Welcome to Gaia! ::

The news cycle had been light that week -- just the normal bizarre magic infighting -- and so the producers at DCNN were working over time filling in puff pieces of interest. An old, supposedly haunted mansion is having a seasonal party? That was the kind of thing viewers 35+ would tune in for, definitely. The entire idea of it was boring to Penny, the kind of assignment she would have been given years ago when she was just a junior underling covering cat fashion shows and setting up on-the-street interviews. But it had been her idea, which was why she was here.

Useless Debra, who Penny had trusted to babysit the junior reporter helping develop the story, had gotten herself pregnant (okay, so that had been awhile ago) and then had the gall to go into labor at the last moment (as in, an hour before she was supposed to show up at the party). ******** Debra. Debra was supposed to be trailing an over eager junior reporter through this mucky-muck nonsense party, not Penny Figgins. And yet... here Penny was. Because it had been her stupid idea.

She stood in the rain cupping a hand over her cigarette as she sucked down the last few drags, letting the rain soak her hair without a thought. It was tucked up into some kind of french twist, which was already nicer than she looked 95% of the time. The producer was in the same simple black cocktail dress she had worn to every cocktail-style event for the past five years. Ol' reliable. With the cigarette down to a nub, Penny tossed it on the pathway leading up to the house and stomped it out, a picture of elegance.

Her entrance to the mansion was decidedly less pleasant. She cursed as she shrugged her way out of her coat, passing it dripping to the hands that reached for it, and then beelined through the rooms, noting some of the fancy decor mixed in with some creepy items. Her bag slapped against her waist and she pulled out her phone, jotting a few notes about the surroundings and snapping a couple photos. Bringing in a full blown camera crew was out of the question, but they'd have one waiting when the party ended to get some interviews with guests as they left. Penny just had to spend two hours here to make sure there was nothing juicier -- and where the hell was that reporter anyhow?

The entertainment room held some interest for her. Penny loved a pool table. She walked over to it and examined the cracked 8-ball curiously before she spotted a stranger holding a glass of wine. "Where's the wine?" she called to Krystal Rose, sticking out like the sorest thumb. She crossed toward the woman, still holding the 8-ball. "I must have missed the bar when I entered. Can you point me in its direction?"

As if on cue, a tray came by with wine, which Penny helped herself to. "Ah, nevermind." She took a long sip, eyes straying to the woman's name tag. "Oh, hi, you're hosting this party, aren't you? What's the occasion?" If the reporter was going to be late, Penny could at least get the ball rolling.

Mathias White is in the Dining Room

Mathias had decided that after all the insanity of the last few weeks, to hopefully get away from it all and attend, what he had been told by his more moneyed family, was a celebration worth attending. So he had pulled out one of his nicer suits and had convinced Imara to come with him - though it had not been without some level of arm bending. Imara was, after all, not the party type.

Still, he had grabbed each of them a glass of whine, and was bringing it over to the windows where they had stood for the evening.

He looked out over the gardens as he handed his wife her glass of whine.

"Well it seems like tonight is going smoothly enough," He said to her with a small chuckle. "The wine looks good at any rate."

Charles Nakahara is in the Entertainment Room

The night was young, though his suit was - by most standards - not extravagantly expensive, Charles made a decent showing for himself. He had decided that the entertainment room would be a good as place as any to wait for his date to arrive, though he supposed he could have waited out for her in the foyer, but he was trusting that she would find him, after all - she was a strong and capable woman in her own right - not to mention, he wasn't particularly enthused by the portraits that hung in the foyer, they felt kind of creepy to him. But he shook his head, and sat on one of the couches, contemplating the newly laid down rug in the room with a slight tilt to his his head.

Everything else seemed to be relatively well used - or at least as far as he could tell, though he supposed that it may have just been time for a new rug.

Mathias White
The gardens are immaculate looking, weather non withstanding. Its painfully obvious that it was worked on that day, some green trimming lingering on the ground. If anything is odd, it's the high walls, topped with large imposing iron spikes.

Mercy Haynes
The portraits are not photographs ar all, but true oil paintings! A few look newer, but they all have a very classical look and feel to them. There is one of Ebony, one of Krystal- then another. An elderly woman with white wiry hair. Another is of a family- a young looking Ebony beside a man and woman. Try as you might, you swear you recognize the man but not from where.

