I CAN'T IMAGINE THERE'S A WAY —

[retravel]

WHO: Fitz, SHIELD, and you!
WHERE: New Amsterdam's medium-est bar: Refraction
WHEN: 01 September
WHAT: Leo's turning 31 100
NOTES OR WARNINGS: TBA

[ On his actual birthday, Fitz celebrates with his two closest friends (the people who’ve kept him together, despite wobbles along the way). Bobbi and Daisy, however, know that when Fitz says I hate people and don’t want to celebrate in the middle of a secret war he means I hate being alone, even on days without symbolic meaning. Daisy and Bobbi send out the mass evite, and Bobbi uses her powers of persuasion to find a more upscale venue for a discounted rate. Due to the flipped schedules in the height of New Amsterdam’s summer, Fitz’s party happens in the morning (the new night for anyone working a 9-5 gig), sun rising high over the city as it begins.

Welcome to REFRACTION, a classy bar tens of floors off the ground, with a stellar view of the city, not far from the river. Beams of light weave across the back area of the venue, well-lit by various glowing fixtures. Something about the place has an old world flair, with its dark colour scheme and minimalist decor. Maybe today’s an acceptable excuse to dress smart, celebrate with a friend, and drink up:

— enjoy the food (which might have had British roots at one point, but it’s hard to tell given the variety of fusions on display in bite-size portions) and initial round of free fizz, compliments of the host (and the host’s super stem friends)
— buy drinks at the bar and get wankered (as the birthday boy will be, around the new midnight)
— people watch from the tables and sofas
— dance to NA’s top synth pop hits (coming through hidden speakers above and holograms of the singers at some tables, activated by the proximity of nearby implant viewers)
— try a piece of cake, reading Happy 100th Birthday, Fitz! and looking a bit like it came from the same space-themed, child's birthday do as the evite. If your piece of cake has a wee star inside it, it means you’re one of the lucky winners and get a freebie at the bar.

As a nice establishment, rowdiness will only get you tossed on your arse by the bouncers, so everybody be cool.

At one point, someone nudges Fitz forward to say something. Dressed in his finest blues, he cuts a smarter figure than the usual corporate cut-out. ]

Right. [ said in the tight voice of someone who is definitely on the verge of crushing the flute in his hand. ] I never know what to say, and I didn't have time to prepare because, ah. Surprise. [ he splays out his free hand. ] So I will just say that — that there's someone I wish was here, despite all the horrible happenings, but that I am so so grateful that you're all here despite them, too. It's not for — forever, but it's pretty nice. Right now. [ As another SHIELD agent said: We have what we have when we have it. That's it. ] Thank you. Cheers!

( if you don't think the SHIELD losers would have invited your character, please feel free to come up with a semi-plausible reason for attending. gatecrashing, plus ones, hearing the commotion and wanting to be nosy. all are welcome! )

Comments

ota;

[revlon]

[ Peggy Carter receives her odd little invitation in her inbox and decides to attend, although she doesn't expect to know many of the other partygoers. She's made the acquaintance of a few individuals in and out of the safehouse she currently resides in but she's always been the type to keep her circle small and private, fresh arrival or no. Really, the birthday boy in question is the closest person she has to a friend here. And that relationship was only forged by the dire circumstances of her group's drop-off and her own subsequent extraction, not to mention their strange shared history (bookends to a century though they may be). She does owe Fitz this, at the very least.

She slips into the party fashionably late, emphasis on the former — because although she's new in town, she is a resourceful woman and far be it from her to attend a social event looking anything less than appropriately swanky. She's managed to curl her short hair which only tips her look into shades of the late Jazz Age rather than her usual post-war flair and naturally, her red lipstick is impeccable. All in all, she cuts an elegant figure and if anyone at this party met her at the first one — that is, the Insomiacs' Ball, scrubs and all — they may have a difficult time recognising or believing this is the same woman: Peggy Carter cleans up nicely, to say the least.

