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kira_alone in desaiuniversity

Who: Everyone attending the Charity Gala Fundraiser.
When: Saturday, March 24.
Where: Royal Albert Hall, Center City.
What: The event goes in four stages: drinks, dinner, the opera, then (as a surprise event) an auction of a few valuable items donated by the city's wealthier patrons. Feel free to branch off into your own threads as well as using this one for general mix and mingle. There will be a separate mass thread for the auction.
Warnings: OF ALL KINDS. Not suitable for people of a nervous disposition.

The Royal Albert Hall was awash with music and lights when it opened its doors to the first guests; the invitations had been issued in good order and the turnout was fantastic, boasting some very influential people, indeed. It was a place to see and be seen. At the moment, the main ballroom, the balcony, and the rooftop observatory were all open to the guests; the rest of the areas, including the theatre proper, backstage, staff areas and basement were all locked and guarded against entry.

A small part of the orchestra, including Professor Kira Izuru, were seated to one corner of the ballroom, their music adding to the lively atmosphere. There was a place cleared for dancing and a bar boasting drinks from quite a few worlds.

The architecture of the place was very old fashioned, marble pillars, mosaics, painted scenes on the dome ceiling; it was one of the few places that still boasted candle chandeliers and not electric. It was a recreated picture from ages past rather than a building preserved from the ravages of time.


Hey look, there's a Maya! She'd managed to make herself look presentable for tonight, what with her pretty red dress and hair all done up in curls at the ends. Quite an amazing feat for her, really.

Anyway, Maya stood by herself, looking quite out of place. And alone. Aww. Seems as if her date plans hadn't worked out for the night. She toyed with the end of her long black scarf, pacing around, trying to keep herself from falling in those high heels she'd convinced herself she should wear. If she managed to not fall victim to gravity tonight, it'd be a feat for the record books.

Maya eventually got herself a glass of champagne and wandered over to the corner of the room where the orchestra was. Well, at least there was one face she recognized: Professor Izuru, though she wasn't in any of his classes.

How dreadfully boring, though, to be stuck at an event such as this by oneself!
Sadly, poor Maya wouldn't be alone for very long to get some company... it just was a matter of the sort of company it was.

Not particularly fond of clothes, Isaac's assistants told him that showing up in his plated garb with naught but pants that barely clung and boots would hardly be acceptable. So, Isaac settled for his formal Devil Forgemaster attire. While it would mean absolutely nothing to the commonfolk of Desai in symbolism, the black and leather outfit (frankly very Matrix-like), with the gold, blue and red Devil Forgemaster crest across his chest, seemed to be just perfect.

The tails of the coat concealed the sword he wore, and while the whole thing was a bit constricting in the red head's opinion (after all, one could only see the tattoos that spanned onto his face this way!), it still allowed him to stand out.

Much like the little Asian girl over by the orchestra. And she was wearing red! Isaac was a sucker for such things, after all. So over, he traipsed, to the girl he had no idea was the one dropping comments to him on the network about how 'creepy' and 'scary' he was, and bowed slowly at the waist, while holding a wide, toothy smile. "Hello there."
((OOC: This is setting the stage for something later on; it's also to give more clue-ins to how upper-MDEA personnel think/operate/etc, since that's important for much later! No response is necessary here.))

Oh, how mad Lucio Brae was at the recent incident involving the President of the Board of Affairs. It made Ahmea Greer so very amused. She'd convinced her elder sister and brother-in-law to attend the gala with her, but they weren't very enthused until she passed the tidbit along that something was going to happen in regards to him. She didn't say what, though it was blatantly obvious, as it involved Lucio's orders. All three were finely dressed, which was simple enough since all three came from families that thrived on such formal gatherings.

Juliana Greer-DeClercq rambled on to her dark-haired husband, Lucous, about how much she loathed the Royal Albert Hall, as Ahmea walked ahead to scan the people already arrived. She was looking for the familiar face, or faces, that would be carrying out Lucio's plan, when one of them brushed past her as a telltale that they were there without saying it aloud.

The MDEA agent's eyes automatically registered the woman who brushed past, and the man right next to her. The red curls clued her in first and foremost. The Harbor Masters, Elly and Axan. Lucio sent them to do the job? After all, Ahmea knew he wouldn't trust just anyone with the job, but the Harbor Masters? While Elly was sweet to most everyone, and Axan was placid and calm to the same, they were both known for their true natures. Heartless, really, and not afraid to make death as agonizing for individuals as they possibly could. Certainly, Lucio gave them the orders for it to be quick. Center-City was flooded with cops, and would be particularly so around the Royal Albert Hall. Neither would use a silencer, either. That was simply the way of MDEA.

