real live wire.

OLIVIA HELLER. video essayist & film producer. brooklyn resident.

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LARA SAWYER.

“Feel free to do so, in fact, I appreciate it when people remember the, you know, important stuff.” Lara only half joked, flipping blonde locks over her shoulder as a gesture of nonchalance. Eventually she released a bright chuckle, the kind of chuckle she’d noticed escaping her during long strolls through the gardens or as they took a few minutes to rest after eating delicious paella in el restó. Foreign country, its natural wonders and cultural charms– all practically invited Lara to get caught up in the romance of it but in her eyes the exotic setting didn’t make her time there any less precious. “If it’s not magical and earthmoving, what’s the point?” Truth be told, Lara’s rather childish views on romantic love had been challenged after a couple of conversations with some of her closest friends, but still, a part of her was convinced it had to be explosive in order to be called love. The image Olivia painted for her elicited another chuckle, damn her, but the blonde grimaced in the end. “The Jerry Springer Show reruns? A true method of torture in the 21st century. I’ve missed your mind,” Lara blurted out as their current situation slipped her mind. “What else could be considered a fine method of torture nowadays, hm?  –I always tell Lars to ask himself WWLVTD, What would Lars von Trier,  his very own Scandinavian Yoda, do. It makes him rethink his whole life,” she claimed, bringing the pick with an olive on it to her lips and beginning to nibble on it. Despite her best efforts  to keep the interaction light (which for some reason wasn’t a diffcult task with Olivia Heller), her next words struck a nerve. Deserved better? “Please Liv, don’t. Don’t talk nonsense,” she heaved a sigh, dropping the olive into the glass. “No, you just didn’t feel the same and that’s alright. I don’t know, you probably heard the rumors I was loud in bed and it scared you off, which is fine.”

“Important stuff like birthdays, right? First kisses, anniversaries? Personal favorites? Forgive me, I haven’t been in a relationship in... er, quite a long time,” confessed Olivia, her grin unnaturally self-effacing. Olivia’s true defense mechanism had been her confidence, and so she’d taken special note of every time it faltered. Unsurprisingly, Lara had hit the counter far too many times, indicating just how ill-prepared Olivia was every time they’d been together. But Liv now wanted nothing more than to rebuild the friendship they’d had, to go back to their former ways, void of awkwardness. “You’re putting a huge burden on me, here. Magical and earthmoving is just not my thing... but if you’re up for a fancy dinner date, flowers delivered from Spain and all, would that be grand enough?” Olivia grinned, alluding once more to her gift and the memories that had come with it. It was uttered with some humor, certainly, but the producer did wish to deliver an act of kindness herself — God knows she owed the woman far too many. “Goes without saying that I miss the reception to my witty remarks. I tried my humor on my niece last Christmas, and she’d cried to my brother. Apparently, a commentary about how Elsa and Anna being co-dependent siblings isn’t something you throw in the middle of our umpteenth Frozen rewatch, who knew?” Olivia recalled, feeling the last of the tension fade, before adding, “and... goes without saying that I missed your company, too, of course.” She offered what she’d hoped looked to be a reassuring smile. Her more serious sentiments were cut short, however, at the mention of Lars von Trier, unable to resist the chortle that had come with the phrase Scandivanian Yoda. “Way to give him an existential crisis, Lara!” she remarked with a chuckle, the prospect of the director being someone else’s conscience far too terrifying to give a second thought about. “And I, well... no, it isn’t that. Trust me, if you think you being loud in bed would scare me off, it wouldn’t. Hell, I’d have jumped to prove that rumor true,” she confessed, her liquid courage seemingly at an all-time high for that afterparty, “I guess I’m just never in the right headspace for affection these days. Anything remotely intimate, and I feel like combusting. I don’t want to give the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing, but it is precisely that,” she chuckled, “but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, and I’d love to get things back the way they were... if you’ll have me, of course.”  

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PAX BALDINI.

Needing to kill some time before picking Mia up from a play date, he stopped by at a local coffee shop to avoid freezing on the street. Only after getting his order he realized the large community table —many shops were implementing and he hated— was the one with a few empty spots. Paxton didn’t realized the blonde woman he saw from behind was in fact Olivia until he was about to take a seat across from her. “Shit, really?” He voiced his discontent, though instead of leaving, which could have been a logical reaction, he decided to stay. He didn’t have any other choice in that place. “God’s testing my patience clearly, or just punishing me.” ( @olivia-heller​ )

Olivia’s coffee machine finally decided to give up on her, after all these years. It was far too overdue to be replaced, but she’d clung to it regardless, using it repeatedly as if her love and affection would be able to nurse its frayed wires back to health. Had she more time for the day, she’d have gotten it fixed — but in an effort to beat a deadline, she’d relegated herself to one of the hippie coffee shops near where she lived, her head down as she’d listened to some Talking Heads song. But even David Byrne’s vocals weren’t enough to distract her from the looming presence in front of her, looking up from her laptop to find someone unexpected, and certainly one whom she’d rather avoid than actively confront, given how they’d left things days past. Placing her headphones down, she managed to get the second half of his words and had been unable to resist raising her eyebrow. “Pax, good to see you again,” even though her vacant smile had indicated the opposite, “you’re sure you haven’t been stalking me? Or is this some sort of fortuitous, ‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine’ sort of situation?” 

