Gathering: New Year's Eve Gala

[concierge]

The annual Nexus New Year's Eve gala began at 8 in the evening. Too grand to be contained by the lobby or dining hall, the gardens at the front of the hotel were employed, with long strings of white lights forming a twinkling canopy from the front doors all the way to the hedge maze. The weather was temperate and calm, and the night perfectly clear.

Drinks were served at various bars set up throughout the gardens and lobby, with champagne cocktails being the specialty of the night. Wheeling through the crowd was a bartender with golden cart providing warm drinks on the go: Tom and Jerrys, rum punch, negus, and Irish coffee.

Crisply-dressed wait staff wove through the collected guests with an abundance of hors d'oeuvres for all different tastes. The Bistro remained open with a limited selection of items for those who were wanting something more substantial.

Above the front doors was hung a large, gold-rimmed clock counting down the last hours, minutes, and seconds of the current year.

Comments

[legendthatwas]

Martha laughed, a quick peal of sound. "If we're up for honesty hour," she said, "I don't know anything about shoes, except when the leather's fake or not." He's American, but the self-deprecation is something she can work with, and he's damn cute besides. "Can I get you a drink, Matt? If I swear it doesn't end up on your shoes?"

[matt_murdock]

"Hey, you're still doing better than me; I thought I put on bunny slippers this morning," Matt teases her with a knowing little smile. "And a scotch would be great, thank you. Just a little water, and no making fun of how I take my drinks." She's English, or at least sounds it, so maybe she'll get the preference; he's had enough of philistines telling him he's ruining good liquor.

"I was about to ask what part of England you're from, and then I remembered you might not even be from Earth," he says with a soft laugh.

[legendthatwas]

There's little doubt in Martha's mind that Matt knew exactly what he was wearing when he put it on that morning, and she smirks a little so he can hear the verbal wink in her reply. "They're fuzzy and pink and look just like wingtips," she says, then turns to the bar, placing the order before looking back over her shoulder. He's still there when she brings the drinks back, which is something, and she gently touches his wrist as she hands him the drink, so he knows it's coming.

"To be honest, I'm told by people in the know that water's the discerning," she puts a wry twist on the word, "choice for single malt. Ice is what's for rubes." Then again, this was combined intel from her father, who'd drink anything; the Doctor, who'd have put bananas into it if you gave him a chance; and Alistair Stuart, the fourth floor anesthetist at work. "And you're in luck--as it happens, I actually am from Earth, and from England. London."

Martha's given up on explaining to Americans where Harringay is.

[matt_murdock]

"You know what, ice is for rubes, thank you," Matt says with a fully unguarded laugh. "You have no idea how much shit I've gotten about how I ruin good liquor by adding water to it."

The drink he easily accepts, and the fact that he can see it coming really doesn't have much bearing in the moment—Martha's thoughtful, clearly, in addition to knowing the proper way to drink a glass of scotch. If he were keeping score, she'd definitely be at the top of the leader board, and they've barely gotten started.

"Is it wrong to be relieved that you're actually from London and not some random planet that happens to have the same sort of accent?" he asks, and takes a small sip.

[legendthatwas]

Grinning slyly, Martha chuckles in response to Matt's laugh--it's a little infectious--and strokes her fingertip along the rim of her glass before she lifts it towards her mouth. "I was told," she says, "it's the clever thing to do. Opens up the liquor, there's science to it but if we're being honest tonight, chemistry wasn't my best subject."

She inhales over the top of the drink, then sips, swallows, slowly. "Having been in a bunch of random planets where they do end up sounding extraordinarily ordinarily English...I really can't blame you," she agrees. "It's disconcerting as hell. You can't stop yourself from assuming they know what you mean when actually their frame of reference is entirely different."

Actually, now that she thinks about it...was it just the TARDIS' translation that made them sound English? Probably not the best time to get philosophical, chatting with a hot bloke.