Nemo Saltat Sobrius, Part II


abby_icon.gif caliban_icon.gif daphne_icon.gif gillian_icon.gif huruma_icon.gif ling_icon.gif magnes_icon.gif

Scene Title Nemo Saltat Sobrius, Part II
Synopsis A small gathering congregates in the Corinthian's rose garden on the night of its grand opening to get away from the hustle and bustle of the ballroom.
Date February 22, 2010

The Corinthian: Rose Garden

The Rose Garden is both that as well as greenhouse, glass walls and rooftop ceiling off this little getaway from whatever weather happens to be uselessly battering at it. When the snow falls, it makes a flurry against the glass, an inverse snow dome, but right now it's clear, with a smoggy, starry night domed beyond. The outside courtyard that lies between its closed doors and the opened ones of the warm and bright hotel interior is empty of people save for those moving back and forth, a temporary and interstitial space.

It's warm in here, and smells of dirt and fragrant flowers, crowded with beds of roses, miniature explosions of colour and thorny stalks alike. Dense Indian Hawthorne hedges below the height of a knee create an artful and polite barrier between flowering displays and the gravel pathways, of which there are six coming together into a star-like pattern. The center of this starburst arrangement holds a small three-tiered fountain, bringing with it the scent and sound of trickling water. There are benches around the edges, wooden slats left naked of paint and new to look at, polished smooth.

Strings of white lights draped between trees glow like fireflies and bathe the Corinthian's rose garden in soft illumination. Blossoms of pale pink, deep scarlet red and seashell white are open year-round, even in the dead of winter, and are of the fragrant English variety — their petals even resemble the taffeta material that's so popular with the women in attendance this evening, so it's probably no surprise that there are signs up to discourage desperate suitors and romantic fools from plucking buds to place in the hair of their beloveds.

Not that signs ever stopped anyone.

Unlike the ballroom, there are no hors d'ouevres being served here, only Merlot wine and Cabernet Sauvignon from a table clothed in white linens near the bubbling fountain by waitstaff who have to divide their attention between the bar and the flowers. Fortunately, no one can steal the alcohol — everything offered this evening in the rose garden and the ballroom is complimentary. Those who wish to purchase stronger drinks have been advised to make their way up to the bar and lounge on the top floor or dine at the hotel's French restaurant, Cambery.

It's quieter here without even the sound of music drifting out of the ballroom to provide a soft backdrop for the murmured conversations taking place within the garden's glass walls. Outside, ice rain drums against the conservatory and creates alien shapes in the form of skinny rivulets winding randomly down the glass. Some fork apart, carve wide swaths and then come together again, thickening into fat silver fingers that reflect Manhattan's city lights. Others do not make it all the way down and instead form large beads of moisture on the panes.

There would be more couples walking the gravel paths hand-in-hand if the ballroom's allure wasn't so attractive. Instead, the rose garden sees a slow but steady trickle of guests who come to take a break from the whorl of activity happening elsewhere, though none of them stay to admire the flowers for very long.

It's a lot of people here, far more than she expected, but then again, Abigail's never really been to something like this before and despite that she's been the epitome of southern grace and smiles and as Eileen and others have assured her all week, not the southern white trash that she's afraid she'd come off as, the blonde has taken to the rose garden for respite. Caliban off to deal with a security issue leaves her a moment to go for the rose garden to get away from the noise and crush of people. This was not the wisest of choices to have gone to. For a person who doesn't like being touched, it's all been made more than bearable by her date for the night. Or well, she was his date for the night. She was someone's. As it stands she takes up a glass of the alcohol on offer, a small sip for it for nerves.

The Rose Garden has been a refuge for more than one person during this event, and one of those people has spent more time here, than in the Ballroom. A lot more. A glass of red wine already refilled once and half empty os in her hands as Gillian spots the blonde woman who helped her get made up and her nails done, and makes her way over. "Did you lose your date?" she asks, taking a small sip.

No visible nerves with her, the black dress covering her body from beck to knees, clinging tightly, but made up so much more of black lace. It gives the hint of her curves and skin under the dress, including her breasts, without quite showing with the black slashes that go through it. The lace covers her arms to the wrists, as well. None of her usual tattoos are visible, and the blonde knows why better than anyone else.

