multiversallogs | St. Peter In Chains: The Collection. [OPEN!]

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St. Peter In Chains: The Collection. [OPEN!]

Who: Penelope Lane, her models, her muses, her admirers, the curious and the critics. ANYONE. EVERYONE. GET IN HERE!!
What: Penelope's long-awaited runway show! Finally!
Where: St. Peter In Chains, abandoned cathedralish church.
When: Friday, June 29th! Eveningtime. Show starts at 7pm and goes... well. Until everyone isn't there anymore, I guess!! For whatever reason.
Notes: IMPORTANT: There's going to be a bunch of subthreads for different parts of the night. Feel free to tag around in them as you want! I'd like fabulous things to happen here, people. Fabulous. Things.
EDIT: NOW WITH ADDED TERROR!! SEE LINK BELOW!!
Warnings: Scary things, NPC death, injuries... horrors!!

The venue has been done up quite well for the occasion, all things considered. The old pews that were still salvageable have been repurposed and rearranged to face the aisle down the center of the enormous main room, where a raised runway has been set up. Lighting and temporary walls, and even an audio system have been brought in and installed for the occasion, and the impressive wreathed columns have been dramatically lit from below to emphasize the height of the room.

All told, it looks like it cost absolute scads of money to renovate an abandoned space to this level of elegance; whether this is actually true or not is largely immaterial. As with so much of society, it's the appearance of the thing that matters most, not the reality of it. Perhaps that's a statement Penelope Lane is making intentionally. Everyone knows the designer is one of the most outspoken members of her cohort, after all, and not one to misrepresent herself.

And she is, tonight, for one, brief, shining moment, entirely in control. Take plenty of pictures; it won't last long.

AND NOW: THE REAL SHOW BEGINS

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The doors open an hour before the show, and almost immediately the seats begin to fill with journalists, critics, and the cultured multitude of Baedal, come to see exactly what's on offer. A low murmur permeates the vast, echoing space as the anticipatory crowd chatters among themselves. The front row is, as always, reserved for an exclusive few, selected by Ms. Lane herself. Wouldn't you like to be one of the few?

Staff, assistants, crew and models alike all run back and forth in a dizzying pre-show panic "backstage". Hairstylists and makeup artists hover around the heads of all the models spraying things and applying things and tutting and yelling for assistants. Tailoring assistants make last-minute alterations to the garments even as the models are squeezing into them; one girl is having a mild argument with a xenian assistant over a pair of shoes that were either too large for the model, or not for that model at all. In all the madness, Penelope Lane strolls through the crowd like a stern ruler surveying her kingdom, and the subjects behave as they should and part like the Red Sea as she comes past. Occasionally she barks an order, and someone runs off to make it happen.

She is sharp as a needle and five hundred percent focused, drinking the strongest coffee you can get in Baedal, because christ knows she's not going to smoke around all that couture. It's nearly time.

Edited 2012-06-30 02:21 (UTC)

At seven o'clock, the lights in the cathedral dim, and the crowd quiets. At least until Penelope Lane, the woman of the hour, strolls out from behind a section of curtain set up at the sanctuary, where the church's service was once conducted, and where tonight the models would soon emerge from.

The place, for a moment, goes wild. The designer holds up her hand, and they gradually quiet.

“Thank you, Baedal, and welcome to my first show in the city.” There's another cheer, and Penelope allows a small, slightly triumphant smirk as she nods acknowledgement. “Yeah, exciting, I know. So this is my new collection, which I'm really proud of, and I hope you'll like it as much as I do.

“This collection, for me, represents strength. I don't just mean physically, although I guess there's an element of that too, but I mean more of a concept; Inner Strength. The strength it takes to live in a city like this is... yeah, not insignificant. So I wanted to create a collection for the people who have to kick ass and take names on a daily basis just to survive. Sometimes when you see it it's totally obvious, and sometimes it's more quiet, more personal. But no matter how different everyone in this city is, it's the one thing that we all have in common; the strength to be Baedalites. So this is from me to you. Thank you so much. Enjoy.”

Applause. Ms. Lane leaves the stage. Music with a thick bass beat begins to strum through the air. The lights shift to point solely at the stage.

And the show begins.

