#event. weissberg charity luncheon

[hairpintvrns]

EVENT STARTER FOR: @clementinebriar LOCATION: in a corner somewhere / weissberg charity luncheon

“Clementine.” 

Terry hummed her name, low and steady, as they sipped from their champagne flute. It had been easier to discount her presence in O’Shea, beneath the warm ceiling fixtures of O’Shea’s and the booths and high-top tables. But, here, she stood out, a vision in emerald and accented in gold, with a neckline far too plunging that it was hard to look away—though Terry did. They wouldn’t be so gauche. 

“I’m surprised you made it through the gates,” they commented, as they leaned further back against the wall, the exposed brickwork and the gaps in between almost resembling the tactile sensation of treebark, coarse and rugged and slightly bumpy. “You’re pushing it with the dress code, aren’t you?” An attempt to do an objective look-over, then, this time with a small grin tugging at the corners of their lips. “For what it’s worth, I’m a bit impressed.” They wouldn’t have worn anything so daring, even in their younger days, when their curves had been more shapely, features less aged, more delicate. These days, a dress layered over a crisp, button-down shirt will have to do. 

“So, what do you think? You know, I never much cared for these,” Terry said, pointing their champagne flute towards the event hall, of people moving en-masse, a cacophony of chatter and silverware. “My father hated country clubs. I did, too.” A stab at honesty, though they don’t know why they push on—“But I suppose, in the end, it became sort of an occupational hazard.”

[hairpintvrns]

Ah. Right. La Galleria. Of course, the host of that day’s luncheon would only seek out the best and—well—the most expensive eatery in town to cater the affair. He’s only a tad embarrassed not to recognize the owner, or that his name should escape his attention. Though, Deacon concedes, it’s not as if he’s needed to network all that much recently. “Oh? What’s the other restaurant?” A tilt of his head, curious. “Isn’t that a bit of a difficult position, though? Surely you can’t, ah, help but check out if the patrons favor pickings from the other restaurant over yours?” He says, tone playful, even as his line of inquiry rings just a bit unwise. No one has ever accused him of being too smart, though. “Me? Well, I’m, ah, part of the community,” he chuckles, “Thinking of volunteering, maybe. Have you ever thought of doing that? But I imagine the restaurant keeps you busy, huh?”

"Without a doubt." the man nodded his head in agreement, picking up his now refilled glass. "One of the sponsors. My restaurant is one of the two providing the lunch today. La Galleria" he man said, proudly. He had been making his way around and not only was everyone enjoying the food, but there was also enough. That could always be a concern in events like this where more people than expected could show. But his team was great and he had no doubt they were more than prepared. "How about you?"

[saulweissberg]

availability / @edwardsthalia setting / lakeside banquet hall, cantwell country club. timeline / sunday, september 29th, 2024 at 1:29 pm.

so far, so good. there had been a few hiccups here and there, but the first hour of the luncheon had been running smoothly. the food was to be served in half an hour, guests were still streaming steadily in, and saul had the distinct honor of making sure everyone was having a good time. he flitted through the burgeoning party, greeting familiar faces and complete strangers, when he was nearly struck dead by the next guest that he laid his eyes on. guests. thalia edwards and leon wozniak. the most familiar face of them all: his third ex-wife… on the arm of his… friend. boyfriend was too familiar of a term for his relationship with leon, but what else was he supposed to call the man that he had been sleeping with all summer? leon and thalia certainly looked familiar to each other, and if his heart didn’t ache just a little from seeing leon with another woman, or to see thalia with another man, it was the fact that they knew each other at all. and that saul didn’t know that they knew each other.

saul got distracted by other guests walking around the party, shaking hands or discussing the benefit’s goals for fundraising, which was a task aided by a nice cocktail. there were many on the menu at the banquet hall’s bar, but nothing would hit the spot better than a french 75. the first of many that morning, saul had been waiting in line to order when he saw thalia—alone—walking by. he exited the line without another thought and jogged a few steps to catch up with her. “hey, thalia!” saul called her name, raising a hand to place on her shoulder before he thought better of it. “how are you? are you enjoying the luncheon so far?” the pleasantries were hurried and flat, but thalia never appreciated delicacy anyway. “i saw you with leon.” best to get his curiosity out of the way. “i’m not being some shitty macho me-tarzan-you-jane kind of guy or anything, i just didn’t realize that you knew each other.”