Ling stood quietly, admiring the flowers that adorned the aptly named Rose Garden. Her first time in public in quite the while, and here she was standing silent, away from the crowd and the people she was here to see anyway. Regardless, the wine and smell of the flowers ere a calming contrast to the anxiety that still plagued her. Taking a sip of the glass she held, she turned away from the flowers, eyeing the others that had found their way back to the garden. No one she knew, that she could recall. Smiling, she begins to make paces around, heels clacking with very step.

Most of the women to come to the gala have taken that conservative fashion entirely to heart; some have also taken it and failed, and some at the very least try their best to do it. In this instance Huruma is of the lattermost quality. From afar she seems to have done this perfectly, yet as one gets closer the sheer item value of anything on her lifts and lifts. The tall woman is wearing a very form fitting strapless cloth gown- black- but the detail is that of some sort of reptile skin, studded with glittering sequins in the fabric. There is gold on her limbs and neck in almost absurd volume, here and there the dark crimson of what look like rubies shining quietly inside of settings. The only tame thing about her jewelry seems to be the simple stud earrings. Even without looking for someone, she seems to have been gravitating to those that recognize her so far.

No date, no concern for not having one- Huruma has made a duty of flitting in and out of places within the Corinthian, and even now the only thing that gives her away upon entrance into the rose garden is the glitter of gold against the rain-splattered glass. One of her hands, ringed on a couple fingers, sways precariously with a long flute with a red liquid that matches quite a few shades as she swirls it idly, eyes set to scan the garden before getting too facr.

"Gillian" Abigail turns her face towards the other woman, followed soon by her body proper. Chiffon gives a bit of a swirl in response. "Well, when your date is Robert, one has to expect that they will at times be forced to entertain themselves when things require his attention. He'll be back soon, I think. Probably" The drawls been deep all night, far more than it normally is. "It's quiet here, not so many people. I didn't think there'd be so many people" the thin teardrop emerald on the end of the lariat that dives down to an inch above the bustline is fiddled with. There is nothing modest in the blonde's eyes about the decolletage of her dress.

She clings to her champagne glass like a life preserver, blue eye's flicking towards Ling as the woman moves and offers a smile to her. "It smells so beautiful here too. Probably the last time I'll be in a place like this, truth be told. Though before Sonny passed, he'd sent me to his publicist so that I could learn so, I suppose that that is something going for me. I wish he could have seen this" It does pay off, shoulders squared, back straight and chin lifted a fraction. The edge of the cross peeking out from one of the wide white bands of her dress, and the top half of text visible on the other side when she lifts her glass to take another sip. "Just.. remind me not to have more than one more drink for the rest of the night, please. I don't want to make a fool of myself. You haven't found anyone to dance with?" Huruma's unseen for now.

"I've been avoiding the Ballroom in case I ran into your partner," Gillian says with a shrug, glancing in the direction of the music. It's not at all what she'd intended to come for, but when she'd planned to go she didn't know he would be here. "So no, no dancing. Haven't even spotted you with your date yet. Maybe he'll come and fetch you so I can see who this famous guy even is." Not so much famous, more… she's heard some things about him. And apparently busy guy!

"And you never know— you might marry some rich doctor and get dragged to these things all the time. You never expected you'd be here once, so there's a good chance you could be here again. Especially if guys like that Robert keep asking you out places."

A questioning eyebrow is raised as discreetly as possible as Huruma enters the garden, Ling's gaze lingering on her for a brief moment before Ling lets out a sigh. The conversations in the room do little to interest her at the moment, and instead she turns her attention to the small purse she had brought with her. She felt the strongest urge to light up a cigarette, but she was sure they wouldn't take too kindly to it in this wonderful garden - and it was a habit she was unhappy to have picked up anyway. The less, the better. For now, she remained silent, contemplating finally making her way to the party proper.

Sometimes it is easy to know who you are coming up on. Huruma has no issue in identifying Abby through the muddled world that is her field of senses; she cannot so much turn it on naturally inside of many other rooms for fear of simply hearing too much in her brain. She circles around at first, like some sort of glittering vulture, but soon enough Huruma approaches from the girls' blind side, gliding in the gown just like the slow reptile it has taken its pattern off of.