How exciting, really!

Conspiracy theorists claimed it was because MDEA felt untouchable. And really... weren't they? Antonio La Spada shouldn't have made the mistake of declining that agent... Donna, was it? Diana? She couldn't remember. Donna, probably. She was low on the rungs, anyway. Much like Ahmea's flighty, ridiculous partner, Dennick. Tch and more tch. However, he shouldn't have declined her request, as Ahmea saw it. The difficult ones were handled appropriately, and by their own.

"Ahmea, come." It was Juliana, breaking Ahmea from her thoughts, as she waved for her to follow them to the bar.

"Oh, sister, talk dirty some more," Ahmea taunted, before sashaying after them.
Look, an Elena! Elena was lurking over by the bar, nodding her head in time to the music. She was a little uncomfortable in her dress, but a gala wasn't exactly the type of social thing to wear a suit to. At least, she thought so. Hence the dress.

"Hmm. I wonder if anyone I know is gonna show up." She frowned a little bit and crossed her arms. "Eh. Not Reno, in any case." The frown deepened; she was still a little irritated at the death of her gerbil. "Wonder what's going to happen now..."

Despite her irritation, she really wanted to talk to somebody. Even a complete stranger would be preferable to hiding out by herself.
Matt had been hiding out in the corner, squatting, with his face in his knees. People insisted that he remove his goggles, given the nature of the social function, and so he did (not without resistance. Seriously, he had the decency to put on a suit, they could have at least let him keep the goggles), but he hadn't realized that he actually needed them. His poor eyes had grown used to the yellow tint they gave to the rest of the world, and they had grown more used to how they made everything four or five shades darker (on top of how he lived in perpetual darkness save for some computer screen light). Now, the hall and its ridiculously overdone lighting had given him a migraine the size of Texas. In fact, he was almost expecting his eyes to explode out of their sockets and attack each other like angry beasts.

But this was mega lame. A couple of times, he had glanced over at the Dean picking on some random off the street because they wouldn't shut up and Matt felt the increasing need to go pistol whip him or something. But he didn't feel the need to cause an uproar. Matt didn't have any games on hand either, and he felt kind of ridiculous(ly unproductive) squatting there like he was some dozen kinds of retarded. So, he willed himself to stand up and brave the wall of fire created by awful cascades of burning radiance like a hundred million computer screens in a pitch black room (read: The chandeliers) that forced his eyes what he perceived to be a full three inches into the back of his skull. Okay, so Matt exaggerated a lot. He blinked it off and opted for a drink, just for the sake of looking like he was in fact, not a stone.

Much to his dismay, the offered drink were classy drinks. Woe. Still, he picked one up since he had made the long and difficult journey to the bar already. Might as well. While he was there, he peered up through his bangs at Elena. He could tell when someone didn't quite feel like they fit in, and damn, did Elena look unhappy. He was a nice guy though, so maybe conversation would help? Possibly? Hopefully? As long as he didn't bomb that too.

"Hey." He waved a hand in front of her to get her attention. "You don't look like you're having a heck of a lot of fun. What, were you conned into coming on the promise of something exciting happening as well?"
[ooc; evidently, I still fail today]

Oh, look. Lady something in aside from being either worn out or mismatched. And maybe because Lady was still hell bent on proving Siela wrong and keeping her pride in tact, she was here, in some lame black dress number, nothing too extravagant with those thin spaghetti straps and slender figure. Well. It didn't require too much attention to tend to, aside from her hair. And that would be one thing she wasn't going to change.

She kept it down well enough, a sharp, almost cynical attitude to this, maybe feeling a bit more at ease with her company, unlike the last time she was caught, talking to that Alphonse way back in the beginning of the school year. And, oh, god the people that would come to these events. Already she was dreading any sort of contact. Lady had even rolled her eyes, passing by a woman in some stupid, horribly hideous teal dress with big hair. Whether or not anyone caught that didn't concern her, "I hate these people..."

Yeah, that little bar was looking appealing. For the most part, staying here for a short period of time seemed bearable, and on that thought, Lady had to turn behind to her company, "So, how long do you plan to stay?" She was making it clear that either of them didn't have to stick with one another if they so chose that option.
Let's lay down the facts: Alucard in evening dress was a handsome man, especially with his long hair swept back from his face and his wide manic grin tamed to a more superior, haughty smirk. But it also brought to mind the very stereotypical vampiric dress he so often snarled at when he saw it in movies and books. So instead of the usual black tails, he wore white. Instead of his country’s cross of a count, he wore the golden dragon-crest of his family against his throat. There was no red cummerbund or cravat – his whole apparel was white except for the pair of gold-tinted glasses he wore over his red eyes.

