11/2/2004
Logfile from Emma.
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Easily the largest room in the estate, the ballroom is able to accommodate upwards of a hundred fifty people comfortably. The vaulted ceiling rises at least thirty feet off the floor, soaring through the second story of the mansion and reaching for the roof of the building itself.
Black and white marble squares tile the floor in the distinctive design of a chessboard framed by dark stained wood paneling, accented by drapery, ornaments, and along one side, a series of glass doors leading out onto the patio. Abstract but spare patterns in wrought iron hold the glass and provide a feeling of weight and presence to the otherwise perfectly transparently glass. Of course, they are not without their surprises: a switch hidden behind a panel flick the windows to complete opacity at a moments notice, and they are a fair bit thicker than one might expect.
Alcoves nestle in regular intervals along the wall, holding suits of armor and cases of artifacts from the history of the Hellfire Club. Above them, small projections in the railing form discrete balconies from which those who have free reign of the upstairs level may peer down on the room's occupants.
Tonight, the room's normal color scheme has given way to patriotic red, white, and blue with large plasma screen mounted on either end of the walls to feed out election updates and the various performances planned for the evening. The chandelier lights have been replaced with muted colored lights, and large nets hold a mountain of balloons tight against the ceiling, no doubt in reserve for a hopeful future moment, though the floor is already littered with them.
[!]The polls have closed in the some states, and early results are in! Though by no means conclusive, analysts are awarding Indiana and Kentucky to Lowe, and Virginia to Snyder. Florida is, as anticipated, far too close to call, as is New Hampshire. Tensions in the city of New York are running high, as polls do not close there for another few hours. Snyder, as promised, is holed up with close friends and supporters, while Roger Lowe is expected to appear at the rally being hosted by the area HellFire Club.
Karla has arrived.
Mouse has arrived.
Logan has arrived.
[!]The clock has ticked off 8:00 est, and now the majority of the states' polls are officially closed, though the results will not be know for some time yet. Ohio, Florida, and West Virginia remain too close to call, but it looks like Georgia and South Carolina are going to be handed off to Lowe's campaign. Right now, the electoral collage count stands at 41 to 3, in Lowe's favor. Excitement must be high at campaign headquarters.
Staren has arrived.
A sleek silver limousine pulls up to the hellfire club surrounded by a convoy of Japanese built bullet bikes. The men escorting the limo on the bikes are even dressed to impress, some even bearing recognizable tattoos and shades. Some easily recognizable as Yakuza to anyone familiar with the culture. In an organized parade they pull up to the front of the club and line up around the doors of the limo. The first to exit the vehicle, the usual procession of the Fujime geisha. Last but not least Fujime Ichiro emerges and steps aside to assist Ms. Friedrick out of the limo. She was a little nervous about making this extravagant of an entrance. But she wouldn't want to refuse the generous luxury that her Japanese business affiliate has offered her. She strides in with him, arm intertwined with his at his side. This has probably been the first time in a very long time she's had a night out on the town. Her nervousness doesn't seem to be helping her already upset stomach but she just keeps her chin up and smiles warmly.
Mr. Fujime's limousine was one of a parade that have been arriving and unloading for the past hour, and still more are patiently waiting. Inside, music is playing, guests are mingling, and a steady stream of information is flooding in. Emma, officially unaccompanied for the evening, is winding her way about the floor, smiling and welcoming each new arrival with all the graciousness expected of the White Queen in her court. She glides to the newest arrivals and speaks a few words of greeting in Japanese before turning cool eyes to his companion. "Ms. Friedrick. How lovely to -finally- make your acquaintance." Outside the pages of the Wall Street Journal, that is.
Hank has arrived.
Logan doesn't have a big honkin limousine to drive up in, or an escort, but those gathered outside the large estate can certainly hear him coming. His bike is about 5 decibels away from being illegal, and it shows. Near ear splitting levels, Logan guns the throttle on his heavily modified bike, before he lets the valet take the keys with a narrow eyed look. Stepping off, he smoothes out his suit, and steps up the stairs, giving people looks back as he gets them. He stands at the doorway, still wondering why he's there in the first place, but shrugs, and decides to step in slowly, mimicking the greetings of the hostess as he speaks in fluent Japanese.
Having arrived much earlier, perhaps a little less grandiloquently than some of the actual guests, Miss Pellegrini stands rod-straight off in to one side of the room. She has a number of computer monitors set up, streaming in the latest election news as it happens. Holding a sleek silver laptop in one arm like a notebook, she greets arrivals warmly with a handshake. She acts very much like a reporter tonight, giving information as well as taking it. Having her hair up in a chopstick-held bun and a pair of shiny silver glasses add to the entire clean-cut librarian look she has tonight, and just about every other night. "Yes, good evening. It's a pleasure to have you join us," she greets a passerby, offering them a glance at the latest poll results on the screens.
Dr. Richard Naesmith, as elegant as ever with his thick shock of iron grey hair styled neatly over green eyes that look apparently passively over the assembly, mutters under his breath as he hears the unmistakable sound of a 'modified' Harley. "Vulgar ostentation," he murmurs. But he does crane his neck this way and that, looking for the culprit. Who would be that audacious? Certainly nobody he knows. Looking down his nose from his six feet, he spots the shorter stranger in a suit. Sniff. Store bought. Or at least, it looks that way to him. Casually he wanders over to the computers, eyeing the latest data.
Jean has arrived.
As white meets white--both fair of hair and ensemble make an interesting vision together among the crowd. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as vell, Ms. Frost." Karla bids the Queen of the banquet in an obviously German accent. Ichiro bows his head politely to her and replies in Japanese at first, "Domo arigato gozaimasu." Then speaking fluent English, "We are honored to join you. You look absolutely stunning this evening." After politely making acquaintances with their host they move into the room and mingle with their surroundings. Ichiro, doing a primary amount og greeting the people he knows. Karla moves her observant little eyes over the crowd and sees very few--one, in particular, Miss Pellegrini. She excuses herself from the arm of her companion and wanders in her direction.
Indeed, why -is- he here. And dusted off to boot. Emma smiles and waves the technological titans into the main room and hides a tiny smile at Mr. Naesmith's expense before turning her attention to the entering Logan with a lifted brow and a marble composed expression. But he's not traveled to within her sphere, so she merely turns to greet another HellFire member.
[!]For the latest updates, stay tuned to @wall. The Democratic bastion of the seaboard states have not failed their party. West Virginia, Connecticut, Delaware, and the District of Columbia are all being tentatively awarded to Snyder. But the recent wave of results does not neglect Lowe either as North Carolina and Alabama weigh in.