"You look quite beautiful, Abigail." Huruma's voice alone is unmistakable, her tone much calmer in this setting for some reason. More measured in its timing, and its volume that drips so liberally with a vampish quality.

Gillian's words inspire utter horror at the though. "Robert asked me because I'd never been to one and he thought that I might enjoy it. But it is a lot of people and everyone keeps brushing up against everyone and they touch everyone and you can't hear yourself think. I don't even know how Robert does it all the time" She surmises he does this frequently enough though for the times she's caught him on the phone. Ling is glanced to again before, with a little flinch, there's Huruma, sneaking up as always. "Huruma. Sweet merciful lord" THe champagne in the glass rocks, A bit of it escaping to land on the floor and hit the hem of the blonde's dress.

"There are a lot of people, but easier to blend in that way too," Gillian says, shrugging her shoulders a bit as she sips on her wine, or sips just enough to quickly spit it back out into the glass in surprised. This isn't a wine tasting party, so that's not an acceptable thing to do, unless a towering dark skinned woman happens to be suddenly behind her. She coughs a bit. "Blend in as long as you're not her at least." She looks up, eyebrows raising faintly in surprise, then says, "Hi." Yeah, eloquent. She's not made for this sort of thing either.

Taking the last sip of her wine, Ling frowns as the empty glass. Placing it back down where it had originally been retrieved from, her hand immediately, but slowly, dips into her purse. When her hand reemerges, it holds both a small silver lighter and a small black pack of cigarettes. She looks around, watching to see if anyone affiliated with the hotel took exception with the action she was about to undertake.

She never got far enough to find out, however. Even as she slipped open the lighter, it slipped out of her hands, Ling unable to keep a proper grip on it with the gloves she was wearing. A Chinese curse floated out of her mouth, the woman sighing with aggravation. It bounced loudly against the floor, sliding just up to where the now trio of ladies was having a conversation. Her eyes rose from the ground to each of them, and fighting back apprehension and a little bit of paranoid, she stepped toward them, motioning down tot eh silver lighter.

"I'm quite sorry about the interruption," she says quietly, "but if you'll excuse me?"

"I suspect I need t'stop doing that, don't I?" Huruma's reaction is a slow upheaval of the outsides of her eyebrows, peering down to the girls and for all the world appearing to stop. Perhaps the skin of the tight dress only gives the illusion, or perhaps she has. "Hello. Gillian, yes?" Her voice practically reverberates so close, and somehow it signals her personal contentment like a housecat rolling over to purr in the sunlight. Huruma turns her white eyes to follow a bouncing glint of silver, irises aiming down as the lighter comes to a halt between them only to be followed by the meekness of Ling excusing her presence in wanting to get it back.

Huruma lifts her eyes to the Chinese woman, studying her for a few long moments- scrutiny at its best.

Silver goes clattering, right to the blonde's foot, knocking into the heels that she's wearing. Ones that are quickly becoming sore on her feat. She is not a dress up frou frou girl.. She prefers her skirts and jeans and a comfortable cotton top. Sensible flats. Down she kneel's, chiffon fluttering out as she leans down to pick up the lighter and with slender fingers, pass it over to Ling. "Here you go. Don't worry, it happens. You might want to take your smoke upstairs to the roof or out front. I'm sure they wouldn't take kindly to any people caught smoking in here"

She glances between huruma and gillian, shaking her head. "Huruma doens't blend well. How's Django?"

Sensible flats? Hell no. Gillian's in heels. Black heels to be exact, that go well with her dress. It still doesn't make her anywhere near as tall as the towering African Queen that she briefly met in Antarctica. "She couldn't blend in the last place I saw her either." Ice. And yet, somehow she blends in just fine when sneaking up on people. It'd just be hard not to spot her in the ballroom.

"Yeah, Gillian. I'm afraid I didn't remember your name, but… Abby supplied it." Thanks Abby. Who's Dja-whateber? "Nice to meet you." There's a pause, before she looks toward Ling, the one who dropped the lighter. "Are we allowed to smoke in here? Cause I could totally bum one off you."

