Spectrum ⇒ Avengers [ 1 ]

Glitz and Glam

"Are you here for the party?" A tall man in a dark suit asks in a dark green voice. I look him up and down, automatically assessing his speed, size, strength, and note that he has a gun in his jacket pocket. Private security. Apparently the Oscorp tower doesn't have an AI system.
"Yeah." I say casually, standing a little straighter in my gold heels. I'm getting better at reading people. Natasha, now that she's back, has been helping Sharon with my fighting lessons, and one of the first things she taught me was how to see if someone had a gun on them. I really hope I'll never need to know. "The name's Brynn."

He glances down at a tablet in his hands and nods briefly.
"First elevator, floor seventy." He nods over the foyer, and I smile sweetly, clicking across the marble floors. It's not to different to Stark Tower, but the decor is mainly white, and there are escalators leading to upper floors I can't quite see. Very open plan- it's like Norman Osborn is trying to assure the world that he has nothing to hide.
Maybe he doesn't.

I step into the golden elevator, pushing the tiny '70' button and letting it move upwards, holding my clutch tightly. Whatever happens tonight, I can't let go of this bag. I'm in enemy territory, and if I'm right, I can't let anyone in the room I'm about to go in suspect that I know.
Chill, Brynn, it's a party, not a war zone.

As I watch the city get smaller outside the window, I wish Peter was with me. I'd certainly feel a lot better about going into a room of strangers with someone I know.
I haven't spoken to him since our... Falling out. I've picked up the phone a thousand times, but have always been unable to dial the number. Besides, what do I say?

"Sorry I couldn't have dinner with you and your aunt. I was too busy suspecting your best friend's father of being the man who killed your ex-girlfriend."

Yeah, something tells me that conversation wouldn't end well for anyone. I realise, as I shift in the uncomfortable burgundy dress, that I really don't want it to be Norman Osborn. It would make everything a million times more complicated, and Oscorp has done some pretty great things for the world. Besides, how on earth would I confront him?

The doors slide open, interrupting my thoughts, and I'm greeted with a huge room overlooking the city skyline. Lights hang from the ceiling like falling stars, and it's full of people in tuxedoes and dresses, laughing and chattering.
So this is what the rich call a small gathering.
I step into the room uncertainly, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, I can hear Natasha's voice in my mind.
"If you're ever unsure, do what everyone else is doing."

Well, everyone else is chatting and eating, so I'm pretty sure I should do the same. I snatch a small, puff-pastry thing from a passing waiter, and walk casually towards a group of people chatting by a bar area. They're mostly my age or older, all with an utter ease in their situation that tells me that they're probably loaded. The suits on the boys are expertly fitted, and the girls smell of perfumes from Paris, their clutches subtly embossed with designer brands.

I wolf down the snack I've just grabbed, and lean against the bar, listening to them.
"But of course, mother fiercely objects to Switzerland- the views are divine, but one skiing accident and the whole photo-shoot is out of the window immediately-" a tall, blonde girl says in an accent so crisp it might as well be made of newly printed dollar bills. It's bright pink, too, like a rose.
"I'm in Italy," all eyes turn to another girl looking bored, in a black lace dress with a turquoise voice. "Rome, you know."
"Father says Rome is common." A tall boy with spiky brown hair yawns in grey. The girl looks offended, and turns her nose up at him while the blonde girl laughs. "We're going to Iceland- really getting back to the true roots of our earth."

I stifle a laugh, and it comes out as a snort, making them all turn to me. The blonde girl speaks first as I wipe my mouth, feeling crumbs around my lips. Shoot.
"I haven't seen you at one of these before. Aren't you supposed to be serving?"
"Excuse me?" The girls all titter to each other. "Mate, I was invited."
"What is that accent?" Someone whispers in faint yellow.
"Irish." I say coldly. "What is that hairstyle?" The girl gapes at me. "Yeah, you heard me."