Hank looks as though somebody has taken a Disney character and stuffed it into a tuxedo. Self-consciously he tugs at the collar firmly hiding the fur and the broad musculature beneath it, and wanders into the room doing his best to look as though he really does belong here, honest! Why *is* he here? Because he thought it might be an interesting social study, and because his curiosity wouldn't let him pass up this chance to see the inside of the lair. Immediately he identifies 'that woman' and goes to do his duty as a guest, greeting her quietly and offering her the single most perfect longstemmed rose he could find, playing the game with a flourish.
Speaker has arrived.
Speaker tentatively sticks his big eared, little head in the door. "uh, this where the party is?" he whispers, more to himself, but Speaker having Speaker's mutation, the difference is irrelevant.
Miss Pellegrini gestures to the screens, in a sort of subdued Vanna White style. "It seems that the eastern seaboard is going Democratic again this election," she says behind a smile to Dr. Naesmith and Miss Friedrick. Oh yes, she knows their names already. She does well at keeping the guest's talking about the election, rather than just sit and watch it unfold. Allison lifts her eyes to the two guests, half-lidded behind a smile.
And the person Emma turned to was... *blink* To her credit, she regains her composure instantaneously and offers up, up, up a smile (only slightly strained). "You must be Dr. McCoy. Scott spoke of you," she greets, brows lifting as she accepts the rose from Hank's hand. And he plays the game well. "Thank you," she purrs, glancing down to the flower, then back up again with a hint of mischievousness. "Come to observe my naughty ways firsthand?"
Ceta has arrived.
There's not a shortage of high-class cars purring up to the front doors of the Hellfire Club this evening, but not -too- many of them are carrying Democrats within them. One particular Rolls Royce, meticulously well cared for, and registered to one Dr. Charles Francis Xavier, is however. The chauffeur, one of Jamie Madrox's duplicates to the discerning eye, opens the rear door, and out steps Dr. Jean Grey, head held high, and dressed to rival any of the political socialites gathered within. She's alone, but splendidly so, nodding here and there to opponents and her few friends here alike, and eventually tucking herself in next to Hank. And... "Emma, so -good- to see you." apparently.
Logan glides past the door greeter, as Logan is surely not on her list. Looking around the room, he looks halfway impressed. Looking towards the monitors set up, his expression darkens a bit, according to the latest poll results. He mutters quietly to himself. "At least I don't have to vote." Shaking his head, he snags a drink from one the servers handing out drinks, before he spies Hank, hard to miss, speaking to the hostess, and pauses, deciding to stay out of Hanks view, instead, preferring to glide up to Jean, and take her arm, kissing her on the cheek. "Hey Red. Fancy meeting you here."
Karla knows that Ichiro will be spending a good amount of time mingling with other men, so she has some time to wander freely throughout the party. She smiles softly at Miss Pellegrini, not paying much attention to the election information at the moment. Her colorless eyes settle upon her and she greets her with a wry smile. "I'm glad to see s'ings haff verked out for you, Allison. Nice to see you again."
Dr. Naesmith frowns, his face clouding up, as he hears the latest election supposed results. His green eyes turn a clear, cold shade -- he is displeased. Swiftly he smoothes his face back into a polite, receptive blank, but his whole body stiffens when he catches sight of . . . surely not. *That* is the renowned Dr. Henry McCoy? Briefly, Richard pales, then regains his composure and turns back towards the computers, smiling down at the young woman manning the stations.
Speaker slides in, his short stature for once on his side. He is woefully underdressed. He's wearing his old school uniform, kilt and button-down shirt, which is a nice start, but he's also wearing a skulkie, which he snatches off and stuffs in his "Anyone But Lowe" patched shoulder bag. "Holy Snot," he breathes. "It's Jean Grey and Hank McCoy and...who is that blonde woman, I've seen her somewhere...on TV?" He nervously grabs an appetizer and squints his eyes closed, trying to screw up his courage. Would she even remember him? She's with her boyfriend, can't bother her...oh whatever. He slinks up to Jean's side, close enough to be waiting in line to talk with her, but doesn't try to interrupt, except to rock back and forth nervously, self-conscious how much of a doofus, and ridiculously young he was at this party.
Hank smiles, pushing up imaginary glasses, a habit he has yet to break. "I am indeed Dr. McCoy, Miss Frost. And if Scott spoke of me, then I'm afraid you have me at an advantage, because he never mentioned you."
Recognition flashes across Allison's eyes, and a quick flicker of light off her glasses. "Ah, yes. Thank you, Miss Friedrick. I *do* hope there are no hard feelings about Frost Enterprises snatching me up, hmm?" A light and jovial tone, as if two old friends are speaking at the street corner. "I'm so glad you could make it. I heard about your accident recently. I'm terribly sorry." She offers a frown and apologetic shrug, but not much else. Quickly turning back to Dr. Naesmith, she mistakes his blanching for unwelcome election news. "Oh, I wouldn't worry. They say the southern states will be solid for Lowe. It's still anyone's race."
Ceta makes her way back into the main party room, still looking a bit sheepish after she had to dash off so quickly after getting here. Blame it on nerves; she's certainly got a case of them - particularly as a Democratic supporter in the midst of a bunch of Republicans ... something the teachers (and any other students) from the Institute would know, even if the Hellfire Club members don't (and she hopes they remain unaware). At least she had a good dress for the occasion.
Tyanna has arrived.
Forge has arrived.
"Mmm... Was I elected mission of the night for the Xavierites?" Emma murmurs oh-so-innocently to the gathering group about her, her face carefully schooled to pleasant blankness. "You look lovely, Jean. That gown has always flattered you." Without waiting for a reaction, Emma turns her attention back to Hank and blinks in mild surprise. "He hasn't? Oh, my poor ego. And here I thought I was the topic of every dinner conversation at the school..." She gives a small shrug and twirls the rose stem between her fingers, opening her mouth to continue when her attention is caught by a discrete signal from someone. "Please, enjoy yourselves. If you'll excuse me, I have a few things I need to attend to."
Karla pales slightly with a twinge of sickness stirring in her gut. Thank goodness her stomach is still empty. It takes a little effort but she manages to keep her demeanor. If anything she seems more than happy to see Allison, more than anything--probably for reasons unknown. "Oh, yah... ze accident. It vas unexpected. S'ings have been taken care of und nobody vas seriously harmed." Her smile brightening a little more, but it almost kills her not to be able to say what she really wants to, "No hard feelings at all! In fact I'm very happy for you. Of course if you are ever looking for a little side verk..." Winking to Allison she glances over at Dr. Naesmeth not to be rude. "But I'm really glad to see you." Interestingly enough she seems enormously enthusiastic to see Mouse. Her smile seems genuine, though.
