December 27, 2280 6:00 PM

If the Rexford main lobby can be called elegant at normal times, right now it's absolutely extravagant.

It's not packed inside yet but it's on its way there, more and more people slowly filtering in from outside and coming straight over from the state house. Humans and ghouls of all shapes and sizes fill the streets and the bars and the Rexford itself. A sea made of brightly-colored gowns and dresses, gold and silver and gemstones that have long since lost any serious value but still make for fun decoration, all shades of cotton and tweed and silk and cashmere, the shine of leather, sequins, feathers, on and on.

Long swathes of filmy white fabric drape from the walls and ceiling, blowing around in the weak air currents and lending a kind of soft, dreamy look to the room that isn't normally there. The last few rays of sunlight from outside fall on the cleaned and polished brasswork, reflecting gold-orange light and a mellow shine back onto the walls. Another new (and surprising) addition to the room is mirrors. Several tall, uncracked mirrors have been attached to the walls, possibly to help reflect the light around. It's plenty bright in here now thanks to all the sources, but looking even further up Nick can see where dozens of smaller strands of unlit lights stretch across the room at second floor height, criss-crossing in layers over the chandelier and fanning out to every wall.

The couches, chaises, and armchairs have been cleared away in favor of cosy round tables and dark wood chairs where several groups of people have already laid claim and are sitting and talking. They're arranged in a wide, loose arc focused around a low, newly-constructed wooden stage on the far left wall and the nearby jumble of instruments. A sleek, black piano lurks next to the stage, and alongside it stacks of huge, anonymous leather cases, a microphone stand, and the metal skeleton of a drum kit. Nick spots one table among the rest as his eyes travel back around being conspicuously left alone by the wandering party-goers with a small tent sign in the middle that reads 'Reserved'. And he's got an idea or two who that could be for.

And to the right, the bar in the corner is looking very inviting, all glittering with glass and the transparent earth tones of alcohol and a rainbow of mixers. He's not really sure what he expected when John had first asked him here, but it certainly wasn't all of this. It's a pleasant surprise.

Nick gets a gentle elbow in the ribs and then a sly grin when he looks over.

"Nice in here, huh. Yeah. Watch, it'll get real filthy before the night's up."

"Lookin' forward to it."

John snorts. "I bet you are, you animal." And then he jerks his head at the bar. "Grab a drink with me and spy on the people for a bit? Get some gossip in before shit really kicks off?"

Nick puts a hand on the aforementioned elbow and steers them off to the right.

They get their drinks (whiskey and water for Nick, some hideous concoction of vodka, Quantum, and mutfruit juice for John) and pick out one of the tables closer to the center of the room to crowd around. It's tough to really concentrate on any one person among the whirlwind, but Nick tries as John presses up against his side to rattle off names and descriptions and raunchy half-stories.

"Oh, shit, there's Rufus. I always kinda thought that jumpsuit was just part of him, but I guess it does come off sometimes.

"That guy. And so is… that lady. And that one in green. Look, you can see the outline through their jackets.

"No! Hell no. If you need weapons around here you gotta go to Kleo. Pretty sure if you try to buy from one of those assholes or anyone that's not her, she like, appears under your bed when you're sleeping. Fuckin'... lasers your foot off then calls you a crybaby when you're screamin' about it."

It's even tougher to concentrate when John's not preoccupied with his glowing drink. His hands wander around almost as much as his eyes do; rubbing over his tie, tapping the side of his chair, and they wind up idly sliding up Nick's leg under the small table once or twice. After one close call Nick has to lay his own hand over John's and give him a sharp warning squeeze. "You better knock it off," he says, leaning over to murmur into John's ear. It sounds threatening but they're both kind of holding smiles in the whole time. Giddy, he'd say; the energy in here is infectious. "The lines of these things aren't exactly forgiving and I don't wanna be stuck hiding under this table for the rest of the night."

That nearly makes John choke on a gust of laughter, and he keeps his hands mostly within safe territory after that. Mostly.

"...there, that guy with the burn on his face. He's an ex-raider and I've seen him knock out two guys with one punch, don't ask, but if you get him drunk and just chat with him one on one he's such a sweetheart. Got a bunch of cats at home he treats like little babies.

"...can't believe she didn't think to put her pants back on before running out after it and…

"Oh ho. That's unusual." John swats Nick's arm before he can turn his face where John was just looking. "Shh. Don't look. Up on the second floor overhang there."

Nick looks, in the most roundabout way he can and sees two people leaning over the rail. One smoking and one nearly up on his tip-toes whispering to the smoker. They look more mismatched than a cat and a sentry bot.

"The me-sized guy is the mayor's son, Angelo. Not… really sure what he does besides stay at home and avoid people. Probably rolls around in piles of guns and bottle caps and touches himself, I dunno. You never see much of him, and when you do he's got that exact same I'd-kill-you-if-I-cared-enough look on his face. But I've never seen him actually go after anyone."