[olivcrashford]

who: @damianesco

where: cantwell country club ; the weissberg law firm's charity luncheon

It's been about a month since his disagreement with Damian. It's been killing him but after running into his best friend's boyfriend he wasn't sure how to feel about anything. He walks into the country club, unsure what he is even doing at this luncheon. It felt better than sitting at home with this thoughts. He runs his hand down his white shirt, grazing the buttons of his blue button up as he glances around the room. It's when he spots him... lingering by the bar. He swallows and drops his hand, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans as he stares at his friend. He wonders if the boyfriend is responsible for the anxiety written all over his features. He narrows his gaze as he shifts to look for that so called boyfriend before making his way over to him. "Hey." He says in a soft voice. "What are you doing?"

[micahweissberg]

MICAH WEISSBERG ATTENDS THE WEISSBERG LAW FIRM CHARITY LUNCHEON. THE CANTWELL COUNTRY CLUB, SEPTEMBER 29, 2024.

two days after his return to blue harbor after spending over a month in new york city, micah attends the fundraising luncheon his father, saul weissberg, had organized benefiting the bright sparks organization. he arrives at the cantwell country club with his best friend, ravi, who is also visiting from new york. largely keeping to himself during the event, micah can mostly be found outdoors and on the fringes of the banquet hall towards the nearest exits.

[hairpintvrns]

Valentine’s glass was empty again. Their gaze drifted back and forth, searching for a waiter balancing a tray or two in their hand, only to find their immediate vicinity bereft of them. Pity. They held their gaze on the glass, mocking in its emptiness, furrowing their brow as if the force of their indignation might induce it to fill itself. 

No such luck. Still fucking empty. 

Valentine felt, more than saw, someone sliding up beside them. It took all the effort in the world to stifle their sight—for when would people realize that their silence was not an invitation for conversation? Their ears pricked slightly at the voice, undoubtedly feminine, prompting them to divert their attention from their glass and to the woman beside them.

Valentine didn’t know how to respond to the other’s remark without their words sounding a bit cutting. They supposed, in some way, that the value of a charity luncheon was commensurate with the sensuous appeal of the alcohol being served. But they’d been in several parties hosted by the brightest and richest where the quality of alcohol had been sorely lacking—only for Valentine to find that it was sourced from some rich cousin, a few times removed, who’d taken up winery as a hobby. “I suppose you’ve never been to a Weissberg function,” they commented, instead, “Saul’s so old money that his trust fund probably comes with a deed to some Connecticut ZIP code.” Now, that might not be true. Probably just a few multimillion-dollar estates in Bridgeport. 

The sudden sight of a waiter replenishing glasses nearby stirred them up in no small way. “Oh, God. I hope the alcohol isn’t too good that it’s already run out.” Though surely there would’ve been a contingency plan for that. Turning their attention back to the woman, they asked, “So, are you a resident?”

WHERE: charity luncheon. WHO: open! ( @bluestarters ) (0/5)

Normally— at least the last several years— the leg work was done for her. It’d been a long time since Opal had ventured into the sea on her own looking to score a big fish. With her partnership now dissolved, she was now realizing just how spoiled she’d been.

But she’d take freedom over easy any day.

Music swirled around her, people milling about and socializing, and she was doing her best to take stock of her situation, to watch and learn and find all the weak points she might infiltrate. Technically, the objective here wasn't to find a mark, it was to lay low, but it was hard not to fall back into old patterns.

But there was a delicate balance between watching and mingling, so she swirled the champagne around in her glass, sidling up to the closest person standing on their own. Easy prey.

"I feel like the alcohol served at these kinds of things tells you everything you need to know about the people that are running it. Cheap alcohol is usually a money grab. But this—" She held up her flute and took a delicate sip. "This makes me feel a little more confident that my money is actually going to a good cause. Although," she flashed a playful smirk, "that could just be the alcohol talking."

[annelouiseoosterhuis]

availability / @delicatedevils setting / lakeside banquet hall, cantwell country club. timeline / sunday, september 29th, 2024 at 2:30 pm.

would it shock anyone to know that anne-louise didn’t drink often? she wasn’t exactly someone that got invited to parties growing up, and she had been taught to fear alcohol and what can happen to drunk girls by her mothers and various lifetime movies. so, her tolerance was… zero. maybe a little alcohol would help soothe her nerves, but that sort of thinking felt like a slippery slope that would surely lead to alcoholism within weeks, maybe days! and then who knows what after that! perhaps what she feared most was liking it too much, to feel like life was better with a drink in hand than without it. that meant regulating her alcoholic intake to special occasions and dinners out with friends. despite working in a bar for fifteen years, she rarely touched the stuff herself, unless it was expected of her in a social setting. like a charity luncheon, for example. anne-louise approached the bar and gave the blond bartender a shy smile. “hi, could i please have a piña colada?” she leaned over to take a quick look behind the bar, “or… if you don’t have a blender back there, can i please just something really fruity that doesn’t taste like alcohol and comes with as many maraschino cherries you can spare?”

