[closed]

[heirring]

WHO: Stark, Poppell, Fitz, Ellis + Vance
WHAT: Celebrating Ellis' birthday
WHEN: Late Kingsway
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: One main thread, but feel free to take a smoke break or whatever I'm not the boss of you

There had been no attempt whatsoever to disguise the evening's destination - "I've reserved a box for next week's performance of Visites de l'inspecteur and you are all to come fill it or I will be very unhappy," Wysteria had informed all three of her associates one afternoon as they'd traipsed back toward Kirkwall after an afternoon of poking a Rift with sticks. Rather, the subterfuge involved had come afterward wherein she had given each of them a different start time so that they might all be brought into her scheme at the last possible moment - Mr. Fitz having the face of a man incapable of keeping useless secrets, and Mr. Stark having something of a track record for blabbing them.

With the exception of only Warden Digiorno - whose invitation had been independently extended on the basis that he swear himself to secrecy, and who had consequently been afforded all the details -, each new face which appears in the theater box had been greeted identically: "We are throwing a party for Mr. Ellis. Here is your paper hat and a packet of confetti for throwing when he comes through the curtain. We will all shout 'surprise!' Have you been acquainted with the Warden? Warden Digiorno, this is—"

Which is, perhaps with somewhat varying levels of enthusiasm, more or less how Ellis is assaulted upon arrival.

--Or that's how it would have gone, had Ellis not followed directly after Tony through the box's curtain.

Wysteria is halfway up from her chair. A folded paper crown is smashed to invisibility in her fist. Her good tempered smile turns into a rictus of exasperation.

"Oh good. You're both here," she practically shouts in an attempt to drown out any other premature exclamations. "Mr. Ellis, would you please do me the courtesy of speaking with the gentleman ushering at the top of the stairs. Tell him we've all arrived and are ready for the bottle being kept cold."

Comments

[heorte]

A certain level of absurdity is built in to most of their meetings, regardless of where they take place. Ellis is halfway across the threshold when Wysteria's overly loud greeting stalls him, eyes widening at Wysteria's expression. He'd turned to look to Tony for some clue as to what's transpiring when he realizes who else is in the box.

Vance?? Ellis looks directly at Fitz, conflicting emotions winnowing to the faint confusion visible in his expression. He's still hesitating half in and half out of the box when he looks back at Wysteria.

"Alright," is what he says finally, because the alternative is trying to decide which question he wants to ask first and he's not ready to do that. "Give me a minute."

At which point he backtracks out of the box in search of the usher.

[propulsion]

Tony likewise rears back an inch, both from volume as well as-- all that energy that's happening in her frozen expression. He raises an eyebrow, pivots a little to watch Ellis go, and then ambles further into the box.

He is dressed in a stolen Orlesian jacket of bright red and veined in silver, with good sleeve action and shiny buttons, and it looks a little out of place compared to the more ordinary shirt visible beneath it, the practical trousers and scuffed boots on his feet. His body language tends to range between Wired and Lushly Relaxed, and he is definitely on the latter end of this spectrum.

"What'd we miss?" he asks, and then notices Vance, to whom he blinks owlishly as if not quite ready to process another addition to this group, and says, "Sup."

[heirring]

It's very possible that either Mr. Fitz or Warden Digiorno might be capable of shedding some light on the situation. It is statistically improbable however that either of them will beat Wysteria to it, for no sooner has the curtain ceased fluttering back into place in Ellis' wake than she is winding up to chuck the crumpled paper crown at Tony's chest with a hiss of, "You weren't supposed to arrive with him. You were meant to be here fifteen minutes prior."

(Five had seemed too close an arrangement given Tony's definition of punctuality.)

"Put that on. Warden, pass Mr. Stark one of the envelopes if you please." Of confetti. "We are surprising Mr. Ellis."

[pittance]

Helpfully: "Looked pretty surprised."

Vance passes the envelope to the puffy red jacket. The man in it is something of an afterthought —

(There is a type of berry that grows in the Hissing Wastes, and there is a type of man in Darktown who presses them into very fine extract, and there is a type of man here in this box for whom the past hour has been crawling in progressively slow motion.)

That may just be a side effect of Wysteria, fluttering about like an enormous and increasingly incensed canary. For all the good-natured mm-hms and yeah-huhs that general agreeableness can muster, his blown pupils stopped tracking her a while ago.