Game Opening: May Ball

[undergroundmods]

LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED.

"" (Watch on YouTube)

It had to be done.

Welcome all to the Redbright Institute's May Ball! This evening is a celebration of the Institute's achievements over the past year. Students aged 16 and above can attend on their own, while younger students must be accompanied by a parent or guardian. Meanwhile, friends and guests of the Institute are invited as a gesture of friendship and harmony between the various factions.

Rules and etiquette
• This is a black tie event. Formal attire is required.
• No weapons. This is a school, there are children present. Any weapons or objects that could be used as weapons will be confiscated.
• No drugs or alcohol. Obviously. Don't try to sneak any in.
• No violence.

There is security within the school and present at the event. (In fact, if your character is a member of the Redbright Institute, you could have them acting as security if you want.) They will respond to and put a stop to any trouble.

Places to go
The main action takes place in the large Assembly Hall. This is where the Chancellor Sylvia Redbright will give her address. It's also where you can party later on. The disco is family-friendly – not exactly a rave, but the kids will love it.

Drinks and snacks are available in the dining hall. The drinks are non-alcoholic. Vampires, no need to worry about your cravings: blood cocktails are provided! They're given in good faith on the assumption that you won't be snacking on anyone else tonight.

Just off the dining hall, one of the classrooms has been converted into a chill-out area. The lights are off, the desks and chairs have been replaced by beanbags and there's a table in the corner with a chocolate fountain, marshmallows and strawberries. A video of young witches taking part in various night-time rituals (they mostly seem to involve chanting and bonfires) plays silently on the screen.

One of the lecture theatres has been opened up to showcase students' work from the past year. On the screen you can watch a slideshow of notable events and achievements. Strangely enough there aren't many people in this room.

Outside, there is a giant chessboard on the lawn. The pieces are made of plastic and can easily be moved around. Why, you ask? Why not, is the answer.

Finally, a large marquee has been set up in the quad. This is the adults-only area, with wine and cocktails served at the bar, nibbles available at a few high tables dotted around and a sophisticated atmosphere. No children under 18 allowed. (Note that the legal drinking age is 18.)

Timeline of events
20:00 – Doors open.
20:57 – Sunset.
21:15 – Sylvia Redbright makes her address in the Assembly Hall.
22:00 – Disco in the Assembly Hall. The DJ has atrocious taste.
01:00 – Disco stops. The event officially ends.

Comments

[viduation]

LECTURE THEATRE, OR, IT'S LIKE PARENT TEACHER NIGHT ALL OVER AGAIN

[ admittedly, part of the reason that Derek ducked in here was because of the resounding quiet, at least compared to everywhere else, but when he does start looking around it’s with genuine curiosity. the slideshow itself is of little interest to him; he still remembers enough school functions to know what he’ll see there. instead, his focus is set on the odd array of stuff around the room. a few projects have been set up in glass cases, from assorted potions with accompanying write-ups to a few tables discussing the process of enchanting items. Derek is more familiar with some aspects of spell-casting than others, but he takes the time to go from piece to piece, reading up on each one in turn.

occasionally, one of them might merit a particularly hard examination as Derek attempts to suss it out. ]

MARQUEE, OR, A GENTLEMAN WEREWOLF

[ as far as formal-wear goes, Derek just scrapes past. his crisp black suit is well-made but bears creases that speak of rolled up sleeves, and his tie could definitely be tighter. but his unruly dark hair is combed and his facial scruff is at least neatly trimmed and so, while he definitely doesn’t quite blend in as he weaves through the marquee’s crowd, he doesn’t stick out too terribly either. once again, it’s the more sedate surroundings that have him lingering here. that, and the suspicion that he should be mingling or something.

funnily enough, werewolves have few guidelines for the prospect of schmoozing, and while Derek feels that - as a very new alpha - connections are important, it isn’t in his nature to start making polite conversation. as it stands, he feels more adrift here than he’s letting himself appear, even if he also makes an effort not to look as forbidding as usually suits him.

if nothing else, he can listen, try and catch something, anything of note. and should he cross paths with anyone, well, he’ll even manage a polite excuse me.

