, she notices her guest leaning back from the table. "I hope the party hasn't grown too dull for you, Mr. Gray."

As requested, Peter arrived earlier in purple (http://i34.tinypic.com/2ibzqzc.jpg)--not knowing the coincidences this City has landed him with by putting him in this particular suit with a better and solid tie-- alongside Caspian X who went with a hunter green or something like that. Still seated, he glances down the length of the table now and then at the various attendees. Those he knows, he nods at or smiles or both, and all of this over the rim of a wine glass and never mind the matter of age. It does somehow manage to irk and amuse him all at once that Blair is a nineteen to his eighteen, and it is a silly thing to squander over, so he doesn't, but it can't be helped in the noting of it. This happens when a person ages down and has to not only age up again but watch others do so as well, knowing that once, once, he might have been too old to show up to this affair without sticking out rather pointedly. The gift (http://i33.tinypic.com/wmmknq.jpg) he brought for one Blair Waldorf is one that he is not sure of at all, mostly because he is not sure of Blair herself except for that he knows she houses a most discerning eye for the things she does or does not like. Fair enough, and even fairer as it is her event, but a person does tend to hope when giving a gift that the recipient will like it, one way or another.

Sipping wine is less about the wine for the High King and more about the time that can be found as extra if someone addresses him in order to respond, or simply in adding to the illusion of not being quite as idle as he really suspects he is. A bit restless, and no one's fault just the way of it, he pushes back from the table after a while longer, it having occurred to him that he prefers to tell the host a happy birthday face to face rather than down the long line of table between them, or otherwise. It is a party of course, and he does not altogether believe he will make it to her without running into someone else along the way there or on the way back to his seat, but unlike a multitude of events in his white marbled past, he is not trying to evade anyone. All eyes, metaphorically, are on Blair, and that is one of the most pleasant things about this particular party. She seems to, as usual, exude a well cultivated sureness and he can respect that as much as recognize it.

He hopes she is having fun though, and not just watching things with pretty but critical eyes. A birthday ought to be enjoyed, after all, especially one's own.

A simple sentiment? Yes, but it's also an honest one and he stands by it--or walks, rather, toward her end of the table.

Dorian takes a sip of his drink and turns to Blair, a fond, almost cat with the canary smile curling his lips. He likes Blair. He thinks she's pretty, if a little bit over-American, but that cannot be helped. She certainly has a way with people that he admires, to an extent. However there is something brittle about her, something he cannot describe but that he knows truly if he were to squeeze hard enough she would break.

He's almost curious to see if he could manage it. No one in London thinks of Dorian Gray as a particularly cruel man, but he can be, cruel and careless. But at the party he is on his best manners, so his smile turns a bit sweeter. "Perhaps a little bit quiet, but I'm sure it will liven up quickly." He turns very carefully to look at her, and his smile is now charming, the kind of smile that Wotton would take as a signal to distract Blair's chaperon, if such a thing existed in this City, in this era.

"Perhaps you'll take a walk with me, or a dance, after dinner has concluded." He raises his wine glass to his lips. "I could tell you all manner of things about London society. Here, even, if you wish, although I hope you're not disappointed. It seems that the social life for ladies here is much more exciting than back in London."

Blue is, as usual, in blue; a light blue that he always wears, not a dark blue, and not a suit. Blue doesn't dress up very often, so he just wore his usual vest and shirt combo with a pair of slacks instead of jeans and a small, silver trumpet pin in one buttonhole.

He spotted his friend almost right away and he can almost see the restlessness, and he doesn't blame Peter. Usually Blue is part of the entertainment part of a party, and he doesn't always do his best when it comes to being a guest, but he's polite enough, and when Peter looks free for a moment he sidles up to the High King of Narnia.

"You know, you don't look so bad in purple," Blue says with a slight smile, and it's true. He has a glass of champagne and he swirls it a bit before he takes a sip. Blue doesn't drink very often, for all that he owns a bar, mostly because when he gets drunk he tends to do things like plan the single-handed invasion of the Homelands and then carry out his plans. But at a party, he can handle one or two glasses of something. He holds his alcohol well, the Fable.

