There are a thousand places that Klaus would rather be than at some stuffy little awards after party. He usually enjoys going out with Allison, making sure she's dressed to the height of fashion before they make some grand, Hollywood entrance. And while she's earned all the accolades this time for her dramatic comeback into show business, Klaus finds this group a little boring.
Some parties have wild music and too much champagne, bouncers and waiters who are eager to get an extra tip, men and women who pass out $100 bills like they're candy on Halloween.
So Klaus has tucked himself along one corner of the bar for a moment, letting Allison strut her stuff and look radiant. As her dutiful plus one tonight, he keeps a watchful eye on her from a distance, occasionally chatting with a few familiar faces, a couple of his celebrity clients, nothing but superficial kisses on cheeks and gushing oh I just love that skirt that train is to die for.
It is a good train, he thinks as he slides off his bar stool, effectively scooping the fabric of his skirt up with him. It's a loud getup, even for the Hollywood elite, but that's how he keeps his nights interesting when he knows the after party is just a glorified networking show and tell. Which his why, to his great surprise, he over hears some laughter, a few shocked whispers. He's heard the name Tony Stark, seen him at a couple of Allison's events, and as it stands he looks to be the most interesting thing in the room.
So with a keen eye for detail, Klaus orders two drinks— something fruity and non-alcoholic for him, and something strong on the rocks for a man he barely knows. He steps up once there's a lull in the conversation, working himself in with a flourish. (But a man who wears a skin-tight crop top and a skirt with an elegant train can hardly go unnoticed).
"Thank god someone has a sense of humor here. I was beginning to wonder if everyone here was dead."
this ain't for the best, my reputation's never been worse;
Some parties have wild music and too much champagne, bouncers and waiters who are eager to get an extra tip, men and women who pass out $100 bills like they're candy on Halloween.
So Klaus has tucked himself along one corner of the bar for a moment, letting Allison strut her stuff and look radiant. As her dutiful plus one tonight, he keeps a watchful eye on her from a distance, occasionally chatting with a few familiar faces, a couple of his celebrity clients, nothing but superficial kisses on cheeks and gushing oh I just love that skirt that train is to die for.
It is a good train, he thinks as he slides off his bar stool, effectively scooping the fabric of his skirt up with him. It's a loud getup, even for the Hollywood elite, but that's how he keeps his nights interesting when he knows the after party is just a glorified networking show and tell. Which his why, to his great surprise, he over hears some laughter, a few shocked whispers. He's heard the name Tony Stark, seen him at a couple of Allison's events, and as it stands he looks to be the most interesting thing in the room.
So with a keen eye for detail, Klaus orders two drinks— something fruity and non-alcoholic for him, and something strong on the rocks for a man he barely knows. He steps up once there's a lull in the conversation, working himself in with a flourish. (But a man who wears a skin-tight crop top and a skirt with an elegant train can hardly go unnoticed).
"Thank god someone has a sense of humor here. I was beginning to wonder if everyone here was dead."