He’ll try, anyway. ]

CLOSED TO KENZI, NANCY & STILES, OR, WHAT THE HELL KIDS

[ while he's eased up a little over the course of the night, forced to concede that the evening is almost wholly benign, Derek remains all hard lines and set angles, but at the very least he has made good on Kenzi’s advice that he not bite anyone's face off.

it has, at times, been a test, but it's always come from irritation rather than any real sense of danger. the resounding harmlessness is almost disappointing to Derek’s restlessness, which results in him spending most of the night moving around. although he does not spend the night glued to Kenzi - they're not here to make a statement, and he has approximately zero desire to cramp her dubious style - he returns to her side every so often to shadow her, usually for the purpose of holding up a wall beside her or keep an eye on her drink.

as far as more lupine senses go, scent has always been a little like sound; in a place like this, it all fades down to a buzz in the periphery of awareness, only occasionally snagging his attention. catching the smell of something familiar is like hearing a voice he knows above the tumult, and Derek’s head snaps up immediately, feet planting apart and arms unfolding in one fluid motion that speaks of a guard, a readiness, as he turns his gaze again upon the crowd, seeking, searching, because usually, familiar translates to trouble.

it doesn’t take long to single out the source of his own disturbance -- the Beacon Hills kid, who absolutely should not be here. Derek is stopped short, thankfully, by the belated realization that Kenzi is looking past him, towards the human and his apparent date for the evening. cute.

he looks to Kenzi, eyebrow arching. ]

You know them?

[kleptofaeniac]

[Kenzi was smiling at Nancy and making crude gestures with her hands before Derek asked her who they were. She responded distractedly, as if she wasn't listening but from the slow, tipsy nod - apparently she was, in fact, listening.]

Yup. I'll introduce you, so unclench.

[Ah, Kenzi. You have the soul of a poet.

Her gestures have changed to one of encouraging Nancy and her spastic date to come over.]

[stauncherhearted]

[And here comes Nancy and her spastic date. Spastic friend. It wasn't a real date.]

There you are, Kenzi, I was looking for you earlier. [Someone still has a flute of champagne. She doesn't even remember how much she's had at this point, but it's glorious and she's feeling loose.] I wanted to introduce you to- [She gestures at Stiles, but stops.] -And it looks like I'm not alone in that. [She holds her hand out.]

Nancy Fagin. And this is my friend Stiles Stilinski. You are-? [She does her best to look the portrait of innocence, but when she's had this much to drink, it's really hard for her to do that. Especially if she may or may not be missing some of her blood, though any marks are covered by a simple charm.

And for the record, Stiles is not going anywhere. If he even so much as attempts, he's getting dragged back. So don't.]

[mensrea]

[ It was absolutely a real date. A real date that is apparently about to become a double date since Nancy is steering him over to another couple. Distracted by the warmth of a feminine hand on his elbow and the alcohol-induced buzz in his head, he doesn’t realize the trap he’s stepped into until it’s too late. Somehow, Derek manages to look a hundred times more intimidating when his countenance isn’t partially obscured by shadow. Probably because Stiles is now forced to appreciate just how impressive that scowl is, holy shit. He’s inwardly cringing at the introductions; as far as he knows, this is the first time Derek has been supplied with his name. Coming from a close-knit community like Beacon Hills, he’s fairly sure the werewolf will recognize the surname. ]

That would be Derek, [ he informs Nancy, voice going all croaky and high-pitched due to his discomfort. ] Derek Hale.

[ If he has to lose his anonymity, so does the werewolf. Without missing a beat, Stiles averts his gaze to turn his attention on Kenzi. He offers her a wide, lopsided grin. ]

So, you’re definitely not a cat.