Angelo is— yeah, John-sized might be a pretty apt description— a long-legged, brown-haired guy in a slim-cut tan suit; very willowy, especially next to the hulking figure beside him. Quite unremarkable looking, but if the rumors about his dad have even a grain of truth to them, he must be A. pretty set and B. no one to trifle with.

"And the ghoul next to him who's built roughly like a fridge wearing a suit of armor..."

"Sinjin?" Nick guesses.

"One and the same. He lives and works here but he's in with a lot of the raider camps in the area. I dunno why they don't string him up, let alone listen to him but they do." John pauses and takes a long drink. "No, that's not true, I know why. He's like the absolute worst of all of them together plus he's smart— knows how to plan and he's got at least a little business sense so he's way scarier than the usual run-of-the-mill fucks. Plus, he could tear any of 'em apart with his pinkies. Wonder what they're talkin' about."

If the look on Sinjin's face is anything to go by, they're talking about absolutely nothing. The guy is completely stone-faced, staring out impassively over the packed hotel lobby while Angelo hangs on his armored shoulder and gestures around, talking quietly but very animatedly. It's kinda weird.

But there's not a whole lot of time to dwell on it; the noise of the crowd shifts into interested chatters as a group of about a dozen or so people all matching in white and silver file up toward the stage and start opening the cases lying on it. A few of them laugh and chat to the people nearby as they unpack and snap things together, but a dark-haired woman in silver sequins leaning over the mic stand is the one that really gets into it. She plays the crowd, swaying and smiling and reeling them in close and enrapt with her voice and the swing of her hair.

"Who's that?"

"The band, Nicky. That's why they're touchin' the instruments and stuff," is John's completely even reply.

Nick shoots a look at him and he cracks after a few seconds, hiding his smile with his drink. "Aah, I don't… I think it's mmm… one of those flower names. Dahlia? Heather? ...Marigold? Was that it? I think she's new with these guys. Only seen her one time before. But mm, sexy, right? Maybe you should go ask her. Get her shortwave frequency." John flutters his eyelashes at Nick as he takes a sip.

Nick watches as she leans in closer to hear something one man says and then laughs uproariously when his lady companion smacks him on the arm. She laughs even harder when the lady takes the singer by the hand and kisses her knuckles, shooting a taunting look at her man. Nick grins at the silent production.

"That's alright, looks like she's got enough on her plate right now. I'll just admire from afar."

John scoffs. "Pff. Yeah, that's the way to go. Look, you need me to wingman for you? I am all over it—"

"Johnny!"

They both turn toward the call, Nick grateful for the interruption, to see a guy in rumpled clothes with stained sleeves and hands (definitely not a guest then), a round, pleasant face, and long shags of grey hair walking over toward John. "Hey, man! Thought that was you! It's good… great to see you. How's it goin'?"

John stands to meet him and wraps an arm around the guy's shoulder in a friendly half-hug, thumping him on the back. "Up with us commoners already, huh?"

"Yeah, it's almost t— Whoa." He pauses and refocuses on Nick, blinking owlishly like he'd just materialized there. "Who's this? New customer or somethin'?"

Customer?

Nick gets to his feet and puts a hand out despite the confusion, smiling partly for politeness' sake and more at the rolling slur of the guy's voice. If that and the blacks of his eyes are anything to go by, this gentleman is quite toasted.

"Nah. Friend of mine from the city. Fred, this is Nick."

"Detective Nick Valentine," he confirms. Nick vaguely recalls John mentioning going to see a Fred the last time they were here. "Nice to meet you."

"Oh, far out! Nice to meet you," Fred says, accepting Nick's offer for a shake. The guy smells like smoke and some faint echo of bleach. "Fred Allen. I'm the, heh, I guess resident chem artist." Oh, Nick thinks. Customer. "I work the lab downstairs and keep the mood around here topped up. Well. I try." His face falls a little and he lets go of Nick's hand, speaking to both of them again. "Mind if I sit for a sec?" John pulls the remaining chair out with a flourish. "Thanks. Usually I'd get it, being out here on the floor, but I think Clair'd rather have her space while she can. But uh. Yeah. Had an ugly execution the other day and that kinda bummed everyone out, so this's good. Good timing." He gestures at the smart decor and the increasing volume of people flitting around them. "It like, gets folks' spirits up again."

"No shit. Anyone we knew?" asks John.

"Oh. Nope. Some traveler had a uh, sticky fingers problem and Daze called it out and the triggermen came down on the guy and… man, you know what happens after that." John hums. "It was a mess. Then Daze caught a wild bullet in the foot and that didn't help the situation any. God, I didn't know anyone could scream that loud."