Rosella likes parties, and she likes birthdays, and she very much likes Blair; put them all together, and it will undoubtedly produce an evening she's going to enjoy. It's great fun, she thinks, to look around the table and see all the guests in their rainbow of colors, with Blair glittering like a star at the table's head. She's quite pleased with her own pink (http://i669.photobucket.com/albums/vv60/Fortunes_Wings/Polychromatic/New-Pink-Prom-Dress-3.jpg) dress, an attempt at compromise between Blair's standards of fashion and her own; still, it's clear that no one is outshining Blair tonight, and really, that's as it should be.

She knows quite a few of the other guests present, though she'd be lying if she said she weren't a bit surprised to see some of them seated around the table with her. Still, Sam is here, and Blue, and Caspian and Tony and the mysterious Dorian Gray--and indeed, it's nice that he and Caspian have been put in different colors tonight, since it makes it so much easier to tell them apart at a glance--so while she may be surprised, she's hardly uncomfortable.

And so she sits, sipping her drink and occasionally fiddling with the necklace dangling from her neck--the magic one is still being repaired, and it's odd to go without it, so she can't quite help but toy with the unfamiliar weight (or lack thereof) of the one she's wearing--and chatting amiably with anyone that might happen by.

Sylar is on his very best behavior tonight. Obviously pleased to be here, he watches everyone at the party with a sharp eye- but not so sharp as to be misconstrued as dangerous. He's been trying to get better with that whole ominous aura thing.

So he's sitting back in his chair, wearing one of the more comfortable suits (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v76/CuteDestruction/PurpleSuit1.jpg) he's had in awhile. It's odd wearing a color other than black or grey, but the purple is so dark, it almost might as well be black.

He had brought a gift (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v76/CuteDestruction/skeleton.jpg)- a Pierrot skeleton watch. Well- technically his own creation, but it was based off that design. He'd included several different colors of facings in the box- he'd have to install those himself, but a variety of color never hurt, as this party practically exemplified.

He smiles over at Blair from his seat, hoping she's enjoying herself as much as it seems. It's truly a beautiful evening, if nothing else.

"Hello," says the Telmarine with a smile to the lady in pink.

It is after the main dinner because while they were at the table Rosella was a whole five people down to his left. That made for no conversation at all with the princess during the feast but just as well because it's very rude to talk with one's mouth full. So now Caspian dressed in his hunter green leans to one side of her, glass of some kind of spirit, wine maybe, in his hand. He is not intoxicated though, hardly. Hardly yet.

As assigned, Caspian X appears in green (http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b117/ACXchan/2cdzlg4.jpg) that might hold a subtle shimmer when one looks this way instead of that way under the light. His gift to Blair is, like Peter's, a piece of jewelry, a bracelet (http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b117/ACXchan/35130081_plum.jpg) to be exact. Its origin is unknown to him other than having picked it up at one of the jewelers in the City, something something Prorsum. Either way, name has little significance to this king because his palate is geared towards beauty and quality, both of which the plum colored bracelet has in spades. But gift giving aside, the party itself is wonderful, not too big but hardly small with the amount of guests invited. He is well-acquainted with the blond across from him, the blond to the right of him, and the brunette to the left of him, not to mention eight or so others. Caspian makes conversation where he can, always smiling and never one to shy from socializing, at least when he isn't the host. Whether at the table or on his feet around the penthouse he intends to make the most of the evening.

From the corner of his eye, Peter spots Blue, so named and dressed though this is not unusual. A smile almost to the surface, it finds itself replaced by a curious arch of a brow.

"I don't look so bad," he iterates back, emphasizing the last two words with tone and a tilt of his head before letting that smile escape him after all. "I suppose I can live with that," his decision is more another recognition of the casual air between them, a joke that likely has as much to do with Blue knowing Peter's reaction first was probably to blanch at the color selections. Honestly he would have preferred something darker, preferably close to black, but that would have encroached on someone else's assigned and singular palette. It should come as no surprise to anyone who knows him--not that many people, admittedly--that he thinks of his somewhat strict sticking to the rule to be nothing short of good sportsmanship, or the equivalent. Again, it is not his own party, but Blair's and the minor preference for this person to be this color and that person to be that color is just that--minor--and it pains him nothing to wear it in public. That much is true. Whether he likes it or not, well, that's something entirely different, but of course it is. When isn't it?