[ If she’s expecting context to that startlingly idiotic remark, there’s none coming. Stiles simply gives Nancy a nod of acknowledgement. ]

[viduation]

[ fortunately, Derek is spared having to protect his own dignity and the I don't need to unclench goes unsaid. unfortunately, the approaching pair is a difficulty all in itself. Derek remembers the park all too well, has been forced to revisit that conversation again and again in spite of his best efforts to leave the past where it belongs.

dragging his eyes from the human, he takes Nancy's hand. his gaze slides sidewards to Kenzi, eyebrow raising quizzically - circle midnight? it seems like a safe enough assumption, and Derek can only assume that the other girl has been the necessary ticket in here. it's a thread of thought swiftly broken by the name Stilinski, and Derek's eyes cut briefly back to the now named Stiles as he tries to discern precisely what significance that surname holds in the murk of old memory.

he goes to introduce himself, and then realizes it's been done for him. mouth snapping shut reproachfully, he scowls once again at Stiles, this time emphatically, before glancing back to Nancy. his dourness lets up. slightly. ]

That's right.

[ for now, the cat remark goes ignored, and so do polite greetings. ]

[kleptofaeniac]

[Kenzi, on the other hand, is focusing entirely too much on the cat remark.

While she thinks she understands Derek's brow-speak and responds with a exaggerated frown and a nod to confirm the question she doesn't know he's asking. She could have just told him to punch Nancy in the face.

The cat remark takes precedence, however.]

Last time I checked, no. But my street name was Meow Meow.

[Was. She was thirteen and entirely too into cats. As she says it, Kenzi looks at Nancy quizzically. What the hell did you tell this kid?]

[stauncherhearted]

not a cat, no. a witch. [She's rolling her eyes at the whole affair though. at least until it becomes more dour. letting go of Derek's hand, Nancy looks between him and Stiles.]

you two know each other. [there is a slight question in her tone as she watches Stiles carefully. two Americans knew each other. that seemed like trouble. a quick glance at Kenzi, trying to get a read off of her in regards to this situation.]

maybe the four of us should get a drink. take this outside.

Marquee

[acrookedchild]

"No, no, excuse me." It wasn't really her fault, Abigail thought, but it didn't bother her to take the blame if it meant having an excuse to talk to someone who looked interesting. After all, the tall, dark, and brooding sort? Could be a nice break from the stuffed shirts she'd been trying to ingratiate herself to most of the night. She deserved to talk a cute guy, didn't she?

"Abigail Widdowson," she said politely, offering her hand. "I didn't spill your drink, did I?"

[viduation]

There's a moment wherein it's quite clear that Derek wasn't expecting her to continue speaking to him, at least politely, though the surprise isn't necessarily an unpleasant one. His eyes flick back to hers after fleeting assessment, and then he inclines his head to her, taking her hand in his. Widdowson. Once, the name would have been a passing familiarity - now that he's here, it does a lot more than ring a distant bell.

"No, no - " as though to illustrate his empty free hand, he holds it palm up for a moment. His expression creases - while not a smile, it's certainly more amiable, no less serious but much less severe. Inwardly, he's still trying to piece together what he knows of this woman. "Hale. Derek Hale."

Perhaps belatedly, he shakes her hand.

[acrookedchild]

Hale. A family name she knows. Not witches. But then... who? Not human either. She knows it in connection with the circles her father and grandfather kept, but the Widdowsons have been out of almost all of those spheres of influence for six years. She only just stepped out as head of the household and bearer of the name, so her knowledge is rusty. Still, she knows she knows the name, which means she needs to be on her best behaviour.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mister Hale." And then, the safest question first: "Are you affiliated with the Institute?"

[viduation]

Listening to her polite greeting, Derek's mind sticks on one of the few facts he has about her - if he remembers rightly, the Widdowsons were wiped out. Save for one. He thinks of Peter, and silence on the other end of a phonecall, thinks of Laura and shovelling dirt. The room threatens to feel too loud, too closed, but Derek straightens his back, meets Abigail's eyes, and smiles.

She may be the last one left, but that doesn't make her name hold any less potential, and he's here to test the water, to network.

"Miss Widdowson," he says, nodding to her as a means of saying likewise. "Not quite. I guess you could call me a stakeholder. And you?"

[acrookedchild]

"About the same," she admits. After all, she can't claim her actual side, and she doesn't want to just be affiliated with that. But a coven changes things. She has to either commit to lying to the women who should be her sisters, surrender her prospects to survive, or pick a place to stand her ground. It's a choice that will have to be made, sooner rather than later. "I came to see how things stand."