Arriving when she does (missing the initial surprise but not the speech), it's easy to go unnoticed and weave through the modest crowd of Fitz's friends to the bar. She's given her complimentary bubbly to nurse for the first half of the evening day and goes on to explore the space or even mingle in it. Perhaps you catch her:

— sipping her drink from a corner of the room, either enjoying the rare view of the city from on high or people-watching and lowkey judging the "music"
— arranging a neat (but generous) selection of hors d'oeuvres on a plate and delicately stuffing her face with manners that may be at odds with her appearance; she may order something a little more substantial later on (safehouse food is #rough) or at the very least, offer her recommendations to whoever is next to her
— reapplying her lipstick by the glowing light of the bar as she waits for her whiskey (she had been assured, on the day of her arrival, that whiskey made it from 1947 to 2511)
— bringing a piece of cake to a table and sitting down, only to be startled by a bloody hologram, which she attempts to deactivate with a sharp glare (maybe you think she's glaring at you across the room? Apologies.)

Or whatever strikes your fancy. Peggy isn't necessarily a very social creature, she leaves that sort of glad-handing to Howard Stark, but she's warm and polite to anyone who may approach her. Feel free to. (Especially if she was the polar opposite of warm and polite at the Ball.) ]

[retravel]

[ At the start, Fitz is, well, floored. His past birthdays have been strictly team affairs, apart from his singular trip home, when he had leave to spare before being assigned to Coulson's unit. It takes time for him to spy and reach Peggy, catching her eye from afar and lifting his tumbler, having already switched over to whisky. Only took a little encouragement from Daisy and the rest, for that one. Even with the drought, ball and harrowing new arrival process, New Amsterdam has undergone a comparatively quiet period. Today, Leopold James Fitz is surrounded by friends, even though he thought he'd never them again, old or new, after the Framework. And he went to space, returning pretty damn refreshed for a guy whose sleep schedule hasn't been regular since he turned 21.

Now, his relationship with Carter is less... stable. Life-threatening, first, then nearly legacy-affirming. If he had to put a label on it (and if he were feeling, ah, bold), he'd opt for friendly colleagues. Not bad, with seventy years between them. He joins her at the table, casting a quick glance at the hologram to deactivate it with a blink and turn a smile on her, wider than what he's afforded her up to this point. ]

You look — [ Shit, shit, shit, wait, what's the appropriate level of familiarity here? They spent hours together on the walk to the safehouse, hours more in the SHIELD kitchen, and few spots of text contact here and there. The quirk of his mouth falters. ] — You look nice. [ then, belatedly. ] Miss Carter.

[ Complimentary but respectful??? He recovers, edging back to neutrality. A little gesture between them. ]

Did Katelin convince you to come?

[ without her powers, he means, though Fitz spares a thought for whether Bobbi would be stalled by the moral and hierarchical implications of compelling Agent Carter herself. No, not if it was necessary. ]

[preceded]

[Unlike Peggy, Dick is a rather social creature, at least in comparison to the company he tends to keep. And while he might not have ever been particularly fond of the parties Bruce used to force him to, with the bland small talk and put upon airs, he can't deny that it fostered the ability to mingle without issue.

When the only people here that he happens to be familiar with are Fitz himself, and the other members of Team Shield- it's a skill that rather comes in handy, because even if he wanted to, with Fitz playing host, he can't attach himself to his side indefinitely. Besides, he's curious about the other people he knows, about the different areas of expertise they cover.

It's what draws him to Peggy- because he hasn't seen her before, even peripherally, but she looks well dressed and put together for someone who's newly arrived and without access to a wealth of material or credits. She's arranging a neat plate, with the air of someone who's discovered what she's liked among the food already, and it's more than enough to spike his curiousity and have him sliding over to stand next to her.

He's pulling a plate out for himself, and looking at the selection- some of it, he recognizes the inspiration for it- (thank you, Alfred), and some of it just looks questionable. After making a single selection, he turns to her with a warm smile]

Care to make a recommendation?

[possidetur]

( vanessa is, unfortunately, not quite so resourceful not having put any kind of focus on finding something to wear. that said, considering that she's wearing something that came from morningstar's safehouse doesn't mean that she isn't as presentable as she can be. it's just more limited.

spotting her at the side of the room, and lacking her own glass of champagne, vanessa approaches her, a small smile in greeting )

It's nice to see someone familiar.