"Why -thank- you, Emma," Jean absorbs the jab smilingly, resting her hand on Logan's arm to brace herself delicately enough that no-one but the Canadian need know about it. It seems that the elegant cane has been just a little prematurely disposed of, since Jean is sporting stiletto heels. "I've always thought that myself, and that you should make fashion slave for you, and not the other way around." A continued smiling glance over Emma's own attire, and Jean doesn't deign to comment on it, instead noting to Hank that "Oh, this is who Scott rebounded with after he and Madelyne called things off. I'll have to talk to you later, Emma. Lovely party." And then she turns back to the other Xavierites, the smile dropping once she's out of Emma's line of sight.
Speaker awkwardly tries to get in /Jean's/ line of sight. "Um, Dr. Grey...uh, excuse me?" He raises one hand halfway to get her attention. Stupid, stupid, stupid, what did he think he was? In class? In school? Maybe she'd mistake him for a reporter.
Ceta gravitates back towards Jean and Hank, two of the way-too-few familiar faces here, but doesn't walk up to them quite yet ... the teachers need their space too, not to mention their own time. But what's a budding political activist supposed to do in this setting? ... assuming anybody recognizes her, that is.
Hank wanders over in typical geek fashion, to the food. And stays there. Anybody wants him, well, they know where to look. It's not as though he can blend in. Sighing, he looks around, stabs a crabcake with one shining black claw, and munches.
[!]And the results continue to roll in smoothly despite tight margins and careful monitoring of processes. Lowe can unofficially tuck Virginia, Illinois, Mississippi, Missouri, Oklahoma, and Tennessee under his belt, while Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, and New Jersey move to Snyder's side of the board. 123 collage votes to 76, in Lowe's favor.
Logan watches intently as Emma basically doesn't believe Logan exists, before he gives a nod towards Hank, holding Jean up easily. "Glad you could make it Mrs Grey." He says with a chuckle as she turns away, her joviality disappearing. He looks around again, and then points down towards the boy trying to gain Jean's attention. "I think you have a customer doc."
Since the current bartender seems to be off duty, a mildly familiar female slips behind the station, her flame-red dress setting off the streaks in her hair. Tyanna immediately starts up small talk with the people lounging near the bar, flirting shamelessly while she serves red, white, and blue drinks. Seems that's the only thing on the menu tonight. Unless, of course, you're Emma Frost and you want something different. Patronesses get special treatment.
Bishop has arrived.
"If she'd acknowledged you, she'd have to acknowledge the fact that, according to Scott, she got dumped." Jean murmurs to Logan, her smile returning, but in a much less peaches and cream form. There's a minor groan from the auburn-haired activist as the latest round of poll results are announced, and she opines in general that "This is like watching a horse race you've bet your life savings on in extreme slow motion," before she regains her veneer of good cheer and turns to glance down at Speaker. "Oh... hello there. You're Professor Forge's young friend, right?"
Ceta grimaces quietly at the electoral count, and looks for something to distract herself ... like Logan, who seems to have become available for conversation. "Hey, Logan-sensei," she says quietly as she closes into conversational range. "Any suggestions on how to survive a party like this ... ?"
Emma disappears from the room for a moment and any wandering the upper levels of the mansion (ie, no one. ;) might overhear a conversation in one of the small rooms that open out onto the second floor of the ballroom. "Senator? Or should I say Mister President?" Emma says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her before turning with a beatific smile. "Have you been briefed on the numbers? They are looking favorable..." The woman steps close and lifts a hand to straighten the man's bow tie, arching an amused brow at the discomfited secret service personnel. "Your wife is in the next room over, as is the rest of your staff. I think just a couple more minutes before you go greet your supporters." And the X-piranhas circling about. "I'll be on the balcony, however, Shaw is not, per your request..." Another multitude of such trivial details is rattled off before she steps back and glances over him critically. "Nervous?"
Allison rises slowly from her seat, returning Karla's genuine smile. Her eyes flick briefly to one side, like a tiny twitch, then she turns toward the screen. "Oh my, the latest results are in." She nods briefly at the screen, noting the states and to whom their electoral college votes now belong, then turns back to Karla. "Would you like a drink, Miss Friedrick? I'm sure the newsfeeds can run themselves for a moment or two." Sliding easily out from behind the multimedia setup, Miss Pellegrini stretches an arm out toward the buffet, where drinks have already been prepared for thirsty political enthusiasts, or the bar, where staff await to make any drink of choice. As long as it's on the menu, that is.
Dr. Naesmith abruptly heads to the bar after looking at the latest results. "Scotch," he orders tersely. "On the rocks, and not too much ice."
Logan looks down at Ceta, and gives a wave and a nod before he keeps a steady grip on Jean's arm before he smiles at Ceta. "Just keep your mouth shut unless you don't have anything dumb to say. And don't get drunk. You never know what will end up on the evening news."
Now that Speaker has her attention, he doesn't know what to do with it, for an instant, being stunned that she had even an inkling of an idea who he was (really, she mush know like a million people, have lots of fan mail, people going for autographs, whatever) his mouth just hangs open, then, Speakereque, it overcompensates. "Yeah, Dr. Grey, I'm Speaker, and this with you must be..." he snaps his fingers a couple of times as if that would do anything to help his memory. "...oh you know the Canadian" he covers before any time is lost in which she might actually have something to say, and it's sort of a relief that someone else has taken the intimidatingly large man's attention away from the small person bothering his girlfriend. "And don't be too worried about the results, or only properly worried. I've chewed my fingernails down to nothing," he held them up to demonstrate. "Of course, then, I've got no vote, but really, neither do you, not with the electoral congress working the way it does. See, the states (whatever that means) get to choose whomever they want, and the founders, being in a pre-political party world, figured that each state would choose someone they liked and then the representatives would make the final choice. I read on the internet that this system was only supposed to be in place for a few years, but the 'Powers That Be'" (yes, there were finger quotations) "have been paying large sums of money to make certain that they are kept in power by a few false individuals being chosen for the electoral college every election year. Actually, according to those same sources, unfortunately, Lowe will win, but that's okay, 'cause I'm thinking, I'd be okay moving to Canada." He stopped, finally, and opened a can of Diet Coke.
"Me? Nervous?" Lowe says with the coolly friendly tone that he's been practicing behind doors for what feels like the past eternity. But it's no good. Beyond the tone, there's a mental twitch of barely restrained terror and Senator Lowe cannot wait to take the step back away from this woman he's politically jumped in bed with, to use the crude and popular expression. Which provokes another mental twitch. He's going to make it. He's going to become president. Then what? "I suppose I should raise my hands to the sky and shout 'Banzai.' That should make a story. Might change the minds of a few last minute voters." Lowe picks unconsciously at this adjusted bowtie. "Yes, I'm nervous. It's an appropriate emotion in a man who may wake up tomorrow morning as one of the most powerful men in the world. Or soon to be the most powerful man in the world. Regardless."