[isabelguzman]

who: @clementinebriar

where: cantwell country club ; the weissberg law firm's charity luncheon

Isabel spends the majority of the luncheon mingling, schmoozing as one would say. It was her specialty to always be one of the most sociable person in the room especially at things like this. She had been doing events like this since she was a young girl, being a charmer was in her blood and it always felt easier to do it at events like this one rather than anywhere else. She was also doing her best not to run into a certain Bailey especially with Saul bouncing around the room to make sure everyone was having a good time. She spots her, a small smirk curves her lips as she walks over to approach her. "Tell me you are here because you were dying to see what I would wear," she muses.

[sawyermarshall]

who: @delicatedevils

where: lakeside banquet hall, cantwell country club

It was something to do. At least that's what she told herself when she put the dress on. It was better than sitting around her apartment and doing a whole lot of nothing. All she had to do was just put on a smile and if she saw him... Well, she'd approach the problem when it happens. Sawyer taps her fingers against the glass of water in her hand as her gaze shifts around the room. It glances past a figure, a familiar one. It makes her double take, her eyes moving back to him.

Hudson?

She stares at him for a brief second before shifting her gaze somewhere else. Did he see her? It's been about five months since she last saw him and it wasn't her finest moment plus she couldn't remember what had actually happened that night. Just... waking up in the hospital alone. She brushes her tongue along her lower lip as her fingers glide across the side of the glass in a slow motion.

Inhaling, the blonde drifts from her spot and heads over to him. She clears her throat as she reaches out, tapping her index finger on his shoulder. "Huds?" His nickname leaving her lips with almost as if no time had gone by.

[mohanmax]

MAX MOHAN ATTENDS THE WEISSBERG LAW FIRM CHARITY LUNCHEON. THE CANTWELL COUNTRY CLUB, SEPTEMBER 29, 2024.

as a vocal advocate of lgbtq+ rights and a dear friend of saul weissberg's, max not only makes a hefty donation to bright sparks, but is also one of the speakers for the event, sharing his story and how he promotes a queer-safe space as a business owner. he is, of course, in attendance with his 'consigliere' (aka his service companion tom hagen), his assistant alex, and @rafaelmoldonado .

[saulweissberg]

um...yes...i didn't realize that he was back.

“yeah, neither did i.” saul replied with a deep sigh. that seemed to be his son’s modus operandi: disappear and show up again on a breeze. no warning, no hello or goodbye. after thirty years of saul coming in and out of his life on a whim, could micah really be blamed? all the advice he begrudgingly took on giving micah space and letting him come back on his own apparently wasn’t misguided. saul still hadn’t liked hearing it, though. even if micah was back, it seemed he had no intention of announcing his presence—perhaps he was waiting for some grand entrance, to make a big show of ruining the luncheon with some soap opera dramatics. though, on second thought, micah wasn’t the scheming type. not in the way that saul could be, at least. let micah come to me, he reminded himself and brought his attention back to his date.

he didn’t verbally respond to the offer to talk about it later, instead lightly squeezing her bicep affectionately, but he appreciated the offer nonetheless. “hm, good. i do have a reputation as a gentleman, y’know.” he was joking… mostly. when the subject changed to golf, saul scrunched his nose. “putt-putt’s fun for about ten minutes.” saul opined. he knew most people thought golf was boring, and he could concede watching other people play it was like watching paint dry, but actively engaging in the leisure sport was different. especially with a drink in hand. “hey, if you want me to, all you’ve got to do is ask. ‘sides, how else are you going to learn if i don’t help you with your swing? there’s no better way to show you.” saul gave her a quick wink, though again, he was joking. mostly. 

to her question, saul knew a club would be too hokey of an answer, but he couldn’t think of much else. partying and having a good time wasn’t the only facet of his personality as well—the other half of him would want a second office, which would be impractical for a country club. “a meeting room.” saul finally answered, nodding in thought. “a place where deals are made, that’s my room.” if he couldn’t have his name attached to a den of debauchery, then he’d take something related to his professional life. with rachel now on his arm, saul led her over to the bar on the side of the banquet hall and subsequently ordered them both another drink. before long, he was called over by another luncheon guest and left rachel with a parting kiss on her cheek at the bar.

