For social interaction of all sorts.  Feel free to carry on multiple interactions at once.  This will also be the primary thread for plot not involved with Missions, or HQ.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:15, Fri 30 Aug 2013.

Utopia Memo:

21 Dec 2002
Bellagio, Las Vegas, Nevada

The Bellagio has graciously volunteered to host a Winter Gala and Charity Dinner in conjunction with Project Utopia's T2M:A branch.  The proceeds of the evening will be divided amongst the Utopia Charity List, and towards terraforming projects throughout the world.

Entry is $10,000 for those not on the guest list, and dinners are $5,000 per plate.  Dress is formal.  All T2M:A members WILL be there, and will be on their best behavior.

The Gala is spread over several conjoining conference rooms, out-door patios, art exhibits, and the pool area.  An entire half of the building has been closed for the event, and despite the inconvenience the visitors and spectators seem to be happy, as they get the privilege of seeing the incredible novas of T2M up close as they arrive at the event.

The event starts at 1900.  The guest list includes several A-list actors that have contributed heavily to charity in the past, multiple heavily influential political figures from around the world, and a very limited selection of Utopia's corporate sponsors.  Those that purchased tickets are a much more diverse group however.  Comprised of the younger generation of moneyed elite, hopeful agents and lawyers, corporations searching for advertisement deals and technology contracts, affluent actors (and not so successful actors looking for a break), and even a few vacationers willing to spend their life savings just to associate with the movers and shakers of the world.

Food will be served at 2230, while drinks and hors d'oeuvres are offered throughout the event.  The Gala's scheduled end is 0400 the next morning.

Some pictures for ambiance:
http://www.bellagio.com/amenit...ins-of-bellagio.aspx
http://www.bellagio.com/amenit...-and-courtyards.aspx
http://www.bellagio.com/amenit...-and-courtyards.aspx
http://www.bellagio.com/amenit...otanical-garden.aspx
http://www.bellagio.com/restaurants/fine-dining.aspx
http://www.bellagio.com/amenit...ery-of-fine-art.aspx
http://www.bellagio.com/amenit...chard-macdonald.aspx

At 1700 precisely, Comstock arrived at the lobby in an uncharacteristic tuxedo, his skin gleaming chrome for the benefit of photographers and the happy crowd.  He'd struck up a conversation in the elevator with a new Utopia hire from London, Peter "Thorn" Knorr.

"...I used to watch Tyson and Holyfield when they had matches out here, but now that's all past.  Tyson's manager keeps trying to get him into the ring with a Nova, but so far nothing.  No one wants to see him get killed."  Through the blinding strobe of camera flashes, Comstock noticed Thorn's boredom and changed tacks.  "So what's Utopia assigned you to?"

Thorn snapped back from his reverie.  "... actually, I think they're pulling me from my initial assignment.  There's a lot of Ecological Engineering projects around the corner and they think I'll be of greater use there then with your team.  I'm just here because they put me on the guest list."

Comstock nodded.  "Ah.  Yeah, that makes sense.  Well, I'm sorry to hear you'll be missing the action."

Thorn gave a weak smile and excused himself to find some hors d'ouvres.  Comstock held the crowd at bay with a few choice smiles and followed soon after.  There weren't many guests there yet.  "Probably a conspiracy of the stylishly late," he muttered.

---

The wait for others to arrive was tedious.  Across the room, Comstock saw some industrialists talking over wine.  A few choice words about foreign companies were said; Comstock could feel a collective icy glare from across the room, and heard the word "Un-American" at least once in reference to him.  Moments later, before confrontation could even be considered, it became necessary to endure the questions and compliments of a US Senator he could not recognize.  The Senator started asking whether there were plans to move T2M:Americas to Mexico City or whether that was just boilerplate rumor, to which Comstock responded ambiguously until an appropriate opportunity to escape arose.  "I'll be sure to get you some answers, Senator," he said with a smile as he twisted away.

Imp walked into the Gala at 1800, shiny black silk tux with tails and a golden bow tie, his silk shirt looked as smooth and soft as butter.  It was all an illusion, of course, just his eufibre taking the appearance that he required.  Buendia, while a boor, certainly had his uses.
The crowd turned as he stepped out of the elevator, he smiled, shook some hands, greeted people by name.  When the crowd got a bit too thick he kicked his, for lack of a better word, god factor up a notch and they moved back in almost religious awe.  He walked over to where he saw Comstock standing.  En route he was waylaid by a group of suits from Ford.  "Ah, Mr. Impetus, we were wondering if you'd talk with us about becoming a spokesman for Ford Motors, we want to keep it American, keep giving jobs to Americans, and keep our country strong, and we think you can help us."
"Sorry gents, but there's either nothing American about making crap products that nobody wants and that destroy the atmosphere, or it's tragically very American.  I don't want to be a part of either, my advice, make better cars."
He continued on towards Comstock.  "Hey buddy, how're the folks?"