Fred shakes his head like he's trying to clear the image away before perking up again. "Yeah. But, so yeah! I'm a little early up here but I got all the good shit all set up and nothin' more to do in the magic factory, and look."

He points through the crowd at the front desk. It's covered in a few long, embroidered red cloths and piled high with… Jesus… Nick looks closer and it's more chems than he's ever seen together in one place. There was never half that many or that kind of variety in the evidence lockers, not even during bust week. But beside all that, behind the cleaner and neater part of the desk is Clair, in a light blue suit and some kind of sparkling clips decorating her hair instead of her usual, currently staring daggers at the pile. And then at Fred when she looks up and realizes he's pointing right at her. He plays it off horribly by reaching back to scratch at his ear.

"Eep. See. Doesn't want me near until it's showtime. Maybe I'll melt her heart and we'll be friends one day, but I don't think it's gonna be tonight. I'm not like, feelin' the song of success right now."

John solemnly pats Fred's arm. "I dunno whether to tell you to keep at it or back off, man. She's tough."

"Probably have some luck if you do both," Nick suggests.

"Both?"

Nick shrugs. "Be around her but be professional. Strikes me as someone who values competence over pretty much anything else."

Fred groans and sweeps his flyaways down under the shapeless hat he's wearing. "See, that? That's a problem all on its own. Me and... I mean… her standards couldn't be any higher if you gave them a jet hotbox. But it's cool. It's cool. I'll make it through the night alive and we'll see who makes the bigger stack of caps when it's all over. What'd'you guys think. Room rentals or alcohol or," here he pauses dramatically, "the fruits of the finest chem lab in Boston?"

"Not enough info for a real guess, but you're here now, so the vote goes to you," Nick says.

"And I think I'm a little biased, my dude," John adds. "You know you're always number one in my book."

Fred laughs at that, and then jerks and half-rises from his seat. Nick follows his line of sight to a girl urgently beckoning from a now-open door in the far wall.

"Uh oh. Looks like something's up. And the thing's about to start too, shit." Fred sets a quick hand on John's shoulder. "Come see me later though, okay? Man, I've got somethin' new that'll blow your mind." Then he's hurrying off through the crowd, bumping into people and making bleary apologies.

December 27, 2280 7:50 PM

They sit and continue to watch the band tune up as the sun sets, John escaping for a few minutes to pick up another couple of drinks from the bar (these a bit more heavy-hitting) and calling out hellos and laughing fuck offs to a few people that walk by. Nick basks, satisfied and calm with John's familiar sprawl beside him; John's left arm reared back and fingers touching Nick's right shoulder as the drummer conjures a shimmery, expanding noise from one of his cymbals and the sax player and the pianist run through some quick scales together.

At peace.

When he glances over at John, John looks right back, matching the quiet smile on his face and squeezing his fingers together on Nick's shoulder blade in a light pinch. Soft little movement to say 'Yeah, I'm here'.

If there was one moment since meeting John that Nick desperately wanted to lean in, hold the kid's chin in hand, and slowly, softly kiss his smiling mouth… this would be that moment. As it is, all he does is hook his thumb over the back of John's chair and seal up an image of the way he looks right now. Knees butted up casually against the table edge, the glint of small silver hoops in his ears and Nick's borrowed cufflinks in his sleeves, lower lip sucked back through his teeth, fingers loose around his glass. Damn everything.

Then there's an amplified sputter from the set of speakers up by the stage and most of the room's attention is directed forward. The band, all twelve of them, are standing in their places with their hands at the ready looking both loose and fiercely excited. The lead steps up to the mic and hangs a hand on it before giving her mates one last glance to see if she's got the go-ahead. The drummer spins a stick between his finger and Nick can see him nod and say, 'Whenever you're ready, darlin''. She turns back around with a radiant smile for the fan of tables in front of her and the restless shift of the rest of the room.

"Well, good evening, ladies and gentlemen," comes the rough silk of her voice, and the crowd murmurs a scattered greeting in response. As she speaks, the band behind her starts picking out a quiet tune, adding a soft melody and backbeat to her speech and drawing everyone in a little more. "It's always, always good to be back in Goodneighbor with all you lovely people. I think we're about ready to get this thing going and on its way." Some light applause as she shoots a glance at the very back of the room, and the lights seems to flicker in response. Apparently that's the answer she wanted because she sways up even closer to the microphone and tucks her hair behind her ear with a nod.

"Thank you, thank you. And now it's time to move a little closer and give a hello to that beautiful girl or guy you've got your eye on because until you do, we're all just strangers in the night."

At her last word, two things happen. The volume of the music swells, solidifying into a lavish surge of brass and strings that wash out over the room and at the same time the house lights fade into smoky darkness.