Ling glances at Abby, wrinkling her nose at the girl. "I can't say I know for sure. I'd imagine not, with the roses. It never hurts to make sure I have them, however," she replies. She eyes the tallest woman carefully as she speaks, cautiousness in her eyes. "Thank you, either way, for getting that for me." She offers a smile to her, looking to the other one who had addressed her.

"Oh. I see no reason why not," she comments as she slips a brown wrapped cigarette out of it's box, offering it between her fingers to Gillian. A smirk crosses her face as she draws one out for herself. "If there are rules to be broken, I may as well not be the only one," she says as the cigarette is placed on her lips and the lighter flicked open, producing a more than adequate flame. Closing and flipping the lighter in her hand, she offers it over to Gillian.

Huruma does not blend in. She's right. Huruma knows it too. Her darkened red lips curl over her white teeth in a smooth smile to both Gillian and Abby, eyelids hovering low. "I don'blend in, in most places." Considering her wardrobe could probably buy several suites, that is a definite for this too. "Dajan is well, an'th'family. As well as can be. Th'country is still in shambles there, bu'they are doing rather well wit'th'help that they are receiving." It feels very strange to talk about family, still. It has only been a few months of knowing her son- and barely, her grandson. Some people may not mention them so soon and so casually, but Huruma is no one besides herself.

Daphne has arrived.

"I look forward to when he comes here, when he visits" Abby offers to the black woman, going up on her toes - which really, isn't that far considering she's in the heels - to murmur into the other womans ear waaaay up there. Ling and Gillian lighting up, or at least Ling lighting up and passing the lighter to Gillian gets a raise of blonde brows as they stand over to one side near some roses

"Excellent," Gillian says, taking the bummed cigarette and holding it between darkened red lips, then lighting it with the lighter. She inhales a little to get it lip, and then has to quickly grab it in the same hand of the lighter so she can cough once or twice. "Different brand than I'm used to," she says, voice hoarser than even her normal rasp, as she hands the lighter back.

With wine glass in one hand, and cigarette in the other, she looks more 'proper like' than she probably feels, but what wine she's drank has helped withthand using the lighter to set fire to the end of it, inhaling long enough to get it lit, and then admitedly coughing once or twice. "New brand," she explains, handing the lighter back over. In the first few moments, it becomes obvious she doesn't spoke too often— She stops inhaling much at all, even. Mayve she just likes the smell.

The excuse one is looking for fresh air doesn't work so well when it's an enclosed greenhouse, but still, Daphne steps into the "outdoorsy" enclosure that will keep her warm in her gauzey white halter-top gown, rather than stand out in the cold. She still holds a glass of champagne in her hands, sipping as she peers at those assembled in the garden. "Ah, it's the nun," she murmurs when her dark eyes fall upon Abby. "And the woman with the long black box," she adds, with a pixyish smile for Huruma. She might look all dolled up, with pin curls in her hair, but there's a certain impishness that designer gowns can't hide. The foamy-looking dress may even add to the fae nature of the speedster.

Magnes has arrived.

The lighter is placed quickly back into Ling's small purse, the Chinese woman offering a curt smile to Gillian, taking a step back be blowing an unusually thick cloud of smoke up into the air. She had caught Abby's step away, and made as much of an attempt as she could manage to angle to smoke away from her and her tall companion. Taking another drag, she looks back to Gillian. "I apologize if they're a bit? heavy. They calm my nerves, among other things." That was only the beginning of it, really, but that wasn't anything she needed to be sharing

The entrance of the next woman catches her by surprise, but her familiarity with the others made her wonder who else, exactly, might be partaking in events in the other rooms.

Huruma leans in to listen to Abby, her complex golden necklace shifting over her chest as she does so, hands and gold wrists finding the front curve of her fitting black dress, fingers tracing over the reptilian pattern. As Abby moves away again, Huruma offers her a soft nod before beginning to silently untie the girl's emotional knots, ordering them into place and replacing some of the most hazardous ones with a manner of serenity. Her eyes venture momentarily to Daphne as she happens over, only to return to Abby in her own white.

"I am looking forward to it as well. No telling when. A visit may take some time."