Tickets are taken for the post-show reception at the entrance to the Crypt beneath St. Peter In Chains.

The crypt itself has been decorated even more impressively than the runway itself-- Penelope felt the cathedral had enough “character” as it was, but the crypt was just an old abandoned crypt, and that wouldn't do at all. Polished floors, beautiful lighting, sumptuously elegant furnishings and floor-to-ceiling prints from the brand-new Penelope Lane print campaign give it almost a penthouse feel, despite the chill in the air betraying the truth of it being underground.

There is a fully stocked bar with more than one bartender on duty, a lavishly stocked table heaped with nibbles of just about every kind you can get in Baedal without poisoning half the guests, and staff dressed in stark black-and-white uniforms ready to cater to the event's guests' every need. (Well, not every need. There are some things that just aren't in their contracts, so don't try. Vampire populace, I'm looking at you.)

As one of the aforementioned few, Ilde finds her seat in the front in a timely enough fashion - which is impressive, given that she'd changed outfits a half dozen times before settling on a lace and silk dress that had been on a short-list she and Penelope had gone over a while in advance. She's been anticipating the show since it was announced, confident in her friend's work and interested in seeing it on the runway like this; between that and the fact she knows a few of the models, she's sort of enjoying how close she feels to something that interests her so much.

Too little for modeling herself and more interested in wearing clothes than designing them, it is exactly where she'd like to be, and she's taking the opportunity before the show to see who else is here and interested.

Edited 2012-06-30 04:23 (UTC)

The princess is an oasis of slightly unexpected serenity in the midst of it; she'd taken a very deep breath when Penelope had first shown her the dress, and decided that if it is for art (among other, more practical benefits to her participation) then she can certainly manage. The dress itself is a pretty thing, even if it's smaller than most of her nightgowns, a deconstructed mini in shredded chiffon; the shoes had taken her longer, high enough that she'd bought a similar pair of her own and taken to wearing them to work to grow accustomed.

(Watching some of her underlings struggling not to openly notice had been privately worth it, even if she'll never say so.)

So she's perfectly calm, and not at all self-conscious, and ... unintentionally exuding a small aura of similar serenity through the combination of bloodymindedness and psychic ability. Stand next to her for a few minutes, it'll help.

After ten minutes, the woman of the hour arrives (in an appropriately Penelope-like gown, naturally), looking more exhausted than exhilerated, but dutifully begins the real task of the evening-- making nice with the city's biggest and best, and being The Most Professional Penelope She Can Be. Which, given what her personality is usually like, requires a hell of a lot of effort. But we all wear masks, especially Penelope, and the importance of this night going down without a hitch is not lost on her.

She'll just have to grin and bear it, and make the city hers.

Edited 2012-06-30 05:46 (UTC)

At the afterparty, Ilde can be found moving through the crowd with a virgin cocktail - apricot gingerini, a recently acquired preference - looking for people she knows and people she'd like to know this evening. Socializing is easier when it feels like there's a purpose to it and what better purpose than a friend's advancement? Everybody wins.

Once she's off-stage and her obligations there are complete, the first thing Nuala does is step into the gown she'd set aside for the post-show; there's a good deal more fabric involved in her gown than anything she'd worn earlier for Penelope, and it is a slight relief as she's fastened into something a little more her own style.

By the time she's in the crypt with Logan at her elbow, she has a polite smile in place and she's ready to enthuse to anyone who'd care to hear her opinion about Penelope Lane's style and inclusive philosophies.

Wolfgang is fine in a room surrounded by people, half-naked, being poked with needles and scrutinized in minute detail. (Apparently his feet are "a problem".) He is fine being photographed, although he always feels a little awkward, not sure what to do with his giant stork person body. He was even fine when he showed up for hair and makeup, sleepy and yawning.

Then he made the mistake of peeking outside.

Now he's in the middle of a panic attack, his knees up to his chest and trying to breathe through his hands over his face, and then just trying to breathe at all. He's freaking out and shaking and ruining his makeup, with one of the makeup artists hovering over him and trying to get him to stop, but awkwardly, not sure what to do.

For some reason it never occurred to him that people would come to watch.

Black is not Wolfgang's colour — he thinks it washes him out, and feels like an impostor in Penelope's clothes — so he shows up to the afterparty dressed in head to toe gold. Four and a half inch heels make him closer to seven feet tall than he isn't, but no one's said anything stupid about it yet, so.