Weirdly enough, it might have been worth all the headache of getting here and getting through door security just to witness this first bit of theatrics. If, back at the office, John had said 'man, you gotta go just to see this cool shit they do with the lights', Nick probably would have been seriously skeptical and then laughed at him. But right now, below and within it, it's a little different.

The entire lobby is dark, filled with barely visible grey shapes, and then the tiny strings of lights he'd observed earlier brighten to life in an even wave. Pinpricks of illumination fan out overhead, looking like low-hanging stars suspended only a few feet above them all. The hanging curtains still wisping around in the slow-moving air pick up some of the glow and give a faint impression of drifting clouds. And the mirrors on the walls are perfectly angled to reflect and multiply it all, the faux night sky appearing to extend well beyond the actual limits of the room. The crowd ooh's softly at it all.

A spotlight illuminates as the singer joins in, turning the band's outfits dazzlingly bright. They cruise through the song effortlessly, playing well and adding their own little spin on the music with the woman's voice soaring above it all.

The effect of it all is enthralling, to say the least. The otherworldly atmosphere, the soft scratch of the drums, the violins and trumpets thrumming through the air. It's good to be lost in something like this along with the rest of the murmuring audience. Nick raises his eyes to the ceiling and unfocuses; lets it all flow through him, still able to barely feel the heat of John's hand through the fabric of his jacket.

"Pretty good, right," comes his voice, close by and pitched low. "I'm not even a big music guy and this is always worth being around for, I think." John giggles quietly. "Gotta love a flashy introduction."

"Pretty good," Nick agrees. Understatement there; he could probably sit and finish up the night right here if allowed. Watch the girl singing swing her hips and the band flash and gleam behind her.

And that's almost what ends up happening. They sit and watch for a time, drinking and making quiet conversation each with their hands barely touching the other. Eventually, John spies someone across the room and makes a break for it ("Oh, there's— Nick! Hey, you gonna be safe without me for a while?" "I dunno, I might get dragged off if I'm left alone. No, yeah, go on. Have fun; I'll catch up with you later, kid."), so Nick settles in and gets comfortable as the band starts in on a Dean Martin number he hasn't heard in ages.

It's impossible not to also eavesdrop on the conversations ribboning around him from the other tables and passing people. Mostly nonsense. A woman complaining about the unbearable noise in here, another trying to clumsily flirt with one of the plainclothes security, a guy in a red shirt hanging off another man's arm and trying to tell him something through a fit of giggles and hiccups. Mostly nonsense, but later when he hears a low, angry voice the next table over say, "The fuck did you just say to me?" and sees a nervous hand creeping toward a waist, Nick decides this might be an alright time to take a slow wander around the room or even go outside for a quick smoke.

He manages about a half-circuit around the lobby before the fuse he'd seen being lit finally detonates and a few shouts rise up over the din of the performers and the rest of the room. Looking back over at the area he just vacated, he spots a chair being flung at (and colliding with) one unfortunate gentleman's lap (which earns a sympathetic flinch from Nick) before security descends and muscles the still-yelling combatants away from the crowd. An unrelated party commandeers the fallen chair for their own table and things continue on like nothing happened; the band didn't even falter a beat.

"A Rexford fete without broken furniture and at least three groin injuries is considered a dull affair, you know," comes a raspy, amused voice from behind him.

Nick turns around to see Daisy standing behind him, arms folded across her chest and an exasperated smile on her face, like the party-goers are her unruly kids she has to watch out for. This is really a night for double-takes and raised eyebrows. She's in a ruffled yellow dress that clings to her slim waist, miles away from her usual business clothes, a short half-jacket wrapped around her shoulders, and there's a gilt enamel pin in the shape of her namesake holding her hair to the side.

"Yeah, I had to get out of there before mine was the second casualty," Nick says, smiling wider when she chuckles at him. He extends a hand and she takes it. "Daisy, you're looking exceptionally lovely this evening."

"Well, thank you. You clean up pretty nice yourself. Almost didn't recognize you without that old hat of yours."

"Not up to dress-code standards apparently, had to leave it behind," Nick says, jokingly bitter.

"Oh, I know the feeling. I can't wait to get home and into my pajamas and some warm socks instead of these heels."

"Please, don't let me get between you and your pajamas."

"No, no, you're not. I'd love to stay and talk if you've got a minute or two." Then quieter she adds, "I have to make at least a quick appearance when these are on. It's in my contract."

"Contract?"

"Well, not a real one," she says, waving a hand. "Spoken agreement. Me and the other, ah, managers? I guess is a good word… we all have to show up for a while. Though it always seems like I'm the only one that really follows through." She sighs. "I've personally been here since this morning and haven't seen a trace of anyone besides Marowski hours ago and then Angelo lurking around the back office... but he doesn't really count. I had to help out with a few different interesting headaches here, though why Marowski doesn't get his own lackeys to get these big things finished up I don't know. Probably because he's coming to the realization everyone else already had: they're all dumb as a bag of rocks, give or take a few of them. Stan and Trish do pretty well."