"Anyway you look quite at home," and he means again their apparel, not so much the setting, but Blue can read it either way. Some of it has to do with how Peter, even if he had not been told, might be able to read something of years forever invisible on his blond friend's form. Granted it is not that adults have superior airs--sometimes far from it--but that it is still quite different, something noticeable to one familiar, and Peter is. Very. He pauses before adding, "I had no idea...on what to get for her, that is."

The look he sends Blue is not quite long suffering but speaks of staring for a long time in shops he did not want to be in for a girl who is neither his sister, nor a very close companion, but a mediocre gift for Blair would not have done. That is what he reminded himself of while looking, not in the way of wanting to equal the one she presented him with, but in wanting to invest time into something she might actually enjoy. She did not have to love it, or so he told himself when purchasing, and even now he stands by it for the most part, but it would be nice if she did. Peter does so dislike the idea of gifts that just sit around because one does not know what to do with them or what the giver was thinking when getting it for them.

If this was anybody else's birthday, Faith would have bailed by now. The whole... fancy dinner party thing makes her feel wicked awkward, she's stuck in a room mostly full of she's never met, and she's wearing a freaking dress. She was just going to wear the dress Blair got her, but Sylar convinced her it wasn't purple. (She's pretty goddamn sure it's purple, but whatever. Rich people are fucked up.) Blair better like the one she's wearing because after one full afternoon of hell and bitchy salespeople, she's never going into those stores again.

There's not really a unit of measurement for how much she'd rather be out for burgers and beer with Eddie, but she owes Blair. Hell, she likes Blair, so she can just gut it out while feeling stupid and out of place for a couple hours.

...But apparently not with a smile on her face, so anyone foolhardy enough to try and approach a severely uncomfortable looking Slayer will first have to brave the stoneface she's rocking.

[ooc: /Jedi hand wave That dress is purple, I swear. YOU SAW NOTHING.]

Edited 2009-11-18 00:11 (UTC)

Blue raises his own eyebrow in a semi-teasing response, if only because it is so predictably obvious that both of them are a little unsure about their presence there, although Blue is friends with Blair, he did not think so of the blond King.

Perhaps Blair is simply attracted to Peter's position of power, his friendship with Caspian, his looks and his demeanor. While Blue does not know about Peter's courtier fanclub, he does know that there are people who frequent the Blue Light only to sit in a corner and watch the High King at work. And there is a certain grace and charm, an ease that Peter does everything with, but he is certainly not a man who is easy to befriend, if he does not want to be bothered. But all the same, Blue finds Peter a bit of a kindred soul. They are both, in a manner, too old for their bodies and their faces. Blue supposes it is a blessing that he does not really know his body when it is older, whereas Peter does.

"I got to wear my favorite color," Blue points out, a grin blooming over his face. "But then Blair knows better than to try and put me in anything. I make faces if she does. I'm very good at it." Blue does have an arsenal of faces that he can use if the need arises, if he wants to guilt someone into giving him his way. He does not do it often. "Did you end up getting her a gift? I just wrote her a song. I'm terrible at gift-giving."

That wasn't precisely true. It's just that Blue's gifts turned out to be pieces of himself, and the only bits of himself that remain are the ones that he can't afford to give away yet, not to Blair, not to anyone.

It was indeed a shame that she'd been sitting too far away from Caspian during dinner to engage him in conversation, but thankfully, now that dinner is over, there are no such restrictions. And it's always such a pleasure to see him--he really does look good in green--that she can't keep a smile off her face when he leans in next to her.

"Good evening, Caspian," Rosella answers cheerfully, flashing him a bright grin. "You look quite dashing tonight. Are you enjoying yourself?"

