Summary:The movie premiered with mixed reviews! Now it's time for a party! Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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"I don't know where we go from here.." Mary Jane's character says on the screen, as she looks wistfully out into the sunset. One would think that there was a line in there to finish, some ol' cliche to draw the curtain to a close. Something typical, as some of the movie has been over the course of 2hr52mins. But there was nothing. Her eyes a near blank space from the horrors she has witnessed, the only sign of life from the pale, dirtied, bloodied woman was the small wave of tears that were building in her eyes. Then a knife shirks!
-Scene End-
The lights dim down, and the movie theatre was met with mixed responses. Some speaking amongst themselves, others tweeting, some standing up to clap and others standing to rush out to getto their cars. A few stagger behind to wait for the end credits.. while.. others were left baffled by what the hell just happened.
It's safe to say, Mixed reviews. 3 out of 5 stars! It could be a cult classic in twenty years after MJ shows more ankle!
LATER
Invitations went out, naturally. Mostly to some stars, a few of the people who went to school with Mary Jane, those wealthy and connected who could possibly form a relationship with the director. Perhaps, they could fund his new movie, or new television show. Any backing was good backing.
But the arrival at the Rockerfeller Centre was something out of a dream; the party venue starts with a path marked with lights towards the tent, a tent that could easily host close to fifty to one hundred people. The large white curtains were drawn and pinned back tastefully to show to the outside world a number of chairs and tables that were set up, almost as if there were a wedding.
A wooden floor has been placed for one to dance upon if they choose, the DJ already in the back spinning tunes to the laughing and happy few. Lights that hung like curtains decorated the area and the inside of the tent, while food caterers rushed in and out. Some with piles of food, others with dirty dishes that needed to be cleaned.
It looked like a fun and fabulous faire, and the stars of the movies were already mingling with the best and the rest, some shaking hands, others taking selfies.
Claudia Black, mingles with a lesser known star, who tells a story of how she got her first big break..
Oded Fehr, remarks upon the time he did actually meet Jennifer Morrison as the story was told, and how embarrassing it was for the both of them.
The Director carts around a tray of wine meant only for himself, with Mary Jane following behind, her shoes off and held in her hand as she tries to coax the madman down from a complete bender.
"You said for us to watch you! And you were going to pay us to watch you! Just give me the tray!" He laughs and keeps it from her, all the while taking a sip. "Joooo can stop meee!" He sings out, giving a twirl. "For a song and a dance cherie, I vill quit ze drink for you!"
"God blessed.." Mary Jane mutters, and storms off. She had to go and make a phone call..
Able is annoyed.
It's not that there's anything wrong with the party. It's lovely. But he's working, and this job sucks.
A loud rapper with more money than sense decided he needed a bodyguard for the evening. This rapper fancies himself as a criminal entrepreneur, which somehow managed to lead him into Able's circles. And so, against his better judgement, he's guarding a grown man who acts like a spoiled child and wears far too many gold chains.
The doctor-turned-bodyguard is sporting a crisp, slate-grey suit that's been cut to accentuate his lean frame rather than pad it out. The fact that he stands out among the entourage is appreciated by the protectee, who seems to view Able as a form of gangster window dressing. The entire process has been tiresome.
The entourage consists of the protectee (somewhat ironically known as 'Incognito'), the obligatory duo of a very large man and very small man, a man who never seems to speak, plus several women of questionable virtue. And Able. Groaning quietly, he snags a passing server. "I can't begin to describe how badly I need a whiskey right now."
Somehow,
Gwen Stacy received an invitation. She can't even assume it was sent to the wrong address because it has her name on it — right there at the top; Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy. Well, it certainly doesn't seem to tbe the sort of thing you turn down, anyway, or at least that's what her Dad said.
So, now here is Gwen, wearing a dress. Only thing is, Gwen really doesn't do… dresses. Probably nobody will be able to tell that she got it at a thrift store (the one in one of the upscale burroughs, mind you; you know, that one where the rich folks dump their clothes after wearing them exactly once so you get an outfit that normally costs four figures for twenty bucks because it's a thrift shop and maybe you switched the price tags.)
So, the young blond might be wearing a pale blue dress with a knee-length skirt, but nobody is ever going to get her into heels, so black boots it is. Boots that come to a stop with the heels touching, as she plants hands on hips somewhere inside the door, and looks around herself, left and right.