But yet there was some idiot who would take one look at the No-life King and attempt at being cute by making a joke. This time, some plump businessman four sheets to the wind had made the mistake of commenting about Alucard harassing the bartender over the substandard wine list. As the man brayed in laughter at his own lack of wit, Alucard stared, his arms crossing his chest.

"Get it? Drink wine?" the fat man said and then choked. He reached up to his throat, his eyes widening as he looked at Alucard.

"Do not let the mad writings of a hack confuse you," Alucard stated, turning back to the wine list. "Wine is only a poor comparison to blood but it is tolerable unlike the shit you were gulping down." The invisible hand around the man’s throat let go, pushing him back. "Of course, you could offer me your veins to drink from if you think that I should not drink...."

The man fled, and Alucard ordered a red wine when someone randomly started talking to him. The vampire snarled, turned and blinked. His snarl faded as he snorted instead and reached over to take the offered glass of wine.

"As long as the party lasts. Unfortunately."

[OOC: So do I?]
The steps that she took were unsteady and her shaking knees probably didn't do much to help her case, either. But she'd anticipated that! As sad as it was, and hand chosen a long gown for the evening. White. It was simple. She didn't really want to stand out with anything extragavant for the evening.

Yuna had used up some of the fun for her pilgrimage that she'd been given prior to leaving the island. The people of Spira wouldn't have been happy to know that she had spent their charity on a dress either! But... there really was so much. And she was going to bring them the Calm, definitely. That was worth more than... just the 50G she'd spent on her "non-extravagant" dress.

She fidgeted, not seeing him at first. Was he even going to come? What if he was mad at her for not waiting for him to pick her up? She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to keep her hands clasped together so that she didn't resort to biting her nails.
And then there was Tidus.

He'd searched for the store she might've been talking about, making calls on his Sidekick right and left in an attempt to find her. He had decency, damn it! That, and he was hoping to corner her before they got into the hustle and bustle of the gala, but no such luck of that sort would be had. Oh no.

So, there he was, toppling out of his car in front of the gala's building, whateveritwascalled, without regard to valet or gala attendee, and stumbled his way into the building. The suit he wore became untucked and messy, but that was fine, he swore, because there she was! And--wow, she looked really pretty. He was staring, unaware of it, until someone accidentally bumped into his shoulder.

A cough escaped him, before he bounded the rest of the way over to her. "Yuna?"
Ghastly little thing she was, with her pale skin. There would be small comments here and there how she looked like the walking dead. Oh, the irony. Almost all of Sae's traditional wear were in desaturated dark colors, and usually in a traditional funeral-style folding of her kimono, and that part seemed to flow over people's heads, unless someone got the reference that Sae was quietly declaring herself as dead. Wouldn't it be expected for a dead being to appear in black or the traditional white? Didn't seem like the case for Sae, who wasn't expecting much of this...gala, and manifested herself in a bright red kimono, of course, with the funeral fold and some sort of longer obi, and an attempt to keep her unkempt black hair neat with a hair ornament?

Someone had turned around and looked at Sae who, upon entrance, clapped her hands in approval, offering a cheerful "Yata!" in a very broken down Engrish voice. Maya wasn't the only one in that regard. Social settings? Who cared, just as long as Sae could maliciously scout out someone for her next preperation of a Kusabi. Yes, even that had to be done in an environment like this. Or anywhere. Any sort of inhuman presence Sae USUALLY carried around with her was promptly told to go haunt someplace else. And guess what? Without a Kusabi or a Mourner lurking around the corner, Sae, oddly enough had less pressure off her back. It would've looked like she was going to bounce the walls with that large grin on her face, but instead muttered something to herself covering her mouth with the long sleeves of her silk kimono.
Meanwhile, Vergil had been fighting with the valet. How dare the valet attempt to dismiss him, to tell him that he knew how to do his job? Vergil had half the mind to rip the valet's head clean off of his shoulder, but no. Too many witnesses. He needed them alive for what he was planning, with the small box he held in his left hand.

After swearing he was going to make sure the valet saw his death in the near future, Vergil stomped away to catch up with his date for the evening, Sae. His attire was far different from his normal slacks and shirts, or even his formal-wear that he typically wore.

Taking from Victorian styles, the ribbed leather vest he wore was collared by a neck-concealing curtain of overlapped fabric. Pants, scaled black leather, were held close to his legs from the tops of his knees and down by brown leather boots, clasped in gold on each twice, to the outer sides. The black was bitten with a blue hue, emphasized by the bold blue jacket he wore, spanning to very nearly his ankles, and laced about collar and flanks by a white, vined pattern. Golden trim and red-gold lining completed the jacket, matching the gold-brown, fingerless gloves in his hands.