And it's unsettling, to hear Sylvia speak of claiming more land. Barnet is worryingly close to Geap Manor, after all. Not that she's afraid of anything happening to the house, but it's a small concern.

[viduation]

Redbright's news has definitely been the sticking point of the night. It is not of immediate concern to Derek's pack - Barnet is at the other side of the city from their territory, and so the takeover is unlikely to involve them. Still, as far as the long-term goes he's less certain. Redbright serves a purpose, that much is true, but Derek isn't sure about how easy it is to take the idea of them wanting a bigger turf.

"Well, she's definitely clear on that," he says, his voice suggesting neither scorn nor admiration, carefully implacable. "Impressive speech."

lecture theatre, or, MY FAMILY IS ALL DEad. I'm terrible, i'm sorry

[nestinghabits]

Clint hadn't really been expecting to get hit with real emotion tonight. He's here to scope out the competition, not to see tiny magical children's school projects. But despite his better judgement, he ends up in this room anyways.

He'd been absent for a lot of his own childrens' school functions due to his job. Plays, science fairs, career days... not that he'd have been able to honestly participate in that one. 'Hi, I'm Lila's dad, I'm an assassin.' Nope. A lie would have been suitable, anyways. As far as his kids had ever known, Clint had been in the Army, away on active duty; not out playing spy. It had been hard to balance a family with that other life, but he'd managed. And he'd trade anything to have it back.

So when Clint stops and stares at these students' projects, he's not just seeing weird magic and potions and enchantments. He's envisioning the kids who have put in the time and the effort to create the displays. Goddammit.

Eventually, he ends up staring at the same piece that Derek is examining. There's a steaming glass vial containing a bright green potion, and he's just kind of watching the steam rise inexplicably off of the liquid without any sort of flame to cause it to boil.

"Are you... uh, a potions-guy?"

wow...samesies...............

[viduation]

Although Derek has maintained an awareness of who - and what - surrounds him, he's been content to keep it peripheral. At least, nothing has put him on any particular edge so far, which amounts to the same thing. He meanders through the displays with a rare aimlessness, steadily ignoring the memories of younger sibling science projects.

Studying the vial as intently as he is, it might appear that Derek is wholly ignorant of the world moving around him, but his focus has always veered towards single-minded. However, the moment the other man speaks, his eyes flick up to look at him across the case. Before any response maps itself upon his face, he's assessing - human, he's fairly sure, which raises more questions than it answers. The purposes of humans here is always harder to tell, but while it's something to keep in mind it's nothing to jump to a conclusion about.

The corner of his mouth quirks, and he shakes his head.

"No," for a moment, that appears to be all he's going to say. Eventually, he continues. "These are a little beyond me."

[nestinghabits]

Clint is ready to move on when he assumes the scruffy guy wants nothing to do with a conversation, but when Derek does offer more than a simple 'no,' Clint stays put. "This stuff is beyond me, too. Then again..." There's a slight pause as he taps on the glass encasing the potion, like a kid bothering aquarium fish. "I was a high school dropout."

In supernatural situations, it's always harder for Clint to get a solid idea of the capabilities of the people around him, unless they're chasing him, or the other way around. He can pick up on hints when they're present, but Derek isn't dropping any of those. Of course, Clint is well aware that this room is affecting him on a personal level, so he could just be missing something. But he doubts it.

"Not that there was a school like this around anyways, where I grew up." Or that Clint would have been able to go, if there had been. Magic and monsters were just stuff in stories, for most of his life.

[viduation]

Despite Derek's general aversion to conversation, there's nothing to really avoid when it is neither particularly prying nor offensive - and Derek nurses his curiosity about the humans in attendance. Meta is possible, but so is hunter, and both are worth taking note of.

"Yeah, same," he says, huffing in a way that can barely be called amusement. Leaving had, arguably, been a choice - but staying had been unthinkable. "But I don't think there are many of these around to begin with," he replies, which is perhaps evidenced by the amount of Americans here tonight - or maybe they're all just unlucky.