Comstock perked up and embraced his friend.  "Doing fine.  They want to see you at the holidays, but I told them you'd be busy."  He gestured around the room.  "I think Shadow Artist showed up a bit ago.  I came down the elevator with that new guy, Thorn, and I haven't seen Pax yet.  Sunflare's doing her light show above the fountains in about half an hour to please the crowd and give everyone some hope.  And then there's all the suits and ... dignified people.  Around here."  He gave Imp 'that look,' the one that conveyed his discomfort at wearing a tux and schmoozing.  The one that said 'I'd rather be pounding dirt or building crap.'
This message was last edited by the player at 15:48, Sun 09 Aug 2009.

"God damn, I look ridiculous." Solitaire muttered, examining her reflection in the mirror-polished elevator doors just before they opened onto the hall. "Utterly impractical. Can't even fly."

In point of fact, she looked anything but, her dress was black, simple, but expertly tailored, she never did know how Kat got her measurements, the woman was devilishly clever. It was cut low, as well as high, revealing a reasonable amount skin, but at least she could move, if not for the never-to-be-sufficiently-damned high heels that went with it.

The doors opened with a 'ting' and Solitaire gazed over the party. This is going to be interminable. She groaned inwardly. She hated parties and events, didn't like the social nuances and unwritten rules that went with them. Deep down, a small part of her was still terrified she'd make some unpardonable faux-pas such as picking up the wrong fork, saying the wrong thing, blinking at the wrong time or some other of the myriad of offences this strange world had. But she put her heel on that part of her, ground it down to next to nothing. Just part of the job, just smile, and it'll end eventually. She almost believed it.

Stepping out, and spotting Comstock and Impetus, Solitaire makes a beeline for them, and concentrates on projecting just enough Awesome to part the crowd for her, but hopefully not enough to draw any real attention. She arrived in time to catch Comstock's 'look' and returned a similar one, of the 'I know what you mean' variety.

"Pax'll be here. He never misses a chance to show off." She rolled her eyes, then added more quietly, "Though I don't know if there's enough space in the hall for his ego." Then she glanced over her shoulder, making dead sure he wasn't there.

"Sunflare's doing a light show you say? At least somebody gets to have some fun. I suppose if I'm lucky, boredom might kill me, though its probably too much to hope. Nothing else has managed that yet.

Solitiare sighed, audibly this time. Every once in a while, one of these things popped up she couldn't weasel out of. They were like her own little pocket of purgatory, and she was greatful she didn't do this type of thing for a living.

Imp smiled, "Thank your folks for me, but yeah, I'm off doing goodwill stuff in Mexico during the holidays, I'd far rather be sitting with your dad talking about building custom motorcycles." He exhaled softly.  "So many empty suits, so completely focused on their own agendas that they really miss the big picture.  Did you know, for example, that the Project is trying to copyright all our names?  For some of us that's not a big deal, but copyrighting things like Solitaire, or Impetus, or Phantasm?  Get real."
After Sol joined them Imp whistled softly, "Wow, you look fantastic.  Even more so than usual, which is saying quite a bit."  He took a drink of his champagne, "I hate these shows, yes, I know they're important, but blech, It's so hard to relate to them."  He trailed off as Pax walked in, "And the icing on the cake, well, time to go make nice with plastic man."  Imp finished his glass and headed over to pax, gave him a friendly handshake and half hug before the two started working the room, Pax taking the lead, being the bravado and brimstone; Imp acting as support, smooth and sensual, playing off each other so well you'd never know that they wouldn't spit on the other if their eyebrows were on fire.  If Pax still had eyebrows.  Which he didn't.

Phantasm showed up at the event fashionably late.  Not enough to get yelled at by Pax or the rest of the crew, but enough to avoid the awkward conversation that would occur while waiting for more people to arrive.  It would suck to have to talk to some politician from the U.N. or corporate rep for 30 minutes while waiting for someone actually worthwhile to arrive.

