the gala

Ruby WAS curious about the orphanage. It was a good thing, right? When she had received an invitation she tossed it out, then had to dig in the paper bin after it. What if her 'investors' had sent it? She didn't belong with these people. The wealthy and polished or the real power behind them. There might be bodyguards around who knew her... knew her father. What would she wear? Everything she owned was patched, hand me downs or threadbare. She couldn't afford anything... What if it was her investors? Her heart had thundered in her chest. They held everything she worked for in the palm of their hands. All the people she fed.

Edna had been able to give her something to wear. Edna had been a seamstress before her luck changed. She had found some satin drapes in the trash, bronze in color. She'd sent to work two weeks ago and now Ruby stood uncertainly in the doorway, invitation in hand. The satin was cut on the bias so it fell over her frame like water. It draped at the low necklineand in around the back that pushed the level of decency. She had balked when she saw it. It so wasn't her. It showed too much that no one would be interested in. But it was all the nice fabric they had, and Edna had worked so hard.

Men in tuxedos carried trays of champagne glasses. Ruby had never seen the drink for real, let alone tasted it. She took one and gave it a tentative taste. It was dry and... no, not good at all. She didn't have expensive taste, evidently. However, the glass was a good prop to hide behind.

Michael walked in, leaning on his cane, impeccably dressed in a designer suit, a smile plastered on his face. All things considered, he would have rather been at the movies watching gangster films than being a small part of one. But he'd received a personal invitation to this little party and an invite from the DiGiovannis did not go unanswered. He felt his knee wince a little as he remembered the last time he'd attempted to refuse an offer from the DiGiovannis. So instead, he put on his best face and mingled, like a good boy. His eyes fell on a white haired girl that he recognized as one of the Walkers, although he wasn't quite sure on her name. Walking over with a pasted on grin, he toasted her with his glass of champagne. "Quite a party we've got here, isn't it?" Nothing wrong with being civil, was there?

Calix had shown up later than most people. That wasn't entirely strange or unexpected. He showed up in a very form fitting one piece red suit that glistened in the light. It almost looked like it was snake skin, or something close. Long black feathers splayed from the back like a peacock tail over his back. He had, of course, two people by his side when he entered. To anyone who knew anything it was obvious he was less than sober, but he still managed to keep a very composed air about him. Even if it was a bit spacey in nature. That was common from him that most figured it was all part of that eccentricity that came with being such an astute artist and performer.

Liam, the man older man to his right, was the one with all of Calix's things. He wore something fairly fashionable but not nearly as glamorous. Blond hair slicked back nice and neat. Proper posture. He still looked just as beautiful in a slim fit sort of suit and bag over his shoulder. Miranda, the lovely woman to his left, with long raggedy black hair that had been pulled back in many different curls - she looked incredibly elegant in a unique strapless black dress and silver jewels. Both stayed quiet and enjoyed the scenery as they walked with their loved.

He'd been feeling horrible, but kept up the act. He managed to get himself into a presentable condition and headed out to finally reach his designation that he honestly knew little about. Liam had filled him in on everything he really needed to know about five minutes before he stepped in to the building. He really didn't like these things. Fake people, fake dresses, fake nails, fake hair, fake faces, fake figures, fake speeches, fake aspirations, fake smiles, fake everything. Everything was fake here. Not acted, not lies. The differences were large. They were fake, just fake. He sighed before he walked through the door, but once he walked through the door his face was painted in that smiling, lovely aura he always had in large public fashions. There was quite a large amount of people he knew here, of course.

But one lovely woman wandering about caught his eyes. Ah, he really did smile now, Cheyenne . Lovely Cheyenne.

After talking with Michael, Cheyenne went to mingle more, wandering around a little, saying hello here and there, giving Maya a smile and a nod, vaguely looking for Adriana. Who she spotted instead was Calix, which brought a wide smile to her lips. She didn't think he'd spotted her quite yet, and so she skirted around a group of people so she could ghost up behind him, tapping one shoulder only to step around towards his other side with a bright little impish grin.