END SCENE.

"Pendente lite. Copy." Rachel shared with a nod as she didn't see why that would come into conversation, unless he was talking to fellow lawyer or client or someone else in the legal system that was telling an anecdote of some kind. She shooed those scenarios out of her mind, however she was thrown off at the way Saul looked at her when she mentioned his son. "Um...yes...I didn't realize that he was back." She studied his face, unsure if she should have told him that right now. Well, she figured he would want to know that he was here, so she couldn't imagine hiding that from him even if it was to protect him.

When he mentioned that his second ex-wife was back in New York, she gave a slow nod. Rachel could believe it being a long story. Having an ex-spouse of her own, she for sure could understand complicated and long stories. She also understood multiple sides to stories and perspective being something that could be skewed in many ways. "We can talk about it later...or not." She gave a shrug towards Saul, not wanting him to think he needed to explain himself to her unless he just felt like it. Giving a scrunch of her nose in return, she let her face relax and shook her head. "It was my pleasure to be your plus one, Mr. Weissberg." Rachel gave a little bow of her head.

She let out a small sigh as he reassured her yet again he wasn't going to just ditch her. "I know, I know Saul. I was just messing with you, I promise. I don't think you would just leave me out in the cold." Rachel didn't quite know that for sure, it wasn't anything against Saul, but even as trusting she could be of others and liked to give pretty much everyone the benefit of the doubt, there were few people she could count on for anything. She could see herself getting to that point where she could trust Saul for anything, but she also didn't feel like he owed her anything.

Rachel laughed softly at his shock, shaking her head. "Nope, unless we're counting the putt-putt or mini golf variety." She admitted, though her parents had both successful careers that brought in quite a bit of money they didn't have much time to go golfing. They had barely even enjoyed tennis enough to keep up with it. She raised her brow at Saul's offer. "Are you going to be my instructor? Try to do that move where you stand behind me?" Rachel smirked a bit, teasing him as she knew that was such a classic move. "A whole room named after you? What type of room would you want it to be?" She pondered aloud as she figured that someone would have some say in the matter as to what room their name would be, usually it was the one they donated to build or something. Certainly there was a specific amount one would have to give for that situation. Rachel let the thoughts slip away as she smiled as she looped her arm through Saul's and gave his arm muscle a small squeeze before placing his hand in the crook of his elbow. "Oh yes let's!"

[hairpintvrns]

EVENT STARTER FOR: @valleyxrose LOCATION: a balustrade somewhere / weissberg charity luncheon

Few things in life gave them more satisfaction than a proper party. A luncheon thrown by one of the wealthiest, most irresponsible people they knew? And to celebrate the community? It was a fitting enough distraction to their turbulent domestic life—even if had come with a bit of a price tag. Now that they’d been cut off from their wife’s bank account, Valentine could barely fucking spare five quid—no, dollars—let alone fifteen. Still, they mused, the abundant food and drink was an acceptable trade-off. Quick to make a start on recouping their investment, they grabbed a plate of some pretentious-sounding hors d’oeuvres before strolling towards the balcony—mercifully unoccupied—save for one other woman. 

Valentine was attempting to balance the plate on the rather narrow balustrade when they realized who they had for company.

Valleta? No, no, she is nothing to gawk at. Don’t be an idiot. 

Ah, Valleta, dolled up and doe-eyed. They might’ve easily dismissed her presence at any other high-society event, but this was a luncheon meant to celebrate the queer community. Certainly, a great number of people could’ve shown up for solidarity. But to Valentine, the country club had effectively just been transformed to one big gay bar. 

Credit to Saul. What an ally.

And they’re still attempting to balance the bloody plate. Easier said than done—for their hand slipped, and the dish plummeted from the balustrade and to the ground, shattering into shards. 

“Saul can pay for that,” they said, almost instantly, nonchalantly, arms folding across their chest as they leaned lazily against the (admittedly low) balustrade. “Valleta, wasn’t it? I didn’t know you were a…” Their eyes flicked down, appraising her, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of their lips, “…supporter.”