Oh this is better. Much better and as much as it might normally unnerve her that Huruma's using her ability on her, Abigail's gone from tense and worried, eyes darting everywhere to visibly relaxing, shoulder's lessening in their severity just a fraction. "thank you" murmured to the empaths through closed eye's and a deep breath before she hears 'nun' and cracks open blue eyes to spot Daphne. 'Hello Daphne. Joining us? This is Huruma" Deciding on introductions. "Gillian and… I don't believe we got your name?" Inquired of Ling. She's the date of one of the upper ups of the Lindermans, she might as well play hostess to a degree.

"It's fine. I just like the smell of it for the most part," Gillian admits outloud, keeping it close, and letting it burn, though only taking the smallest puffs as she looks at the newcomer, who seems to know the African Giant and the 'Nun'. "Nun, never gonna escape that one, are you, Abs?" she asks the blonde girl, well aware that Nun is not what she'd ever been. She's not even Catholic! Sipping on the wine supplied for them at the small wine bar, she's probably a good deal buzzed already and doesn't need the cigarette to soothe her nerves—

But a glance toward the music from the ballroom shows she actually does have nerves to soothe still.

Caliban has arrived.

Robert Caliban's pinstriped suit has been upgraded to more formal fare. A black tuxedo slims his frame and allows matte, non-patterned material to give his muscles definition beneath the fabric. When you get paid as well as he does, you can afford to throw hundreds of dollars away at the tailor's to ensure that your clothes fit perfectly. Women aren't the only ones who preen themselves, and while in nature it's the male birds that flaunt gaudy colours, his plumage is much more drab than many of the female members of his species in attendance tonight — John Logan excepted, and John Logan isn't here.

He enters the rose garden at a brisk clip somewhere between a fast walk and a leisurely jog, gradually slowing as his feet crunch through the gravel on his way across the conservatory. Wherever he just came from, he ran to get here.

Having been mingling in the party for quite some time, Magnes has been following Tracy Strauss' long list of gala no-nos. Though, he's grown somewhat tired of having to keep it all up, and heads into the garden.

A few months ago, he might have come wearing a cheap costume suit, but right now, he's wearing an honest to god five-hundred dollar suit. The pants and jacket are a matching black, the jacket being unbuttoned and swaying open. His buttoned up shirt is dark gray with a black tie hanging down the middle. And he's wearing simple leather shoes on his feet, though nothing too expensive. "Wish I could find Tracy, it's much easier to follow her lead…" He honestly only came to track down Linderman, which is proving much harder than he thought, and he's yet to notice the familiar faces in the garden, keeping his head hanging down with hands in his pockets, heading in the general direction of the fountain.

Daphne's eyes move quickly from the group of women to the men approaching, then back to the others and smiles. "Pleased to meet you," she says with a nod, and a lift of her glass. Her eyes move back and she gives a shake of her head. Magnes? "Well, it's a little reunion of that one's birthday, it looks like." She nods to the man and goes to lean on a planter, sipping her drink and looking up at the sky through the glass.

Having been mingling in the party for quite some time, and following Tracy Strauss' long list of gala no-nos, Magnes grows tired of it all and heads into the garden.

A few months ago he'd come wearing a random costume suit, but tonight he's wearing an honest to god five-hundred dollar suit. The pants and unbuttoned jacket are a matching black with the tie hanging down the front of his dark-gray buttoned up shirt. And his black shoes are a simple leather style, nothing too fancy or expensive like his suit. The jacket flows back a bit as he heads for the fountain with his hands in his pockets, not noticing the familiar faces as he heads in the general direction of the fountain.

Ling offers a shrug at Gillian, taking a other long drag and following it with another rather thick puff of smoke. She visibly falters, however, when asked her name by Abby, letting out a strong cough. The woman attempts to compose herself quickly, reminding herself where she is. "Ah, well? Ling," she replies, giving a nod to Abby. "A pleasure to meet you all," the business woman replies, extending a hand in Abby's direction. "How rude of me to have not introduced myself."

Huruma is like an instant full body massage, isn't she? Quite effective for the nerves. Nerves which Gillian has never specified not to touch- so Huruma leaks a little bit of that soothing love over onto the other girl as well, but only enough to make that buzz more calming. Her eyes trail before Daphne signals poor Magnes, catching the boy in sight with little trouble as he makes his way through the garden. From this distance, she tries to see if she can catch his attention by running a literal chill up his spine.