[nestinghabits]

"Didn't think so," he muses, turning to tap on the case of another potion; something shimmery and rose-pink in color. He's no expert on the matter, but he's only heard of a few witch schools. It's something that he imagines would be kept secret, even from other supernaturals. As a hunter, he never would have imagined actually getting an invite to a place like this. Then again, there are a ton of rules in this city, stating who he is and isn't allowed to go after. He's not used to that, at all.

"You just visiting, to see the school? Or do you live around here?" Because, yeah, he's noted Derek's lack of an English accent. It is kind of odd that there are so many Americans hanging around. "I'm Clint, by the way. Clint Barton."

[viduation]

It is not a name that Derek recognizes, but that doesn't exactly lower his guard. Still, even if he was wary, even if the questions - and an introduction - did have the potential to lead down a route Derek would rather avoid, Derek is an alpha now and his lifelong pride has been made ironclad with the idea of standing for his pack, staking his claim.

"Derek," he says, and there's an infinitesimal pause before he adds: "Hale." Carefully, he tracks Clint's expression as he continues. "I moved here a while ago."

[mensrea]

[ Two hours following his sulky retreat from their table by the bar, Stiles has wandered outside to clear his head. He’s had way too much alcohol tonight, starting with the several shots that he and Nancy had indulged in before arriving. Though the initial wave of drunkenness has passed (probably when he vomited in a plotted plant earlier), he’s still juiced. Water and fresh air are what he needs, so he knocks out two birds with one stone on the lawn. Not literally, of course; he’s not that drunk.

Sipping what must be his third glass of good old H20, he catches sight of Derek across the way and freezes. As if in response to his gut-punch reaction of fear, his stomach churns uncomfortably. God, he’s not sure what would be worse—puking or having a panic attack in front of this guy. With his luck, it’ll be both. Prepared to hightail it out of there, he turns on his heel to hurriedly flee. ]

[viduation]

[ there are thoughts, perhaps, of allowing Stiles to cool off on his own, of giving him time to pull himself together - these things might be true to some degree, but the biggest reason that Derek has waited, has hesitated, is that he has been uncertain about how to proceed. although his intent upon seeing Stiles in the first place had been speaking to him one on one, demanding what the hell he thinks he's doing here, their earlier meeting has tempered his anger, and when Derek isn't angry he is left unsure. these past several weeks have given him beyond his fill of incertitude.

eventually, restlessness spurs him to move and he follows his peripheral awareness of Stiles' scent. it isn't difficult, though whether that's the distant memory of Beacon Hills in his wake, or the fact he vomited at some point, Derek is hesitant to think about too much.

he shouldn't be surprised that, when he is seen, Stiles tries to make a break for it. he shouldn't be, and yet the banked anger is now sparked all over again. despite having little right to it - and despite knowing as much - Derek feels slighted. ]

Stiles.

[ and yet, that was not the harsh thing he intended, but when it goes unheard it only makes him that much more intent on being impossible to ignore. snarling, his pace quickens until he can see the risen hairs prickling the back of Stiles' neck and it's the easiest thing in the world to clamp a hand on his shoulder, spin him around to face him, and shove him back against the wall of the school. his arm, folded between them, might as well be a steel bar keeping him from escaping.

he's scowling, naturally, but initially so close that Stiles can probably see little of it. in order to look at him, Derek draws back all of two inches, and then his eyes are searching Stiles' face, demanding acknowledgement, pinning as his hands cannot.

his tongue feels leaden for a moment, heavy with the many things he might say, before one thing fights to the forefront and tumbles forth. ]

Was I not clear?

[mensrea]

[ Second verse, same as the first. Once again, Stiles is being roughly flung around tonight as if the supernatural have a goddamn right to it. Though terror has him stiff as a board, there’s a spark of anger igniting in his chest too now. He doesn’t want to be resigned to a life of this: of being treated like he’s lesser simply for being human, of being told he doesn’t belong in a community that’s already his home. Not meeting Derek’s heavy gaze, he swallows past the lump of resentment choking him and stares over the werewolf’s shoulder. By this point, most party-goers are far too intoxicated to pay any heed to them. He thinks of Kenzi and Nancy, asks himself if—even had people noticed—would anyone stop to pull the alpha werewolf off the expendable human boy? Stiles tries not to despair at what his heart tells him. ]

Been eating any poor, innocent critters lately, pal? Because boy, does your breath stink.

