all_inclusive | Gathering: Halloween Gala

Gathering: Halloween Gala

A large, decorative sign situated prominantly in the lobby reads:

The Nexus Hotel
proudly presents its
ANNUAL HALLOWEEN GALA

Formal Reception
Nexus Dining Hall
6 PM - Midnight

Monster Mixer
Nexus Basement
8 PM - 2 AM

Masquerade attire recommended for all guests

Most of the chairs have been removed from the Dining Hall to allow for ballroom-style dancing to the orchestra set up on the far end of the room. A polished cherry wood open bar is aligned along one wall. The adjacent Bistro is open for the duration of the formal reception, serving gourmet hors d'oeuvres.

Downstairs, the basement's largest storeroom has been converted into a spooky nightclub, complete with DJ, dance floor and cocktails.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"In some realms, I think you're morally obligated to buy me one after that kind of comment," Nick laughed with her, indicating she should precede him. He settled his hand at the base of her spine as they walked towards the bar.

Then, because why the hell not, he leaned way down close to her ear and whispered. "So do you just flirt with demons, or do you dance with them, too?"

Martha snorted and cocked an eyebrow. "Consider it my nod to cultural diversity," she said, "though in my realm? Just a sign of having a good time." Among other things that she knew he knew.

Nick's breath was warm against her ear, but not unpleasant, and she felt a spark run through her. Hopefully, she figured, she was doing a decent job of not giving it away like some kind of fresher on a club night. "I dance with them, if they're interested. And they don't mind that I'm not that great a dancer."

Unless dancing is only a metaphor, she mentally added, but couldn't bring herself to say.

"I can only imagine a few species blind enough to not be interested, but speaking for my entire line? Definitely interested."

He leaned back down again. "If you dance as well as you fight, no matter your protests to the contrary, I don't think I'll be complaining a whole lot."

"I'm not entirely certain if it's a good thing to have all demonkind interested in me," Martha replied with a wink, sidling up to the bar and waiting for the staff to get to her. "But one of them I don't really have a problem with."

She turned back a little, murmured in Nick's ear, "I'm English. We're required by law and common creed to protest our own talents."

"They're not all death and torture, some of the demonkyn are almost cuddly," Nick quipped, "relatively speaking, but you're probably right to keep them at arms length. Better safe than sorry leads to leads to less time running like hell."

The return whisper, and the soft warmth of her breath on his skin, had no real effect on him at all. Which was a complete lie, but he tried to at least keep from showing that his pulse had spiked.

"So I've found," Martha replied, finally coming to her turn and ordering another round for the two of them. She turned back to Nick after she was done, and said, "This is the point where I'm drunk enough to ask if you're almost cuddly but not drunk enough to not be embarrassed."

It could have been a trick of the light that flipped his eyes from blue to silver, but after a second they were back to blue. Nick took no notice of the change. "Under the right circumstances," he said in the same teasing tone, "I put stuffed bears and bunnies to absolute shame, I'm so eminently cuddleable."

"So am I supposed to figure out these proper circumstances via trial and error, or are you going to give me any hints?" asked Martha, her smile turning to just a faint smirk as she passed Nick his drink. Her fingers brushed just barely when she handed it over.

He felt the brush of her fingers against his like a hum through his whole body. After another micro-sip of the beer in the glass he leaned even closer to her ear. "I'm not adverse to a little hint here and there. For starters, you haven't even come close to anything like an error yet."

Martha sipped her own drink (not liquid courage, Jones, she had to remind herself, you're doing damn well), not too fast but not slow either. "You've not made any either. I'd say we're bucking the average, so it's either quit while we're ahead or carry on with reckless abandon. I know which idea sounds more fun."

"I really, really hope that reckless abandon is winning that race," Nick admitted, "because that's my preference. At least until I end up completely reverting to form and getting slapped. Even then, it'd probably still be worth it."

"It's definitely winning, let me reassure you," said Martha. "Though I'm slightly concerned about this slap thing--I tend to go for a more direct approach when I'm, uh, displeased. But you're doing okay, right now."

"By 'direct approach' are we talking about a right hook to the jaw...or something that would result in a drastic change to my singing voice?" Nick asked with a raised eyebrow and a strong urge to cover his groin with his hand.