"Alright, Gwen," she mumbles, "So you've accepted and invitation to a party with movie stars. Now what?"
A Rolls Royce limo of stark white and bright silver pulls up in front as the papparazzi snap their pics, and the crowd for the event peers with avid interest as the driver, in immaculate white, opens the door to hand out two rather remarkable women. First out is a lovely younger lady with striking lavender hair and eyes that must be contacts, cat eyes just don't come in human faces normally, do they? Her outfit and accents match and suit her coloration to a T.
The second person to emerge is perhaps a bit surprising for many, Emma Frost, who's been to many movie premieres and graced the covers of a few magazines, mostly in business circles. She accepts the gracious hand and out, and then moves with her lavender hued escort into the party with a stately and even regal step.
When adjusting to a new place, America Chavez has found the most important thing is to just throw yourself headfirst into it. In time, you adjust; it's quicker when you have no choice but to. When 'a new place' means 'a new Earth,' well — it's just especially true. A weird planet, Earth is.
And so that is why she is here tonight, taking in a slice of culture of this very tiny portion of a very weird world. Just how she of all people got into an after party of a movie in a world she really has no cache in is anyone's guess; it's all just part of the mystique. But here America finds herself nonetheless, dressed today in something approaching formal in the form of a white dress shirt, a red three-button vest, blue tie and black slacks; sure, she's also wearing star-spangled sneakers. And sure, the tie is decorated with a bunch of white stars, and the sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and the first buttons of the shirt are sloppily undone, and the knot of the tie is so loose one might, if they were feeling very generous, call is 'stylishly askew.' But for America, it's incredibly, unbelievably formal.
At least she wears it with confidence.
For now, she lingers closest to the drinks, hands shoved in her pockets otherwise just — watching as the director twirls by with his tray of portable inebriation. A single brow arches, in a very subtly, wordlessly sardonic way. She has this sort of thing down to an artform.
Sharon keeps her head high and her gaze forward, but her walk is more of a prowl, her smile tinged with confidence that may come off as arrogance in someone in their early twenties. The paparazzi is ignored, unworthy of acknowledgement. Once inside the party itself, she stops a waiter with a gesture, murmurs to him, and he nods and vanishes returning in a few moments with two champagne flutes from in the back, one of which she hands to Emma with a warm smile, then other of which she keeps a hold of as she studies the crowd.
Rebecca Gadison didn't have an invitation, either.
But then, when you mix a bit of guile, a pinch of sneakery (honed by years of illicit teen hijinks, starting when she was in junior high school), and a dash of uncanny mutant powers, then top it with a bit of plain old Texas moxie, you can get into a lot of places. Glamming herself up to look like she belongs here doesn't hurt, either.
And so now the pretty blonde, easily believable as being at least a couple of years older than merely 18 in her little black outfit and strappy spike heels, is circulating through the crowd, helping herself to hors d'oeuvres, and having herself a thrilling time. Just moments ago, she was posing for a knot of photographers, leaving them wondering afterward who in heck that just was, anyway. (OOC: Becca's look for tonight: https://tinyurl.com/y5ja5mnh)
Entrances were made!
There were a few knowns and unknowns that mingle into the party, but if that person was invited, someone at least had an eye on them for them to come here. There were no royal announcements, only guards who stood by the entrance, armed yet unseen, nodding and allowing the people to pass without much of a fuss. And if there was one?
"I should look into directing." Oded proclaims loudly. "I already have a movie on Netflix that was centered solely on me.." He charms the women that gather around him, then snakes a flute of wine as it passes by. "..have you all seen it?"
"Oh god, here he goes again.." Someone comments loudly, to which he perks up to look around the room at the perpetrator.
With the director still chugging drinks like no ones business, the waiter that was grabbed by Able returns with a tray of whiskey for the party of.. gangster. "Whiskey?" She asks.
Gwen's entrance was noted from afar, and a young man raises a glass to her in greeting. Why not come have a drink! In a place like New York, age is of a matter, but at this party, no one knows best.
The drink table that America situates herself by is laden with glasses; a champagne fountain that constantly pours and refills itself, courtesy of Universal Studios. There were gift bags towards the far left of it; black satin, filled with little momentos from the movie, along with a DVD copy of a directors cut. They were labeled precisely. One for men, and the other for women. Some had parfumes, others had cufflinks. There was something for everyone.