( she'd come for fitz, even if vanessa didn't plan on staying overly long. crowds and parties were not her thing as much as they had used to be. especially when she didn't recognise many of the people here )

[rehandle]

[ there was a time when Stephen Strange was big on parties. big on galas, anyway, and really any event where he could show up looking expensive and inevitably be showered with praises for the same work he'd received the same praise for at least 20 times previous.

those days are a long time off now. more recently, social isn't a word well used to describe him either.

but today's a special occasion, he's been actively invited, and it's an opportunity to intermingle with fellow refugees which can't be missed now that he's so thoroughly displaced. taking all that into account, he'd even gone out of his way to pick up an actual suit in lieu of the layered cyberpunk throwback-to-wizard garbage he tends to call clothes here.

he's been here long enough now to keep an eye on the comings and going of the guests, overhear a conversation or two. her face had felt somehow familiar when caught in passing, and having spent enough time lingering around at this thing to have noticed her interaction with Fitz and a few others he's got a relatively good guess forming of who she is. so when Peggy Carter pulls up not too far from him at the bar and orders herself a whisky, he figures now wouldn't be the worst time for a chat. ]

Wise call. I don't trust the cocktails here either.

[stabilis]

[ Johnny recognizes her immediately. To be fair, she does look dramatically different. You just don't forget a first impression like the one she made, and the sight of her cooly applying lipstick at a bar is incredibly reminiscent of the way she'd cooly (and very soundly) played him. ]

Buy you a drink?

[ The cliche line's funny because they already made out, get it (but also: still cliche). Johnny leans against the bar beside her, offering her an amused smile. There's some warmth to it — he's genuinely glad to see that she got out of the ball fine after taking off. Even better that she's already found some friends. Or gotten invited to a birthday party, anyway. ]

[mechanisch]

[ Admittedly, Gaby hadn't taken note of the woman in red at any previous occasion, but she had noted the group of new arrivals in scrubs very similar to the ones she'd woken up in, delirious and disoriented.

It's been an adjustment period, to say the very least, but this attendee in particular is the first person she encounters who appears to be from somewhere near her own point in time if her styling is any indication, the way with which she holds herself. Maybe not exactly within the same decade, but close enough that some pieces have made the jump that has propelled them all forward — or backward, depending.

Her own wardrobe is slightly more subdued, a pair of flattering dress slacks and a gauzy, long-sleeved blouse, but the heels she's wearing elevate it to something more appropriate for the event and give her the advantage of a few inches besides, and once she assumes a position at the bar and glances down to the other end — why, yes, something about her does look familiar, even though they haven't officially met, and Gaby orders her own drink even while her gaze briefly drifts away from the sight of the other woman expertly reapplying that dramatic shade of red to her lips. ]

It's a nice color. [ On you goes the unspoken tail of that comment, as Gaby accepts her drink (vodka) once it's delivered to her and cradles the chilled glass between her fingers. ]

to the old geezer-

[preceded]

[When he'd received the invitation- he'd figured it was more of a formality, or for the fun of the goofy little image and loud colours- so out of sorts with the person Fitz tends to be normally, because those organizing would have known better than to doubt his attendance. Still, he'd rvsp'd to Bobbi nearly as soon as he'd gotten it, and acquired a sense of a dress code.

For once, he's actually dressed relatively smart, a rare occurrence outside of galas he's much happier not attending, but considering the location and the person in question, he'd figured he could make an exception.

The moment he'd arrived, he'd snagged himself a drink, taken a look around the venue- taken in the height of it and the classy decor, a sense of the other guests, taken a look at the truly amusing cake- loud and sporting the large number for an age, and then made a beeline directly for the birthday boy in question. He pops up behind him, a soft bump with his arm into Fitz' back, that gently becomes a lean- lasts long enough to transfer affection without the aid of the empathy bond, and then moves to stand beside him proper]

So, 100, huh?

[The grin slides onto his face, warm and teasing and something Fitz would have become familiar with enough to get the exasperation] You don't think the party's a little bit past your bedtime? If you want to sneak in a nap behind the bar, I promise I won't tell anyone.

