#partyinpenthouse2

[nightvalelibrary]

They had argued for days over this. 

Someone had to go to the party to represent the Night Vale Public Library and someone had to stay to make sure the library stayed safe. 

“Eidy...” Eve sighed. “It’ll be good for you to go out. Everything will be fine there!” Eve reassured. 

“It is that smug billionaire’s party. You have more patience for difficult people than I.” Eidyia countered. 

“You probably won’t even see him.” She replied. “I heard there was going to be a pool! Don’t you want the chance to show the town that you’re the beautiful goddess of the library and not some monster.”

Eidyia pulled a face. “...Fine, I will go. But only because the last party you went to was such a disaster.”

--

Eidyia arrived, looking less than pleased. She wore a long green dress, hair pinned back and tamed. She wanted to look sophisticated after all. Already the loud music and crowd was putting her in a foul mood. 

She scanned the crowed, wondering if anyone would recognize her. No, she thought. People generally avoided the library after all. Even if they had met her, they were probably too terrified to notice. 

[marcusgoddamnvansten]

[Don’t forget to check out the #partyinpenthouse2 tag to see who’s at the party so you can get mingling! Throw some open starters in there and have fun!]

[eruditexperimenter-blog]

Carlos looked around, dazzled by the opulent glamour that was the penthouse of Night Vale’s most prominent citizen.  The tall, winged guards, the lights, the colors, the music...it made him feel dizzy; almost drunk.  It felt as if everyone in Night Vale had descended upon the rooftop.  There was a part of him that was happy to be surrounded by all of these people who he had missed in his year away from home, but his senses were assailed on every side, and the scientist found himself retreating from the throng to a slightly less busy part of the soiree to gather himself.

It had been so long.  There was so much to catch up on and, scientifically speaking, this seemed a wonderful place to get qualitative data concerning Night Vale’s recent history as well as a wonderful opportunity to further re-integrate into the little town’s populous.

He hadn’t expected things to be quite this extravagant, but found himself grinning ruefully at his mistaken hypothesis.

If anyone knew how to throw a party and pull out all the stops, it was going to be Marcus Vansten.

[night-vale-weatherman]

The Weatherman showed up at the Quartet’s house wearing a gray suit and a fedora with a large purple feather tucked into the hatband. Under his arm, he had a bag with swimming trunks and his Night Vale Citizenship card in case security decided to question him. Tentatively, he knocked on the door.

( unnaturalharmonics )

[aureliusv-blog]

... So I heard there’s a party at a billionaire’s house this weekend? Anyone else goin’?

[marcusgoddamnvansten]

Marcus, honey, in ground hot tubs at a party. Really?

“They’re all fourteen-seaters. Do you think I should have installed a couple more? I don’t want anybody to feel left out of hot tub time,” Marcus hummed, rubbing his chin and observing from the tower window; he didn’t bother trying to actually look at the flicker in the corner of his eye.

[marcusgoddamnvansten]

Party in Penthouse 2

There’s a party on the rooftop, top of the world.

Marcus Vansten, Night Vale’s 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 they’ve 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; they’re 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; there’s 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 d’oeuvres 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.

It’s going to be one hell of a night. Where’s the host?

[marcusgoddamnvansten]

"How does securing a place work?" the girl blinked, cocking her head to the side. ~artxsticerika

“Essentially we’re going to have a fair number of you walking the perimeter,” Jake explained, tracing the border of the building with his fingertip on a digital map brought up on a small tablet. “The Sheriff’s Secret Police have offered to lend us some monitoring equipment, so there will be more cameras than the usual 122, and a few mics. You’ll all be wired to hear them and each other.”

[marcusgoddamnvansten]

// is there a one muse per person limit on the party?

[Nope. Send as many of your muses as you want! It’s gonna be BIG!]

[marcusgoddamnvansten]

What would be the consequences if someone were to... Slip into the party uninvited?

If Angels were real, and working security detail at an elaborate pool party, I’m sure they would have a detailed and graphic description of what would happen to that person.

-J.A.

[marcusgoddamnvansten]

Not even the biomachines?

Did I stutter?

- J.A.

[marcusgoddamnvansten]

What about possible (out of fandom) affiliates?

As I said--if they’re from out of town and not from Desert Bluffs, bring a spare towel. There are six hot tubs.

-J.A.

[marcusgoddamnvansten]

Is the "has to be a citizen of nightvale" rule completely inflexible?

My nonexistent employer would like to clarify that the only hard and fast rule of invitation is that Desert Bluffs can, quote, “eat sand or whatever”. I assume this means that yes, Night Valians are the primary invitees, but anyone from Desert Bluffs, and presumably StrexCorp by extension, will have to watch the pool party from the other side of the metaphorical fence, or be swarmed by angry security guards who are all called Erika. 