Ceta nods at Logan. "Wasn't planning to touch anything alcoholic in the first place. Thanks, sensei." ... now, is there anyone around she can talk to without making an idiot of herself in public?
A Scotch is handed to the doctor, pushed there by Tyanna. She tries not to touch it too much so not to melt the ice. Hey, look, the ice is dyed red! She allows other 'tenders to handle the non-speakers, preferring to keep her prowess for those who actually come up to her and -ask- for a drink.
Gustav has arrived.
Logan says, "Unless you can get anyone else's attention, I think you and I are both stuck as bystanders in this thing. Best to just try and look good." He turns back for a moment, as he holds up one finger signaling his attention change before he looks around Jean and adds, "Canada's a nice place actually." Leaning back to stand next to Jean, he motions towards the bar at Jean, and replies. "Well, denial is a step towards recovery isn't it?"
The thought of having another drink makes her even sicker. o_o She swallows back her soured saliva and tries to grin cordially, "Heh, a d-drink..? Yes! Zat vould be nice." Oh -god- why did she have to say yes? She should probably be alright if she chooses something light. "I am sure zat zey could! Perhaps I vill haff a vine..." Yeah, that's not too bad. It might settle her nerves a little bit and help her sleep later. Cheerfully her gaze turns towards the buffet area as Allison leads her in that direction.
"Logan," Jean replies, once she's able to get a word in edgewise, expression gone a bit blank as she attempts to parse Speaker's monologue, "My boyfriend." There's a little squeeze to Logan's arm at this, before she adds a dry suggestion that "You might want to try and get third-party sources to confirm those websites... but I'm comfortable that New York, at least, will go to Snyder. Have you met Ceta?" she wonders, glancing at the two young people and deciding they'd probably enjoy talking to each other a lot better than chatting up a teacher. "She's quite involved with mutant rights campaigning..." And then she gives Logan a grateful look and lets him lead her off towards the bar. "Oh God, I could use a drink... and you won't be able to see it, but Emma's getting her pet candidate all set up to do tricks for us." There's a light tap to Jean's temple. Because we're going to say that she's keeping an eye on Lowe's brain. Neener.
Speaker casts Ceta a sideways glance and mutters "yeah nice to meet you" non-conversationally, then turns eagerly back to Jean, realizing that he may have run on a bit too much there, "hey I'll get you something..." He pauses. "No, wait, underage again, want anything non-alcoholic?"
There is a rap on the french door leading out to balcony, and Emma smirks. "Perhaps if you added jumping over the edge to the scene, you could bring in the extreme sport enthusiasts?" She reaches out to pick at a bit of imaginary lint. Really, it is -too- much fun to make this man nervous. She really ought to surround herself with a few men less used to the ways of the world. Oh, wait. She tried that, and look how miserably -that- turned out. The momentary slip to her smile is hidden by turning away and inhaling deeply, which she uses as a cover to look back over her shoulder. "Well, sir... just take a deep breath and come out smiling," and then Emma opens the door and steps out, signalling to the speaker to begin as she slides along the wall into an area out of the spotlight. "Ladies and gentlemen..." Lowe's eldest son begins. Yadda yadda yadda "... please welcome the next president of the United States, Roger Lowe. Come on out Dad!"
Hank perks up (in his ears' case, literally) as he sees two women approaching the self-appointed Guardian of the Buffet. He's about to greet them, but then Lowe arrives. Hank turns, gives a polite golf clap, then returns to his duty. No crabcakes will escape.
Speaker sighs as soon as he hears Lowe's name and sings so quietly that the only people forced to pay attention would be Logan and Jean "Oh Canada, my home and native land..."
Dr. Naesmith sets his drink down on the bar half-empty (already!) to enthusiastically greet Senator Lowe. Though his applause is restrained, nevertheless his passion is evident. Clearly, a supporter.
Ceta hmms at Speaker, and says quickly, "Apple juice would be good, or apple cider," as she starts clapping - quietly but politely - for the Senator. (NOT President-elect; it's way too early in the evening for that).
Proudstar has arrived.
Just about to reach the buffet table, Allison turns back toward the balcony, and applauds lightly for Senator Lowe. Polite applause, but nothing more. Truth be told, she never bothered to pick a candidate of her own, but instead merely appears to choose the candidate which will yield the most interesting conversation with the guests. She reaches the tables, sees Hank, and an eyebrow twitches quietly. "Good evening, sir," she begins lightly, inclining her head to Dr. McCoy then gesturing for Miss Friedrick to pick her drink of choice. Wine, appropriately chilled.
[!]Pundits have called Virginia, Kansas, Nebraska, North and South Dakota, Texas, and Wyoming for Lowe, with Snyder racking up West Virginia, New York, Rhode Island, and Wisconsin. 188 Lowe, 129 Snyder.
Lowe has a brief, wry flash of diving over the edge and exciting more than just the sports enthusiasts, thanks, but it passes quickly. His son's ever familiar voice calms him. Enough to soothe his nerves over the lint picking. Well. Well. Lowe walks out and, as always, he never knows what to do with his hands. Again the impulse to raise them and shout Banzai. Or scratch his scalp. Or fiddle with his bowtie again and again and again. Instead, he waves, a wide, enthusiastic wave with a wide enthusiastic grin. His other arm briefly pats his son on the shoulder, before son withdraws and Lowe is on the balcony, in the spotlight. He's already tired of the spotlight. But it's too late to be tired. He speaks -- his by now generic, broad-brushed speech re: the American way and thank you for coming and this will be a glorious four years and safety and peace love dope -- no, all right. The last topic was omitted by the speech editors. His eyes flick over the crowd. Hello Dr. Grey, crosses his mind briefly, although it is not voiced. I wonder what you'll be thinking in the next four years. That is not voiced either. Lowe ends with a second thanks and pauses for applause, hoping he can withdraw.
Speaker frowns but doesn't say anything. He's too nice of a kid, though, to tell Ceta that he was actually offering to Jean, Dr. Grey, Mutant Rights activist and brilliant scientist... He turns, shaking out his short dreadlocks as he does, and shoves his way through the chests and clapping hands of towering adults, towering registered voters, to the refreshments, as Lowe begins to speak.
Logan walks easily with Jean on his arm towards the bar, not bothering to clap, since Lowe won't be his president anyways. Fixing his suit calmly with his free hand, he makes room at the bar for him and Jean, as he orders from the girl behind the bar two mixed drinks, setting down a $50 to cover the drinks.
Slowly wandering away from the back wall, Lucas Bishop makes his way toward the bar. He tugs at the collar his not so expensive black suit as he moves along, looking between various faces gathered. "Whiskey." He orders as he makes it to the bar, looking around for just a moment as everybody starts clapping.
