Thereâs a party on the rooftop, top of the world.
Marcus Vansten, Night Valeâs Greatest Citizen, no longer legally exists--but he still knows how to throw one hell of a party.
The building itself drips with opulence, even from the outside; the lower floors of the old StrexCorp buiness tower have been transformed into a glass-walled art gallery. The journey up to the penthouse for the guests--after theyâve checked in with a couple of tall, imposing, winged security guards sporting classy tailored jackets emblazoned with the initials MV on their lapels--is a sight to behold. The lobby leading to the elevators is lined with sculptures of cats of every description from every corner of the world, elegant creatures bent into every malleable shape amid furniture covered in patterned upholstery made from the skins and fur of real bengal tigers, rare jaguars, and snow leopards that would have certainly been majestic beasts prior to their lives as armchairs.
The music that plays here is soft, classic--something that might play in the lobby at the Met. It continues as the guests enter the elevator, which takes up only a few people at a time--but when the elevator doors slide open to the roof of the penthouse, the atmosphere changes completely.
A DJ is perched high on a platform, angled so that the desert sun has begun to set behind them; theyâre spinning tracks from an elaborate set of mixing equipment flanked by speakers that pound the air, filling the sky with club music and requested tracks alike, blended into the sound. The penthouse roof itself almost looks like the party level of a cruise ship, blue glass walls refracting fading sunlight, crystal light fixtures beginning to glow on around the party floor. An enormous swimming pool makes up the centerpiece, and from above, one could see the elaborate painting on the bottom, a portrait of a very wealthy green-eyed man decorated with gold, a drape of scarlet fabric, and little else.
Around the pool there are several in-ground hot tubs, endless comfortable looking lounge chairs; a seating area with sofas and a contained fire pit; thereâs an open bar next to the doors of a sauna, from which steam is seeping out; and the dance floor in front of the speakers offers plenty of space between all of that and the extensive buffet on the other side, long tables strewn with selection. There are whole roast turkeys, fancy fruit trays cut into stunning persian-inspired patterns on their plates, a broad selection of hors dâoeuvres that are occasionally ferried around the party, massive bowls of punch sitting in crystal bowls shaped like swans, and more sculptures of big cats.
And slowly, most of the population of Night Vale begins to fill the space, until the whole penthouse is full of excited, chattering, dancing, eating, drinking and swimming citizens of a Place.
Itâs going to be one hell of a night. Whereâs the host?
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