Nick pointedly looks around them. "Well, whatever kind of headache it was, I think the effort was worth it. Looks fantastic."

"Aw, you're sweet to say so. It did turn out alright in the end. And they actually got the lighting cues on time tonight."

"They did. That was really breathtaking." He looks up again and admires the sky-in-miniature as they talk. "Manager of what, if you don't mind my asking?"

Daisy smirks in a kind of here-we-go look. "My own area of expertise? I'm the trade liaison with the caravans and Bunker Hill and couriers from further out. Keeping our own merchants and visiting traders safe and in line, checking inventory to make sure no one's mislabeling their poisons and explosives, that kind of thing."

"I had no idea." Nick shoots her a teasing look. "So you're a big hot-shot around these parts, huh?"

Daisy tuts at him and rolls her eyes. "Nothing so glamorous, it's just work. But trade is a big part of the livelihood for Goodneighbor, yes. We don't do farming or ranching; no real production here except for Marowski's team of chemheads and their projects. It's just drugs, raiding, and the goods that flow through. Not the nicest," she adds, "but it's lucrative alright."

Nick's considering offering to buy them a couple of drinks when Daisy stills and looks like she's listening for something. Applause dies away around them and he can hear the singer speaking on the mic again.

"...one orchestra that's impossible to forget. Well, we don't have quite the numbers that Glenn Miller commanded, but we're trying our hardest out here and I think we'll do him proud." She laughs as someone calls up some slurry encouragement at them. "Exactly right. Here's a little song about taking a long, long journey just to see that one special gal, even if you have to go all the way to Kalamazoo to see her."

"Oh," Daisy says, touching his shoulder as she perks up and looks over toward the stage where the trumpets are blaring out something loud and almost sassy-sounding. "Oh, I love this song. Haven't heard it in years and years." She looks like she might be blushing if she could, but she keeps her grip firm and her dark eyes on his as she says, "Not to make assumptions here but if you know how… care to dance?"

Nick swallows down a pang of nerves and tries to think of the last time he actually danced with someone. This might be a disaster. But, nothing ventured…

"Fair warning, I'm a little rusty. But if you lead, I'll try not to embarrass us too much."

Daisy laughs. "I'll keep us in line. Let's show these young bucks how it's done."

Nick offers his arm and she takes it, ushering them both up through the people to the semi-circle of emptier space in front of the stage. At least the spotlight for the stage isn't fully on them, he thinks, a light sweat already springing out on his back.

"Nothing fancy," she assures him as she presses their hands together and touches his side with a gentle nudge, and then they're moving.

It takes a moment or two, but concentrating as hard as he can on following Daisy's lead (true to her word, she keeps it simple) lets the rest of the room quietly fade away to just the two of them together under the lights and over the smooth wood floor. The song isn't bad either, bouncy and fun as the two of them sashay about in a rough circle; Nick laughing because he's doing an alright job of not stumbling or mis-stepping even when doing this whole thing backwards and Daisy laughing at his surprise.

"So is this it?" he asks as he finds his feet and decides to trust himself enough to put them on autopilot. "Is this the draw, why you're still sticking around all day?"

"The music?" Daisy grins. "You're damn right. Sometimes they dig up an oldie I haven't heard in decades or more and it's… oh, you know. A nice callback to bygone times." She tightens her hand and gives Nick a very gentle dip, pulling him back upright with ease and continuing on. Nick snorts and she wiggles an eyebrow at him, singing quietly along with the song for a moment.

"Yeah, it's the music. I love the… well, the way it brings back so many old memories. Fills your soul with energy and makes you feel at one with everyone. ...And then there's always the getting blackout drunk after, of course."

Nick throws his head back and laughs, still cackling when Daisy stretches them out in a wide sweep. "A woman after my own heart," he says when they swing back together.

"It's the only way to get through these things," she insists. "The city's so damn loud all night the only way to get any shut eye is to knock yourself out once you've done the good parts. ...And just hope none of the other drunks come crashing through your door."

"Does that really happen?"

"Enough for me to sleep with an extra shotgun rigged up on party nights? You bet your boots it does."

"Good lord."

She rolls a shoulder, the one his hand's resting on. "Just how it is."

"I'm curious now. Do you like Goodneighbor? Living here? Seems like it's awfully rough."

Daisy almost misses a step as she's overcome by a bout of giggles. She recovers gracefully and gives him a shrewd look through the laughter. "Nicholas Valentine, did you just ask me 'What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this'?"

"Yeah, I suppose you could twist it around that way if you wanted to," he says with a shamefaced grin. "Well?"

"Well, for starters, young man, I don't think I've ever described myself as 'nice'."