Emma's and Sharon's arrival gets much fanfaire. It would seem that most of the people who were in attendance knew of Emma Frost, as soon they immediately flock to her with questions.
"Always a pleasure.." One man says to Emma as he approaches with his own crowd, while a woman approaches Sharon to marvel at her hair.
It was a good thing Rebecca slipped in unnoticed, well.. without an invitation. She may just have been stopped at the door with a question of if she's modeled and snatched up by someone looking for 'The Next Big Thing'.
All in all, it was a busy night, which was soon made a little bit busier as the DJ begins to cut one of Incognito's 'famous' tracks.
"NAH. It's spelled IncogNEATO. Like, 'this shit is neat-o.'" The protectee's voice is starting to grate on others, as well. A no man's land is developing around the entourage. "Get it right, or I'ma have my merc smack you up."
And that's when Able decides he's had enough. He accepts his whiskey from the server, downs it in a single gulp, then hands back the empty glass and straightens his tie. "No. There will be no smacking up," he says firmly, arching an eyebrow and shaking his head at IncogNEATO. "No popping of caps. No 'thots'. What does that even mean, anyway? Never mind. You can your money back." He pulls a respectable stack of cash from his inside jacket pocket and throws it into the protectee's lap. "I quit."
And then, feeling much better about his evening, Able takes two full glasses from the server's tray and walks away, leaving an offended, stuttering rapper in his wake.
Gwen observes all this going down between Able and his protectee (now an ex-protectee), since she happens to have moved to where she can see. She perks an eyebrow upwards, though she doesn't really hear anything of it. Still, it was entertaining enough to watch, at least.
About that moment, a man in a tuxedo walks up to her and offers her a rather full looking glass of red wine; Gwen looks at the wine, looks at the man, then the wine, then back to the man.
"Dude, I'm nineteen," she points out. The man makes a smooth withdrawal, leaving Gwen on her own once more, with not much to do right at the moment other than observe all the people surrounding her who probably paid full price for their clothes. 'Suckers', she thinks, accompanied by a bit of a mental smirk.
Sharon smiles as people cluster about Emma, but the smile has a slightly predatory edge if someone should stand a little too close, let their eyes linger a little too long. Her gown is perhaps modest for this crowd, showing cleavage yes, but the skirts with their layers of silk could hide a great deal where as Emma's gown hides next to nothing. But there's something about her stance, how she watches those who approach, that strikes people more as 'body guard' than the bimbo. At least if those observing have two braincells to run together.
At this moment in time, Mary Jane probably wasn't the sight to see at the moment. She wasn't crying, she wasn't whithering away because people she knew didn't show up.. no. She was hiding practically two feet away from America, partaking of another table. Another table while using America as a shield from those in the open.
And what was Mary Jane doing? You might ask?
She was totally hitting up the tiny cupcake and cakes table, glass of milk in one hand, one tasty treat in the other. She shoves one into her mouth, then shudders. 'Man, so good..' She thinks, then takes a swig of her milk.
The green gown she wears is looking -mighty- snug by the moment..
Emma is amused. Mentally, only to Cat. ~Thank you, for that…people needn't know of the switch to Ginger Ale.~ Oh! How /Bruce Wayne/! He might sue, good thing Emma's thoughts were sent privately, mm? She is gracious to the people who approach her, so long as they're polite, she doesn't have any patience at all for discourtesy. None.
Amused at Gwen's thoughts, Emma direct's Cat's gaze that way. ~Spunky.~ She approves of spunky.
She approves just as well of Able's rather profound resignation, frankly, she's more than a tad unimpressed by IncogNIMROD, and gets a little mean. Yes, believe it or not, Emma Frost can be a tad petty. As for IncogNEATO? There's a spider on his glass…which fact he doesn't notice until it is skittering up his face, and into his hair. Of course nobody else sees a thing. Nope.
And then, good deed done for the night, she approaches MJ, and smiles. "Hello Miss Watson, congratulations on your film's release."
Already through his second glass, Able sets it down on a tray and transfers the full one to his right hand. He pauses when a familiar voice lets out a decidedly unmasculine scream. "This party's getting better already," he mutters to himself. "Ooh. Cupcakes."