On a personal note, I’m not sorry. I lost a perfectly good human heart to those bastards.

I’m sure if you have a friend from Pine Cliffs who happens to be visiting on the weekend, or some other not-awful place, that they would be welcome.

-J.A.

[night-vale-weatherman]

“A man with a voice tasting of red velvet cake came to the station to speak with Cecil today. Said something about a penthouse party that everyone in Night Vale’s invited to, so I think I’ll be going. Finally, a chance to wear that nice hat I found in a treasure chest a while back!”

[marcusgoddamnvansten]

So about my party or whatever

Uh, I’m not gonna have a lot of time to talk about it, so mostly it’ll be Jake you’ll get on the line here. But I wanna mention that I’m taking a list of music requests for the DJ, so. Send my PA your suggestions, right here in my inbox.

[marcusgoddamnvansten]

[Event: Party with a Billionaire!]

Cecil: Welcome back, listeners. Now, ordinarily, I would wrap up the broadcast with a few carefully chosen, succinct, but meaningful words--however, during the weather, our station received a visit from a familiar stranger who, without any hesitation whatsoever, put a briefcase full of money on the front desk and demanded to purchase air time at the end of the broadcast. 

After some howling and peculiar scraping noises, Station Management approved the purchase, and, from what I hear, the money will be going toward general repairs, as well as the purchase of a brand new water cooler for the intern break room. Congratulations, interns! It’s too bad Intern Clay will not be with us to enjoy it, following his accident on the roof. To the family of... oh, it will have to wait. This is bought time, after all!

I have with me in the studio our honoured guest, Jake Ahn--who, as you may recall, was under the employ of a local celebrity before said person tragically didn’t become an angel and it became illegal to speak of him. Welcome to the studio, Mr. Ahn!

Jake: Thank you, Cecil. You look great, as long as we pretend it’s still 1969.

Cecil: Haha. Well, I’m glad to see we both enjoy pretending that time is linear and makes sense. What brings you in to speak to our listeners tonight?

[Read on for event details -->]

Jake: I’m going to make this quick--time isn’t literally money, so I have much less of the former than the latter. My employer who does not exist, strictly speaking, has asked me to announce to the general public that he will be throwing a House Party in one of his estates--legally under my ownership--in Penthouse Two, which you will remember is the one built on the rooftop of one of the old abandoned StrexCorp structures which he has re-purposed into an art gallery showcasing his extravagant collection of ceramic cats and leopard-print upholstery.

This is an open invitation to every single resident of the Night Vale community to join us on Saturday evening this week. There will be an open bar, an open pool, open sauna, open tennis court, open buffet, and an open sense of temporarily feeling like you’re as rich as a man worth five billion dollars, which I’m certain is fleeting to most of you. Obviously, my hypothetical employer is a very generous man, and is not just throwing this party to, quote, “repent or whatever”, for a lifetime of subjectively sordid business practice.

Cecil: That sounds great! And everyone is invited?

Jake: Everyone. Even you, Cecil. But not Desert Bluffs, because they’re terrible.

Cecil: Just terrible.

Jake: There will be a full security detail present at the party, all of whom prefer to be called Erika. We generally advise that you ignore them and let them work while you enjoy the facilities.

Cecil: Fantastic! How do we RSVP?

Jake: My employer who isn’t real would like party attendees to use the hashtag #Partyinpenthouse2 to confirm that they’ll be coming. I’m going to rattle the fourth wall to inform your listeners that you may start #Partyinpenthouse2 threads starting Saturday, June 20th, and extending until the end of the month. You’re encouraged to browse the tag and mingle with your fellow community members. You may contact me for information at Marcus’s inbox at marcusgoddamnvansten.

Cecil: That was a bit confusing, but I’m certain it was clear to someone. Thank you, Mr. Ahn, for your time tonight. And for your generous purchase!

Jake: You’re welcome. I have a lot of planning to do, so I’ll be going.

Cecil: And there he goes. ... Well, listeners, I’m excited! A real penthouse party! I don’t think I’ve ever been in a penthouse before--but the one on top of the old Strex Building--I had no idea it was an Art Gallery now--sure is beautiful. So much modern glasswork, and that painting of an attractive rich guy on the bottom of a crystal clear swimming pool the Secret Police talk about seeing from their helicopters sometimes. Ahh, the lifestyle of the wealthy. I can’t wait! I hope to see you all there!

Until then... Good night, Night Vale. Good night.