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

Harvey almost chuckles at that. Almost. The corners of his mouth might bend upward just a bit.

"I'm a lawyer." Which is one of those phrases that makes people smirk and make ugly faces - unless they need one.

"Oh, good! We're sworn enemies!" Danny says cheerfully, the way a person might discuss being besties. "See, lawyers," he says, in a half-condescending tone, "specifically divorce lawyers have leeched out every cent from my hardworking detective salary and given it to my ex-wife, who already has more money than god, so she can hire better lawyers who can continue to rob me blind. Explain to me how that works, huh?"

He grins at the 'sworn enemies' comment, assuming it means the man's a cop of some flavor or on the wrong side of a lawyer in some form. It's such a common conception that he's beyond accustomed to it at this point. People hate lawyers on principle until they need one. (Honestly, he sometimes feels the same way.)

Though Danny's question may have been rhetorical, he says, "Your daughter lives with your ex-wife, doesn't she?" It's phrased as a question to be less jarring.

"I'm not a divorce attorney, but I would've gotten you a better deal." This part is meant to be cocky.

"My daughter lives with the ex-wife, yeah, and she's tried to pull the custody away more than once on complete bullshit reasoning," he spits out. Most of his love for Rachel is gone because the first time was bad enough, but coping with her almost being pregnant with Danny's kid, only to be left again? Yeah, that leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

"So, what, you do custody? Cuz I need a new lawyer."

The confirmation of his reading of the situation isn't necessary, but feeds his ego a bit. And he's getting the sense that Danny and the ex- are not on the best of terms. As opposed to Danny and his daughter, who are on better terms than most families.

"No. I'm in corporate law, but I could still get you a better deal," he says, fully confident in this fact. And no, it doesn't matter what the deal is - he will get the best deal possible. "If you were my client." That's the sticking point. Put him on retainer and he'll do what he has to do to get you what you need.

"If I was your client, if I was...okay, well, tell you what, big guy," Danny gestures with a flick of his cape, "how about when I win a lottery and am able to support a corporate lawyer's bloodsucking salary, I'll hire you, okay? And until then, I'll make do with the shitty agreement I got because I get paid a limited amount of money to serve the people."

Harvey shrugs. He's not the type to have to look for new clients, they typically sort of fall in his lap. "I could let you hire my associate. He bills out at $500 per hour. Is that more your speed?" Not that his associate is here, mind you, or licensed to work in Hawai'i... or New York for that matter (but let's not get into that), but Harvey would absolutely loan out his associate.

"For the record, I don't have a problem with cops. At the DA's office, they used to bring us bad guys to put away. Always fun." Well, until his viper-weasel of a dickhead boss told him to start hiding evidence.

"Yeah, let's go back to my previous comment about winning the lottery. You know what I can afford?" Danny says, wondering why the hell he didn't suggest Mattie just become a lawyer if he was so hard up for money. "I can afford maybe seventy-five an hour. That, to me, sounds like a fair sum of money. Five hundred? Are you kidding me?" he whines.

"And I'm so grateful you have no problem with cops," he adds. "I, in turn, have no problem with lawyers who pursue genuine scumbags instead of helping them get off."

Harvey arches an eyebrow, likely unseen beneath the hat and behind the mask. "For seventy-five dollars, you'll get a shitty deal and crap custody. For five-hundred dollars, you'll get a deal that cuts off the alimony as soon as she remarries. For my rates -" which he specifically doesn't list to avoid having a passed out cop on his hands, "- you wouldn't have had to pay alimony to begin with." Actually, for his fee, he could do a lot better than that - he might've even been able to get Danny's ex-wife to pay for him to move to Hawai'i, if he knew any of that.

Danny's lawyer comment gets an expression that's a cross between a grin and wicked smirk. He's not sure that Danny would consider a lot of his current work pursuit of genuine scumbags, so he refrains from specific comment on that front. "Of course," he says. "You know," he adds, "I hear there's an open bar. Interested?"

"Insanely interested," he insists, because if he can't go home and take Grace out trick-or-treating just yet, the next best option is to get completely and totally trashed to the point where he might have to stagger upstairs for a night before Daddy's hangover is in costume mode. "Is this the beginning of a friendship where you teach me all about the hearts of gold you lawyers have?"