Cosmopolitan as he may be, he doesn't hesitate to make a beeline. When he gets there he demolishes a red velvet with a distinct lack of ceremony. After he's finished he spares a glance for the redhead and the blonde. Another eyebrow raise, this one in recognition. Then he's back to the desserts. "Yes, congratulations. Quite the achievement. Are those little brownies?"
Becca snags a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, giving him flirtatious eyes and a smile to match if he seems at all to question if she's old enough to have it, then turning and sauntering off while he's still staring.
The DJ kicks off another song much to the detestment of IncogNeato, who was currently batting away at his face and swearing loudly. Most of the paparazzi snapped pictures and filmed, already sending the feeds back to their home office to create a headline that would slander the man for good..
"I oonnnnllly have eyyyyyyess!" The director begins to croon, thankfully it was to his wife.
A few people gathered around, laughed and clapped, while the poor directors wife blushed herself to tears! Admittedly.. it was adorable!
Sharon purrrs mentally, and tries not to out loud. ~Glad too, MotherMotherFrost. Champagne goes flat in those stupid fountains anyway.~ Nope, she's not impressed at all by the fountain. At least her nose tells her they used cheap champagne for it. She notes Gwen when pointed out, and trails behind Emma to the cake table. She deftly plucks a petit four from the table, and smiles at MJ. "Indeed. The script and direction both suffered from the male gaze. MissWatson's acting was better than either deserved." She ponders for a second, "The sound editor also did an excellent job. Will have to look up what else he has done." The petit four is eaten in two neat bites.
A slow turn, Mary Jane was caught unawares and with three people surrounding and food in her mouth. The little black napkin was immediately pressed to her lips as she blushes, a little 'squee' sound emitting from her throat as she realizes just -who- she's talking to! Oh gosh! It's -the- Emma Frost! And some lady! Why do they look eternally beautiful! Oh hey! There's Gwen! Hi Gwen! - Thoughts of Mary Jane, 9/23/2019
Mid-chew, Mary Jane muffles out a quiet thank you, her head bobbing as she slips to the side a wee bit. Once she swallows, she clears her throat and bows her head graciously, still retaining that blush. "Oh thank you so much! I.. really tried my best. Are you guys hungry? I can make you guys a quick arrangement of snacks.." She doesn't take compliments well, or meeting famous people..
And it really doesn't help that there was another impossibly gorgeous girl in a two piece black dress floating by with a drink and is currently the life of the party! 'Man, these people can dress! And brownie guy looks so cool!' "I can give you the guys number! He was supposed to be here.. um.." She looks around, then draws a hand up to try to wave towards Gwen. She was all over the darn place!
Spunky indeed. Gwen, the spunky one, makes her way up to the table where there's food. She gives it a quick look; no corndogs. A pity, but not unexpected. She selects instead a cupcake with entirely too much icing on the top, which she promptly relieves of by means of sticking her mouth of all of the icing and nyomming it off all in one go.
"Yeah, it is good," she observes. Did she hear MJ's comment earlier? Maybe? Or is she just being a nerd? Maybe. Either way, she goes on to basically just eat the cupcake out of its little paper thingamajig that it comes in. (A 'cup', you might call it, Gwen.)
Of course, that brings the realization that she's standing right next to one of the stars of the film she just saw. Another person might go "Oh my *gowd* or something, or demand an autograph, or snap a picture. …Gwen just kind of blushes and tries to sneak away while making it look totally natural.
The sight of IncogNEATO's antics is enough to bring a crooked smile to Able's face. "I'll admit to having enjoyed that," he confides to the growing knot of people around the table.
Comments about the male gaze turn his smile into a small laugh, but there's nothing unkind about it. "As the ranking ambassador for my gender at the dessert table, I hope no one suffered too much. Everyone's right, Miss Watson. You were lovely."
It would be pretty clear to Able and MJ that Emma's drink is definitely sparkling, even bubbly, but not Champagne. Which might be interesting.
Her lip curls in faint amusement at Able's bee line for the treats, and MJ's thoughts about them, she definitely had the 'I know something you don't know' vibe down /pat/.