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ASHTON HOPPER.

      “You’re welcome.” he said, though now it was playful if not slightly derailed. Which he could appreciate. Because They’d managed to breeze over their designated elephant with ease and the mice became just a part of the tarmac. Except of course, that wasn’t really the case was it? Overall it was just a reassuring voice, one that he apparently was on even playing fields with. Which altogether didn’t bode too well but the Negroni emboldened his sentiment, and the way the dim lights cast some kind of intimacy around her features even with her comedic timing was alluring. “If i’d known I was aiming for that I guess I’d talk more about the size of your balls but…” A true confidence breeder it seemed she was,  Ashton’s grin anything but shy then. Shifting in his seat to get back to the plan at hand though—that came first. It was partitive. 

      Giving off the script like they were subsequently and officially being that duo they’d talked about before, where he previously found solace in the eating and drinking, she did that now. Calling the waitress for something harder and taking it back when it arrived he couldn’t help but do the same. Silently asked for another round with his hand as well. Filling in a gap of doing something. The food sat collecting airborn who knows what and he got closer in, elbows on the table as she spoke. Two very wildly different perceptive takes on the script later, “Yeah..I gotta say, From what I’m getting it’s Tony’s story. And that’s it. And that’s fine too if that’s where we’re going but I was under the impression it was the two of them. They’re story. I like either honestly. Villains are the heart of a story. But it could be a helluva lot better if it’s got that decision down.”  Ashton divulged, taking the scrip back, settling in again,

          Reading for Tony and Catherine in that kitchen.

                                                       Tony

                             If you don’t like it either just say it. I don’t need roundabout. I’ll be okay. I’d rather you tell me exactly how it is. None of that passive bullshit. You used to have no problem with that…I think you’ve lost that.

        The kids come into play; little Katie and even younger Johnny chasing each other throughout the house only becomes palpable then when they’ve stepped into a moment. 

Olivia raised a single brow, mirroring his grin that was coyer than it ought to be, and leaned forward to further sell the charade. “Ooh, tell me more about my balls.” And of course, that’s the moment a waiter decides to pick up their empty glasses, his eyes wary, though his curiosity definitely piqued. The waiter’s knowing smile as he departed had served a supplementary purpose of being Olivia’s wake-up call, resuming shop talk and leaning back on the booth again, much to her own disappointment. “Care to dial down the charisma down for a sec?” added Olivia, though her tone was still not as far removed as her more rational self had just dictated moments prior, “just a pause, though. I can’t believe how much I’d missed people not talking shit about me, let alone full-on compliments.” Were they come-ons? She’d take the extra few minutes to deliberate. 

“I’ll speak to Gio and his co-writer about it. It takes away some of the ambiguity, but it does make the script more airtight. More coherent. It’s a compromise they should be willing to make,” The words left her lips with an impressive air of professionalism, but Olivia had remained unconvinced. “But between you and me, I like the angle of it being their story better. Or at least acknowledge how significant Catherine is to the story.” She shouldn’t try to pry, but part and parcel of her line producing job is to keep daily operations as smooth as possible. It was far better to clear out the air prior to filming before disagreements over creative decisions like these could push their schedule back even a minute. At the very least, this was practice in having to deal with Gio later. And so, they continue: 

                                        Catherine               This is why I hate reading your work. You always get so fucking defensive about it.                 Any time I don’t agree with you, you feel like I don’t believe in you. 

She becomes aware of Katie and Johnny, entering the room in a bustle only to fall silent, their eyes wide and curious. They lock glances for a moment, but Catherine quickly looks away. Katie and Johnny keep staring.

                                       Catherine                 Nothing I do seems enough for you.

There’s a brief moment of clarity, but before she can fully process what it all means, Olivia has to offer her assessment. “She’s both his conscience and his foil. And that duality’s... striking.” she swallowed, turning the page, “what do you think?” 

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PAX BALDINI.

Oh, and now she was trying to pull a comedy act. How much infuriating could she get? “I’m not the justice system that offers different penalties. Evil is evil, no matter the level and I haven’t seen you do anything to make it up for what you did.” Could he bury the hatchet as she said? Yes. He himself had done some pretty fucked up things, the most horrible letting Lucy carry the weight and responsibility of their kid, and she somehow forgave him for the sake of Mia. Yet, he was still making up to his mistakes until this day, if her or her family were still angry at him was something he would understand. Was he going not to be an hypocrite? Absolutely not, it was in his nature. Breaking an engagement off and leaving your fiance was less awful than dumping your pregnant girlfriend, yet, Pax wasn’t going to let it go that easily. “Well, as far as I know Gio hadn’t heard from you in all this time, and you pretend I forgive you for breaking his heart without even an apology? Anything at all?” He raised a brow looking at her; he expected an explanation that it wouldn’t involve her trying to sound nice and sympathetic, nor being funny about it. Another deep sigh and a shrug of his shoulders at her last comment. There was no way she could know Gio was coming, the older man hated to admit it. “I couldn’t care less about you being here or not, but I hope you don’t ruin my brother’s evening. I’d be really piss off if I find out you did, so stay away from him.”