[ He knows from experience how futile shoving off Derek is, so he doesn’t even try. Instead he sags against the wall, all dead weight, and forces the man to either hold him up or lose his grasp on Stiles. After tonight, he’s going to go and buy a dog whistle. One shrill past of that baby, and maybe he can rupture Derek’s eardrums. ]

[viduation]

[ he can admire the fact that there's something steely and hard in Stiles' eyes, rather than something meek and dismissive. although he can smell the fear on him, although he has him effortlessly pinned, Stiles maintains an angry determination that's impressive.

it's also really goddamn annoying, and Derek is far more focused on the latter than he is on anything else. Stiles isn't taking any of this seriously enough, isn't taking him seriously enough, and Derek should care little about one kid's stupidity and maybe that's the most riling thing about it, that he isn't pack --

god he's irritating. Derek's expression, previously all aggression and warning, is now a far more petulant sort of scowl as he's forced to keep Stiles up. it's not difficult, but it's presumptive, and Derek knows it's being done solely to piss him off and Stiles still isn't taking any of this seriously enough.

he shakes him once, roughly, for good measure, but it's more reproach and less violence. ]

So what happened to you then? See one too many glasses full of blood?

[ or is it just that he can't even handle drinking? the scorn is unreasonable, but Derek is scraping together what he can get. ]

Learned enough to stay out? [ if Stiles is so scared, he thinks he should have. fear should keep him alive. ]

[mensrea]

[ Teeth rattling noisily in his skull, he abandons all previous intentions of forcing Derek to support him in order to clutch desperately at the man’s forearms and get him to quit shaking Stiles. Pushed up against the school building like this, every movement scrapes the back of his head on the raised, grainy texture of the wall. Definitely not pleasant. He nips at Derek’s skin with his nails just to reinforce how little he appreciates the rough treatment. ]

Blood?

[ Wow, it literally had not occurred to him before this moment that those glasses were not filled with wine. Neither he nor his father have ever had much use for alcohol that wasn’t the hard stuff, so he simply took it for granted that’s what red wine must look like. Blanching, he focuses his gaze on the bar in the distance and tries not to feel queasy. Unfortunately, between the werewolf boxing him in and his previous intoxication, his stomach is anything but settled. ]

Okay, blood or not, I’m here.

[ And as he speaks, he regains a measure of confidence; it steels his words, hardens his tone. ]

You need to learn that I’m staying. I already told you—this? This is my world too. I…I have as much a right to be here as you do! So back off.

[ Stiles punctuates the emphasis with a shove. ]

[viduation]

[ as dawning starts to pale Stiles' face, something like triumph curls Derek's mouth. it is not an expression that reaches his eyes or brings any warmth - rather, he looks grim and set, like the only value in this is that it should make a point, his point, all the more difficult to ignore. he does not release him yet, but in the wake of Stiles' realization he keeps him steady, holds him still.

even if Stiles keeps talking and Derek wants, badly, to shake him again.

a sneer quirks in his scowl, the what is it to me going unsaid. Derek believes in that flippancy, that disregard, even if his own actions are doing everything to say otherwise, even if it speaks of a disconnect that Derek won't acknowledge. he's wholly willing to blame his intent on Stiles' own stupidity, to ignore the memory of his mother speaking of guardianship, of duty.

he lets go of him. while the shove has done nothing, either to make him move or to encourage him to drop Stiles, it does show a certain amount of courage that Derek both admires and dislikes. slowly, pointedly, he looks down to his chest, where Stiles' hands had been, and then back up to his face. his eyebrows raise, questioning, really? - and then lower. ]

Right? This isn't about right, Stiles! None of this is. Do you really think you have a place here? Do you want a place here?

[ riled, he rolls his shoulders, willing his tension away through means that don't involve further physicality. ]

This is going to get you killed. Do you want that?