is it really a good party if no one dies?
Context: Nira’s experiences with parties are very different than the parties Teale throws and that, like most things, confuses her.
If it weren’t for Oleander’s delight anytime he and Nira got an invitation to one of Teale’s parties, and his subsequent concern of offending or upsetting Teale if they didn’t make an appearance, Nira wouldn’t intentionally go to any party, especially a party attended by mostly supernatural creatures. Even with everyone on the best behavior, it’s a situation that begs for chaos and disaster.
Aside from the events Teale hosts, Nira has been to very few parties. Where she grew up, parties were uncommon, and when they did happen, they weren’t considered a good time unless at least one gorgon ended up dead or severely maimed. She’d never attended a gorgon party as a guest, only as the hired entertainment, a gladiator who would either kill or get killed. In her case, she always ended up being the one killing.
After leaving Greece, the only parties she attended were on behalf of The Hidden One, usually to get information for him, and similar to the events of her youth, they resulted in her seriously maiming or killing someone.
No one has been maimed or killed at any of Teale’s parties, but with the guest list consisting of so many supernatural creatures known for violence against humans, Nira’s sure it’s only a matter of time. She glances around the room, tense and wary as she again makes note of where everyone is in Teale’s large, glamorous apartment, paying special attention to the vampires and vampire-like creatures, and the pale, wet-haired girl that tells stories of the men she’s drowned. Though she’s not personally threatened by any of them, they do pose a very real threat to Oleander, whether he recognizes that or not.
Nira turns her gaze to Oleander, who’s sitting next to her in a corner of the apartment on a pink suede loveseat. He’s watching the other guests with bright, curious eyes. Though he looks content, his expression neutral, Nira can tell he’s uncomfortable. She doesn’t know how to read anyone else, but she knows Oleander. He’s tapping his toe lightly against the floor, offbeat with the music that plays over a vintage record player, and he’s missing his usual smile as he observes the chatter of the other guests, unwilling to intrude on their conversations. His usual party buddy, Donna, with whom he socialized the most, had her attention seized some time ago by Anya, who dragged her into a conversation-turned-debate. The giantess is making polite attempts to escape, but in the meantime Oleander and Nira are left alone on the loveseat. Though Nira is far more out-of-place in this environment than Oleander is, she’s not uncomfortable. His comfort is more of a concern to her, and she has something she knows will put him at ease.
She reaches into the pocket of her joggers and says in a quiet voice, “Oleander, look.”
He turns his attention to her, his eyes clear and wide. When Nira looks down at what she’s pulled from her pocket, he follows her gaze, and then squeals with delight.
“Bucatini!” he says, a smile spreading across his face as he carefully takes a young ribbon snake from Nira’s hand. The snake begins to wind himself around Oleander’s fingers, and Oleander’s pure, childlike joy overwhelms Nira, hitting her with a surge of deep affection. Unable to help herself, she kisses his cheek.
With Oleander’s attention now absorbed by the snake that Nira had put in her pocket before they left the house, she looks back to the other guests, on alert. Bates, who had been talking with Orthanach, the leprechaun that Nira found confusingly endearing despite being loud and chaotic, crosses the room with a drink in his hand and plops down in one of the two armchairs across the coffee table from the loveseat.
Bates raises his eyebrows with muted interest when he catches sight of the snake slithering between Oleander’s fingers. He watches silently for a few seconds, then asks, “Where’d the snake come from?”
“My pocket,” Nira says.
The demon gives a small nod and tips his drink in response, then takes a sip.
“His name is Bucatini, like the noodle,” Oleander says, tilting his head to look at the snake’s face. “He’s a ribbon s-s-snake.”
“Nice to meet you, Bucatini,” Bates says.
Nira smiles. She likes Bates. He never talks too much, and he doesn’t ask her annoying questions and try to get to know her. And, most importantly, he’s kind to Oleander and listens to him with what seems to be legitimate interest. Maybe he’s just acting interested, but that doesn’t matter to Nira. He seems interested, and that’s enough.
“Wasn’t Langly over here with you guys?” Bates asks.
“Anya asked her to join a conversation,” Nira says.
“Oh,” he says, and turns in his chair to look for her. She’s with Anya and Wyatt Leslie, towering over both of them, yet managing to look so small as she nods politely. Bates sighs and throws back the rest of his drink. He puts the empty glass on the coffee table and says, “I should go rescue her.”
“Probably,” Nira says.
“Not—not because she needs rescuing,” he says. “She’s capable—”
“She needs rescuing,” Nira says flatly. “She is not capable of telling anyone she doesn’t give a fuck about what they have to say.”
“Nira!” Oleander says, briefly looking away from the snake. “That’s not nice to s-s-say to people.”
“Yeah, and that’s why Donna won’t say it,” she says. Oleander frowns a bit, but doesn’t argue, and returns his attention to Bucatini.
Bates looks at Nira for a second, his expression somewhere between bored and curious. He shrugs and says, “I guess.”
Nira watches as he gets up and approaches the giantess and her two opinionated friends. With an ease that Nira will never understand, he naturally slides into the conversation, nodding along and offering an occasional comment, before pulling both himself and Donna from the conversation. There’s no tension, no discomfort, just smooth conversation.
One of these days, the party will end in a fight, Nira thinks. That’s what happens at parties.
