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[indent][sub][COLOR=SILVER][B]LOCATION[/B][color=2e2c2c].[/color][/COLOR] [I]New York City[/I] - [I]Marquee Skydeck[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=SILVER][b]001[/b][/COLOR][color=2e2c2c].[/color] [I]The Life Of The Party[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=SILVER][B]INTERACTIONS [/B][color=2e2c2c].[/color][/COLOR] [I]N/A[/I][/sub][/indent]
[indent][color=gray]Even above the rising hubbub of chatter and pounding musical swells, the rhythmic ringing of a crystal glass was as clear and clean as daylight, even if the sun itself had long since set; the music softened, the gossip stalled, and even as party-goers continued to filter in, they slunk into the growing crowd quietly and carefully, all eyes and ears now turned to the singular figure standing, glass in hand, at the top of the stairs overlooking the Skydeck. William Tremayne, well-known New York hotel magnate, and magnanimous host of the city’s most exclusive function, stood tall and proud and with a healthy glow and a beaming smile, his worked-on teeth shining in the low-lights, his stylishly-coiffed hairpiece with nary a strand askew, his fashionable and expensive suit bulging ever-so-slightly at the waistline. He held up his glass, waiting for the crowd to follow suit, and then lead them all in supping from their chosen tipple.

[color=FFFFFF]“Esteemed guests; let me be the first to thank you for your attendance this evening. Let it never be said that Bill Tremayne can’t throw a great party, eh?”[/color]
His opening remark was met with low cheer and applause, and he took a moment to bask in even that modicum of praise before continuing, passing his glass to the sharply-dressed assistant shadowing him close at his side.
[color=FFFFFF]“Everyone knows Tremayne Towers; we have a well-crafted and well-cared-for reputation for America’s most extravagant stays, and we know exactly how to carry that ethos through everything we do. How about a round of applause for the caterers and bartenders this evening, ladies and gentlemen?”[/color]
William swept his hands across and gestured to the bars manned by already-frazzled men and women, and the team of polite-looking waitstaff patiently standing by towers of trayed canapés and hors d'œuvre’s. They waved, wearing thin smiles across their faces, and accepted the obligatory clapping as it rippled through the crowd of attendees, before all attention was drawn back to William.
[color=FFFFFF]“It’s that same ethos that’s behind tonight’s festivities. 2025 was an incredible year for Tremayne Towers, and we wanted to share that goodwill back with the people. Now, I don’t want to take up too much time; we all know why we’re here – to have a damn good night! -”[/color] another smattering of cheers and accompanying whoops escaped into the evening air, and William smiled with those pearly-whites once more while waving a hand to calm the crowd, [color=FFFFFF]“but I’d still like to take a brief moment to announce what tonight is in aid of. Tremayne Towers in expanding in an entirely new direction, a direction I’ve personally overseen and, folks, I can’t tell you how excited I am by this new venture we’ll be undertaking.”[/color]

There was a deeper hush that fell across William’s audience, and the journalists among them – all shortlisted, invited, vetted, debriefed to a man – audibly leaned in, phones and notebooks and recorders in hand. Bill let the anticipation linger for a scant few moments, enjoying the tension of it.
[color=FFFFFF]“In 2026, I will be launching the Bill Tremayne Foundation, a charitable fund dedicated to scholarships, artistic grants, and cultural financing. We’ve already got a sizeable chunk to get started with straight away in January; re-investing profits, generous donations from myself and other like-minded philanthropists, the very proceeds from tonight! But, as my one and only ask this evening – aside from making sure you enjoy yourself! – please, consider your own charitable donation to the Foundation. Together, we can use it to change real people’s lives, and through them, the world, for the better. Ladies and gentlemen – thank you. Now let’s fire that music back up!”[/color]
With that, the crowd erupted, photos were taken, notes furiously scribbled, and the music came back full-swell as the party truly began. William took his drink back from his assistant and drained the glass, heading back up the stairs to the fleet of reporters and board members awaiting him to talk more about the Bill Tremayne Foundation, letting his party thrum and pound on the skydeck below.