The song comes to an end with one final loud fanfare and the spell of isolation is dissolved by the suddenly loud sound of clapping from all around. A few people in the crowd lean forward to pat the both of them on the back, and even the few of the band that can spare two hands are applauding. Nick grins and kisses the back of Daisy's hand before they separate. She rolls her eyes (but smiling all the while) and mutters 'Easy, Romeo,' before tugging on his arm to ease out of the lights and sift back into the crowd. She pulls them over to that mysterious table with the 'Reserved' sign on it and they sit, only a little winded.

The singer laughs, low and throaty as she lowers her own hands back to her sides. "Nice moves, you two. Another round of applause for Goodneighbor's own wickedly stunning Daisy and her very mysterious and very handsome partner?" They get it; Nick blushing and Daisy shoving a hand through the air in an oh-stop-it motion.

"Get on with your set, you flatterer," she calls up.

"Every word is true," the singer says with a wink before speaking up to address the room again. "But here we go, back to it. Let's go with something slower now to cool down all you carousers and rabble-rousers. A sad little song from the Lady herself: Oh, Lady Be Good."

Daisy turns an appraising eye back to Nick. "You're a lot better than I thought with how nervous you were acting."

"Eh, long-returner's luck. Muscle memory," he says.

With Jennifer. That'd been the last time. He'd gotten a promotion and she'd grabbed him and they'd danced around wildly in his apartment's cluttered living room, only stopping once someone pounded up against the floor to quit it some of us have work in the morning. Nick smiles.

"Whatever it was…" she nods. "Haven't done that in years, no one around here really knows how or cares to learn. And you still got it, mister.

"But, back to your question," she says, picking up the table sign and looking at it for a moment like it's got the answers. "I do like it, living here. I have a good niche carved out, if I do say so myself.

"I was an accountant, back before, and did a bit of stock trading on the side. So stepping in here to shape up the boys' club and make myself indispensable seemed like a smart enough move. It's worth the danger and the loud nights." She pauses and her eyes go far away for a moment. Nick leans in to hear her when she speaks more softly. "Plus, I grew up around here. Got married here too. Had a nice little brownstone over in Back Bay. It's all rubble now, I still go back to look at it sometimes, but I always liked the area. Felt like I owed it to Boston to stick around."

"To look after it," Nick says.

Daisy nods, a little sad. "To look after it."

"That's very sweet of you."

"Yeah, yeah. Keep it under your hat, Valentine. I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea."

Nick puts his hands up. "Hey, secret's safe with me."

Daisy laughs and then stretches down to rub the skin under the strap of her shoe, face hidden for a moment before she straightens back up. "Well. Are you sticking around for a while?"

Nick makes a cursory glance around, realizing he hasn't seen or heard from his companion since he got up and disappeared nearly two hours ago. He's not entirely sure what the plan was there. Were they going to leave together or split up and head back to the room individually when they couldn't take any more? Probably should have discussed that before he lost him.

"I think I am?"

"I'll have to wish you good luck on the rest of your night then, I'm about tapped out. Looks like everything's running smoothly, and if Marowski doesn't like it, he can do this alone next year, see how that turns out," she grumbles.

Then brightening, she stands and Nick follows along with her, leaning in when she takes both his hands and pecks him on the cheek. "Enjoy yourself, sweetie. Maybe ask Magnolia if she'll do 'Georgia on My Mind'. The Django Reinhardt version if you want to kill that poor guitarist or Ray Charles if you feel like crying. And whatever else you do tonight, don't order the suicide shots back there," she says, nodding toward the bar as she steps away. "They're cheap but also exactly what they sound like."

December 27, 2280 9:50 PM

A few beers and whiskey shots later (no suicides) and Nick's decided the evening's about rounded out. The band's still doggedly trucking along after a few interspersed breaks, Nick went to check in with both Clair and Fred when they had a free minute or two, he listened in on enough Goodneighbor chitchat to last him through the new year, and he's now really, comfortably drunk. There hasn't been a hazardous amount of fighting but tensions wind tighter as time goes on and the hour gets later. More raised voices, more teeth being displayed without smiles, more shoves that don't look too friendly, more 'accidental' wardrobe malfunctions and groping, just more insanity in general. Good time to quit while things are ominous and not yet hostile.

Even amidst the rest of the chaos, John somehow makes himself easy to find when Nick decides it's time to really look around for him. A few minutes of crowd scanning tells him he's probably not on the main floor, but as Nick weighs out whether he should try upstairs or just head back alone, the slightly louder sound of shouts and screamy laughter direct his eyes upward to, of course, the kid being partially dangled over the second floor rail. He's being held up by two other people and trying to take a shot while upside-down. Clair's also looking up at the trio from right underneath them and Nick's pretty sure he hears her yelling up that she's never seen anyone act like bigger idiots, do you all want to get your necks broken? (Translation: I'm very worried for your safety and well-being, won't you please come down from there?) Fred's next to her grinning goofily at it all.

