Aphrodite Dionaea (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
callipygos) wrote2012-12-01 06:44 pm
callipygos) wrote2012-12-01 06:44 pm
holiday party post
Aphrodite's New York loft is done up to the nines.
The first good look as one enters is of twinkling Manhattan through the big windows, lights bright against a dark winter sky. The windows take up most of two walls; the rest of the space is largely empty, the star of the show a glowingly polished hardwood floor perfect for dancing.
There's a cluster of low-slung couches and chairs at one end of the room, velvet and leather and very inviting. They're situated by the fireplace, which lends them a cozy glow-- though it isn't cold anywhere in here, despite the windows.
Aphrodite is very proud of a few things about tonight:
1) The music, which spans a decent range of time periods and tempos, and will be playing for most of the evening.
2) The decorations, understated but quite lovely: softly glowing lights, silver and gold ribbons wound around columns and draped from the ceiling ... the occasional strategically placed bit of mistletoe.
3) Her dress.
And yes, darlings, there is a very well stocked bar and counter full of snacks.
That's what happens when you enlist the Three Graces to help you plan your shindigs.
The first good look as one enters is of twinkling Manhattan through the big windows, lights bright against a dark winter sky. The windows take up most of two walls; the rest of the space is largely empty, the star of the show a glowingly polished hardwood floor perfect for dancing.
There's a cluster of low-slung couches and chairs at one end of the room, velvet and leather and very inviting. They're situated by the fireplace, which lends them a cozy glow-- though it isn't cold anywhere in here, despite the windows.
Aphrodite is very proud of a few things about tonight:
1) The music, which spans a decent range of time periods and tempos, and will be playing for most of the evening.
2) The decorations, understated but quite lovely: softly glowing lights, silver and gold ribbons wound around columns and draped from the ceiling ... the occasional strategically placed bit of mistletoe.
3) Her dress.
And yes, darlings, there is a very well stocked bar and counter full of snacks.
That's what happens when you enlist the Three Graces to help you plan your shindigs.
Re: Food and Drink
The amount of food is overwhelming, and some of it is just plain unfamiliar—like those small brown cakes. Mary's not sure what "Rated R" means, and she's not particularly hungry at the moment anyway, so she skips the food and settles on a glass of champagne instead.
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His hand pauses over the plate of brownies. Rated R? WTF? ...Uh, no. Moving on to the cocktail weenies.
He then glances at the woman in the red dress and black elbow-length gloves, giving her a quick once-over, as he is wont to do.
"Smart move. I wouldn't touch those brownies with a ten-foot pole. At least someone put a warning on 'em."
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But he does seem to know something about the mysterious foodstuffs on offer, so it may be worth engaging him in conversation.
"Brownies, is that what they're called? Why should they have an age restriction for consumption?"
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"Well, to be blunt, it's 'cause they've most likely been baked with pot."
Ahaha, he punned, like, two times, and badly. But then he pauses, realizing that the slang might have absolutely no meaning for her, wherever and whenever she comes from.
"Y'know, marijuana. Cannabis? It's sort of a thing in my world, pot brownies. Actually it was a thing back when I was in high school and it just never went away. Personally I never cared for the stuff."
And with that, he pops a harmless but delicious bacon-filled cheese puff into his mouth.
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"You're saying that the food has been drugged?"
His slang and his puns may go straight over her head, but eventually she understands his meaning.
"Is that someone's idea of a joke?"
It's not one that she finds particularly amusing.
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"Yep. I dunno if it's a joke, but somebody thinks they're a smartass. There's always a few of 'em at every party. But the rest of the food is fine, though, I don't feel like I'm about to start hallucinating or whatever."
Switching his snack-laden plate to his left hand, he offers her his other (crumb- and smudge-free).
"I'm Tommy, Tommy Gavin. From New York City, but a different one from this one."
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"You'll forgive me if I'm still somewhat wary of the refreshments. I think I'll stick to what I know," she says, raising her glass of champagne.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Gavin. I'm Lady Mary Crawley, of Downton Abbey."
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"Lady Mary Crawley? Huh, really. So you're, like, an aristocrat or something?"
Tommy may be betraying his actual farmer ancestry with his uncouth blunt talk.
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"Yes, of course. Does that come as a surprise?"
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"Well, to be honest, if we'd met anywhere else other than at the home of a goddess or a bar at the end of the universe, I probably would be surprised. I don't run into aristocracy all that often," he adds with a smirk.
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She's more likely to encounter a real farmer in her daily life, though not at social engagements.
"I am grateful for it tonight, as you have saved me from eating refreshments I would sooner avoid."
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He's not sure how to take that -- he's half amused, half ruffled. He knows where she's coming from, but still. The smirk remains on his lips anyhow.
"No problem. Wouldn't want you creating a scandal if you went back home stoned outta your mind."
Aw, now he's kind of sorry he didn't let her have a nibble.
"So, humor me, I'm curious here," he continues, because he can't let certain things go, "just what kinda guy d'you think I am?"
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She does consider his question for a moment before stating, "One rather proud of his rough edges."
She sips her champagne.
"So many Americans are."
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She's made a similar circuit as Lady Mary, bypassing the trays of rich and complicated foods, and sticking with what she knows. Alcohol.
"Good evenin'."
She inclines her head, curtsying.
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"I don't believe we've met. Lady Mary Crawley."
She extends one elegantly gloved hand to shake.
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"S'a pleasure, Lady Crawley. I'm Miss Kate Barlow, of Texas."
She is without gloves tonight, her deep purple smock of the 1940s fashion; a woman out of time, out of time. Hopefully Lady Crawley can forgive her bare hands when she reaches for the shake.
"Are you a friend of the hostess?"
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"The pleasure is mine, Miss Barlow. And 'Lady Mary' will do."
From what Mary knows of the States, Texas is still another world away. So it goes without saying that explaining that she aspires to by Lady Grantham, not Lady Crawley, doesn't seem worth the effort. Kate's anachronistic oddities too she attributes to her Texan roots.
"Lady Aphrodite is a charming hostess, but sadly I had not met her before tonight."
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She smiles graciously and returns to her drink, refraining from adding, 'albeit in different classes.'
"I'm accompanyin' a gentleman of her acquaintance tonight. I'm afraid this sort of shindig is quite outside my realm."
And she does look mildly uncomfortable, afraid she sticks out like a sore thumb.
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Mary may be better at hiding her unease with the temporal setting, but she's well aware that she's at least slightly out of her element.
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Laughing softly, she gestures to the grand windows displaying the city skyline with her drink.
"An' you?"
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And unlike Granny, Mary doesn't worry about "vapors" from the electricity.
"My home is in 1912. I suspect our two worlds have more in common than either has with this place."
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"You're certainly much closer t'my time than most I've met in the bar. It can be — taxing. Bein' the relic who knows little of their future amenities."
She smiles, but if Mary's not mistaken there is something akin to a roll of the eyes in her expression.
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"Anyone who thinks that they are superior because they are more modern is sadly mistaken, and I'll have no qualms telling them so."
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"I imagine y'wouldn't. Then again, I imagine anyone who hauled off tryin' to seem superior t'you would look the fool no matter the outcome."
She sips at her drink.
"May I ask where your home is? My daddy immigrated from Lancashire."
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"Lancashire? He wasn't so far from my home. I live in Yorkshire, at Downton Abbey."
Why she persists in giving the name of her home she's not entirely sure. No one here seems to know it, which is beginning to be quite frustrating.
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