[retravel]

[ While he catches sight of Dick in his peripheral vision, he promptly finds himself distracted by someone else in the meantime, seeing as he does his damnedest to flit about. It helps that he feels more like the old Fitz than he has in, well, years. He just finishes exiting one conversation when a warm presence nudges at him, leaning over his shoulder.

No need to be a rocket scientist for Fitz to do the math: The odds are on Dick Grayson. Even before he looks up, his mouth quirks. ]

[ His counter comes fast. ] Give or take a few years.

[ He pulls a face, then, features scrunched (a bit bothered but more amused; Dick knows how he is). ]

Yeah, yeah, alright, I'll kip, [ jabbing at Dick's side with a pointed finger. ] while you run up my tab. [ an assured nod, paired with arched brows. ] C'mon, Grayson.

[ he knows u babe ]

gaia-approved wildcard: meet cute edition

[cyberlife]

(nice suit, connor will be jealous. but first he has to make a mess of the gift display.

he was going to place his with the rest, set it neatly on top of one with a flouncy bow and back off to let things pan out naturally with a beer or three. was being the operating word, tripping neatly over someone sinking low in their chair to stretch their legs from beneath a high cocktail table. it sends him straight into the thing, knocking it, jarring the presents and whatever empty glassware's been left alongside them, until what he's stuck doing is reorganizing.

all the while murmuring deceptively rude comments to himself, ears pink with an embarrassment unseen by anyone else.

almost.

running into dick wasn't in the stars, even if he's heard stories about him from the lab and caught up on his responses to others on past network posts. connor'll be glad enough for it, when his reflexes fail him in catching the last cup rocking on the edge of the table, reaching for it with a deep lean.)

[ ota ]

[kgbs]

[ this party isn't as loud and obnoxious as the last one. that one had to gather information but this one was to celebrate a birthday and while he would not admit it out loud, he actually didn't mind fitz. everything else aside, he would have like fitz because fitz had been the one to introduce him to the fights and those were great for getting restless energy out.

so, he arrives and leans against the bar for a few hours, drinking slowly from a glass. he doesn't order much, just stands and sips and watches before he retires to one of the tables and continues doing the same thing. sipping and watching.

dancing is, once again, a choice but he avoids it. he would much rather sit back and pick people people who look interesting from his spot in a very comfortable chair. later, he would get to his feet and get a piece of cake.

yes, just imagine a giant eating a tiny piece of birthday cake. it's quite the sight. ]

[retravel]

[ after seeing illya in the ring, fitz knows better than to sneak up on him — as a matter of fact, he doesn't think he could surprise the big guy. his comrade certainly has some form of service in his file, alongside an intelligence that matches his strength.

when illya spots him approaching the bar, fitz decides to hazard a clap on his associate-slash-maybe-friend's back, there and gone. he's a little chuffed that the guy came, okay. ]

Finally having a proper drink, are we, Illya. [ quipped as he walks around to face illya, a tumbler held in one hand. everything about him is looser tonight, with his smile a touch wider than his usual, measured expressions would allow. ] I'm honoured to warrant it, in some small part.

[ probably helps that illya's as off-duty as he gets, simply by showing up here. ]

[covertness]

Enjoying the cake?

[ bobbi's a tall woman and yet, there are plenty of men here who manage to tower over her. thor is one, illya is another. of the two of them, she speaks to thor far more often than to illya (though they don't... always... talk... if you catch her drift), but she remembers illya from when he'd first arrived.

he seems calmer today than he had then, but that's hardly noteworthy. ]

[mechanisch]

[ He's been here longer than she has, but she also hadn't expected him here. It's not as if they've kept tabs on each other's whereabouts aside from those times when their paths occasionally cross in the small apartment, making some semblance of what passes for polite conversation before going their separate ways — and so when she sees him, outside of that context, for a moment it takes her by surprise.

She won't disturb him at first, only circling her way around once she's exchanged some pleasantries with the birthday boy — and then she approaches, drink in hand, while he proceeds to enjoy that piece of cake he's holding. ]

We seem to keep meeting like this.