Standing there with the others, Huruma sticks out anyway; her black dress and mounds of golden jewelry does that as a favor.

Abby can't see her date bearing down on the group. Or see Magnes quite yet. "Nope, it's stuck. That and Boss Lady. it'll only be a matter of time till the other rig runners give me one too." She hasn't sipped from her wine again, not too worried about the little bit that splashed her hem. That's what dry cleaning is for. A relaxed smile on her face courtesy of Hurma and looking between the group despite the pair who are smoking. "Pleasure to meet you too" She turns to put the wine glass down and catches sight of the two men and looks expectantly toward Caliban, brow raised.

Ah, liquid happiness. Gillian takes in a slow breath, feeling the effects almost instantly, but suspecting it's just the cigarette and the wine kicking in full swing. It does have the unfortunate side effect of unravelling the knot a bit in the back of her head, just sending out tendrils of energy— nothing that would activate unactive abilities, but would cause a noticable increase in active ones, that's easy enough to control. "You know, I think I should go see about dancing," she says, catching Magnes in the corner of her eyes, and nodding toward him, with a smile— but then she spots someone else.

"Hey, that's the guy who gave me my invite," she says, catching sight of Caliban, with no idea that he'd been Abby's date at all.

It does not take Caliban very long to locate Abby amidst the roses. There are only so many people in the garden, and only so many gatherings of the one this size. His eyes are immediately drawn to the halo of blonde hair, the pale slope of her neck and bare shoulders made pink by the flimsy white material of her gown. If he knew that Teodoro Laudani had picked it out for her, he would thank him.

It makes her look like an angel.

"Abigail," he says, having caught his breath somewhere between the conservatory doors and Gillian, who he passes on his way to Abby with a faint look of recognition tipped sideways. He's still sober, just flushed.

The chill down his spine causes Magnes' back to straighten and head to immediately turn in her direction like some sort of gravity-manipulating meerkat, and his eyes widen even more when he spots Gillian peering in his direction.

He doesn't make a sound or remove his hands from his pockets when his knees bend, and he suddenly springs into the air, doing a few spins and flips before his shoes tap against the floor, landing a few feet in front of Huruma. "Whoa, I know a lot of people here." he says in surprise, smiling at the tall dark woman. "That sword saved my life already." is what he greets her with, nodding to Daphne, then turning to Abby in even more surprise.

"And you look seriously beautiful, Abby!" But he can't let Gillian leave without saying something. "Wait! You've gotta call me! I've been trying to find you forever, we need to catch up!"

But the final focus of his attention is Caliban, whose flushed expression earns a raised eyebrow from the ex-delivery boy. But he simply nods and smiles in a friendly silent greeting to the stranger.

"Well, that's good. I doubt my present would ever save your life, unless maybe you used it to put out a fire. Or were freezing to death," Daphne says with a shrug, and another gulp of champagne. She looks to Caliban as he greets Abby, brows darker than her ringleted blonde locks rising in some appreciation for the apparent appreciation the man has for the bar owner. She sighs slightly. Being single at such events is never fun. Her mind can't help but think of the closest thing to a romantic partner she has — and doesn't have. "Well. That's enough quasi fresh air for me. These flowers are going to make my hay fever act up," she says overly brightly, getting up from her planter.

A grimace forms on Ling's face as the small crowd of people she doesn't know well at all begins to form. Taking a long, final drag on her cigarette, she exhales a plume of smoke into the air, looking for a trashcan to trash the butt. Her eyes drifted from person to person even as she stepped away to stow the butt in it's rightful place. "if you'll excuse me, ladies?" she says, turning back to Abby, Gillian, and Huruma. "It was a pleasure to meet to you all, but I must be off elsewhere."

When Gillian reciprocates even just a little, Huruma almost shivers from it. What is that? Should she do it again? Probably not. For now she takes her whiskers back, eyes following Abby and Gillian's minor gestures to study Robert Caliban. He is vaguely familiar, but she does not pry yet. She stands opposite of Abigail, staring down her fine features towards the man as he gets closer; the fingers wringing the stem of her glass shift the flute a moment, and the red inside gyrates slowly.