Elle had always loved parties. The act of getting dressed up, of styling her hair, selecting jewelery. Meeting people and dancing. It was all so lovely. Her father had been fond of throwing parties. He always looked so handsome in a suit. Guests had complimented her as she floated amongst them, made a fuss, asked her for a dance. Occasionally she had been allowed a sneaky sip of alcohol. But there had always been another layer under that jovial surface, an ulterior motive to each event. Her father had used them to meet the next impressionable young woman he could charm and coax into bed. Elle had proven to be an invaluable diversion to allow him to do just that.

Of course, things were different now. The only constant was that she still attending social functions with her father. He had ceased chasing girls barely older than she was. Elle knew he wanted to capture the moments that had made her happy before and play them out again and again. A penance, of sorts.

She wore a white chiffon dress and red lipstick. She thought that perhaps she looked like her mother. Looking around the guests she saw her father engaged in conversation with another gentleman. She also caught sight of something that made her eyes go wide. It wasn't someone she knew but a face she definitely recognised. She had seen it in pictures.

Even though she was sure that the model had people approach her all the time, Elle couldn't help but go over to her. She tapped her gently, shyly, on the arm and held out her notebook where she had written, Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude and disturb you but could I please have an autograph? I've seen your pictures. You're so very pretty.

Cheyenne looked around at the tap on her shoulder, and blinked a bit as she was having a note thrust at her. She smiled a little, then read the note, and smiled wider, slightly more relaxed after her initial 'wait, huh?' moment. "Hi! And sure, no problem, and thank you!" she said, trying to address everything at once. "Um, what's your name?" she asked. She'd every once in a while been asked to sign a photograph of herself or something, but it wasn't that terribly often. Most of the time people had to stare at her for a minute, then blink as it dawned on them where they'd seen her before. After that she had all sorts of different reactions. Though usually, she had to admit, it was men who wanted her attention, not girls, and so she kind of had a fluffy moment where she was pleased a female wanted her autograph at all.

Elle beamed back at her, a little surprised that Cheyenne was talking to her. So not only was she beautiful but she was nice as well. She was lovely. Very carefully she tore a piece of paper from the notebook so the model could sign it, leaving the rest of the book free for her to communicate. Elle, she told her, writing quickly. Thank you for being so nice, it's very kind of you. The nib of the pen hovered near the paper, wanting to write questions but she thought that she might be bombarding the poor woman. Besides, she probably had much better things to be doing. Elle imagined that she wouldn't be short of attention. That there would be handsome men and sophisticated women vying for her time. How charming that would be.

It's a good cause, isn't it? The orphanage, she wrote. Everyone should have somewhere to go.

Cheyenne happily signed the sheet given to her. She wrote To Elle, the cutest girl at the party. XOXOXO Cheyenne Walker and for a little extra flair, she smooched the page to leave a little kiss on it. Then she beamed brightly and handed it back to Elle, getting around to reading the girl's note. "It is! And yes, everyone should have somewhere to go. This city seems to kind of leave a lot of people hanging." she said. "So! What's your story, sweetie?" she asked, happy to talk to the girl, really and she wasn't in a rush to wander off and find someone else to talk to. Maya was around rubbing elbows with all of the high society types at the moment, so really, if a Walker was required to do that, they could so totally rely on her. Maya was good at it and seemed to enjoy the hell out of it too, so yeppers--Cheyenne was content to talk to this girl who she was guessing just couldn't speak at all. Either that or she had a really weird way of getting over being shy, but she wasn't judging on that.

Reading the paper, Elle smiled and blushed just a little. The autograph was then ever so gently slotted into the back of the notebook to ensure it didn't get lost. Though she did flip back to the page, just once, to make sure she hadn't smudged it. She planned to pin it to her wall and it being smudged really wouldn't do. The city can be a harsh place sometimes but then things like this happen and suddenly a lot of people can be safe, warm and cared for. There should be more places like that. But the orphanage is a good start. It shows that there are still good people out there, she wrote back. She really did believe the city could be a good place, a beautiful place, in the right circumstances.