Tyanna glances upwards as familiar faces head towards the bar. "Well, well, Dr. Grey. What an unexpected surprise." she says, pleasantly enough. She has no idea if anyone knows about the long-ago fight between herself and Jubilee. "What can I get you? Anything red, white, or blue." She tosses a smile towards the couple, but before she can fix them anything, she has to pause to clap for Lowe. "Be with you in a moment." she calls to Bishop, winking at him.
On her way over to the buffet, Karla allows the other people to applaud since she really doesn't feel he deserves hers. She just manages to give him an unenthusiastic stare until she arrives at the food and drinks. "Bitte schon." She chirps thankfully to the bartender as her wine is retrieved. As Allison greets Hank she regards him with a smile over her shoulder as well. She knew him vaguely from the school. "Guten Abend Herr Mc Coy, I am Karla Friedrick. I used to attend Xavier's. Not sure if you remember me or not."
Before he can get away, Richard Naesmith is trapped at the end of the bar. But as the redhead on the arm of the Harley riding stranger is identified, his mind immediately puts two and two together. I need to discuss my daughter with this woman. He looks around him, and promptly effaces himself. He can wait. This election is more important than that little mutant he sired.
Ceta claps even more quietly this time, just making the polite motion, then turns towards Speaker - and he's not there. Ah well ... she lingers around that spot a little longer, watching Lowe depart from the balcony and wondering, if he does get elected, whether it'll be possible to keep the Mutant Registration Act from becoming law over the course of the next four years ... and wondering also what the word is in Hawaii. She was expecting a vote on the 'other mutant bill' by now, but there's been nothing in the national news and no word from her friends (or family) back home on the topic ...
Speaker shoves his way back to Ceta, holding her drink way above his head in a desperate effort not to let it spill. "Here," he shoves it towards her, looking around for Jean, who, of course, is with Logan at the bar. "Ah, man..!" he says as he realizes. "You know," he whispered to Ceta, not that she cares, but also not that she has a choice in not listening. "I don't know why I'm even hear. I can't vote, I can't change the votes of all the people who are here, them having already voted and the polls being closed. All my doing here does is let the mutant-branding begin with me once Lowe's elected." He digs in his "Anyone but Lowe" patched bag and pulls out his black skulky. "Well, I'm off to go create moderate acts of vandalism and mayhem." He has all but informed her, pushing back towards the door, not turning around to see is Ceta has acknowledged him at all.
Scott has arrived.
Jean gives her attention to Lowe as he speaks, an odd, grim little smile settling onto her features as the speech continues. Logan would know it as Jean settling heavily into tactics and plotting, but Lowe only receives a brief fencer's nod as his eyes pass briefly over her. Oh, the fight is just beginning, Mr. Lowe. She then turns to Logan, wondering facetiously whether "Do you think I could get a Canadian version of a green card because I'm dating you?" before glancing at the bar as they approach it. "Oh look, Tyanna's working the bar... think she'll be happy to see us, or will she spit in the drinks?" she murmurs, before turning to the mercurial young woman with a twinkle in her eye. "Oh, I think blue would be good. Do you have that new French liqueur in? Hypnotiq?"
Ceta takes the offered drink, smiling and offering a quick "Thanks" ... right as Speaker retreats. . o O ( 'Moderate acts of vandalism and mayhem'? ... oi. ) She sips her juice, wondering if she ought to go after him, stop him from doing anything particularly rash ... or at least explain to him that he's not the only mutant in the crowd. Heck, if anyone recognizes her from photos (or even, heaven help her, TV coverage) of her testimony before the Hawaiian Senate ... well, if people are looking for mutants, she's probably one of the more identifiable ones in the crowd. If, that is, anyone cared then and cares now ...
Hank smiles at Karla. "Of course I remember you, your scent is distinctive and unforgettable. I am pleased to see you safe and unharmed, we worried when you left us so abruptly. Are you continuing your scientific studies? It would be a shame to see such talent going to waste."
Tyanna winks at Jean, fixing Logan some random red mixed drink of her own creation, made mostly of liqueur. "Let me check." She ducks under the bar, then comes back up with a half-filled bottle. "I have an idea...allow me to play creator." Without waiting for an answer, she begins to mix a concoction, finally handing Jean a martini glass with a glowing blue substance in it. "On the house." she says softly, nodding at the two before she moves off to serve Bishop. "Whiskey, sir? Any particular kind you'd prefer?"
Music swells at the end of his speech, but the balloons do not drop. After all, they still haven't reached the magic number 270. Emma gestures to Allison to kick the video feed back in and steps forward to smile and offer her hand to Mrs. Lowe, engaging in some smattering of small talk while the people on the floor re-engage in their activities. The group falls back into the room and Emma turns to Lowe and threads her arm through his, leaning close to whisper. "Lovely speech, but now you need to go make nice with the people out there in the floor. The election is in the hands of the voters, Heaven help us, and now we need to start looking toward the next hurdle..." She smiles around him at Mrs. Lowe and releases his arm to step back and away, waiting for him to follow.
Allison catches her boss' eye briefly, and taps lightly at the silver laptop cradled in one arm. Immediately, video feed of election coverage switches back onto every available screen, broadcasting live from CNN, FOX, MSNBC, and a dozen other stations at once. The large projection screen directly behind the podium setup switches to a repeating loop of an American flag waving in the wind. She takes the opportunity to subtly step slightly away from the buffet table, but not before picking up a glass of white wine.
Logan takes the drink he's offered, sniffs it purposefully, before he makes sure it's okay, and takes a look at Jean's, doing the same before he nods at her and smiles just a bit. "It's safe, not that this sort of establishment would serve bad drinks." He perks his hearing towards Hank and the woman talking with him, not recognizing the girl who Hank says she knows. He turns back to Jean as he asks, pointing towards Karla, "She was at the school?"
It is necessary for a politician in public not to look deeply uncomfortable with an important political ally. But when the public includes one's wife, it is almost instinct to hold oneself stiff and uninterested and preferably staring back over said political partner's shoulder at said wife and mouthing You know that this is high society stuff and that I don't care for it at all. As is, Lowe can do none of these things. He looks as comfortable as he can, still smiling at the world at large, smile punctuated by the occasional wave and he succeeds not in sighing in relief when he's released. Although he does follow, still, trying to not look like he's led by the nose, so to speak, but like a man open for general conversation.
Scott arrives shortly after Jean and Logan. He pets his tie down, looks around, and heads for the bar when he sees Tyanna. He heads towards the bar where the girl is working. "Hey Tyanna, so you think I could get a kamikaze?" he asks. He turns around, looking up at Lowe and Emma. A frown creases his face, and he looks back to Tyanna.