Nick starts pushing through the crowd, watching John and his precarious position the whole way. He's twisting around with glass still in hand and using the other to blow a kiss down to Clair and saying he's sorry but with a grin on his face that says that's almost certainly a complete lie. By the time Nick makes it up to the second floor balcony, John's right side up again and flopped on a couch with his leg kicked out across a black-haired guy's lap. He's laughing and holding his head and the guy has a hand curled around John's bare ankle where his cuff is ridden up. Hrn.

It's a little awkward to walk in on their gathering, like maybe he's supposed to have a flashlight trained on them while loudly asking what they've been doing this evening, but Nick picks his way around and takes a careful (swaying) knee next to the low side of the couch to put a hand on John's arm. He starts at the touch but relaxes when he realizes who it is; John's two companions ease back down into their seats as well when they see that the big stumbling guy's not a threat.

"Hey, kid."

John smiles and looks like he's about to reach back to cup Nick's face in his hands, he even tips his chin back before he catches himself and stutters to a stop. Turns it into dropping one arm back over the couch arm and pushing the escaped strands of hair out of his face with the other. The smile settles a little. Still warm and lovely, but not quite the where-have-you-been-all-my-life look it just was.

"Niiick, hey, there y'are." His eyes widen and he swats sideways at Nick's sleeve. "I saw you and Daisy! You were very… mmvery nice. Didn't know you could dance."

He's pretty damn drunk. Nick can relate. ...Though maybe there's more than that going on. Voice gone soft around the edges and movements a bit too exaggerated, sure, but his eyes are twitchy and he keeps rubbing at the same spot on his arm.

"Thanks," Nick says with a small smile.

"So, what's up? You good? Sorry I didn't come back earlier, I got a little um." He gestures at himself, his red eyes and rumpled shirt and Nick takes his meaning very well.

"It's fine, Daisy was the only one who dragged me off." John laughs and nods. "But I think I'm done for the day. It's gettin' a little too rowdy for me in here."

"Yeah? Already?"

"Already nothin'. We've been out here for about four hours," (John scoffs at that, whether unbelieving or unimpressed, Nick doesn't know) "and the natives are getting restless." Nick might not be ready to sleep, but the drinking, the constant noise, and being around so many people at once has definitely sapped his reserves of energy… life force… whatever. "My idea of a wild night these days is having five and a half drinks at the Dugout and watching the merc companies play chicken with each other. Yeah, I'm gonna head back." Nick rolls his eyes into a smirk as John makes a quiet, burbly noise that sounds a little like 'booo'. "Still got your key?"

John aims a loose slap at his breast pocket. "Nnyep, I do."

"Alright."

Nick glances around at John's friends and their collection of drinks and other mystery containers. The girl in the chair with her feet propped out on the table looks nearly identical to the guy sat next to John, he realizes. Same dark eyes, lanky bodies, and laughing mouths. She lets her eyes travel from Nick's face to his chest, then lower and back up. He raises an eyebrow at her before looking back to John, slightly more off balance than a moment ago.

"Don't get into anything too awful."

"Naaah. Not with these guys." He giggles up at Nick and shifts his hips. "Think they're gonna be just the right amount of awful."

Nick's not so drunk he doesn't catch the movement and the extremely blatant innuendo there. But that… that is not any of his business and he says as much.

John's eyes go sharper and that purr in his voice gets laid on a little thicker. His hand touches Nick's where he's hanging onto the couch, fingers hot. "Isn't it? Don't wanna stick around with us and have some fun together?"

Oh. Whoa, now.

"What kind of fun would that be?" Nick says slowly, chuckling without any real humor in it. It's all nerves, that laugh. "Hanging me over the rail and dropping me on Fred?" Just a simple are-you-serious disguised as obliviousness, but he knows they all know and he feels his face flushing hotter with the war between jealousy and embarrassment that's being waged underneath. John's grin slips even wider at him and the girl snickers and slowly uncrosses her legs.

"I think we could keep a hold of you," she says.

Her doppelganger on the couch tips his eyes at Nick, shoots him that exact same hungry look his sister has and moves his hand higher on John's ankle, rubbing his thumb over the pale skin. "Yeah," he says. "We could take you, easy."

Drunk or not, this is… way too out there. It's not disgust or fear that he feels, just discomfort; unease and the suddenly strong need to back away rising up strong and clamoring at him. Say no, say goodnight, exit. Now. Nick swallows heavily. "Appreciate the offer, I really do, but I think I gotta decline, folks. I've had enough, hung by my ankles or anywhere else."

"Well," John starts as Nick pushes up against the couch. "If you're sure…"

"I'm sure," Nick says.