[ At parties, she means, as if she hadn't just seen him only a few hours ago. ]

very ota •

[covertness]

[ bobbi gets to the venue a little earlier to make sure that everything's sorted. the views over the city are still as nice as they were when she first scoped out the place. everything's set and bobbi's looking forward to the evening —true, she's lying to everyone here but fitz and daisy about her real name, about the full extent of her combat training and abilities, but it isn't the other displaced that she means to lie to and so most of her emotional connections have been entirely genuine despite the lies.

(she's trying to keep an ace up her sleeve, in case whoever abducted them and experimented on them doesn't already know just how skilled agent morse really is —sometimes, she wonders if it's worth it, lying to everyone on the off chance of an advantage she might not even have.)

she's also looking forward to it for fitz's sake. more so than bobbi, he needs to not be alone.

dressed in a comfortable outfit that contrasts nicely with her still short blonde hair, she makes her rounds.

— those she knows, she'll strike up a conversation with, asking how they're settling in, how their job is going, that sort of thing. those she doesn't know yet, she'll introduce herself to as katelin philips, friend of fitz's from uni or ask how they know fitz.

— at the bar, she might suggest splitting a bottle of wine instead of getting separate glasses.

— at some point, she'll hand over her present to the birthday boy: a set of two bowties. it's a theme now, and she's leaning into it hard.

— later on in the evening (or rather, later in the morning), she can be found on the dance floor. she's entirely willing to pull someone onto it with her, too. they have what they have when they have it and with everything that's going on, it's important to take some time to let loose, to relax and to enjoy the moments they do have, the ones that are good. so that's what she's doing. should anyone get a brush of bare skin against skin, there'll be the usual sense of determination from her, but also an equally determined sense of joy, not forced but nonetheless deliberate. ]

[retravel]

[ they park themselves at a table for the exchange, with fitz on his second glass, fizzing to the side. as he opens his present, there's a moment where his brow furrows, concentrated on the task at hand (and fearing something overly sincere in the midst of the party — you know how he is, the ol' sap).

then, his mouth splits into a smile. ]

Oh, ha ha, [ hoisting up the planetary design on a single finger. ] as if I'm not pegged as the type from afar, anyway. [ nerd monkey, etc., said with a fond exasperation that gives away his amusement. ]

You're a menace, Kat. [ maybe against menswear, specifically. ]

ota!

[saviorexe]

[It’s an occasion that would be absolutely egregious to have missed, the celebration of a good friend’s apparent 100th birthday; his mind was made up on the matter as soon as he received the invite, and Markus’ arrival is less an entrance than it is a quiet approach, slipping in with a warm grin to greet any familiar faces crossing his path, and weaving through the guests as if he were just another diaphanous beam of light in the venue itself.

After all, personable magnetism might be one of his traits, but it’s dichotomized in equal measure by introspection and introversion. A quiet individual by nature, he won’t be throwing himself into boisterous conversation without proper encouragement, more than happy to people-watch from a seat near a corner, or to turn his attentions towards the view of the city, lit by the morning sun, with a drink in hand.

As difficult as it is to tell if Markus dresses up for an occasion, or simply doesn’t really require an occasion to dress up, he’s looking a fair level of snazzy today. It’s nice to be at a party where he doesn’t need to worry about the state of his clothes being splattered with shocking neon for a change. Imagine that.

Find him doing several things, including but certainly not limited to:

—The aforementioned people-watching, leaning up against a dimly lit window, or tucked away at the far end of a bar, nursing a drink. He may drum up an actual greeting to familiar faces passing by.

—Politely declining to dance with whomever asks. Persist a second time and he might concede.

—Speaking up imploringly out of the blue, to grab someone’s attention. “Can you stay seated for just a minute longer?”, he’ll ask, looking quite focused on their form. His hand moves across the space in front of him with smooth, arcing gestures, as if he were sketching out an invisible composition. It’s not far from the truth, considering he’s booted up a VR art program that only he can (currently) view.

—Cutting a slice of cake for himself, but being nice enough to cut a few more in preparation for whomever may want some next — utilizing very straight and very neat dividing lines, leaving a handful of oddly, almost perfectly, similarly-sized pieces.]