"Teachers." Bishop utters to Tyanna, leaning forward to prop up the bar for a moment. His gaze trails off to the faces around him again before finally reaching a screen nearby showing the coverage. As Scott reaches the bar, he gets the shortest of glances from the man beside him.
Karla nods gently. "I am doing vell now. I haff actually been managing at Glo-Tek, ze corporation zat does advanced technological research. Ve haff just recieved an investment from a robotics company over in Japan. Perhaps if you haff ze time you vould like to come for a tour." Unfortunately when she turns to find her acquaintance who bought her the drink she is gone again. Doing her job she supposes. Oh well, she'll have to catch her later. Her eyes dance over more of the faces in the crowd and recognizes Jean. One of her pale hands sends a subtle little wave to her from around Hank.
Ceta wanders over to Hank, still sipping occasionally from her glass of juice, and relieved that the bar had something non-alcoholic ... of course, even among those who *are* old enough to drink, there are plenty who choose not to, and any self-respecting social club would cater to them as well. She nods a polite greeting to Karla as she gets closer, but doesn't try to stick an oar into the conversation just yet.
Seth has arrived.
Dr. Naesmith excuses himself politely from the group beginning to congregate at the bar -- a bit too many . . . individuals there for his tastes -- and wanders over towards Emma, and perhaps not so incidentally, where Senator Lowe is working the room. "Interesting evening, eh, Lowe? Our money is certainly making it a tight race, congratulations."
Midori has arrived.
"Not a bad choice." Tyanna replies to Bishop, excusing herself to take care of Scott. "Gimme just a sec." She nods at Scott, expertly fixing a kamikaze. "Didn't figure you for the political type, Summers." she says casually, grinning at him before she moves back to Bishop, pushing a glass of fine whiskey in his direction. "You don't look like the political type, you know."
Speaker has disconnected.
[!]Snyder pulls ahead in the electoral college count, sweeping California so thoroughly that it has been awarded even before the polls close. In addition, he has picked up Pennsylvania, Minnesota, New Mexico, Iowa, and Montana to Lowe's Louisiana and Utah. The count now stands at 231 to 202.
Scott smiles. "I'm not. I just want to see Lowe's face when he loses," Scott admits. He takes his drink, and looks into it, before giving a sidelong glance to Bishop. Scott stands out slightly with his red-tinted sunglasses, but his attention soon goes back to Tyanna. "So are we still up for the race tomorrow night?"
Jean nods to Logan, giving Tyanna a "Thank you, it looks amazing," and a grin, before she spots Scott inbound, gives him a smile, and then steers herself and Logan out of the way, in case of any outbreaks of testosterone. "Karla? Yes, she was a mature student, but she was finishing up her high school courses with us... she's the CEO of the company she used to work at now, I've heard... I wonder what she's doing -here-." she muses, lifting the martini glass and taking a judicious sip. "Want to go schmooze with me?"
Hank smiles at Karla, pleased. "I never thought you would be in a business suit, Karla, I did rather cherish hopes of you being brilliant in the laboratory, but if you are happy that's what's important." Then, his smile widens as he sees Ceta. "Ceta! I was wondering if you were going to make an appearance. You look nice. Ceta, this is Karla, a former student, and Karla, this is Ceta, a current student at the Institute."
Seth slips into the room scanning the crowd casually as he does. He's always up for an excuse to attend a get together of any sort...and as such here he is. He nods towards Tyanna and wandrs over towards her and those around her. "Hello Tyanna, Who are your friends?..."
Ceta smiles, bowing her head again to Karla. "Ceta Parks," she introduces herself, switching her juice to her left hand so that the right is available to shake. "Also known online as Echostar - well, primarily online since I outed myself in front of the Hawaiian state Senate just before coming back for school. And thank you, Dr. McCoy," she responds a bit belatedly to Hank's compliment.
Offering Tyanna the faintest of smiles, Bishop takes his drink. "Thanks." He adds before taking a sip. His gaze wanders to a screen for a few moments again before finally returning to the woman. "Just wanted to see the results with my own eyes."
Logan gets wrangled away from the incoming Scott, taking his drink with him, before he listens to an explanation on Jean's part and nods. "I'll take your word for it Red, I can't remember a thing, but that's normal for me anyways." He chuckles as he listens for a moment, to all the different conversations, and then tunes in back to Jean. "Could be because she has money now, and that's what seems to be running this whole shindig?"
Emma smiles and holds out her hand for Richard's, nodding at his words. "Yes... a little too close for my poor nerves, but that's what makes things fun, if the old cliche is right," she laughs, her attention grabbed by another associate and then another and then... She frowns and lifts her head, looking over as many heads as she can before her eyes narrow and settle on even more unwelcome X-Men company, and then the newest polling data. Lowe's behind. Grr...
Tyanna continues to talk around while she works, tossing Seth a "A few people I knew at Xavier's. Wanna be a sweetheart and help me out back here?" She pauses next to Scott, sighing a little. "I think so...but it really depends on whether I have my paper done or not. Friday night for sure." She smiles at Bishop, nodding towards the electronic feed of the electoral college. "Lowe's doing well, and I really think he's going to win."
Ceta glances up at the newest numbers, smiling in slight relief as she spots that Snyder's pulled ahead. It hasn't been clinched yet, but the news looks better now than it did an hour or two ago ...
"Thank you," Lowe says to Mr. Naesmith, restraining himself from undertaking a full speech on that, please, he does hope that ideals as well as money are driving this race. No. He keeps to the thank you. And glances at the board. "Of course, the game has not been set and matched yet. If everyone remaining follows the example of New Mexico, to take a recent example, you all may be funding a very expensive failure party."
Karla says, "Unfortunately I vas only a part time shtudent zo I did not really get to know too many people at ze institute as vell as I vould haff liked to." Her delicate chin nods to Ceta with a cheery grin. "Ah, online? I'm practically on all ze time, myself." At the moment she avoids giving out any handles. "I do alot of verk online. Perhaps ve can chat." Taking a sip of her chilled wine and a tall long-haired Asian gentlemen moves in behind her. "Ah, Karla-chan. I see you are well equipped with a drink. I wouldn't want to see a lady not attended to properly at such a gala." Fujime checks in on her to make sure she's holding her own at the party. "S'ank you Ichiro, I am doing just fine." She nods again, assuringly. "Zis is my affiliate, "Fujime Ichiro of ze Fujime Robotics corporation of Japan." He bows discreetly at Karla's side."
Miss Pellegrini, Emma's technical aide, mingles with the guests while keeping the election data incoming as fast as it can. A pair of faces flicker as tiny reflections in her glasses, along with a subtle twinkle of light. Ah yes, Dr. Jean Grey and.. guest? The blonde woman slides up to the pair as easily as a snake and as quietly as a mouse, extending a polite hand to the pair. "Doctor Grey, we're so glad you could make it," the woman offers on behalf of the Hellfire Club. Though with Emma's earlier actions, it may seem even more like a polite slap in the face. In which case... even better.
