Teritus "Wesley Drakon" Venizelos (tattooed_skin) wrote in halcyon_halls, @ 2008-11-18 22:08:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | cat, wes |
Week Twenty-Two: Friday
Who: Open to all
Where: The Lux Hotel ballroom
What: Halcyon's first art exhibition
When: Evening
In about another minute, or so, he was going to collapse. For a guy who was normally laid back, and chill, Wes had been running around, like a chicken with it's head recently lopped off. That had been the theme of his movements for the past few weeks. Ever since he'd been told that the Lux wasn't going to be available for the original date he'd decided upon. Fuck, he could still murder that fucking kid... As it was, he was making do the best he could. It didn't hurt that he'd had help, from local friends, and a few eager art students.
The last week had been a crunch, getting all of the partitions constructed, and making sure they were structurally secure enough to support the art that would be hanging on them. The ballroom had been completely transformed. The vast open space, was now filled with half walls, elaborate lighting, sofa's, and table where the food, and drinks were located. In truth, Wes had fashioned it after the Lincoln gallery in the Smithsonian. He'd always liked the set up, thought it made for a good warm environment.
It wax relaxing enough, but not so comfortable, that people would want to lounge about, rather than be up, and enjoying all that was displayed. The turn out for art had surprised him. More people had decided to enter work, than he had expected. People outside of his own classes, for one, and the quality of work was higher than he thought it would be. He himself had work hanging about. Seven pieces in total. Newer works as well as some older pieces. He'd even already kicked of the bidding on a couple himself. Primarily two of the pieces Kat had dropped off. The Day of The Dead girl, which he'd fallen completely in love with, and the skull. Now, he just had to keep a close eye on their bidding.
"Remember, unless they show you a student i.d., proving that they are eighteen, or older, they don't get shit. I'm not getting in trouble for a bunch of drunk, idiot kids." He instructed the hired bartender, as his eyes raked over the table of booze. Vivian had originally been tapped to take care of the drinks, but her ass had fled the school... what the fuck was wrong with her? Leaving with that sadistic ass? He'd never understand some women. So, one of the tenders, from back in Vale's day had been asked to handle things, thankfully, they'd agreed.
The food had been another headache. At first, he had thought to ask Cat, but with it being such a grand order that would need filling, he didn't want to lay all of that on her. Too much work to stress over. Plus, if she was too busy fucking around with food, she couldn't spend time with him. See, Wes was a thinker, oh yes. As it was, he'd decided on Indian vegetarian. The spices put it well beyond bland, so, he couldn't see any of the carnivores complaining about it either. Besides, it was an art show, not a sit down dinner.
An hour before the show, when everything had progressed beyond the point of possible falling apart, he knew it was safe enough to dash off, and change for the evening. Which he did, catching a cab over to the parlor to change. Even with this being a fancy to do, he wasn't about to cram himself into a monkey suit, and be uncomfortable the entire night. No way in hell. But, he was so what dress. A red, gray, and black vertical stripped button down, black leather jacket, and unpacked jeans had replaced the normal... 1970's roadie look that he normally sported. His hair was still uncombed, but, at least his black leather combat boots were clean.
Fuck the haters, if they didn't like it, they could get the fuck out. After dressed, he'd returned to the ballroom, a pair of aviators sat perched on his nose, a jack, and coke in his hand. It was going to be an interesting night... he could tell.