“Dante Alighieri would beg to differ,” Olivia rolled her shoulders at that, the sting of his comment doing awful things to her chest, but making no move to place that hurt on full display. Even in the more blissful moments of her relationship with Gio, she’d always been intimidated by his older brother, so afraid of how he might react if she even so much stumbled a step—and stumble she did, only she’d fallen off the entire fucking staircase and made no move to explain herself afterward. She’d done them both a great disservice in leaving without so much as a half-baked explanation, and Olivia wouldn’t be surprised if that had caused a permanent rift in their relationship, broken as it already was. What a fitting decade-ender, she noted morosely. “Hasn’t he said...” anything? She didn’t know whether to feel upset or grateful that Pax hadn’t been privy to their confrontation just days ago, in that green-and-red-clad conference room, with decorations that weren’t merry so much as they were mocking. She’d had made herself vulnerable just days earlier, to her younger brother, and it did nothing. Judging from how little Pax knew of it, then maybe her efforts at reconciliation hadn’t been worth much at all. But Olivia knew better than to place the blame on Gio; she could’ve approached him anytime, and she deliberately stayed away. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Just thought maybe we could... start digging or something,” she said, the tone of her voice slightly betraying her desire for a second chance. Olivia’s forehead lined with worry; she didn’t like feeling vulnerable, and less so to a man who’d held so much influence over her. “I won’t. I’m not that big of a dick, Pax—you give me so little credit. I still care about him, why do you find that so hard to believe?” she remarked, already regretting the words as soon as they’d left her lips. 

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LARA SAWYER.

“Too bad,” she remarked simply and a charming smile took its rightful place upon Lara’s lips as she tilted her head to the side. “It would’ve been wonderful if you’d hunted me down, ah. You know I’m into grand, crazy romantic gestures and all.“ She told Olivia, a hint of amusement lacing her voice. Not everyone would see it as such surely, since hunting the object of your desire down was generally understood as stalking but Lara remembered the one rule; the other person didn’t find it creepy if they reciprocated feelings? As Lara had months ago, and while it was true they had lost on intensity, the blonde actress was still dealing with whatever remained if them. “I’ve always thought, though…” she looked off into the distance for a moment, almost getting lost in the endearing thought. “Your romantic gesture would be a video collage or a short movie made for your special someone,” she said, as if she hadn’t spent a large portion of 2018 fantasizing about it. Blue eyes darted back to the other blonde and at first, she blinked at the apology. “I appreciate you coming over, Olivia.” Although Lara didn’t quite know what to do with the apology so automatically, she half turned to the bar and swirled a single green olive around in her drink. “Had I known a simple orchid would be enough for you to come to me, I would’ve sent one sooner, honestly. Dozens of them, if necessary.” Boldly, her gaze met Liv’s. “I want to say yes, you have but you didn’t really owe me anything. You were… Honest.” Lara put on a reassuring smile. “You’re not the first, certainly not the last.” to have a similar reaction to Lara’s confession of love. “Wait– did Lars make you do this? Made you apologize?”

“‘Into grand, crazy romantic gestures...” Olivia paused, flashing her with a teasing smile of her own before she continued, “alright, I’m keeping that in mind, for future reference.” Talking with Lara should always like this: easy and free-wheeling, with a generous but healthy dose of flirtation between the lines. She’d cherished that dynamic while they were on set, in Spain no less. Olivia had chalked up her attraction (and if she were honest, her own) to the setting more than anything else; being in a country famous for being a cradle of romance would do that to anyone, had practically demanded it. Still, she shouldn’t try to scrutinize how those feelings came to be—not while it had been so long ago and must’ve since passed, not while Olivia herself was trying to apologize for her very inactions afterward. At Lara’s remark, she couldn’t resist letting a warm laugh. “A short film? That can be arranged,” she replied absently, her voice faltering as the woman grew more quiet, more contemplative, as if deliberating on the sincerity of her apology. “Ah, well... you know me. Quality over quantity, and um...” she swallowed when she’d turned her gaze to her, the bright blue of her eyes unapologetically piercing so late into the night, “Lars couldn’t make do anything even if he had me duct-taped and tied to a chair and I’m forced to watch The Jerry Springer Show reruns.” A uniquely Olivia way to say ‘no’—sandwich her earnestness between ill-placed humor, and hope the other would immediately catch on. “But no, he didn’t. Came here on my own just to say... um, sorry for everything, and... er, I guess I thought you deserved better.” Ay, there’s the rub. “And that’s definitely not me.” 

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JOHANNA BANKS.