Harvey peers around the brim of his hat, find that he actually has to turn his damned head because the fucking mask sucks away all of his peripheral vision, but doesn't see a bar - yet. Walking may be involved before he does. "'Any idea where this bar might be, because I can't see shit." This costume is getting more aggravating as the night goes on.

Danny's question, however, gets a scowl. "Bite your goddamned tongue," he snarls. "I've been called an 'asshole' more times than I can count. It's far more fitting." Funny thing, both of those statements are true, even if he is half joking.

"Yeah, I've been there once or twice," Danny admits, not wanting to sound like he spends all his time there, but totally aware that sometimes when you get stuck in a weird alternate dimension away from your daughter, you drink a little more. "Yeah, well, I got a trademark on being an asshole," he replies back easily. "So we're gonna have to learn to share it."

He waves for Danny to lead the way to the adult beverages, because, yeah, he's going to need something to get through this party and possibly another few days before all of this bullshit settles in and starts to make any amount of sense.

"Trademark? Really?" he asks with mock surprise. "You know, I may have slept through half of my patents class, but I'm pretty sure that's not the way it works." Again, he is being an ass. It's what he does, whether as a defense mechanism or because it's how he just happens to relate to people is still up in the air.

Danny flips the cape with a little flair, feeling like he's got to use the cape if he's wearing it or what's the damn point of being a superhero? "Well, see, for me, I'm from Jersey, I'm a loudmouthed hothead, and I got a real hard-on for rules and regs," Danny explains. "I may not have the trademark, but you gotta admit, I've pretty much got the ground covered."

Harvey shakes his head. "I don't know you well enough to determine your asshole status," he says as though this is a thing that is measured on a scale of some sort. "However, being from Jersey, certainly increases your asshole points." Hey, he lives and breathes Manhattan, isn't it their job to look down on folks from Jersey? It's like a rule, right?

"Thank you, thank you greatly," Danny says warmly, like he's pleased. "I mean, currently, I live in Hawaii when I'm not in this madhouse, so I get called an asshole a lot. That and haole, I can't tell you how much I hate that one."

"Happy to help," he tosses back - probably as 'happy' as a guy in a super-hero-comicbook costume can get when talking to a Jersey cop-guy.

A frown creases his brow. "You're going to have to run 'haole' by me with a little more context," he says, because that's a new one. He's clued in to it probably being Hawai'ian dialect, but beyond that, he's lost.

"Basically, I'm an asshole outsider who doesn't fit into their culture and they froze me out for it," he explains. "At the police station, everywhere I went, and it took a giant Navy SEAL to make an inch of difference when it came to that."

"As opposed to a regular-sized Navy SEAL?" he quips. Hey, they've already established the 'asshole' part, no need to dwell really.

"Seriously," Danny agrees, nodding very seriously. "He towers above them like a towering pile of bricks with issues," he stresses. "Honest to god, you'd hear him coming. He practically vibrates vengeance and the American duty."

"And this guy - this SEAL - is something akin to a 'best friend', I take it?" he asks, more-or-less knowing the answer based on body language and the vaguely reverent way in which Danny describes said SEAL. Really, you can't be that annoyed with someone you don't like - not like that anyway.

Danny sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he musters out a nod. "Against all my better judgment, yes, Steve McGarrett resembles my best friend, which I continually wonder what that says about me. Do I take it you got one of those for yourself, then?"

One eyebrow arches upward beneath the black hat. "A SEAL?" He shakes his head. "I am decidedly lacking in Navy SEALs, I'm sad to say."

If Danny is asking about friends, he may have to hang up and try his call again. Not that Harvey doesn't have friends, but that he doesn't much talk about them.

"Yeah, well, you can have this one when I get tired of him," Danny deadpans, seeing as he sometimes needs Steve-sized time-outs from his life otherwise those heart conditions his Ma warns him about come into play.

He wags a finger in a circle in front of him. "Aren't there rules about friends and giving them away or something?" Like, you're not supposed to. Associates, sure, you can toss those over to any ole co-worker, but friends? You're supposed to keep those, right?

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