Blair and Peter have a common tie in one Serena van der Woodsen, but beyond that there is also the new King of Narnia. Going beyond other people and straight to the two of them, the High King couldn't tell the bar owner why he was invited, and maybe the first two are a collective enough reason. He does consider the Manhattan girl a good acquaintance and someone he would stop things for if she needed help or even did so little as to requesting his presence for this or that reason. Not friends, quite, but how many people in this City are friends? This is not a criticism on their own closeness at least, but a verifying of where they do and do not stand, and the eldest Pevensie feels confident that Blair is well read enough in the ways of behavior to know it too. They give gifts and may be called upon, but this is not the sort of event one reserves only for those one would tell one's deepest secrets to. No, so on that point, perhaps it is a non-issue.

"Yes I see that," he nods, bemused at the statement before his friend expertly renders said faces in a flip-book quality he knows well, enough to garner a laugh and he is a little surprised to hear it himself, but it's easy to go with it where Blue is concerned. Pausing for breath before answering, he runs fingers through his hair--not particularly done because what does one do with short hair, but washed and decent as ever it is, which is damn well sufficient for him. "A necklace," he replies bluntly, not supposing the surprise is necessary or fun for anyone but the receiver and then he sort of tilts his glance. "I doubt that, but a song is a better gift than things people buy...well, if one is musically minded," and here he makes a face as if to say people who are not simply have no business giving songs or anything else musical for that matter as a gift in the first place. And really? They don't.

Blue shrugs a little. "I'm Fortune's favorite son," he explains, as if that's reason enough. For centuries that's what it was; reason enough for everything. Everyone else slogged in the rain and Blue miraculously was needed in the medical carts. Everyone else got sick from the stew that Blue hadn't eaten because he got there a second too late to get any and had to eat apples instead. Peter got assigned a horrible color, and Blue stayed in blue.

The faces probably did help, though.

"Oh, well I'm sure she'll like it," he points out, and looks towards the small pile of gifts. "And if you wanted to I'm sure you could have given her a song. Or commissioned one, I don't know. But there is hope for you yet." Blue, you see, like a majority of the City, had not heard the High King actually sing. And Blue has a kind of reassuring optimism about musical talent. While he knows that not everyone has any, he also feels that everyone can have some.

At least given the proper guidance.

"And you are breathtaking, Rosella," he smiles in kind while skirting around her...skirting to stand in front of her. It is a lovely dress and quite fitting for Rosella. Caspian can easily see her gliding down a floor inlaid with marble, mosaic, and gold. If only the men were afforded such luxury. Caspian has familiarized himself with the modern suit but nothing beats a tunic, breeches, and other such finery in brocades and intricate seams. "I am, are you? I feel like you have been within reach but so far all night," he adds with faux theatrics.

A year ago, she wouldn't have dreamed of leaving the house in a dress like this, much less attended any sort of formal event in one. And really, she still does prefer her court dress over all the other gowns she's worn in her time here. But living in the City means a world of new possibilities, and she's slowly but surely growing accustomed to the modern standards of fashion.

Speaking of which, now that Caspian has shifted position, she can better appreciate just how fine he does look. It's modern, of course, but the outfit suits him--and yes, she does appreciate the pun.

Still, she can't help but laugh at his theatrics, feeling her cheeks grow a bit warm at the line he delivers. "Well, you certainly seem to have reached me now! And I'm having a wonderful time. It's fun to see all the colors, isn't it? Put us all together and we make a whole rainbow."

"I don't know about that," he laughs quietly, more than aware of manners that call for not laughing at other guests. "Although it is true rainbows are best after a slow shower," and with this remark Caspian points out Peter Pevensie in purple and Peter Petrelli in yellow. Both men while certainly in good enough spirits have demonstrated how they aren't too thrilled to be in their respective colors. A pity too because they wear them well. The overall effect is that of a cloud that wishes to be gloomy yet fails to be anything but endearing.

Admittedly, there are worse colors to spend a night in than pink--particularly if one happens to be a girl. Rosella isn't entirely sure how Blair came to assign the colors she did to the people she did, but she does suspect that at least one had been intended as a prank. And judging from the two guests Caspian has just pointed out, she's not the only one with those questions and suspicions. Which is a pity, really, since they do look rather fine, albeit a bit unusual. But if that was how Blair wanted it, then that was how Blair ought to have it, since it is her birthday, after all.