Johanna Banks has always been a curious person. It’s one of her biggest flaws as it is one of her biggest blessings and there is no way on denying any of it. There’s also no way of denying the sets the DJ had been playing the past couple hours had been so bland the music producer had seen people drifting off and people who had lowkey celebrated when the power on the boat went off. So, she took the power failure as a signal and decidedly kneeled down and started to crawl towards the DJ’s station where he, in a rush of panic, had left his equiptment unsupervised, including his computer with the setlist that had put everyone to sleep.

Decesively, the brunette took the computer on her hand and started messing with the set, changing and tweaking some songs to make it decent enough for the party to not feel tedious but not enough to make it seem suspicious by the DJ whenever he decided to come back. Johanna was so concentrated with the task at hand, she didn’t even realize of the presence behind her until her back collided with another body, making her gasp and turn around, laptop still in hand only to find a face in the darkness. A face she was, for once, happy to see. “Olivia” she murmured, nervously chewing ono her lower lip before looking down at the computer on her hands. “I suppose there’s no way I can convince you there’s nothing unusual about this, is there? I uh… I can offer you a drink? There’s a champagne bottle somewhere on my table that it’s not nearly half-finished.”

( @olivia-heller )

Perfect. Olivia felt only a sliver of panic when the power went off, less concerned with the threat of people accidentally overturning against the rails in mass hysteria than she was with figuring out how to find the waitress hovering around the deck to acquire yet another cocktail. They really should've charged for the drinks, she noted bemusedly, because she’d had more than her fair share for the night — enough so that the dark barely perturbed her, especially not when the moon was out, and the New York City skyline remained undisturbed. 

She leaned against the rail nearest the DJ station, humming to herself as everyone erupted into panicked chatter. To her surprise, she found a familiar sight tweaking about the computer; decidedly not the same person who’d blared Ne-Yo for three songs straight and unwisely sandwiched the iconic 2010 World Cup song between Twenty One Pilots. Her ears were untrained to the musical craft, but even she realized how terrible the setlist had been. Even in relative darkness, she recognized the woman. Before Olivia could even think twice, she marched up towards her and let out a warm laugh once she’d caught her red-handed. “Look, I can’t blame you. You’re probably single-handedly saving the night, just by doing…” she gestured towards the computer, “…whatever magic this is. So don’t mind me at all.”  She cast a cursory glance around the deck; as far as Olivia could tell, she’d been the only one to see Jo’s devious, but good-intentioned, antics. “Well, you’ve just made me an offer I can’t refuse,” she remarked, her cheeks blushing slightly, “are you nearly finished, or do you need me to keep watch?” 

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GIO BALDINI.

God, she was just everywhere, wasn’t she? Wherever he went that had anything remotely to do with the movie he was making, she found a way to make an entrance. He stopped moving his hand when he sensed hers moving closer, instinctively letting her near but just as he realized that he shouldn’t trust his instincts around her, she seemed to stumble upon that same thought as her fingers froze, doomed to keep distance from him.

“Hernandez.” The name came out in annoyance, partly at the stain on his shirt that didn’t look like it was going anywhere anytime soon, and Olivia’s presence. His eyes scanned the crowd to see if the producer was still there, but also as a way to avert his gaze from the woman whose current stature should be far from threatening compared to the six feet that he stood. “I just- I… I have to talk to him. About the budget, and how- and… we can’t, we just can’t work with what we have right now, I told them we have to shoot by sequence and TJ told me the budget won’t make it work, and…” He swallowed. “It was TJ’s idea, alright? I didn’t even wanna come here now I can’t get off this stupid fucking boat and now you’re-” Eyes flitted towards her, and he knew he had to stop talking before he could make this blow up again. “It’s just dumb, forget it, alright? I gotta go clean this up.”

“Sam Hernan—oh.” Olivia’s eyes lit up in recognition of the name, instinctively following his eyes to find the man in mention. Sure enough, there the producer was, but her gaze flitted back to Gio, who appeared more distressed with every passing moment. Olivia listened to him intently, the lines in her head furrowing as he recalled his frustrations that evening. In the end, all her mind could conjure up is god, fucking TJ. Well-intentioned though he was, TJ could very well qualify as a bespectacled shithead whose lack of self-awareness was beginning to reach epic proportions. 

“Gio, wait.” And before she could stop herself, her hand is clutching at his sleeve to stop him from walking away. Her immediate response was to let go, but she was frozen in place, feeling her breath hitch at the minimal contact. “Wait.” She snapped out of it a second later, feeling her cheeks flush with a fierce red (and not from the wine, either), before going through the contents of her purse in search of a single object. “This could help,” she remarked sheepishly, offering him her barely-used Tide to-go pen, “I, er... keep it handy.” Being a Girl Scout had its perks, sometimes, but she couldn’t quite shake away the thought that she should’ve opened with it. 

“I’ll handle Sam, alright?” Olivia began as she kept her sights set on the man, who’d left the bustling crowd and moved across the deck, seemingly in search of the waitress hovering around with a trayful of wine glasses. Fortunately, the waitress was nearer her direction, and once he’d crossed his line of sight, she raised her hand and waved enthusiastically. She and Sam had run into each other in various social functions in the past, and it didn’t take long for him to recognize the petite blonde, returning her gesture with his very own. 