A glance at the young girl being offered wine, and Emma frowns a bit. When she proves not only sensible, but just as spunky as she sensed, she offers the young lady a smile of approval. "Oh, do you two know each other then?" She asks of Gwen and MJ /just/ as Gwen tries to sneak off.
Cued by MJ's thoughts, Emma espies the lovely very model looking young…gatecrasher. Actually, she COULD work in modeling, hrm. She knows a few people…maybe…
Able's comment amuses, and only she and Cat know why. See? She's got that vibe down!
Rows of empty glasses, simply going to waste. That won't do. And so it's with a casual sense of nonchalance that America just plucks up one of flutes. She looks at the fountain. Squints. Frowns.
"Fancy," she mumbles half to herself, before just kind of shoving the lass beneath a stream of bubbly drink until it is a third — no halfway — no three fourths — mostly full.
Satisfied with this, she starts rifling through the contents of those gift bags with a furrowed brow by the time of Able's grand resignation. She looks that way, brows lifted — before the right corner of her lips quirks upward in a respecting kind of smirk. It complements the amused snort that follows pretty nicely.
With that out o the way, America plucks up one of the bags with the cufflinks, deciding she likes them more, and meanders away towards the snacks. Her dark brown eyes roll towards the congregation forming there, but it doesn't stop her; instead, she sets about eyeing the selection of food, asiding to Mary Jane as she does, "Neat movie. Not too bad. Director looks like an ass, though." And despite the unflappable casualness of it, she does at least sound — and feel, to the perusing psychics in the gathering — sincere. About… pretty much every part.
Sharon nods to America, "Too many times when the director decided the camera did not belong on MissWatson's face." She turns back to MJ, "Carrying the scene despite that is a mark of skill. Hopefully will be noticed by other, better directors, yes?" She gracefully selects another petit snack, selecting something she can eat in two bites as that makes manners and elegance easier. The feline slitted lavender eyes are… unusual, and the pupils shift with the light so up close it becomes obvious they are not contacts.
Even though MJ is shy about it now, she's so glad that she's not the only one enjoying the small treats. With Gwen attempting to scurry off, MJ's eyes fixing on the gatherings of people, smiles all abound and another check with her fingers to the side of her mouth. No frosting there, good. Of course she knew of Emma. Who in the business world didn't? If there was anyone to admire, it was a woman who held the ring of the corporate world and crushed other companies beneath their feet!
"No really, I mean it. Thank you guys.." MJ was truly sincere, sincere enough to break out into tears on the spot but she holds it together with her still burning face. She was going to be -exhausted-. "The story was a strange one, you know? The director is a total douche-canoe but he's really good at expressing what he wants people to do for the camera. And you're right, Ma'am.." she says to Sharon. "The score was amazing.."
Though as America approaches, she couldn't help but to see herself in that -outfit-. This young woman looked cool and confident, so much so that it rubbed off a little and made Mary Jane straighten her shoulders. Sharon's comments though, had her nearly tearing up again, then she falls into a cool stammer.. "I.. i. hop..hope so." She sniffles, gosh, all of this was a dream come true!
"Pardon me, I have to do inappropriate things to this tiny cheesecake." Able's voice is grave and his nod is overly serious. Now that he's freed himself from his obligations, he seems to be having fun. Back turned, he pops the treat into his mouth and then swivels around again. "Mmm."
Once he's finished with his bite, he retrieves his glass and takes a sip. Emma's glass receives a curious glance, but no comments. He's the one mixing whiskey and cheesecake, after all. "Douche-canoe," he chuckles. "I like that."
A brow quirks. "Yes, it is very…graphic." She certainly agrees with Able's comment, in fact Emma is trying not to picture that image, and can't. So she does the only reasonable thing - shares it with her daughter. Yes, Evil Emma is Evil. "Miss Watson, my daughter, Sharon." And she clearly doesn't need to introduce herself. And then a smile, kindly to MJ. "If you're going to be in pictures, you'll be in the public eye - never let them see you stammer, and certainly never tearing up unless that's to your advantage."
Gwen sneaks away until she's partway from the table, then comes to a halt, bucks up some courage, and turns back to face everyone once more. Since liquid courage is unavailable to anyone her age, legally anyway, she just goes ahead and stuffs the rest of hte cupcake into her mouth, chewing it up thoughtfully, and swallowing. A quick, slightly amused thought crosses her brain, about how her Dad would probably be… not disappointed but probably just a little sad for her, if she missed an opportunity to chat with a movie star and entourage.