Huruma does not blink when Magnes lands nearby like some bizarre moonbounce boy, but does turn her eyes his direction when he speaks to her.
Robert. I was beginning to think I'd lost you for the rest of the night and I'd have to entertain myse-" This is the guy, she looks to Gillian and then to Caliban. "Then you have both met and I suppose I have you to thank for Gillian being here to help with my nerves. Robert, please meet my friends. Daphne, Huruma and you know Gillian it seems. This is Ling, she's a new acquaintance." Abby eases her arm into the crook of Caliban's arm, re-assuring herself he's not an illusion. "annnd, there's Magnes" She's far more at ease than when he left her, paranoia taking a back seat and one can assume it's the drink barely touched that she just put down, or her friends that all seemed to make it. "I hope you find him Gillian, have fun dancing!" She offers up, though who the him is, is a mystery and Abby flushes, pink rising from her chest up to her cheeks at Magnes comment. "take care Daphne" Chirped in southern drawl.

"Sorry about that— I threw my phone at someone and it didn't quite recover, but I'll call you soon," Gillian says with a grin at him bouncing around the walls, but she can't help but peer curiously at Caliban. Abby knows him, and he's the anonymous benifactor! At least the guy working for him. She moves closer to the blonde not-Nun and lowers her voice to say, "See if you can find out who he was sending me here for, too." She knows the man is close enough to overhear, but she winks away, as she nods to the departing Ling, "Thanks for the cigarette!" And she has no idea that she also needs to thank Huruma for the happy tingle of the wine she's experiencing now, and the small group continues to disperse.

Caliban is spared most of the monotony. He's lost count of how many people he's introduced and been introduced to since the night began, and he would be lying if he told Abby that he wasn't just a little bit grateful to finally catch up with her and discover that the gathering she's found herself tangled up in has begun to dissolve by the time he's at her arm and leaning in to press a rough kiss to her cheek. "The pleasure's mine," he says, blue eyes moving between his date's friends and acquaintances before they settle on Abigail once more. A hand cups her chin, brushes a strand of cornsilk blonde hair away from her face. "I don't have very much time," he adds apologetically, "but I wanted to see you before I got caught up again. Are you enjoying yourself?"

Daphne heads for the doors, giving a wave to the eclectic group of near-strangers before heading out of the greenhouse. Once out, she might make one more run around, or perhaps explore some less busy areas of the hotel — to see if there's anything worth pocketing. Might as well make the night out worth the time, after all, right? No sense leaving home empty handed, and since no men have struck her fancy, it might as well be a nice new statue or painting.

Daphne has left.

Gillian has left.

"Don't forget, Gillian!" Magnes calls out one last time as she leaves, sighing softly. Then his eyes turn to spot Caliban and Abby, though the name escaped his ears, he turns to the two and raises his eyebrow once more. "Hey. And um, you're touching a lot. You know she has a boyfriend, right?" he offers as the reason for sounding slightly annoyed, then shrugs in exasperation and turns his attention back to Huruma. "If you know how to use that sword any better, I'd love some lessons."

Ling gives one final nod and a smile to GIllian. "No worries," she says with a dimissisive gesture, even as she turns towards the door. She was curious as to who else was here, and being amongst this crown much longer had little more interest to here. Giving a nod to teh others, she quickly turns and makes her way out of teh Garden.

Huruma lifts the wine to her lips to drain at the liquid, peering over to Caliban all the while. There is a bit of an accusation behind her eyes, as if she wants to reprimand him for leaving Abby alone long enough for her nerves to get so tangled together. Her simmering is paused when she glances to Magnes, lips curving in a small smile. "Of course I know how."

Ling has left.

She's going to be abandoned again. And here Gillian said she'd have fun, and could look forward to more of this. "Shut up magnes" Spoken without even looking at the other guy. "It's one of these moments, you need to shut up" Frustration surfacing on her face at the prospect of being left alone again. "It's for Charity Robert" is the diplomatic answer. "I'll probably go soon, I have an early shift tomorrow, and I have to get my parents settled in" She offers a smile for him. "Turns out, I'm not really a big ol party girl after all. But, thank you. For bringing me" Huruma's unseen, so she doens't notice the 'what are your intentions towards my daughter' look being given.