[strove]

[If only Clarke had thought to bring her stylus, she would have been bold enough to do what Markus is doing now. Most of her art has been rather private since coming here, done on digital canvasses most of the time, but some physically, thanks to the supplies that she and Loki stole from an art supply delivery truck. Even then, much of that has been far more involved than anything she's done back home. Going from sketches to a bigger canvass, to working with colors on cloth, is an immediate difference. She's had to learn.

Her eyebrows lift when Markus asks her to say still, and she draws her arm back to where it was mere seconds before, a smile flickering over her lips.]

You'll show me when it's done?

[Clarke hopes it's not too much to ask for. She knows that she can be rather private, as stated before. And she doubts that Markus is much more accustomed to this style of art. Though maybe he is—it's hard for her to tell what it was like for Markus to have been Markus before. All she knows is him as he is now.]

open sesame.

[evite]

[ of course daisy's at the party. she drew up the invite, didn't she? an evite, on brand as per usual, and full of ridiculousness that's halfway serious and yet halfway a complete joke — what else could you expect?

that said, though, the daisy johnson that lingers at fitz' birthday party is perhaps a more demure variety than the one most might be familiar with. there's a quiet fondness in her expression, her eyes rarely leaving their path of watchfulness over the birthday boy; though she enjoys the complimentary glass of champagne the party so kindly provides, she doesn't seek out more.

no, daisy's all too happy to sit and linger, to make small talk with anyone who crosses her path, and to dance with any volunteers who might offer. to anyone who might remember her from the insomniac's ball, it might be like running into a doppelganger. she's having fun, but she's not the life of the party tonight. ]

[strove]

[While Clarke had seen Daisy at the Insomniac's Ball enjoying herself, she hadn't reached out to her at the time. Her brand of fun seemed far more advanced than Clarke's, and Clarke had been among those actually enjoying those particular festivities when she allowed them to sweep her away. She's surprised to find a more muted version of Daisy here. Restrained and distant.

It's worrying, to say the least.]

Did this party fall at a bad time? [she asks, approaching her, but not quite taking a seat next to her. From what Clarke knows about Daisy, it's that she does and feels things strongly. Whatever it is, she assumes that's more of what's at play here.]

ota

[strove]

[The venue itself is quite impressive—and quite out of Clarke's price range with just about anything else she has in her life. Her arrival is on time, even if she has to switch up her shifts to make it happen. And partly because she hadn't known what to expect, her outfit isn't that impressive. It's not bad, but it's more casual for the arrangement: a nice pair of jeans with a blouse and blazer, the last bit being a touch primarily added as she reentered the air conditioning, because it's much cooler inside than out. She's glad she has it, if nothing else.

Clarke doesn't bring a present, but she has an idea in mind, one that's reinforced after Fitz's speech.

Otherwise, she'll be enjoying the party, and doing the following:

a. admiring the surroundings, especially any of the art that's present.
b. drinking a decent amount, but with food to go with it. Along those lines, she'll also be asking after some of the food to make sure it's "safe" for her—IE not too harsh on her stomach.
c. eating cake, albeit slowly. It's very sweet!
d. generally trying to relax, but Clarke can fall into resting grumpy cat face rather easily.]

a!

[retravel]

[ Fitz slips in alongside Clarke, hands nestled in his pockets (without a glass, for a brief minute). At the far corner of the bar, obscured from the sun's rays at the window, a small cluster of balloons seems to move and blink in time with the music. ]

Engineering and art, yeah? [ remarked idly, with a sidelong glance and sly smile. He knows the latter is an interest of hers, from one of their first conversations, discussing the availability of neural applications. ]

[ The fact that she makes time for this is — nice, appreciated in a way he can't easily phrase and share. Like him, Clarke keeps her eyes on the horizon, the line which the displaced need to reach before their time runs out.

This is a diversion. ]

birthday boy

[possidetur]

( for as "nice" as everyone's dressing vanessa isn't actually quite so fancy. she's not been back too long and getting herself organised-- if only the dresses of her era existed, she'd have looked incredible.

but the simple fact that she's attended is something. crowds are not her thing. she used to enjoy parties, seeing people so happy and now-- now vanessa has problems with crowds but it is something she'll do for a friend, particularly for an event so special.

even if much here is strange. the music, the look of the bar. will she ever get used to this? in a way she hopes that she doesn't but that thought is for another day )

Happy birthday.