"I tend to go with my gut instinct at the time. Also what's more convenient," Martha replied cheerfully. "But, as I said, you're doing damn well so far." Her smile was so, so cheeky. She'd probably think she was being utterly shameless, in the morning.

"I'll keep that in mind, given that I'm not just protective about the wings," he said. Then, feeling a little reckless, he reached over and drew a finger down her cheek. Better to find out now than later that her knee was primed for his groin.

Martha didn't slap Nick, or knee him in the groin. She did, however, raise an eyebrow at him. "You did mention something about dancing," she pointed out, tilting her head a little so her cheek pressed lightly against his fingertip.

"I did. And I think they're playing our song," Nick added, continuing the line of her jaw to her chin before dropping it down to offer it to her, palm up.

In truth, he had no idea what song it was. Popular music had left his notice a long time ago - before the island, before his Dark Hunter days. He only knew it wasn't one where he'd had to reveal his lack of rhythm on too grand a scale.

Martha hadn't ever heard the song before (something about romance novels? but dancey in the process about being so? weird) but she was entirely willing to take what was open to her. She took Nick's hand and winked at him. "I accept your invitation, sir," she said, with a slightly silly bow to him.

Rising to the bow, Nick tucked his free arm behind his back and answered with a deep bow of his own. "The pleasure's mine, fair doctor."

With his hand in hers, he lead her onto the dancefloor and did, he thought, a fairly decent job of not embarrassing herself or breaking her toes with his heavy boots. When the song ended to something slower, he started to slip his hand around her waist and paused, meeting her eyes. His asked the question of whether she wanted to continue.

Maybe it was that she felt...adventurous for the first time in a while (and true, she was interested in Nick, and there was just the edge of danger), but Martha nodded in response to his unspoken question, not making any move to pull away.

He didn't think about his reaction to her nod of agreement, he could do that later. For now, he just slid his hand down to her waist and pulled her closer, his other hand twining their fingers together. As he swayed their bodies with the music, he leaned down to breathe her in, inhaling at the spot just below her ear. "This is very nice," he said in a low whisper, all truth, no innuendo.

Martha's smile was no longer the cheeky, sly sort. She was enjoying herself--hell, more than just the flirty kind of enjoying herself--and it had been bloody years since she had done the whole dancing with a new guy who knew a little about her and liked her thing. (Which some people would call 'dating'. Martha preferred not to at this stage of the game.)

"Yeah," she agreed, and smiled at Nick, softly as she continued, "it is."

Nick wasn't sure at first if he was mishearing lyrics or if someone had started a new song before the current one finished. That confusion ended when he heard the voice more clearly. Ended because he immediately recognized it as his own even if the language it spoke was unfamiliar to any human. It started in whispers, prodding him to act, to grip tighter, to change. To hurt the woman in his arms and take that soft look and turn it into something horrible, to feed off her pain and fear.

It took him a full minute to realize he was actually speaking the ancient demon-language to her, the words seductive in tone but profane in meaning. And he saw the red tinge to his field of vision which meant his eyes had gone straight past silver to the blazing yellow of flame.

Martha blinked a little, was startled by Nick speaking to her, low and soft and dark in a way that was entrancing yet made her hackles go up. She didn't recognise the language (which would mean the TARDIS didn't recognise it, actually, as she'd be caught in her translation field considering the Doctor was about), but there was always context.

And the whole bright yellow eyes bit. There was that.

Well, Dr Jones, she thought to herself--a quick flash of insight in the course of the moment You did come in knowing the dangerous bit, didn't you. Oddly, the question paramount for her was less 'how do I get out of here' and more 'how to do I do this without hurting Nick'.

Martha twisted her wrist, nails flicking into his skin, to extricate her hand, even as she shifted her weight, changed her centre of gravity so she could wrench away, create a few feet between them. Giving him space to breathe should help, or at least she guessed it might.

The malachai in him hissed at the scrape of nail on its skin. It didn't hurt, not at all, but it created a response within him: an immediate need to act, to unsheath claws and scratch back until flesh was laid bare to bone and...

...and then she stepped away and the loss of her warm body against his acted like a bucket of ice dumped over the blaze of rage. Nick's eyelids blinked once, twice, until the bright yellow faded to swirling silver. He took another step backward and jammed his, thankfully, still human hands into his pockets.

He managed two words. He spoke them in the demon's language first, then in English, and he ran like hell, right out of the ball room.

"Forgive me."

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