Olivia felt as if she were overstepping her boundaries, but her apology could wait. She could very well justify this as her ‘doing her job’, after all, even as her concerns were far more personal than it looked. As the man began to walk across them, a pair of wine glasses in tow, Olivia leaned in slightly and dropped her voice into an almost-whisper. “I’ll talk to him, try to work some Heller magic,” she remarked, hoping he didn’t detect the slight hesitation in her tone, “Sam here... we go way back. Come back when you’ve got your shirt sorted out, okay? And I’ll do what I can to help.” 

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ALEXANDER WARREN.

If he hadn’t known better and hadn’t been sure whatever he had been drinking through the night had been alcohol and drug-free, Alexander would’ve sworn he had been seeing ghost from his past throughout the night. He could’ve sworn he’d seen two of the people that meant more to him at some point in his life; people he expected to have on his life for the long run and now where strangers, names on his memory with blurry faces. The agent took time then to close his eyes and try to concentrate on anything else than the memories that had resurfaced after bumping into Serena at the hospital weeks prior. However a fairly-known voice caught his attention, making him open his eyes and blink rapidly a couple times, trying to focus his gaze on the set of features his brain had been trying to remember. “For a minute there I thought I was dead on hallucinating, guess it was you. Can’t get those snarky remarks anyone else” the blue-eyed male mused teasingly, a light chuckle escaping his lips. “Just my roommate, I’m acting as a babysitter, pretending to be the one getting babysat. What about you, Liv? You… came by yourself?” the agent questioned, looking around for a brief minute, not quite sure what he was trying to find. 

Olivia chuckled at his bemusement because, clearly, she had not been what he was expecting. Quite frankly, the same sentiment could be mirrored back to him. “Ah, well... can’t I say I can’t blame you. People have called their ‘dream girl’ four times this evening,” Olivia teased with the same playful humor, “I’ll save you the trouble of multiple rejections through the night and say it’s not a convincing pick-up line.” Her words were said in jest, her knack for snarky remarks made evident, proving his hypothesis valid for the second time that night. For a brief moment, she’d expected tension and a generous amount of awkwardness, as what usually transpired when old friends met for the first time in ages. Yet she was pleased to find that it felt like no time had passed at all between them, the distance fading with each passing second. “A roommate? Any chances this said roommate is single and ready to mingle or whatever?” She waggled her eyebrows, before responding to his next question, “...guess it goes without saying that I came alone, huh? The current state of affairs in Olivia Heller’s department is, hmm, how do you put this nicely... well and truly fucked.” She remarked with a lopsided, if a little taciturn, smile. “Did you by any chance have better luck than me this year, or are we set to wallow for the evening?” Her deep concern for her old friend was buried beneath the words, and Olivia could only hope that he still remembered her well enough to hear it.  

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ROSALINE WINDSOR.

Rosaline was currently having the time of their life. They had very obviously opted out of wearing any kind of tiara cause one: who cares when they are so far back in line of the throne and two: it was going to throw off their groove. Looking at them one would think they were quite intoxicated when it was quite the opposite. They hadn’t had a drink since they got here. As of it, no one had to join them specifically which wasn’t a surprise as they did tend to be quite exuberant. That was until they were tapped on the shoulder, causing them to spin around. “Oh! Yes! I’m Rose.” They waved then, smiling widely.

Olivia was quite surprised at the amount of enthusiasm the other person currently had, but that didn’t deter her pace at all. In fact, Olivia found it quite endearing how someone could be so earnestly energetic in times like these. In contrast, without liquid courage, Olivia would’ve ditched the dancefloor then and there. “Rose, that’s such an elegant name,” she complimented, squinting her eyes slightly as she tried to place where exactly she’d seen them. At this point in her drunkenness, she wasn’t quite sure, but opted not to scrutinize it further. Hearing the first few seconds of the next song, she couldn’t help but let out a squeal of glee. “Oh! Everyone and their mom knows the choreo to this one,” she said, putting her hands together to replicate the choreography, “what better way the 2010s than a throwback to the most recognizable beat this decade, huh?” 

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FELICITY ARQUETTE.

Felicity loved the triplets. She really did yet she was glad that they had fallen asleep so early. Less for the party and more for the fact that dealing with grumpy, tired seven year olds wasn’t gonna be fun for anyone. It was easier to spend New Years Day doing something fun. What they were going to do, she hadn’t figured out yet. That was a problem for the morning though.  However, the thought was on her mind when a familiar voice broke through. “Olivia!” Smile bright, she closed the distance between them. “i will make you a deal, if they do, I’ll get up and still the mike. Promise,” she replied, laughing. “You don’t even realise how much they have music wise until nights like this do you?