"...then I guess it's nighty night, Nicky Nick. I'll be there when I'm there." Before he can stand all the way up, John catches Nick's collar and brings him back to whisper to him, low and intimate under the drifting noise from downstairs. "Maybe next time, huh. Mmmh, and you look pretty fuckin' tasty right now, I think is the general opinion around here. Watch out for wandering hands out there." One of his fingers brushes Nick's throat and a harsh prickle races up the skin he's touching.

Nick barely shifts closer to the caress, nudging the side of his hand and whispers back, "You're insane." He wants to tell the kid to be careful… but even now he can see when John's like this, deceptively languid and dark-eyed with intent, all a warning or a question will do is make his contrarian side come out. So in place of that, all he has is some meaningless quip, "And it's too late for that, I've already been pinched a few times."

John cackles and lets him go, sticking his hand up as Nick rises to his feet. Nick sighs, but gives him the high five he's looking for. His feathers have been thoroughly ruffled (through no fault of theirs, they're just doing what they do) and it's time to get back to the room and unwind from this… from the whole night for a while. John grins and wriggles himself deeper into the couch cushions as he starts digging through his pocket. "Don't wait up."

Nick glances back on his way over to the stairwell. "I know better than that."

"Smart," the girl says.

Nick smiles at her a little mechanically and at the guy still holding John's leg, hand wrapped around his calf now. He's not yours, he adds sulkily in his mind. What is it? A warning to himself or to these other two? Both? Neither? It's ugly and mean, whatever it is. Cut it out.

"Keep it real, guys," he says aloud, and the pain in his chest twists in harder. They both tip their glasses at him and down their drinks in response. John gives him an unreadable look as he heads around the wall and drags himself toward freedom.

December 27, 2280 10:00 PM

The smell of the Rexford clings to him as he shoves through the doors, alcohol and heated skin and smoke but it's quickly pushed away by the freezing night air. There's barely even any time to enjoy the initial shock of it before he has to gently wave off the girls and boys loitering around the entrance looking to hitch a ride with solo party-goers on their way home. The coos turn a little nasty when Nick doesn't stop for any of them, but it's nothing he hasn't heard before. Personal insults, he thinks as a kicked fragment of concrete goes skittering by him. The sad but consistent weapon of the rebuffed.

It takes an unusual amount of time to get himself oriented and on his way back to the hotel. He's very drunk, it's very dark, and the building itself is over on the north… no, northeastern? ...east. It's the east side of town. Goodneighbor's small but dense, and he wends his way through the neon-lit streets along with the few other people staggering their own way around the maze.

Probably the next block up, that's where it is. It was brick with a big white sign out front, and this stretch of buildings looks familiar. This shack, this steel drum, that uh. ..? Nick turns and sees a shuffle of movement off to the left, something moving too fast and confident to be a fellow drunk. A low groan and a soft thud come from a dark shape rolling around on the cobblestones and there's two Goodneighbor guards standing over it.

And apparently he's looked a little too long, cuz the next thing he knows, one of the suits is calling over at Nick.

"What? You got something you wanna say, drunky?"

Hoo, no. Not to two ...yeah, armed fellows late at night with no one else around and his own weapon locked up in a room down the street. But the guy on the ground… hell. Nick raises his hands in placation, putting a bigger slur on his words than what's naturally there and tries to sound like as much of a friendly, idiot drunk guy as possible. Which he is, kind of, underneath the newfound heat in his skin and louder heartbeat.

"Hey, just take it easy with that guy, huh, pal? It's the holidays."

It doesn't work. The plea or the redirect, the both of them too keyed in to be distracted from their prey. The talker turns to fully face Nick, big hand very visible on his gun.

"Yeah? The holidays can kiss my fuckin' ass. Keep movin' while your legs still work, asshole."

The second guard swings his foot back and kicks the grounded guy's kneecap. Even from this distance Nick can hear it give with a sick snap and the breathless scream that erupts.

Jesus.

Sorry, fella, he thinks. Nick does keep moving, resigned and hoping the guy's tormentors get bored soon. It wasn't enough but I tried.

There's one final shout of 'The fuck outta here' tossed out as he moves out of range.

He's briefly thankful that John isn't with him, that he didn't see or hear any of that. From the way he talks, if he had been here, this little walk might've turned out with the both of them with matching holes in their heads. Or with Nick wrestling John away down the street as he screamed insults and ugly threats at the two guys. Good kid and he means well but there's a lot lacking in the self-restraint department. Nick still can't tell if he likes that about John or not. Makes for some interesting events at any rate.

A small flare of impotent anger jolts through him as he walks away, amplified by the alcohol in his system and then soothed by what's left of his higher thought. That's just things. You can't save everybody, can barely save yourself most times.

He frowns as he finally turns the corner and starts up the steps to the hotel. Not a new thought, not at all. And it's still as bitter as it ever was.