Charles Nakahara

The rug is new, and hardly has any marks of foot traffic on it. Yet, upon closer look at the edges, you can tell where it's been from the slight coloration of the floor- sun bleached you assume. Yet, despite it's well kept state one corner under a table is heavily damaged- a large slice taken down the edge as if someone cut it with a knife.

Robert Banks - Dining Room


He really didn't know how he kept getting roped into these sorts of things.

It had started innocently enough. And by innocent, he really meant Mory attempting to look innocent --- and she looked about as innocent as a cat next to an empty bird's cage.

Still, wide eyes had set their sights on both men when Banks had come over for dinner one evening, the girl pleading for the trio to go visit some old Manor or Mansion (or something) because there was a public party scheduled to be held there and the older man's eyebrow was already crooked as high as it possibly could go when he'd heard the word party.

The last party they had gone to ended up with Mordred somehow obtaining more than enough money to cover dinner and a Lyft for the group from the Valentine's Charity Ball. Then, she'd been caught illegally gambling for more money at the local Convention not two months ago.

Rich and party spelled out T R O U B L E when it dealt with this particular teenager and Rob could already see her guardian giving in to her practiced puppy dog eyes. Somehow or another, it didn't take her long to convince the lawyer either - where rich parties were, rich potential clients also were.

But... convincing them to dress up in costumes?

That definitely took more than just a little bit of convincing.

All of the generic group costumes had been deemed "******** stupid" by K or "ridiculous" by Banks. It had taken far, far too long for the trio to go through the temporary Halloween store, searching for a costume that would settle all of their needs.

When Mory had found the Medieval section, she'd honed in on a particular costume set - the princess and the knight. She certainly wasn't going to be the princess in question - Mordred Pendragon didn't conform to gender roles - and after thirty minutes of both men insisting that they would rather drop dead before putting on the princess costume as well, the three left the store with two Knight costumes in tow and one extra large Prince attire, neatly pressed in a clothing bag.

Banks was pretty sure the only reason Pietro Kavinsky agreed to be stuffed into a Prince's costume was because of Mory's ability to wrap the large Russian around her little finger but for the life of him, he didn't know how he ended up at the front steps of the large Manor wearing some goofy Knight getup - he didn't have to cater to Mory, after all!!!

"Food first," he murmured to neither one in particular, his overpriced outfit making soft clinks as he walked. He felt as ridiculous as he probably looked, hazel eyes avoiding those of the teenager and young man who stood beside him. Eyes found the wine and he gave the bottle a wistful glance. "Of course this place wouldn't be dry - I should have known better."

Imara White is in the Dining Room

"Famous last words if I ever heard any." Imara offered, taking the glass of wine from her husband. She didn't even look at it before taking a sip. "So I would indeed hope the wine is at least good for something like that."

She was still a bit annoyed at him for dragging her out of the house to something so....formal? Stiff might have been the better word but what was she going to say. At least she had managed to avoid the dress all together instead dawning a pair of fitted black pants with a black blouse. The damn heels were the only thing she couldn't avoid.

But she would make the best of it.

"I guess the weather decided to be suitable for such a venue." Imara sighed as she eyed the rain over the gardens. Outside would not be a wonderful option if this continued. "What did you say this place was again?"

Kavinsky in the Dining Room

Kavinsky didn't know why he caved. He had a resolve that was unshakable, or had, he supposed, before one Mordred Pendragon came barreling into his life. A lot had changed in the time that he'd know the kid, his kid. That itself was incredible. He had a kid, an adopted one sure, but a kid none the less.

His small world of just him and Ellis (and Invidia, who'd claimed him as hers) had expanded to include a teenage girl and an old lawyer who'd also gotten beneath his carefully built walls and made himself a permanent fixture.

Or as permanent as things in K's life were anyway.

Still, he was dressed in some stupid, poorly made prince-y costume with two 'knights' flanking his side. He didn't do parties, let alone fancy parties, but Mory'd convinced him and Banks into going so here they were.

His hand pressed against the small of the lawyer's back as if reassuring him. "You don't need it," he said, gruff and to the point before he allowed himself to be distracted by the hand carved kitchen table, running his fingers along the carvings. The workmanship was impressive.