“Please, please do it. If not for the sake of this party, then for my sanity,” joked Olivia, but really, there was a grain of truth (and a hint of desperation) to it. She had underestimated the number of decade-ender throwback songs enlisted by the DJ, who, she noted bemusedly, was clearly not averse to contemporary R&B. It was just a damn shame it had been sandwiched between The Chainsmokers songs that she was ashamed to actually recognize. “That, or maybe my time working for the New Yorker’s culture desk has finally taught me to be a snob,” she giggled, before continuing in jest, “pray tell, who are you again? I’m afraid the only shows I go to are five-hour Russian operas.”  

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VIOLET BANKS.

Violet remembered why she would avoid such public events. it was only one of many times that people had started gathering around and while yes, she was incredibly grateful to these people cause she wouldn’t be anywhere without them, but it didn’t mean that this was okay. She was choosing to ignore it, when a voice she didn’t recognised arked up and sent the others running. Huh. It was nice that someone had that effort. Her attention turned to the blonde and a grimace appeared on her lips. “Not really. Some think they have a right.” She shrugged and finished off her whiskey. “Thank you, by the way.” People like the ones that had just left were part of the reason she had hidden herself away for so long.The last thing she wanted these days was to be harrassed by over eager fans who didn’t understand simple rules of respect. It ruined it for those who did, and for those who gave her support from afar.

“It’s not a problem, honestly,” Olivia waved off the woman’s gratitude though her eyes remained gazed on hers, achingly tender, hoping to extend her sympathies in a less aggressive fashion. On any other day, she would’ve relished at the thought of meeting the woman, a proper celebrity if there ever was one, whom everyone and their mother would’ve wanted to meet. But Violet Banks was still human and everything that entails, after all, and after recent events, she had certainly deserved the same measure of privacy, if not more. “Has that happened to you tonight? I mean, apart from this incident..” she swallowed. Olivia’s concern usually came off earnest, if a little heavyhanded, to her closest friends. But she knew it could very well be translated to nosiness if she wasn’t too careful with her words. “...I don’t mean to pry, of course,” she reassured, “but you could sit with me for the next half-hour or so if you’d like. I’ve been told I have the ‘bitchy sorority girl’ persona down pat if you still wanna scare 'em off.” 

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YOLO CORCEGA.

Yolotl’s slim fingers held her flute of champagne closely as her eyes scanned the buffet bar in front of her, analyzing her options between getting a plate or simply get another drink. Then, a voice called for her attention, calling her name and making her turn to face the source; a bright smile placed on her features at the sight of a familiar and gentle face. The news about the playwriter making her blink twice, approaching he blonde as she tried to get a better look of the man, the glasses barely hanging on to the man’s nose, looking briefly before giving him her back to try and look less obvious, grinning at Olivia whilst arching up a brow, “Angels In America is your favorite play ever? In the Kramer vs Kushner debacle, you are team Kushner? Not like it’s a real debacle but you know what I mean” the businesswoman murmured, chewing her inner cheek. “Let’s introduce ourselves. What’s the worst that could happen? Hell, we can play a game and pretend The Art of Maurice Sendak wasn’t in my nightstand for years.”

Olivia chuckled, glad to know that there had someone who shared the same enthusiasm as she had. It was not typical for people to recognize the dramatist, let alone muster up the courage to greet them. As such, Olivia was pleased that her friend was not just understanding of the situation, but was eager to do both such things. “Team Kushner, but you know... Kramer gets a bad rap. Don’t think there’s anything wrong with being passionate over things—God knows we’re sorely lacking from that these days,” she remarked with a lopsided, yet still tender bright, smile. “The worst that could happen is that he says ‘fuck off’ to the both of us.” Olivia laughed, gesturing towards the waiter who was currently delivering wineglasses to the tables and raising two fingers. “Best case scenario, he actually pays us even a minute of his attention. It would make for a good story either way, wouldn’t it?” As soon as the glasses had been delivered to her, Olivia offered the other wineglass for her newfound companion to take. “What do you say⁠—a little bit of liquid courage?” 

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LARA SAWYER.

“Mickey Mouse’s voice?” Lara repeated after the bartender, a burst of laughter following. Ah, the magic of New Year’s Eve. So many expectations, regrets and embarrassing stories hung in the air, one trip to the bar could easily turn into the obligatory drunken heart-to-heart. “You’re nasty, Joe” she spoke openly, scrunching her nose up in half disgust. ”But listen, there’s your New Year’s resolution, stop doing an impression of a cartoon character when having sex.” It was all in good fun and Lara even wrapped her fingers around the drink her current companion had presented her with, raising it to his health. “You can name this concoction of yours Mickey Mouse, though.” An amicable advice was a great way to end the philosophical drunken discussion, just as the blonde on the other side of the bar Lara had been following out of the corner of her eye decided to approach her. “Hey,” she greeted back and boldly turned to take a better look at her. It didn’t escape her attention this was the closest Olivia had physically been to her since Spain. Fancy seeing you here? “…Yeah, I don’t believe you, Liv.” The alcohol she’d consumed prompted her to be bolder in her words as well. “I assume you want to tell me you talked to Lars. –I did too, he called me the other say to let me know how happy he was with the interview. He said we made a great team,” she took another sip of her drink.

