multiversallogs | open post ● we're about to get up and burn this floor

Who: Everyone.
What: The Grand Re-Opening of the Gravity Falls Station.
Where: Babylon.
When: Veerdi to Sukkardi.
Notes: Party post!!! Go nuts y'all.
Warnings: Probable alcohol (and drug?) use. Flag stuff in subject titles if it needs a warning and I'll edit it up in here.

It's clear from the first moment anyone even gets on the Skyrail tonight that the Stratosphere Entertainment Group's pricey investment is going to pay off - every rail car is crowded with people decked out and excited for the event. To natives of Baedal, the idea of a holiday is days off work, maybe some camping - escape is alien, a little frightening, and completely thrilling. Even when the Gravity Falls station had hosted other venues, it was nothing so ambitious as to capture the imaginations of the city as a whole. And to immigrants to the city who no longer have the luxury of even simple trips out of town - well, it's priceless. A bittersweet but suddenly vital excursion.

Doors open just as the sun begins to set, the light reflecting off the water of the ocean illuminating the great floating platform as if the entire sky was on fire, before slipping into deep purple then black, the ceiling of their experience dotted with brilliant stars. Staff members wrangling the hazards of the first night are anxious but excited, kind and helpful even if they end up frazzled by the overwhelming turnout. There is security, all sporting neon purple shirts with lion logos, but even by their own admission, they're only there to breakup fights - and even they're smiling all night, too.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The security staff are slightly more concerned than some of their fellow revelers, but for the moment they're only being observed and not interfered with; if Benevenuta looks like she's going to try it again, things might go differently, but just at the moment she's busy trying to catch her breath and laugh at the same time, with mixed results. She hadn't really been expecting to bounce, and- despite herself, she's sort of delighted.

“You are- very kind,” she says, clutching his arm around her with one hand and finding some purchase on the platform with her bare feet, trying not to do him too much additional inconvenience by the weight and placement of her body, now. “I did not expect so- forceful.”

"Nor did I," he replies, having gotten a breath back in his body. He holds still for the moment; he can feel a lump on the back of his head and a skinned elbow repairing themselves (the lump is especially maddening, head injuries always itch for some blasted reason) and he doesn't want to risk the self-mending being witnessed.

"I was afraid you'd hit the platform rather hard, I thought it was best to do what I could. You're sure you're all right?" he asks, eyebrows raised, apparent concern all over his face.

“I think so,” as if she has to check though she knows that the bruises she'd have will be gone before they could even properly form themselves, these little pretenses so habitual that the lie requires no forethought in itself - she presses her hand over her heart, fleetingly more concerned that she's actually done something irreparable to the stiff skirt of her mini-dress.

(It'll be fine.)

“Yes, I think so-” and then, with more concern, “but it is you who took the brunt, are you...?”

He shakes his head, politely easing her concern. "I'm fine," he assures her. And then, a slight curve of one side of his mouth, a shift in his tone that suggests maybe he's kidding, and he adds: "I'm tougher than I look."

It's true. Adam's on the taller side but hardly the solid, strapping sort this cohort seems to draw in, if his passing reviews of video on the network and his quick appraisal of people coming and going tonight, matching faces with broadcasts, tell him anything. But he's wiry under that pasty-British-citydwelling-gent appearance, stronger and fitter than one might expect even without his hidden advantage.

But immortality is one hell of an advantage.

"I do notice, however, you seem to have caught the attention of the club's security--I assume that's what the three serious-looking gentlemen with arms folded, watching you, are. Shall we get you to your feet so they see there's no harm done and they go away?"

“Oh-- goodness,” with a little laugh, clambering back to her feet with care not to elbow, knee or otherwise inconvenience Adam in the process; a natural ease that comes with her almost uncanny awareness of her own body and motion, a little less awkward than someone else might be in the same position. (She wobbles a little on the way up purposefully, conscious of oddity.) “I suppose it is a one time only situation,” with a hint of genuine regret.

(What, that was fun.)

Adam sits up, knees bent, resting his forearms at them as he looks up at her. He leans his head this way, then that way, pretending to mull over her question.

"For tonight, yes," he settles on. "But perhaps in a few months' time they'll have forgotten just which lady flung herself at the barrier on opening night, and you could have another go."

...Adam.

Resting on her knees as she twists this way and that to ensure that her skirt has seen no undue damage, smoothing out the bends, she pauses then and leans toward him, conspiratorial--

“I do from time to time dye my hair.”

...which changes her appearance more than you'd think, but yes, that's mostly a joke.

Adam leans in too, apparently giving this some thought.

"...Dye your hair, I'll invest in a hat, and perhaps we can be at this again in mere weeks."

He gets to his feet, a faint smile on his lips as he offers her a hand to help her up.

The Babylon has heard a great deal of Benevenuta's easy laugh this evening and hears a little more of it now as she takes his hand, finding her way to her feet and getting her balance, rising up on her toes as she stretches to work the kinks out before she snags what's left of her cocktail from where she'd set it for safekeeping.

“You'll get me into trouble,” she says, amused and not pretending not to be.

Once she's squarely on her feet he drops her hand; he's a gentleman, he would never hang on too long, impose, be inappropriate.

Adam raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk playing across his lips. "Is that a warning, or an encouragement?"

'A gentleman' can indicate a lot of different things about a man - she hasn't decided what it says about Adam, yet, but she usually has a good idea about how to react to it. Here and now, it's still amused, eyebrows raised-- “Which do you need?”

He folds his hands, bringing them to his mouth briefly, feigning deep consideration.

"I confess. It's generally the warning I need; it takes very little to encourage me and a lot to divert me."

open post ● we're about to get up and burn this floor

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