Having managed not to trip over his own giant stupid feet or burst into tears in the middle of the runway, he thinks he did pretty well.

He makes the rounds, says hello to a lot of people he knows — and a lot of people he doesn't but who would like to know him — and kisses on the cheek more people in one night than he usually does all year. He really is making an effort. But he's shy; most of the time he can be found pressed against a wall, trying to ply his own self with liquor to be able to not feel awkward and stupid for longer than thirty seconds at a time.

As popular as Wolfgang is proving to be when he's mingling, Ilde waits obligingly for him to retreat before she joins him by the wall, taking the opportunity to set her own glass down beside herself and get a little practise in for the both of them--

Hello, you. You did beautifully.

And she likes his jacket.

Even in the flurry of activity, it's not hard to spot Wolfgang, especially when he's freaking out with a make up artist fretting nearby. Steph has to wait for a moment as someone zips her into her dress, but eventually she's free to make her way over, neatly side-stepping some of the make up artists and hairdressers that try to herd her into a chair so they can finish getting her ready for the show.

They can make her pretty later. Right now, she shoos away the person hovering over Wolfgang with a mouthed give us a second and then crouches down nearby by, not too close for fear of crowding him and making whatever's going on worse.

"Hey, Wolfang? What's going on?" Her voice is gentle, calm, and from the way he's acting, she's already made a guess at what the answer will be, but she's going to check if he can even respond before asking any more questions. If he can't, well, she'll cross that bridge when she gets to it.

There aren't a lot of people here whom she knows. A lot of the time, Benji can be found with a hand clutching Mermaid's arm as they sort of peanut gallery the event and explain to people who try to talk to him that they're here because of one of the models, Wolfgang, he lives with us! She feels less conscious of her own out of placeness when she has a partner in crime to be out of place with.

Which is why when she sees an opportunity to say 'hi' to her friend, she takes it rather swiftly, mincing her way through the crowd. Wolfgang is easy to find, being almost a foot taller than she is, it seems, and in decadent gold. She sneaks over, gripping a drink.

Once, someone told that black is Benji's colour, and she's clung to this. It sort of is. It makes her look paler than usual, and slightly frightening, but she'll take it. She's kept her hair loose but properly combed, glossy instead of greasy, and she wears a dressy black jacket over a dress of easier fabric. She is no master of heels, except when unconscious and dreaming, and so they are low and demure. Little jewellery, save for a simple silver pendant, and only the barest dusting of makeup, her nails blunt and unpainted. But she didn't rock up in the usual jeans and cardigan, so that's nice.

Featherlight, she touches Wolfgang's sleeve to get his attention, offers a smile when he turns.

He blushes instantly and ducks his head, not quite able to hide his smile (toothy, crooked teeth giving him the appearance of having small fangs) behind his cocktail glass, which he has to set down anyway to use his hands.

Thank you. He gets better at this every time; the frequent practise helps, in addition to motivating him to keep studying. His vocabulary improves all the time. Well, major disasters avoided, anyway.

There are not many events that get Sir Hellsing out and amongst the populace - spotting her in public is an even more rare sight than the Princess she's come to see. Integra is dressed formally, of course, and speaks very little to anyone besides Nuala. Those who do muster up the spine to greet the knight are treated politely, if somewhat coldly.

Those who know her would be able to tell she's enjoyed herself, but people fitting that description are in somewhat short supply. She's fine with it.

So apparently there's this fashion show, and people are in it or attending it that Sunny knows. He and Jae arrive together, Sunny continuing to shadow him even as the crowd mingles before the show, which has nothing to do with shyness.

For those that know Sunny well, they'll recognise him better in hoodies and jeans and cool T-shirts, sometimes nicer jackets, better shoes ever since he's been able to accumulate money. But this is Culture, with a capital C, one revolving around fashion, and he somehow fits in. Jae is to thank, probably, but Sunny is perfectly comfortable in the nice black shirt that clings to his narrow torso, simple in comparison to black pants made gold at the front with metallic studding from waist to ankle. Silver hangs from his neck and wrists, a simple silver claw through the piercing in his ear. He has on sunglasses because he's always remembered people wearing them at runway shows, but they'll wind up with the purpose of giving him something to fidget with before long.