Alcohol was called liquid courage for a reason; it weakened your inhibitions, kept your tongue loose. But Olivia’s at that point of her drunkenness where everything seemed charged. The alcohol tightened, rather than lowered, her defenses, but still she felt strangely vulnerable. And for someone who, for all intents and purposes, usually ‘had it together’—it was a frightening change of pace. “You have believe me. It isn't like I called your secretary, then jotted down your schedule, and proceeded to hunt you down,” Olivia deflected with a lopsided smile, trying to inject some humor into the conversation but failing desperately at it. In retrospect, she’d not been the best at matters of the heart. Talking openly, especially about an issue that was ultimately her own fault, was the last thing Olivia had in mind at a New Year’s Eve party, but there was virtually no escape route this time. Besides, she didn't want to carry her guilt throughout the next year—or worse yet, the next decade. “Actually, I came over to tell you I’m sorry,” she swallowed, “I haven’t been… the most responsive friend, to say the least. I thought we could just gloss over the incident, and my resulting radio silence, in that sorta ghost-y, ‘no-questions-asked’ sorta way, but then you give me a Christmas gift and I feel like the most ungrateful bitch in the world.” The weather for the night had brought about harsh gales, making her curls perennially windswept for the evening, and yet the air still felt rather thick. Her lungs seemed to have forgotten their one job too, because, at that moment, Olivia didn’t quite know how to breathe. “I’ve… I’ve been sort of a dick, haven’t I?” She said, finally, as her lips curled into a worried frown. 

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SERENA HALE.

It took a little convincing to pry Serena from the comfort of her bed as she’d spent most of the holidays under the blankets when she wasn’t working, but the thought of having a few drinks in good company and dressing up became rather appealing. What better way to ring in the new year? She deserved to have some fun after the exhausting year she’d had.

Many drinks in, the blonde found herself at the bar again waiting on another martini, she was in her own little world until she heard a familiar voice. One she hadn’t heard in a while… in person, at least. “Oh! Hi! Definitely. I certainly don’t miss that part of my youth.” She chuckled, turning to face the shorter woman. “Want another drink? I might be taking too much advantage of this open bar, but I mean… it is New Year.” 

At her response, Olivia could not help but chortle in a rather unladylike fashion, a reaction she hadn’t bothered to hide as Serena knew all her terrible mannerisms regardless. There was no use in exchanging courteous pleasantries from someone whom you’ve known almost half your life. “God, remember sophomore year? When we were all baby-faced and packed like a can of sardines in the streets of Manhattan, just waiting for the ball to drop?” She reminisced, jumping onto the barstool nearest her, observing the New York skyline in contemplation. It was rather difficult to believe she’d survived a year, let alone two decades, in that urban jungle; God knows how simultaneously tired and grateful she was of it. 

“No such thing as taking too much advantage of an open bar. Their loss, they could’ve easily charged us, y’know,” she giggled unabashedly, before adding in jest, “what have you been up to these days, Serena? One more month of radio silence and I’ll start to think you’re actually avoiding me.” 

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GIO BALDINI.

Just go over there and say ‘Hello, I’m Gio, and I’m the director of the film you’re producing’ was a lot easier said than done, and TJ should’ve known better than to just tell him to do it rather than show him how (or do it for him). Plus, brown nosing other people to get money off them (or, in this case, more money) was probably the last thing he should be doing. And so he’s been nursing a mocktail in his hand for the past thirty minutes or so, just staring at Sam Hernandez, p.g.a. from the edge of the boat like he’s trying to summon The Force to bring the man to him rather than summon the courage to approach him. 

Nope, this isn’t working. 

In an abrupt turn to try and find a more secluded area of the boat (the floor was getting dangerously crowded that he was afraid they would tip over at any given moment), he’d spilled the contents of his glass over his white button-up, staining his chest like a gunshot wound. And, considering who he’d run into, the gun metaphor probably wasn’t that far off. He swallowed thickly, his grip on the stem of the glass tightening enough for him to break it, before stepping back. He took in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut as if the idea of ruining his clothes physically pained him. “Fuck, no, this is no good, no, it’s not gonna work…” he mumbled to himself, starting to pat off the red that was starting to set. “Great job, Gio, fuck, just- fuck, shit, fuck, Sam can’t see me like this…fuck!” He wasn’t talking to her, he wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, just his brain doing the thing it did when things got too overwhelming for the confines of his head that they needed to be verbalized to make more room for emotions inside.

@olivia-heller​

Olivia had banished herself to the edge of the boat with the express purpose of drinking alone, fairly exhausted from her sporadic social encounters that evening. This part of the boat was far more quiet, the waves almost like white noise, in sharp contrast to the DJ’s blaring tunes and the party’s mindless chatter. She had taken to people-watching that night, her petite frame leaning against the rail and her wine glass dangling precariously on her right hand, and was about to ask for a refill when she came across a bewildering sight. Ah, shit. So much for heeding Pax’s warning and staying out of Gio’s business, and she can’t help but let out a breath in frustration. Here we go again. Their last meeting hadn’t gone particularly well, a textbook example of lukewarm reconciliation, and she remained uncertain about whether anything had actually changed between them.