I'm here with my father. Zachary DeWinter. Once she had finished writing, she gestured to a salt and pepper haired man in a charcoal coloured suit. Then she remembered herself, the fact that she'd gotten so caught up that she had neglected to write something that needed to be written. Also, please don't mind the notebook. It's just the best way for me to talk to you. She punctuated it with the smile she was always sure to put on after penning those words, but the self-conscious edge shone through a little more.

Cheyenne looked over when the girl gestured, and thought that she probably should recognize the guy or something, but didn't necessarily. But then again, sometimes she just didn't pay enough attention to these things. Cheyenne was a girl who quite often lived in her own little world. "Are you mute?" she asked, turning her attention back on the girl, since well, her dad was there and all, but she wanted to talk to Elle, not her dad. "Sorry if that's like a rude question or something, I don't mean it to be if it is." she added quickly, not wanting to say something offensive without meaning to.

Elle shook her head. She was used to the question. It's alright, you're not being rude, she wrote. I had an accident that caused permanent damaged my vocal cords so I can't really talk any more. It was close enough to the truth. No one would want to hear about such ugly business, anyway. Without thinking, a split second glance was cast over to her father. I'm sorry if it's strange and awkward. Her eyes stayed on the paper, on the brand new purple ink that formed her words.

Cheyenne noticed the glanced towards her dad, but didn't know the significance. Instead, she just gave a sympathetic sort of smile. "Don't worry about it, sweetie, it's not awkward." she assured her. It made conversing a little more challenging was all, and Cheyenne was willing to do it. She also snagged a glass of wine for herself and Elle as a waiter drifted past, and she held it out to the girl. "Here, a toast to new acquaintances." she said.

Taking the wine, Elle smiled. She didn't really drink but it was a party, after all. It wouldn't hurt. Plus it was supposed to make people more of a social butterfly, flitting between people with ease and confidence. Which sounded like no bad thing. Nodding at Cheyenne's words, she chinked her glass against the woman's. "New acquaintances," she echoed. Her voice was weak and breathy but there was a pleased tone to it, indicating her feelings towards their meeting.

"Oh! You can talk some!" Cheyenne said, surprised. She didn't sound like she thought it was awful, but that was mostly because she covered incredibly well. It did sound kinda bad-ish, and borderline painful. Like her throat ached in sympathy for a second there. "Now, let's see if this wine's all it's cracked up to be." she said, giving a warm smile, and she took a drink. It was good wine, but then she knew it would be. It wasn't like anyone was going to skimp on the occasion.

"Some," she repeated with a little nod. She breathed out a little sigh and resumed using the book to explain herself further. Sometimes I can say little bits. It can be nice. In a way, it was nice. It felt like more of an expression, like it captured something that a page of text simply couldn't. More personal. But then there was the discomfort. The look on people's faces when they realised that the notebook may be the less strange way of holding a conversation. Some people were so blatant in their flinching whether they knew it or not.

Sipping at the wine, she found it didn't taste too bad. She imagined it was a very good vintage, which was meant to make all the difference. It's good, isn't it? she commented. Although I don't really know too much about wine. But I like the taste.

"It's good." Cheyenne said, then she leaned closer to speak in a conspiratorial manner, winking. "But if I'm being honest, I like champagne much better." she told Elle. "But yeah, it's good. I don't mind it upon occasion, anyways. But anyways, what do you do with your time, Elle?" she asked, figuring it didn't at all hurt to get to know people. Plus, she was interesting enough already just with her uniqueness that Cheyenne appreciated that. "And would you be terribly opposed to having your photograph taken?"