Dr. Naesmith takes Emma's hand briefly before letting her go. He follows her look. "They are irrelevant. Just remember that. When we win. . . " Mutant registration equals knowledge, and knowledge equals power, he muses silently. Then, those clear green eyes focus on Lowe. "I hope you are breaking out the champagne. I have high hopes, even now. It is a poor general that gives up before the battle is won or lost."
Midori steps into the club quietly, using one of the other entrances so as to sneak in a little unobserved. She wears a red dress that though not entirely befitting of the Hellfire's more formal attire, is not too out of place. She looks around, her gaze falling upon the polls and lifts a brow, wondering just how it will actually turn out, if all that planning and plotting will be for not.
"Thanks for the drink." Bishop utters before turning and heading back off towards the back of the room, well out of eyeshot of most of the bigwigs running the show. Another sip of the drink is taken and another wayward dreadlock is brushed behind an ear.
Seth nods a little and slips behind the bar, smiling a little at Tyanna before looking out at the people near the bar, "Who's next and how can I help you?" He isn't really a natural bartender as these things go but luckily he is good at adjusting quickly "You having fun tonight Ty?"
Ceta bows politely to Fujime, greeting him in good Japanese (particularly for a non-native speaker). "{ A pleasure to meet you, Fujime-san; I am Ceta Parks, a student at Karla-sempai's private school. }" She'd refer to Karla by her last name if she knew it, but as she doesn't, she just has to hope Fujime-san (or should it be -shachou, company president? Erp.) doesn't take it as disrespect towards *his* associate. "And I'd look forward to chatting with you sometime," she says to Karla, returning to English.
[!]Picking up Ohio's 21 electoral votes, along with Arkansas and New Hampshire puts Lowe back in the lead, but only by two votes. Stay tuned to @wall for all your election coverage!
"It's practically reeking of dollars in here," Jean agrees, half-smiling crookedly at Logan as they make their way through the crowd, the skirt of her gown rustling gently as she moves. "Of course, that's politics for you. The ultimate leisure activity for the rich and intelligent... oooh, getting close now." she murmurs, interrupting herself to address the latest results, and then turning to Ms. Pellegrini with a gentle incline of her head, a hand-clasp and another society smile. "Thank you... although if you're glad that I made it, perhaps I haven't been a properly irritating presence on the campaign trail. Do give Sebastian my regards if you see him," And then she turns away again, resuming the slow walk towards Karla, and sharing a private comment with Logan. << I swear, my face is going to freeze like this before the night is over. Can we go sit in some dive bar after this? At least the broken chairs are -real-. >>
It's somewhat amusing how familiarly Ichiro interacts with Karla, treating her more like a younger sister of some sort. Karla just grins up at him wryly for being referred to as Karla-chan. She doesn't know Japanese well but she knows well enough to know what he means. Fujime doesn't seem to take any offense, moreso he's flattered that she opted to speak his native language. Another small sip of her wine and Karla cordially relishes in the conversation as this has been the most interaction she's gotten with people in ages, outside of the usual chat room and business affairs. It's also comforting to see faces from Xaviers.
Hank looks on to Karla and Ceta's conversation, looking a little sheepish. He doesn't speak a word of Japanese, though he does know enough to bow to the gentleman accompanying Karla politely. One ear twitches towards the latest results, and he resists heaving a sigh.
Emma frowns even more decidedly as the newest data flashes up on the screen. Lowe's ahead, but... "Not again," she whispers, eyes wide before excusing herself to weave toward the bar, avoiding the Xavierites. "Tyanna, love, something to sooth the nerves please?" she says in a low voice, her smile hiding real annoyance.
[!]Arizona, Colorado, Nevada, Idaho, and Oregon fall under Lowe's feet, but not far behind him come Snyder with Washington and Hawaii. Once again all eyes turn to Florida to determine the outcome of an election. Snyder's 246 votes need those 25 vote to tip the scales to 271, but should the state fall to Lowe, 289 could almost seem a mandate from the people in this tightly contested race.
Allison lifts her eyebrows back at Jean, and the quick exit. She's left there, still holding her hand out for a moment longer. What.. was that all about? And who is Sebastian? Quite the frosty reply. Automatically, the latest tallies filter up onto the screens around the room. Standing there just a second longer, Miss Pellegrini breaks from her reverie and turns away from the retreating Dr. Grey. Hmmph. Some people. She mingles further, making light conversation with people who don't seem to have chips on their shoulders.
If anyone could tell, most definitely a telepath, Karla is making a great deal of effort to be here though she seems to be able to mask it well. The amount of people surrounding her almost seems claustrophobic. The more cheerful meetings this evening as well as her companion Ichiro seem to be keeping her afloat, herding her thoughts away from the incident that occurred last night. If she weren't here she'd probably have drunken herself into oblivion. Most of her wine still remains untouched.
Tyanna waves Seth towards the other end of the bar. "Make sure those suits have drinks, and that their glasses aren't empty. I'm sick of getting ogled by them." she says, pushing another drink towards a Lowe supporter, glaring at him as he makes a pass at her. She smiles at Emma, pulling out a wine bottle and handing her mistress a frosted glass of white wine. "Calm down, Miss Frost. Everything will be fine." she assures in a low voice. A whisper to one of the security men gets a few of the people cut off from the bar, and Tyanna slips out from behind her position, a glass of daquiri in one hand. Time to take a break.
Logan looks back to Jean, commenting telepathically, and silently opposed to the rest of the room before takes another chug of his drink, not worried in the least about getting drunk here. He listens to Ceta and Karla, the foreign language easily carried into english in his brain. "Seems Karla has a new friend in that Japanese man too, wasn't there something on the news about the business partnership? Again, money." He looks back towards the girl Jean snubs and snickers quietly. "Man, forget politics, the women round here have enough claws to make me nervous a bit. And, Emma seems to be doing a good job of avoiding you now, as he thumbs towards the bar again."
"My good Mr. Naesmith," Lowe says with a small, slow smile, which widens slightly (if almost imperceptibly) when Emma pulls away. "The battle /is/ already won or lost. We're only getting back the reports at this point. I will not call some healthy realism giving up." Lowe watched the board flicker again. He feels vaguely nauseous. Perhaps it's all the excitement. But nonetheless, Lowe quotes, carefully, silently in his mind, a piece of Yeats. 'And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?' A very modernist sentiment for a conservative senator, but replace the Christ imagery with a more general sense of something huge, something monumental ... and perhaps that is the cause of his nausea. Lowe inclines his head toward Mr. Naesmith and tacks on the more dazzling social grin. "But enough metaphor and speculation. We will see momentarily."