( it's said quietly, a small smile on her expression as she approaches him )

[retravel]

[ they've hugged before — when he thought she'd been lost in the chaos of the monster attack, but it still seems too forward now. instead, he brushes a hand over hers, so a buzz of affection passes through the bond, there and gone. ]

Thank you, Vanessa.

[ first-name basis post their recent heart-to-heart, huh. ]

I'm glad you made it.

[ not just to the party but back from wherever they go, during the disappearances. ]

Open

[selfimage]

[ fashionably late, Loki ducks in just as Fitz starts speaking. it's always questionable whether or not he's invited, while he's a regular party-goer, he pays less to whether or not the welcome is extended, and more about what he can get away with crashing. it's more swanky than wild, and he's dressed accordingly: a loose, asymmetrical black shirt covered by a nicer jacket, black pants and his boots. his hair is parted at the side, brushed in a stylish sweep that had taken him a while to figure out (living without sorcery is hard, guys).

leaning on the bar, he orders a drink and raises it at cheers! and snips over the rim as his bright eyes take in the room. there are a few familiar faces, and a few not-so-familiar faces. the dubstep thrums in the background, and Loki makes himself look like he belongs there. while he doesn't exactly take the rowdy route, he does make himself known in a few special ways. he's either:

( a. ) leaning against the bar trying to sweet talk the bartender into a double,
( b. ) lingering precariously close to the cake and looming like he might stick one of those dark nailed fingers right into the frosting and taint the whole thing, or
( c. ) fiddling with holograms of the singers at the table through his neural implant.

he certainly wasn't here when the party began. ]

[preceded]

[While he'd noticed Loki come in and meander to the bar, that ever present awareness of his surroundings that's as second nature as breathing- mixed with a genuine curiousity of with whom Fitz is affiliated- he hadn't quite made up his mind on whether or not he wanted to approach him.

Their initial discussion had been interesting, after he'd first noted him as someone Jason felt comfortable being vulnerable around at the safehouse, and their second- equally so. But neither had been particularly revealing beyond lending the credence to the fact that Loki was intelligent, dangerously so, and had earned every moniker that denoted him as mischievous. When he threw in the fact that Jason was a bit of a lose canon, and still an unknown- less so now, but adding in a few extra pieces to the puzzle didn't quite a full picture make- Loki was someone best handled with care.

And not at a gathering of someone Dick genuinely cared for. But then, Loki had happened upon the cake table just around the time that Dick had decided to vacate it- and looked exactly like he was about to stick his finger directly into it. Before he could really think better of it, he's moving closer, interrupting verbally as well as physically]

Here, take this slice. [Honestly, do they not have knives in Asgard? And he's shoving the cake pretty much directly into Loki's face, with the intention of forcing him to the grab the plate and distracting him from ruining the cake for everyone else, but in particular, the birthday boy- (also supposedly you touch his brother with those hands, so ew?) only-

Only, his misjudges in his haste, and the top of the cake catches Loki right in the jaw, smearing bright colours and cake crumbs down towards his chin] I'm-

I'm so sorry.

[He's still holding the plate, at a bit of a safer distance now. And he might have said it- but it's around a too loud, warm laugh- so it's safe to say he doesn't exactly mean it]

ota

[mechanisch]

[ It doesn't take her long to put the pieces together, to figure out that Fitz and Leo are one and the same — not when the invite pops up and she recognizes the familiar profile that she'd made note of in very different lighting before. Still distinguished, still distinct.

It is, however, the first invite she's received that she hasn't had to steal a vehicle for, so on that front it's already piqued her interest, and while Gaby's fully aware that she may not know many people there she wants the excuse to get to know more of the others, or anyone who Leo considers a friend in this place. He clearly has his people here, friends who care enough about him to throw him a party, and those are the types she'll never admit to wanting herself but can't help but feel slightly envious of all the same.

She doesn't strike an imposing figure next to some of the other attendees, even in high heels, but she has made an effort to dress beyond her normal grease-covered coveralls and stained headscarf, swapping out those for a pair of nice dress slacks and a silky blouse that softens her features and the stark cut of her hair that's long enough to be considered closer to a bob now. At least she'd be fashionable back home, she thinks wryly.