Still, she was nothing if not stubborn (and if she were less generous with herself, foolish) and she could not help but reach out, even as his older brother’s voice rang clear in her head. “Don’t pat it, that’s only going to make it worse,” Olivia chided gently as she walked up to him, staring at his button-up unabashedly to survey the extent of the stain. Her free hand instinctively rose to his chest, which contained the brunt of the damage, only just managing to stop herself from actually touching him at the very last second. Her hands felt slippery suddenly, and she reminds herself to grip her wineglass lest its contents spill on her dress. Olivia listened to his litany of curse words, hoping to connect the dots as she scrutinized the words in her head. “Sam? Who’s Sam?” She asked pointedly, her lips creasing into a perturbed frown. Olivia lifted her gaze towards him—even in sky-high heels, she only manages to reach his shoulders—and eyed him with concern. “What do you need, Gio?”

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PAX BALDINI.

If there was anything missing to make his night a disaster was running into another unpleasant person ─God must have gotten it for him, since from all people, the next person he locked eyes with was no other than his brother’s ex. Fucking brilliant. The older man didn’t think she’d have the nerve to actually come up and talk to him, they would just pretend they didn’t see one another and be done with this shit, but once again she proved him wrong. “I bet you and Wolf of Wall Street have a lot in common, trash belongs with other trash. Why ruin such a perfect pair?” He snapped, not taking any of her fake amiable tone. If she thought that even after all this time he would forgive her from breaking Gio’s heart, she was out of her mind. Taking a deep breath, Pax tried to hold back his emotions, though there was no way he could have a decent conversation with Olivia. “You’re asking me for help? Even worse, you even remotely thought I could help you? You know there’s nothing I’d love more than seeing you suffer slowly.” Then, it occurred to him that he’d rather handle her presence than letting her go and she ended up running into Gio. “Why did you come? You being here is not good for my brother.”

It hadn’t even been a minute into the conversation, and already Olivia wanted to bury herself six feet into the ground in shame. She hardly expected Pax to act amicable—she certainly didn’t deserve anything more than that—but her stomach twisted into knots at his hostile response nevertheless. “You’d put me in the same spectrum of evil as rich people stealing off the poor? At worst, I thought I’d be at the same level of evil as someone who keys cars for no reason.” Olivia deflected, her humor awkward and ill-placed, not quite trusting herself to speak genuinely lest her confidence falter. But her self-assuredness faltered nevertheless at his next response, spoken with so much vitriol that had astonished even her, who dealt with confrontations on a far-more-than-regular basis. Fortunately, she’d managed to hide her jolt at the very last second, but her expression grew steely then, not wanting to let the man see how much his response had hurt her. “Whatever happened to good, old-fashioned idiom—‘burying the hatchet’? I hear it gets fashionable around this time of year,” she remarked cheekily, trying to gain the upper hand but failing spectacularly. Yet Olivia couldn’t quite hide the surprise at the mention of Gio, and she has to take a step back to process the information. “I-I didn’t even know he was here,” she remarked, her lips producing an agonized frown, “contrary to what you may think, I didn’t come here with the express purpose of ruining the Baldinis’ respective evenings.”

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ALASTAIR BARRIS.

Alastair had found a friend in Olivia and he was so grateful that he had. She brought out the fun side of him; the side that loved to goof around and act like he was in his twenties rather than his fifties. 

They often spent their time having a drink and gossiping over attractive men wherever they were, and today was no exception… only… Alastair couldn’t stop staring at a guy he’d seen around more than once in the past few days. The Firefighter that had been at his apartment. He was so distracted, he hadn’t even heard what Olivia was saying until she was half way through her sentence. 

‘Huh? What?’ Alastair looked around, spotting Vinnie. He was cute; he’d do for a quick shag and then move on but… he couldn’t stop looking at the Firefighter. 

‘Sorry–’ Alastair finished his drink quickly. ‘That obvious?’ He wanted to cringe, hoping that the man didn’t notice him staring too. ‘I dunno who he is… I’ve seen him around a few times. I know he’s a Fireman. Looks good in a uniform.’

“Don’t ‘huh, what’ me,” Olivia rebuffed, lightly smacking his arm, but her lopsided smile indicated that she had not been offended as much as she had been genuinely curious as to what was keeping her friend distracted. 

As she followed his gaze and finally saw the man who’d kept Alastair’s attention, she couldn’t help but let out a delighted chuckle. “Oh, wow,” she remarked, signaling her approval with a two thumbs up. He was certainly attractive, and far more appealing than Vinnie, indeed. “Guess I’ll be keeping Vinnie for myself tonight.” She added, obviously amused, waggling her eyebrows at the man in mention before turning back to Alastair. 

“A fireman... well, that’s a job that certainly keeps you fit. Wait, how the hell have you seen him a few times?” Olivia tilted her head curiously, her eyes squinting with mock suspicion, “you haven’t committed arson just to see this guy around, have you?” And if he had, well—she could understand why.