"And really, they make the clouds and showers seem worth it, in the end," she agrees. "But of course, that's easy for me to say, isn't it?"

Sylar leaves her alone for a few moments to introduce himself around, but he quickly gravitates towards Faith again. He has no problem approaching her when she's looking uncomfortable.

"You look amazing, you know," he says, announcing his presence behind her. He puts an arm around her for just a moment, a possessive gesture that he hasn't quite gotten over since the Sadie Hawkins curse. "It looks like there's lots of food on the way," he adds, with a small smile. Between the two of them, they could probably put a restaurant out of business, so lots of food is definitely a good thing.

Sylar looks comfortable here, but he doesn't really fit. It's mostly camouflage, but he manages it well. His mother would be proud (and is, during those rare times that he talks to her). Still, he does stick closer to Faith than usual, wanting the comfort of someone who knows him better.

"For you and me," he says in agreement with Rosella, not afraid to laugh again and really he's spent all night sitting next to the lemon and across from the grape. Caspian also happens to know the grape very well and is on friendly terms with the lemon. In this sense, the young king thinks it's harmless to poke or prod at their expense, especially when they don't look that bad.

"Your draw," in reality it was no draw at all, "suits you well, regardless of ease."

It's a good thing Caspian hasn't offered those particular distinctions out loud, lest Rosella decide to term him "the lime" and make them three of a kind. Or perhaps the two of them together make a watermelon, pink and green. Or perhaps she'd just be enjoying the naming game a bit too much, so really, it's likely better off that he hasn't mentioned them, after all.

She's glad she got pink, though. She would've been happy with most any color Blair might've assigned her, but having pink made her especially so.

"Thank you, I'm glad you think so!" she answers, fiddling a bit with the skirt of the dress as she enjoys his compliment. "I'd have been happy with most anything, really, but I do have to admit that pink is one of my favorites."

Faith is perfectly happy to let Sylar do the gladhanding thing by himself while she glowers in a corner. She's only here because Blair asked her to be, and anyone else would have gotten jeans, fuck the dress code. But B gets a little more room, so she's here. Doesn't mean she has to kiss up to people she doesn't know.

"I look wicked stupid, Gabe." She crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head, hair brushing across the arm he wraps around her shoulders. She contains the urge to bridle at the casual possessiveness, and just rolls her eyes a little instead, letting his arm rest on her without a fight until he pulls it away. "There better be, I'm not wearing this freaking thing for no reason." This time the eyeroll is obvious. "Swear to God, that other one was purple too. I don't get the big deal."

Faith's perfectly happy to stick close, as well. Other than Dorian and that other guy who looks just like him-- maybe later she'll ask him how his jailbait is, just because sharing the misery is what Faith does-- she only knows two people. And anybody who's into this scene isn't exactly her kind of people. Too much money, too much breeding. She's from Southie; this party's Beacon Hill shit. Simple as that.

"...your confidence is seen through a friend's filter, I think," he smiles, but it lacks the sense of someone dismissing one's comment, only sounds as a genuine sentiment. Shaking his head with the smile ebbing, he shrugs a little, glancing around. Everyone, whether enjoying their colors or not, is dressed, as they say, to the nines, and Blair does know how to throw a party.

"And I still think it was the faces more than being anyone's favorite," is the dry follow-up, but there is laughter beneath this too and it speaks well to the understood companionship between the two blonds, begun almost a year ago.

"How are you?" he inquires, a simple question that never earns a simple answer, but Peter would not be satisfied with a 'simple' one anyway, because he does not believe feelings are that basic. People are made of nuances. That's what makes asking so important between those who care.

"We were supposed to match, and look- we are." He raised his eyebrows, smiling at her. He knows better than to bait her about her looks. She won't believe him. "Purple's not really my color either, Faith, but I think we pull it off nicely."

He takes another look at her and then leans in to add, "We can go Underground and mess up these nice clothes after the party, if you'd like. It's been awhile since we sparred, hasn't it?" A few days, anyway. "I'm betting I can go fifteen minutes before you pound my face in." Maybe some violence would help distract her from her uncomfortableness.

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OPEN; On Turning Nineteen

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To Dorian;

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