Walking in, she maintained the image of "youthful exuberance mixed with spunky independence" that had gotten her voted Teen Magazine's #1 nova.  She never revealed how young she actually was of course, but as long as she looked somewhere between 18 and 22 she could play on the sympathies of the public while maintaining her freedom.  The fans ate it up, as did the press.  Only problem was that no one really took her seriously.  They just kept asking about pop culture... but that was a nice cover.  It prevented people from seeing the real her, and what she could do.

When she got there, Phantasm made a line straight for the rest of her team, who seemed to be in a huddle before the action.

"What's the plan guys?  Are we just supposed to hang out with the baselines and make them feel special, or did we have more of a goal in mind?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:07, Mon 10 Aug 2009.

The Doctor arrived earlier, but was held up by a most unusual situation. Zero was dressed in a sharp tuxedo, slacks, and dress shoes, which contrasted oddly with it's mask and leather gloves. However, it's entire wardrobe was soaked when it arrived, and it had to go to the back to try to discreetly use the clothes dryer.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:11, Mon 10 Aug 2009.

"Hey P.  Still waiting on Zero and Gravitas, then I think there will be some toasts and drinking and praise for the work we've done."  The past few months Comstock had become remarkably lucid and articulate.  "Just smile a lot and enjoy the food.  It'll be like one of those charity shows we've been doing."  He ran a hand over his stubbly head in what was now a trademark gesture.

A Japanese female enters the room. Her black and purple hair held in a small bun by two jade hair pins. She wears a black kimono of scorpions fighting in blowing sakura petals with a purple obi. With her she carries a black bundle in her left hand. She pauses and bows to others as she makes her way to the the center of the room. She begins looking around the room for someone in particular.

Comstock nudged Solitaire and Phantasm.  "Hey ... who's the new face?  I don't know anyone except a Nova who could get away with wearing that to a function like this."

Solitaire turned to look at the newcomer, appraising her critically the same way she did with every other potential, she was too far away to get a good 'ping',  Nova she saw. It was nothing personal, just habit. When your enemy could do virtually anything, even the smallest details could be important. Of course, they more often told you nothing at all.

"No idea, though it may be considered formal in Japan, I don't know anything about dress codes. If your right though, I expect we'll meet her soon enough, there's not enough of us here to avoid each other."

Solitaire shrugged, turning back to the others. That mystery would be resolved in its own time, she was sure, the more pressing question was how she was going to survive the night. It could not end soon enough for her.

Quentin arrived on the next elevator car, trying not to storm out of it and instead quietly slipping to the side of the door and making his way around the edge of the room. He managed to obtain a drink somewhere along the way. He hated ultra-formal functions like this. He was fine with parties, or other social gatherings, but the black-tie everyone-in-tuxes thing really bothered him. It was so fake. He had almost portaled into the room, just to liven it up. The earful he'd get from Pax and the Utopia directors would probably deafen him, though, so he'd opted for a more discrete arrival.

There wasn't much special about Quentin's clothing. It wasn't even eufiber. It was a standard black tux with tie, he affected a gray vest. An astute observer would note that his silver cuff links bore the emblem of the Rebel Alliance. He wore no other jewelry or accessories.

He'd have to remember to keep on the move during this event. If he stayed in one place for too long he'd probably accidentally start pulling things off of nearby tables. Despite having gained considerable mastery over his abilities in the last year, he still wasn't able to entirely turn off his constant low-level gravitational field.

As he'd edged around the room, he picked out the rest of the Sierra Nevada team sans Zero. He inserted himself into the group. "I suspect that after this event I'm going to wish that the war wasn't mostly over so we never had to be here... Does that make me a bad person?"

"Yes. And I would respect you all the more for it," said a hurried Doctor as it absently adjusted it's cuff links. It's shoes where squeaking horribly and waterlogged. It's tux smelled freshly dried. "So sorry I'm late. Did I miss anything exciting?" The Doctor looked up at it's friends.

"Unfortunately no, it would have been something to do, and honestly I doubt you'd miss anything even if you showed up two hours from now." Solitaire answered, eying the doctors almost-dry suit and damp shoes, but she had stopped questioning his foibles. It had probably been something highly amusing, she wished she'd been there, and had fun speculating what it might have been. It would ruin the surprise to actually ask though.

"Did anyone actually bother to read tonight's schedule? I just skimmed when I had to be here by." the sooner it started the sooner it ended.

"Dinner's at 2230 hours.  Probably with speeches and congratulations passed around to everyone."  Comstock gave the whole room a big smile for effect.  "Yeah ... guess it's time to get back on the celebrity bandwagon.  Can't save the world without influencing some of these wealthy folks."