They're gonna clean up your looks, with all the lies in the books, to make a citizen out of you...

[ghostboy]

 The suit feels like it was made of dollar bills. Like, literally: Danny tugged the collar back to check more than once, so he knows that it doesn't look like it, but any time he pinches the cloth between his fingers he confirms it: it cost a fortune. With any luck there'll be some Extremely Unfortunate Accident with it, soon: he doesn't want to ever have to suffer through this again.

 

"Don't forget to behave yourself, Daniel," Vlad murmurs, and Danny wonders if he still has that smug, fatherly smile stamped all over his face. Vlad's behind him as they walk in, or he'd glance over to look. 

 

They're in the last entry room before the banquet hall. A hand on Danny's shoulder slows him, and Vlad turns him around to pretend to fuss with his tie.

 

"I mean it," he murmurs, close enough that only Danny can hear. "What did I say about gallivanting around where you're not wanted?"

 

"You have a Plasmius Maximus, and you're not afraid to use it?" Danny muttered back nervously. He would've drawled it, but he's spent days at the mercy of the older man's whims, and it's no longer funny to joke about losing his powers this way.

 

From the glitter in Vlad's eye, he knows it, and relishes what he sees as a job well done. His mouth twitches. "Close enough." The tie gets one last tug, and Vlad straightens. 

 

Danny turns, and hands settle on his shoulders before he's more than a step away.

 

"Remember, for tonight you're my visiting nephew, fostered into my generous care until your parents can take you back responsibly."

 

Danny's quip is out before he thinks about it. "If you're my uncle, then does that mean you're my mom's brother? Because wow, Vlad, I didn't know you were that much of a fruitloop." There's no one near enough to hear or see Danny's shit-eating smirk or the ugly look Vlad sends him. Danny hurries on ahead, still grinning and eager for the safety that crowds might bring against Vlad's wrath.

 

Danny reaches the ballroom doors first, Vlad close behind, and when a camera goes off somewhere, both of them have pasted on angelic and innocent smiles respectively. This is the act they've been preparing for. Then they're through.

 

"Ah, Woolsworth!" Vlad cries almost immediately. Again a hand comes down on Danny's shoulder, but this time Danny twists away before he can be trapped into a boring old conversation where he'll have to pretend to actually like his 'Uncle Vlad'. Please. He's much more interested in where the food tables are, and now he's threading through the crowd with purpose.

Comments

[redgoldgreen]

As it happens, Tony's over by the food tables. He's been in meetings all day and sort of skipped lunch, so he's trying to graze on the nibbles. He's occasionally foiled by people wanting to talk to him, either for business or because they want to be Seen Talking To Tony Stark. On rare occasions, he meets somebody at one of these things that he actually likes, but it hasn't happened yet.

Amid all the adults, the penguin suits and the elegant dresses, the kid draws his attention almost immediately. For some reason - he's not sure why, except maybe he'd had that look on his own face when he was the kid's age - he shuffles over to open up a spot by the busy buffet and signals for the kid to take it before some other hungry guest wanders by.

[ghostboy]

Danny takes one look at the opening and changes direction. He disappears a few times when taller, older guests block the view with their girth, but finally he makes it to his goal, filling the space just before a young woman with a hungry stare can do it for him. Her glare transfers to the kid immediately, and he tugs his collar, not glancing back.

"Thanks a lot, sir, you're a real lifesaver." The grin is fleeting, but sincerely meant; this moment is also the first proper look he's given the man, and Danny's attention lingers for a split second longer than a simple glance would allow. Still, there's no look of knowing, no sputtering, and not even a little bit of intimidation--he simply looks back down at the table, taking in the spread.

It's a crossroads between exotic and ostentatiously expensive. He frowns, looks left, then right.

"... Hey, um."

The kid's blue, guileless eyes swing back to Tony, and he points. "Can you hand me a plate? And, uh. Maybe one or two of those little normal-looking sandwiches over there, please?"

The platter in question is well out of reach, and it's nearly untouched.