I had champagne once. Not very much, though. It seemed like a long time ago now. Back when the right words and a cute little giggle could work wonders for getting her own way. I work at the theatre as a stagehand. I've been there for a little over a year now. Mostly I work with props, setting the scenes, opening and closing the curtains and things like that. Sometimes I help out with the shows at the park too. It's so much fun being around the actors and watching them work. She often wondered what it would be like to perform but unless there was suddenly an open call for a silent movie, she would have to be content with wondering. Still, it was nice to dream.

The surprise at the question was clear on Elle's face. A strange combination of embarrassment and delight coursed through her. It sounded like a fine idea. She just wasn't sure why Cheyenne, who no doubt knew all sorts of beautiful people, would be interested in a picture of her. Best not to question or she might revoke the offer. No, I wouldn't mind at all! Are you a photographer too?

"Ooh, that sounds interesting! I always wanted to kind of get into plays and such, but never had the time for it. Or possibly the talent." Cheyenne said. "I'll have to come see a production sometime." she added, thinking that going to see a play would be a fun night out. Something different. "And yeah, I've been working at it sort of slowly, working up a portfolio. Mostly I just like taking people's pictures, and I was thinking doing ones of you would be fun. Maybe we can get together sometime soon and do that? What's your schedule like?"

You should try auditioning, if you ever do find the time. I'm sure you'd be really great, Elle wrote and capped it off with a nod and a smile. She was sure Cheyenne would have the talent. She'd definitely have stage presence. And I'll make sure you get some really great seats. A stray lock of blonde hair fell into her face and she tucked it behind her ear, careful not to disturb the half up, half down style she'd spent an age trying to perfect. I'd like that. I don't work on Wednesday and Sundays as a rule. I do a lot of matinees so sometimes I'm free in the evenings. But it can be kind of late. It wasn't as though she had the most jumping of social lives. At least the hours at the theatre gave her something else to blame that on.

"Aww, sweet of you to say, but I think acting might take a flair I'm not sure I possess. Unless there's a role where I just sort of have to stand there and look pretty, I could pull that off." she said with a laugh. Cheyenne was happy to figure things out with this one. "Do you have a phone? Or one in your building?" she asked, knowing just because she did happen to have a personal phone line that not everyone in the city did, or could even afford one. There were a lot of buildings that just had a community phone for the whole place. "I could give you my number and whenever you wanted to get together, I could be at your disposal?" she suggested.

I think you have a lot of flair, Elle wrote and smiled somewhat shyly. The charmed look faded a little as Cheyenne continued. Her mouth became a tight line for just a moment before easing back into a more neutral expression. There was a phone in her building but taking Cheyenne's number would be useless. Unless someone could make a call on her behalf. Now she bit her lip, thinking that it had been silly to show what limited voice she had. Elle didn't blame her for assuming that it would be perfectly fine for them to converse, albeit not very well, on the telephone. She toyed with the idea of just saying that she didn't have access to a phone. Honesty being the best policy won.

I'm not very good on the phone. I can call you but would you be able to let me know when you're free? My schedule really isn't that busy. That way she could confirm the proposed meeting or try and get another suggested by tone. No doubt she already seemed strange enough without adding in the detail of her echoing speech.

"Oh, shit, sorry, I wasn't even thinking about that." Cheyenne admitted. "Why don't I just give you my address, and you can come by when you're free? I don't have anything going on, not really, at least not lately, so I'm wide open. If we want to come up with a kind of vague time of day you'd most likely be by, I can make a point to be home then." she said, willing to be accommodating, especially after being a little stupid there about the phone suggestion.

Elle shrugged a little and gave her a sweet 'it's alright' smile. Maybe one o'clock? she wrote, trying to be as specific as possible. She didn't want Cheyenne sitting at home and waiting around just for her. The woman had been more than nice enough to her already. Just in case, Elle wrote down her number anyway, along with, If something comes up or anything like that, you can let me know. She folded the front cover of the notebook back and held it and the pen out to Cheyenne, inviting her to jot her address down on it.