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Amidst the throng, staff weaved with a practiced elegance through twisting bodies and below pulsing neon light delivering food and drink and even substances traditionally more controlled to those who knew who and how to ask. Meanwhile, the bars ebbed and flowed with the steady rhythm of patrons coming and going, ordering beer, wine, spirits, cocktails; nothing was off-menu, everything was stocked. The DJ booth vibrated with its own activity, guest DJs and the VIPs of VIPs ducking beneath velvet ropes behind decks and laptops, while dancers writhed in front of speakers and requests were shouted, unheard, over throbbing, thudding beats. Amongst all of this, Josie was overwhelmed, likely to keel over from the uninhibited mania of it all; but Josie had a cool head and a steel temperament, and once she set her heart on a task, there was very little in the world that could sway her from her self-prescribed purpose. This had been the defining quality of Jose Tatl since a very early age, and would remain so for a handful more hours yet.

She ducked past a pair of more lively revellers and artfully spun her serving tray in one hand around errant limbs; it was significantly less laden than it had been when she'd left the prep room, a small cafeteria no less busy than the pounding dancefloor but still offering a small respite from the festivities. In there, the blaring music was only a faint din behind the swinging double doors, beats ebbing and flowing through the gaps as waitstaff came and went. Part of Josie longed to be rid of the entire building; if this was truly how the 'other half' lived, she was quite happy with a smaller function at the local dive bar with a couple close friends. All the same, her line of work had made her quite familiar with this extravagence, and she waded in as necessary without hesitation to do her job; as the party got well and truly underway, the time to get on with that job had arrived, and she could no longer avoid it. 

With an expert twist and a façade so well-crafted only the most sober and perceptible individual could have understood the perfectly-intentional stumble, Josie spun with the tray and came crashing straight into a guest. She'd tipped the tray up, tilting it toward herself on approach, and the result was that the collision sent the last remaining dish upon the tray crashing into her own chest. The guest suffered nothing more than an unplanned bump in a busy venue, but Josie herself was now covered in sauces and jus and the mess was quickly staining the white uniform shirt she wore. With practiced fevered apologies she collected the remains of the food and set them back upon the tray, now bee-lining for the prep room, leaving the guest behind to quickly forget her and be swallowed again by the music of the night. 

[color=white]"God, Amelia, look at the [i]state[/i] of you."[/color] The maître d' reproached Josie as she pushed through the double doors and set her tray down. Josie did her best to look admonished, muttering out more sorrys as she was fussed over. [color=white]"You can't well go back out looking like that. I'll have to take you off for the night. Christ, you've really fucked us over here Amelia."[/color]
Josie looked up and gave a small apologetic smile beneath the chiding, but quickly offered a solution.
[color=6A5ACD]"Actually, ma'am, I've got a spare shirt in my bag. I can change into something clean if I can just run to the bathroom."[/color]
The maître d' raised an eyebrow and uncrossed her arms. 
[color=white]"Well, aren't you forward-thinking?"[/color]
[color=6A5ACD]"I've had plenty spilled on me in this job, ma'am."[/color]
The maître d' was amused at this and cracked a smile, waving Josie off.
[color=white]"Alright, Amelia. Ten minutes. Grab your bag, change, get back here. God knows we need every pair of hands tonight."[/color]
Josie nodded and offered quick thanks before dashing off down back corridors to her locker, retriving her bag and making her way to the ladies bathroom.

Secured in a cubicle, the rucksack was unzipped quickly, and the transformation began; off came false lashes and a blonde wig, a messy brunette bob shaken out from underneath. Her glasses were removed and stowed and replaced with a pair of carefully-applied contact lenses, and the tight-fitting shirt and skirt combo of the staff uniform went into the bag and out came a modest black party dress, fitting for the occasion but well below the average price-band of many outfits here. Still, it hugged her figure nicely, was enough to blend in with the attendees, and when combined with a pair of heels swapped for the work pumps she'd been hotfooting around in and just enough foundation to cover the blemishes while still leaving her natural freckles on display, Josie cut a fine form. The bag was stowed and in front of the mirrors she applied a change of lipstick, checked the recorder in her clutch was at full battery, and then paused to regard herself and take a quick selfie before exiting the bathroom, leaving Amelia behind in the hidden rucksack and leaving the maître d' wondering, twenty minutes hence, where the hell her staffmember had disappeared to.
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