Tony Stark (in_extremis) wrote in oh_marvelous, @ 2010-03-15 11:44:00 |
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Comitia
Characters: Your host Tony Stark, who couldn't have it any other way but OTA.
Setting: W. 23rd, New York
Content: Debauchery, hopefully. Tony is involved, after all.
Summary: It's the anniversary of Howard and Maria Stark's passing, which is as good excuse as any to have a party. Oh, and to raise funds for the Maria Stark Foundation, that, too.
While the invitation had listed Recommended Dress as 'Romantically Roman', which, when written in gold script, was grown-up for 'toga party', Tony Stark sat primly on the bar to only the briefest bewilderment of the bartender in his usual slim, dark suit with his festive cheer limited to a gilded laurel wreath glinting in his dark hair that he didn't remember coming in with. The room was supposed to fit a trim 500, and it seemed a bit stuffed and cozy with the number that had arrived, but Tony liked getting cozy and whoever lingered at the edges of the room or hid in their private, couched corners or around those attractively dainty ionic columns probably didn't need to hear what he had to say anyway. It would make it to them eventually. As the sun was setting and the evening was just getting to a start, the space had smelled richly of the hardwood floors and the wintery wind allowed to leak in through the cracked open windows, but now it smelled so much more indulgently of bodies and perfumes and sticky sweet dessert cocktails. Laughter broke out over the music when the shortcomings of the toga or stolla or quickly wrapped sheet of an enthusiastic reveler were revealed in an embarrassingly unraveled knot.
With all of this, even Tony could barely be slighted that he didn't have the entire room's 100% attention. He did, after all, want them all to remember what an absolutely fantastic party he hosted. He sat with his legs crossed at the knee and a glass in his hand to raise at those he did capture the attention of, the bartender behind him looking unsure whether he should carry on as usual. With a flirtatious smile to his closest audience, Tony started, "I say, if we're all going to die, it's best to do it together when we're all feeling groovy and this close to an orgy. Or is that just wishful thinking on my part? Do you feel that, too, sweetheart? Give me a minute and we'll skip out and take advantage of that.
"Beware the Ides of March, someone told Caeser, and no one remembers that guy, not even old Julie, who couldn't take a bit of advice to save his life. Arthur Compton died on this day, too. H.P. Lovecraft. John Pople. Bud Freeman. But Charles II, the frisky bastard, to mix it up a bit issued the Declaration of Indulgence, which isn't anything like it sounds but I like to declare indulgence quite a bit. I saw that-- oh, yes, I know a bit of history, sweetheart, they don't call me a genius because I'm so good looking. Although, I am remarkably talented at that, too.
"So, someone remember this for me, not like that other poor bastard: indulge on the Ides of March, because it could be your last day, like the late, great Mr. and Mrs. Stark. If you don't feel sorry enough for me that my parents are dead to donate an impossibly large sum of money tonight, think of all the other things you can feel sorry for me about. How embarrassingly rich I am. How loftily brilliant. How absolutely exhausting it must be to have so many interesting, generous friends. Sorry, what was that? You love this song? Jesus, I'm sorry for boring you, let me just finish this drink and I'll take you for a spin."