It's easier to try and make conversation with her once she has a drink in her hand, whether she's at the bar or the food table or observing the dance floor from one of the sofas, waiting for the man of the hour to be freed up so she can slip in and wish him a happy birthday personally. He's popular tonight, which isn't a surprise, so she'll be biding her time with alcohol per usual. ]

[retravel]

[ Fitz spies Gaby from afar, features loose and open at the sight of her, at once surprised and flattered by her appearance. It helps that she, too, is distinct. Pretty in a way that makes the word seem inadequate, somehow, even if it's not something he takes notice of beyond his mediocre knowledge of aesthetics. And far from ordinary, precisely because she was skilled at seeming that way and catching him off guard at the ball. Though he is swept off before he can reach her, he makes a point to seek her out later, making his way past the dance floor to her spot on the sofas.

She made a strong (and intriguing) first impression; that's all. ]

Very chic. [ A sharp tip of his head, affirming his light compliment. ] I hope you haven't been waiting.

[ for him, for someone, for the opportunity to dance. ]

ota!

[rehandle]

[ it's a party. it's a party, at a bar, and Stephen Strange is a reformed rich arrogant asshole turned semi-hermit sorcerer turned socially undecided unemployed man. these are uncertain times, but Fitz is one of the few people here he keeps anything close to regular contact with and he's been invited by one of the few other people who fit that category to come and celebrate his birthday.

so.

here he is, propping up the bar and watching the crowd half the night, sitting in a booth swatting up on the production dates of some of the recent hits so he can bring his party trick into play with the locals the other half. he might briefly interrupt this pressing schedule with the occasional pop to the food table. wherever he happens to be, he's happy to drop any immediate activities in favour of a conversation - it's not every day you get to mingle with your fellow refugees outside of a traumatic situation. might as well make the best of it.

he's even splashed out on an actual suit and left the usual wizard layers at home so he can look vaguely approachable.

the things he does for pals. ]

[mechanisch]

[ Gaby wouldn't normally be at a party like this just for the food; there'd have to be something else in it for her. The opportunity to learn some new information, or the promise of a friendly face. Fortunately, this event promises both on top of the food options, and after she's made the rounds in order to speak to those both friendly and new she finally circles back to the table that boasts them.

There's certainly an obvious regional influence here, inspired by the birthday boy's place of origin, and Gaby's nose scrunches up into a small wrinkling at the sight of one bite-sized item that pairs two types of spices she never would've envisioned working. She's curious enough to try it, at least, and it's when she stretches out a hand that she realizes she and someone else have designs on the same portion. ]

Oh. [ She doesn't quite jerk back, but she can feign a demure startle with the best of them, fingers curving in against her palm. ] No, it's all yours.

b-day boy... bc i have to give him a present.......

[cyberlife]

Fitz, this— (a full gesture around at many a head of people and beer, a glass of which he's claimed for himself,) everything looks really great. Here—

(connor's never given anyone a present before, his only surprises have been brutal and cruel and not exactly desirable, but this one might be. despite his apparent nervousness about it, wondering if it's too little, casting his eyes over the other gifts that might be better or more thoughtful. it's the doing that counts, right? the thought?

there's no big buildup to his presentation of it, just a very small box tied with a modest bow, awkwardly handed out to him in the middle of his greeting.)

I'm sorry I'm a bit late. (duty called and called and called.) I must've missed your toast.

i’m crying

[retravel]

[ by the time connor arrives, fitz is blessedly tipsy post-toast (public presentations of sincerity are like to drive any man to drink). and definitely greets the sight of connor with a warm shout of his name across the way. he almost interrupts with “was kat and daisy, not me” but connor’s doing some sort of nervy babbling routine that leaves him nodding until it lands a present in his hands.

oh!!! ]

Hey, s’okay. [ a quick and easy reassurance as he stares at the box, lifting it higher to get a better look and consider the weight. ] I got a bit — [ the vaguest one-handed gesture. ] — sappy, anyway. [ his gaze flickers to connor and back to the present. ] Can I open it?

[ yes that’s how birthdays work buddy... ]