Ceta glances over at the screens, and grimaces quietly. "It's gonna be tight ... hope everybody's seatbelts are buckled for the next four years if Lowe gets the presidency," she comments to Karla and Hank (and Fujime-san, if he's been paying attention to American politics).
Midori slips around the room, politely excusing herself past this person, or that one, slipping closer to the display screen to look at the current polls.
Seth sighs as he's left alone, mixing drinks wit expert precision, surely a surprise for those who expected him to not be able to handle things but those who know him would know better. He relaxes as at least several men seem less interested in drinks with tyanna gone. Maybe he'll get a chance to talk to people back here after all. It'll almost make it worthwhile, though he'd prefer if something interesting was on the display
Jean doesn't have a single chip on a pair of shoulders that seem to be sitting a little more easy as she meanders away from Allison, adding another tick to her little mental score card and humming to herself quietly enough that only Logan will overhear as she lifts her martini glass to take another drink. Unfortunately, some young buck who's been doing a little too much early celebrating chooses just then to come crashing blindly into her, causing the drink to go flying, and a minor commotion. Jean is shocked, predictably, arms akimbo and her posture frozen in the undignified stance adopted by women trying to move expensive clothing out of the way of incoming spills. And the drunk? Doesn't say a word.
The hours wear on, and the crowd has thinned slightly. Still making her rounds, despite the lateness of the hour, Emma pauses as she her attention is caught by Allison's waving hand. Whispering quickly and quietly in the corner, Emma looks up and around for Lowe, spying him near the podium in conversation. With another comment to the young systems administrator, Emma crosses the room to whisper in Lowe's ear, tugging him toward the podium as overhead the announcement everyone has been waiting for flashes on screen.
Hank moves for the first time in a long time upon seeing Jean stumble. For being such a large being, he moves very quickly. "Jean? Are you all right?"
[!]Your attention please! With 99% of the precincts reporting in, Florida is declaring itself Republican by a narrow majority. Unless challenges occur, and there are sure to be some, Roger Lowe will be confirmed in little over two months as the next president of the United States.
Mouse quickly taps at the laptop in her hands. The music ceases, the podium mic warms up, and all the election coverage footage mutes itself, all eyes turning toward Roger Lowe, President-elect of the United States.
Bishop stands at the back, constantly switching his gaze between the screens and the crowd. Someone does manage to catch his eye though and he's soon wandering out into the crowd. He just about manages to negotiate the cluster of people without knocking anyone over. He eventually reaches Hank but he is soon left in his dust as the larger man rushes off to aid Jean.
Ceta glances up at the screens as the music is halted ... and grimaces. . o O ( Damn ... ) "I think I'm going to step outside for some fresh air," she says to Hank and Karla. "I think it's about to get too stuffy in here for me to tolerate ..."
Midori looks up as the screen changes and waits patiently for the man's speech to begin.
Tyanna notices that Jean gets knocked into, and does disappear behind the bar for a few moments. She creates another one of the glowing blue martinis, and swiftly makes her way towards the redhaired woman, grabbing a towel. "Dr. Grey, are you all right?" she queries, holding out the towel to her, the drink in her free hand. A nod to a security man, and the drunken sot is escorted out of the building.
Dr. Naesmith smiles a slow, pleased rather smug smile. "Congratulations, Mr. President. Never give up hope, and sometimes, reality works in your favor. Never forget that."
Unrestrained thoughts of the World War II holocaust come to mind. Karla just can't seem to help herself. She takes a deep breath and nods vacantly to Ceta who seems to be just as disappointed. But she still has an outward composure to maintain. She eyes Jean with a bit of concern as well.
Ichiro remains courteously silent aside from a softly murmured, "Che." his face not showing much for emotion. Taking a sip of his martini he awaits for the newly appointed American leader to make his speech.
Back to the podium. Lowe sees no reason to go back to any such thing as a podiu-- ah. Lowe looks at the screen. What the announcement just kindly told the world finally sinks in. Lowe blinks. He blinks at the screen, he blinks at Mr. Naesmith. So. So. Now the real difficulties begin. Lowe grips the side of the podium. What to say? What to say? That's a wrap? Please. Can't he just say 'that's a wrap?' "I am ... speechless," Lowe says, playing the pun with a the full public grin and not the wry twist he'd like to give it. Too much. "I trust, I hope, that the next four years will be years of change -- but of positive, peaceful change. Of gentle transition. And beyond the dynamic necessary force of transition, I hope for underlying stability. And underlying openness. As of ... in two months, I will be officially in office. I will do everything in my power to ensure that both ... both goals are met. Thank you." The regular wait for applause, with full intention to withdraw for the night. There are other people he needs to talk to. Namely the people taking the podium with him, now, his family.
Seth somehow manages not to look as exuberant as someone who was nominally supporting Lowe should be. He grabs himself a glass of champagne and slips out from behind the bar, considering stepping outside as well now hat this is mostly over. What bugs him most of all of this is that his father is likely celebrating Lowe's win in a similar party in California
Ceta doesn't make it outside before Lowe takes the podium, so she stops as close to the fringes of the crowd as she can to hear him out ... and when he's done, she very nearly doesn't applaud at all. But for the sake of politeness, she does clap ... once.
Emma stands in the shadows of the podium, her arms folded, blue eyes glittering in glee, though the smile on her lips is restrained and polite. Once the obligatory speech is made, the nets are released and a cascade of red, white, and blue balloons float down, obscuring her departure.
Jean would normally be clucking over the spatters of martini on her gown, but the election results and the various reactions to it have quite caught her attention instead. Her shoulders do not slump, her face does not fall. No, Jean keeps her pride and keeps her poise, clapping politely and without malice, and then turning her attention to mopping up, taking the towel with a quiet "Thank you, Tyanna. Perfect timing as usual," and giving the young woman a close look as she resumes watching the mood of the crowd, making note of which declared supporters of each side aren't nearly as supportive as they'd like people to think they are. The new drink is sipped, long and slow, and she murmurs a quiet "So it begins," to herself. But just what's beginning... well, Jean keeps her own counsel on that.
Karla takes a really big sip of her wine.
Offering no more than a requisite polite round of applause for Lowe, Allison slips away as soon as the balloons begin to descend. She hits the keystrokes to unmute the music, though a far more celebratory selection this time. It was all carefully arranged ahead of time, but to her it's only another cue to be hit. Slipping away her computer, she grabs a flute of champagne from a passing tray, and exits the ballroom floor. Her part for the night is over.
Eventually catching the result, Bishop takes a deep swig of his whiskey, letting it rest in his mouth a moment before swallowing. He doesn't clap, deciding to just take another sip of his drink.
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