"Thank you for accompanying me." And there's something very sincere about the way he says it, even though she hasn't been doing much accompanying at all. Caliban gives Abigail's chin a brief squeezes before dropping his hand. "I'd like to see you again before you go," he says, "if I could. In private?"

Magnes seems even more annoyed by Abby's reaction, and his knuckles close to go white at Caliban's last words. "Whatever the hell is going on here aside, I don't appreciate the way you talk to me, despite the fact that I'm nothing but…" He throws his hands up, then starts heading for the exit. "You know what, screw this, I'm washing my hands of it. Melissa was right. I'm leaving you alone. There's girls who don't talk to me like a freakin' dog just 'cause I said something to some asshole that's pining all over them."

He stops and turns back for a minute, quite a bit of anger in the glare he shoots Abby, though he doesn't seem to pay much attention to Caliban himself. He opens his mouth to say something, but then just closes it, shakes his head, and turns back for the exit again.

Magnes has left.

Huruma is left to narrow her eyes further at Robert from over her glass, which she is obviously not tipping back far enough to be drinking from. She doesn't say much of anything, having been left alone to loom there, glittering in gold and faux snakeskin.

Magnes outburst draws Abby's gaze away from Caliban and her chin from out of his hand as he drops them, brows furrowed and a sigh. "Oh Magnes" Murmured before Huruma's looming is noticed and she's suddenly uncomfortable.

"Don't. You don't get to do that" She chides the empath. "You turn that look on someone else, I've already- " She cuts off and frowns. "I'm an adult and if I want to cavort with Robert Caliban, then I will cavort and frolic and.. do unspeakable thing in bed with him Hruma" She looks over to the PR rep. "I'll be going in an hour, I have to call my watchers and see where they want me to go and with who. But thank you, for letting me accompany you and dip my feet in the fishbowl" She remembers how it was described to her before. "What parts of it I did enjoy, I enjoyed. Just too many people for my liking"

"Tell security when you do go," says Caliban, stepping away from Abigail. His attention is on Magnes, too. Or was. Specifically his retreating back. Blond brows furrow up into a expression of quiet bewilderment, then lower again as his forehead smooths out and his mouth adopts a more neutral shape. There are a few moments where he's tempted to follow, catch up with him outside and politely inquire—

Well. It doesn't matter, because he the radio buzzing at his hip reminds him to resist temptation and get back to work. "I'll see you soon," he promises, moving away. "Please don't forget."

"I am making up f'lost time, Abigail. I feel maternal." Huruma offers half as a joke, quite unaffected by the girl's admonishments personally, but she does shade her eyelids and cut off the Acting Adult Look she has fixed on him in favor of draining the last bit of wine from her glass. She waits until he has moved further away before exhaling through her nose and glancing down to Abby.

"Apologies. I really'ave been much too protective lately. Of anyone."

"I promise Robert, that I will let security know and I will come find you. You should go" A gesture to his hip and an understanding smile. Wasn't what she thought the night would be, but this was Roberts life and he'd dropped god know how many things when she called. So off her date goes and that leaves her with Huruma and the woman apologizing. The wine glass is picked up with a sigh. "You're forgiven Huruma. It's just Robert. You don't have to be afraid of his intentions towards me. Really, you don't. I know what they are, and they're favourable"

Caliban has left.

"As long as you are confident about them. But if you should ever need t'chase him away-" Huruma leaves the empty glass in her hand to be rolled about in her fingers. "You know t'ask me. I would no'hurt him if you did not want me to."

"If I want him to go away Huruma, I would just tell him, and he would. I trust him to do that. I'm hungry, and I don't want to drink anything else more until I get something to eat. Surely they have food here somewhere, if not, maybe the restaurant is open" Abigail offers her arm to the african woman in case she wants it. "Enjoy myself as much as I can"

"They have waiters inside, at least." Huruma will simply be Abby's interim date, if it comes to this. Her long arm finds the hind curve of Abby's, and her fingers curl gently onto her forearm. The golden bracelets on her skin glint opposite of the girl's studded dress. In fact, that is exactly how it looks. Total opposites. Abby looking the part of an angel in simple white, and Huruma in her expansive shadow of black, gold, and rubies.

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