It was an ironic attire, he supposed, in comparison to his date for the evening. "Having fun, are you?" he asked as he finally approached her from behind.
Byakuya was not at all amused. He did not like people brushing past him in a most impolite manner. It was beyond all reason to think that this crowd actually enjoyed being in such close quarters. With the lights blazing down, he could hardly take a breath without smelling some awful perfume.

He glanced aside to his companion; such a presence made the trail of some worth, at least. He wore a kimono, standing out somewhat in the crowd; black and red, with the pattern of cranes at the bottom. The kenseikan were firmly in place, although none but any other shinigami who attended would recognize the meaning.

"I do not see Rufus." He remarked to Tseng, after scanning the crowd, although he didn't need his eyes to know that the President was not here.
While normally, Hanatarou would have kept far away from the shinigami captain, he couldn't resist going over the moment they arrived. He'd missed Tseng and worried about him in equal amounts.

"Tseng-san~!" He called, trying to ignore the pressure of the other's reiatsu, potent even cased within a gigai. He flushed and added as an afterthought, exitement having gotten too much of him: "Good evening, Kuchiki-taichou." He said, with a bow.

Hana was wearing kimono as well, light blue and white, with geta sandals that lent him a few inches above his normal height.
From the moment the event had been announced, Reno was positive he was not attending. End of story. That story changed, however, when his trusty partner and him came up with the brilliant plan of setting off fireworks during the Gala. Naturally, Reno was immediately taken by the idea, and went all out in preparations: hidden microphones, small ear buds, and.. and that was all, really. The fireworks were more Rude's department.

So there Reno was, leaning casually beside a decorative fern, furtively planting one of the glorious inventions that was Rude's fireworks. He hoped to whatever high being was watching that he wouldn't be seen by his Boss, or worse, Tseng. A broken jaw just wasn't all that appealing at the moment.

When he was satisfied with the way the firework was set, he tilted his head down, his mouth now close enough to the mic attached to his collar.

"We've done the hokey-pokey."

Oh yes. Reno was also in charge of the codewords.
A party. A gala. Most certainly not Rude's thing, although he's been known to go to one or two in the past for buisness' sake. Which meant he wasn't far from fitting in, with the way he walked.

However, his talking suit wasn't really of normal standards. Thank god the music was as loud as it was.

He took his position beside the refreshments, keeping a hawk's gaze on Reno as his partner went around, planting the fireworks. A small clicking came from his ear bud, and Reno's voice came out with, "We've done the hokey-pokey."

Did Rude mention that Reno came up with the codewords?

Hearing that, it was his cue to drop his own pack of fireworks into various plants on his own side of the dance hall. Once finished, he tipped his glasses down and made a move as if to clean them off on a shirt tail. He whispered into the hidden mic, “The fat man has been hit by the truck.”
It was the finest dress she could locate that was within her own zone of comfort. Colors that were acceptable for wear by women anymore were fascinating, but the dress cuts were what really surprised Eva "La Spada", and made her squirm at the prospect of wearing such things. Eventually, she had to simply take the closest thing she could find in a cut that was satisfactory, and deal with it herself. In her younger days, Eva couldn't sew for the life of her, much to the aggravation to her childhood scholars and her mother. As she grew into her teens, taking up her hunting lifestyle, the need became obsolete. That's what money was for.

However, birthing two sons and pulling into a far more private life for the sake of their protection, she forced herself to learn, having the help (while they were there) assist her with the attempt. She'd gotten quite good at it, and, apparently, still had the knack.

Stark red, an acceptable color, was tempting. It was her favorite color, after all. It was very tempting, but she settled for a champagne colored ball gown with quite the lovely train behind it, in her opinion. The upper portion of the dress was laced up the sides by white ribbons, which both tied behind in a rather fine bow (and was a bitch to actually put on, and involved much bitching at both store clerks when she bought it, and at her husband when she was getting ready) and was originally sleeveless, strapless. For the Victorian Britishwoman, it was simply crude. Even with her adapting to styles as she was trying!

A little tinkering came into play, simply adding fabric to span up and tie around her neck with a like-ribbon on her flanks. That, too, was a source of bitching, more to herself, each and every time she accidentally caught a few pieces of her curled and pinned hair into the ribbon.

Even then, as she stood outside the Prince Albert Hall, waiting for her husband, she was cursing under her breath, and rubbing out pieces of hair still caught there. A couple of attending students, who she had met prior at the dorms, watched her as she cursed and squirmed, as they passed by, and were offered a finger wave in response.

Where was that blasted man? "I swear to the Lord, he makes me wait to irritate me," she muttered to herself... even though it was said with the smallest grin.