If only he could stop smiling like a dork at people he knows or even just makes eye contact with, he could trick people into thinking he belongs here remotely.

He turns when touched, and his expression immediately breaks into one of intense, naked relief. Oh, thank God; someone I actually know. If he's considering actually hiding behind her, it's a plan he has to abandon given the dramatic height difference. He should have worn flats, he thinks for the millionth time, like it would make any difference.

"Oh, hi," he says, unable to keep said relief out of his voice. Evidently this was not a wise career decision, given how he reacts to parties and being stared at by desperately desiring to crawl under a table and hide, but it's too late to do anything about it but grit his teeth and deal. Still, it's nice to talk to someone he doesn't feel so awkward around. "You look pretty."

If Sunny fidgets with his sunglasses that's fine, it's better than him picking apart any of the jewelry (or his pants) that Jae's wrangled him into. When it comes to his partner (!), he doesn't particularly care about rising to imaginary designer standards, but he'd like to show some respect and enthusiasm for Penelope. His own attire is formal and fashionable but not in the attention-grabbing way his work clothes are - tonight is not about his clothes.

Inwardly excited and outwardly cool, Jae eventually nicks Sunny's hand - ostensibly to prevent him from lurking behind him so much, and come socialize like a normal utterly charming dork versus looming.

I really liked the show. But that's not a surprise. She's wearing something Penelope made for her to it, and Penelope's couture makes up a fairly significant part of her wardrobe - there's a reason she was sitting in the front row, and that's mainly because Ilde is halfway between 'muse' and 'Penelope's own life-size self-portrait Barbie'. Were you nervous? I'd be nervous.

Photography - which he may recall her having absolutely no trouble with - is one thing.

Edited 2012-06-30 08:37 (UTC)

It occurs to him now that freaking out is only making it worse because now people are looking at him and oh God they're probably all judging him why can't he just be normal why did he think this was a good idea who let him out of the house why is he allowed to interact with normal people he should just crawl into a hole somewhere and die.

— Did he say any of that out loud... no. Okay. Good.

He's fanning his face, trying to get himself to stop just stop stop it stop stop stop, it's not helping. "People," he manages to blurt out. Yes, generally people come to these sorts of things! He feels enormously stupid for not having thought of this before. It's not like this is a big surprise.

Nuala can tell, and it's a pleasant bonus in all the rest of this; one of the things that will go on her private list of reasons why it was worth it to walk. It isn't often that they get to do anything that seems almost light-hearted - for months they'd barely had time for their evening ride.

“Miss Lane has done well tonight, don't you think?”

"Okay," That answers that question, and she tries to let her tone of voice suggest that it's absolutely fine that he's freaking out about people, "Do you want me to take you somewhere less crowded for a little while?"

They probably shouldn't disappear in the middle of preparations, but Steph figures it's a sacrifice they might have to make if they want to get Wolfgang on the runway. The Vestry is frantic and she doesn't imagine it's helping.

"Thank you," is a) sincere, because it's good to know; she'd stared into the wardrobe like trying to scry the future until deciding that she'd feel at least five times more ridiculous in a suit, and b) mildly amused; but giant godlike attractive people are allowed to call people pretty, she supposes. Benji's smile softens a little at the visible relief she's met with-- she knows this feel-- and knows the following won't do much to alleviate it, but it has to be said; "You look amazing."

It's a crime Wolfgang often commits, so fortunately!! she can carry out an undistracted conversation, inured after living in the same space for the last few weeks to not be ridiculously intimidated. She will sneak in a small hug, one armed, drink held away. "Did you have fun?"

Sunny's hand is nicked but Jae's hand is kept, for as long as it's not hindering him. Like, literally, if he needs both hands to navigate, or figuratively; this seems like the last place for people to be jerks, but Jae is a ~public figure~ and all. Maybe being supposedly single is better for his image or something. (Too bad!!)

"This is cool. I've never been to anything like this back home. And yet it makes me feel like I'm at home?" he speculates, in Korean.

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St. Peter In Chains: The Collection. [OPEN!]

Pre-Show

The Vestry

The Runway

The Afterparty

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