"I would agree with that about the director," she speaks up and agrees. "I mean, there were a few shots that were… I mean… I'm pretty sure they were there for hte benefit of teenage boys who don't ahve girlfriends?" She shrugs her shoulders lightly, before claiming another cupcake. A chocolate one. With icing… lots of icing… and a marachino cherry on top, which goes straight in her mouth 'cause those are awesome.
"How'd you let him talk you into that, MJ?" she adds. "I mean, other than him being the director."
Sharon chuckles as the mental image is shared by Emma. "Well… douches are sold as being good for women while being the opposite, so is appropriate term, yes?" She gestures vaguely in the director's direction with her champagne flute and a wicked grin.
Able's machinations with the cheesecake causes her to giggle! She sniffs a little, then wipes away at her face to keep the tears from falling, straightening herself up at the advice of Emma. She was right. She had to take the pride and wear it like a badge, but how in the world was she going to keep humble?
Gwen comments make her blush again, this time her arms dropping in front of her. "To be honest, it was just a little side thigh.." MJ confesses. "..I think all shower scenes at least have a side view.. right?" Certainly he was not being a perv! "..And really, he's honestly nice. He had a woman direct that scene so I was totally safe." Though not from the public. Sharon's comment though? It finally broke the ice and had MJ laughing loud, her hands smacking hard together as she leans back against the table. Little did she know, her dress was getting a bit messed up from all of the frosting left on the table.
She was going to pay for that later.
Emma leans close to MJ, whispering just by her ear. "Humility if overrated, you're beautiful, you're smart, and you're talented. Revel in your power, don't let /anyone/ steal it from you." Even softer. "Especially a douche canoe." And then she leans back, finishes her drink and smiles for the crowd, clearly very comfortable with the attention. "Alas, it is a school night, and Sharon does have an exam, was it differential equations or trigonometry tomorrow?" She asks the girl. Once she's answered she smiles once more to the hostess. "Well done, Miss Watson." And to Gwen a hint of smile, and yes, America for her brass definitely gets one too. Able, however, he also gets one. Apparently Emma has a surplus.
And with that, exit stage right.
"I thought it was very tasteful. Well, this has been fun," Able says, raising a hand by way of farewell. "But it is a school night, and now that I'm no longer employed, I'm pretty much just an armed gate crasher. All the best. Congrats again, Miss Watson. "
Whiskey in one hand and a fresh cheesecake bite in the other, he nods to the rest of the impromptu gathering and makes his way toward the door.
Sharon tsks, "Passed both this summer. Calculus now and Java Script exams tomorrow. Not worried though." She smiles at MJ, "A pleasure to meet you." She leaves at Emma's side, head up, shoulders squared. No, the two women look nothing alike, but that confidence, how she carries herself, it's easy to believe she learned it from Emma.
Scratching her cheek with her index finger, that America can maintain such a sublime poker face even when critically evaluating adorably small sweets is maybe impressive — or maybe it's just her default look. Nevertheless, it makes it all the more noticeable when it cracks in a small grin and a brief snort of laughter.
"'Douche-canoe,'" she echoes between her laughter as she plucks up a bright blue macaron-y treat. "Shit." She slides a real 'right??' look Able's way, before she pops the that macaron into her mouth.
"Huh," she exhales. Dainty treats are not exactly her speed, but… "Too damn tiny. But… pretty okay." That means 'she likes it' in Ms. America's native tongue: 'criminal understatement.'
With that, she finishes off her drink (where did all that champagne go so fast?), plucks up her gift bag, and pauses, if briefly, to listen to the back and forth between the others.
"Sure," she says after a moment. "A nice douche-canoe. Got it." It's hard to tell if she means that seriously or if she's just kidding, so perfect is that deadpan. But she breaks a small smile after as she pulls away from the table shortly after Emma, lifting a hand in the nonchalant cant of a wave for the others.
"Nice talk," offers America to the dispersing group, even for how little she contributed to it in terms of words. "Keep being a badass, it's a good look for you." And off she goes, hands finding their place in her pockets as she offers one last piece of advice:
"And watch out where you sit."