[saulweissberg]

availability / open! / 4 out of 5 / @bluestarters setting / lakeside banquet hall, cantwell country club. timeline / sunday, september 29th, 2024 at 1:38 pm.

saul thought he deserved some sort of award for how quickly he put this all together. it had certainly thrown a wrench into his plans when phoebe refused his previously planned birthday dinner, but saul was nothing if not professional. call it making lemonade out of lemons, or opportunity coming out of adversity, but saul had turned an intimate birthday party into a grand charity luncheon in under two weeks. it helped that he already had the venue hall booked and the vendors paid, but it took just a bit of coaxing and a promise of an added sum to every final bill to really turn things around in record time. somehow, it had all worked out in the end, and the luncheon was rolling along swimmingly… so far.

making another pass around the banquet hall, saul had a flute of a french 75 in hand that he took routine sips from. despite the stress of that morning, making sure that every detail was perfect, saul was in a rather good mood now. a trait inherited from his mother, he enjoyed playing host. it was an easy role for him to slip into, and as he walked around the room to stop by random tables and encourage everyone to donate, saul felt completely in his element. determined to keep his good spirits up and not think about his uncommunicative son still far away in new york, he spotted someone he had yet to talk to that day standing off to the side and swiftly came up to them, “hey, how are you doing? are you having a good time?”

[micahweissberg]

closed starter for @saulweissberg, parking lot @ cantwell country club, weissberg law firm charity luncheon.

it's a strange feeling, waiting for his father to come out from the banquet hall's entrance as if he were an absent parent waiting for his child at the end of a school day to take them out for ice cream. he tries to recall if his father had ever done that for him. surely, he had, he must have. but he's probably still a little stoned and he doesn't trust his memory most of the time as it is, having to make up a lot of it in his head that he no longer remembers which ones are real and which ones are fake.

he's smoking a cigarette—a real one this time, not the kind he'd passed between himself and the bartender earlier with little discretion—sitting on a parking block next to his father's lexus, parked among a sparse section of glossy coupes and imposing luxury vehicles. and then, just behind him, loud goodbyes are exchanged, embellished with phony laughter at a joke that probably wasn't even that funny. micah looks over his shoulder at the two men shaking hands. the one in the light brown suit makes towards his direction and micah straightens himself, pushes himself off of the block of cement still with the lit cigarette in his hand as he prepares to face his father. from this distance, saul weissberg looks much older than he is, shoulders thinner, hair grayer. micah couldn't remember much of his father as a younger man. suddenly, he is filled with a deep melancholy at the thought any one of these could be the last time he sees his parents.

[micahweissberg]

‎ rory shoves his hand inside the bag in a very fear factor-esque fashion, like he doesn't know what his hand is making contact with. eventually, he produces what appears to be a small paper folded into a tiny square, the kind children might pass along the classroom in secret. rory reads it to himself, prompting a small furrow between micah's brows as he leans slightly towards the other man's space to try and get an impossible peak at what seems to be so funny.

and then rory does share it with him, and he has to squint just to decipher the squiggles on the paper apparently representing a joke. one that, despite micah's proclivity for humor, he unfortunately doesn't get it, though it's clear who the author is and maybe that's part of the schtick? huffing out an awkward half-chuckle, he's unsure if it's impolite not to laugh or if it's worse that he tries to force one out. bringing his gaze over towards rory, "i don't... get it," he admits with a small, almost coy lilt. rory offers him half of his lunch and as much as he'd hate to take from him when it's already established that he isn't getting a free buffet pass in exchange for his labor, the hors d'oeuvres just weren't working for him and he'd skipped breakfast this morning. a turkey sandwich sounds perfect right about now. "sure." he nods. maybe later he can sneak out a little dessert plate for both of them to share. "did annie make the sandwich, too?"

It’s nicer out here than it is in there. Micah’s tone sounds a little cynical, which probably tells Rory what he needs to know about the other man’s feelings toward the luncheon in general. He hums in acknowledgement of the answer, letting the statement sit between them like some kind of half-truth he does not begrudge. None of his business — and Rory’s always been fantastic at staying out of things that are, in fact, none of his business. Grabbing at the bag he’d left on the bench before helping Micah find his joint — the one that’s now being operated on with a leaf — he unfolds the paper pulp and snorts at Micah’s question about whether he gets lunch. “No,” he replies simply. He supposes they feel he gets paid enough to do his job without the benefit of lunch, as well. He hasn’t given it much thought, really.

Shoving his hand inside the bag, he feels for the first course — a note, less for his appetite, more for his amusement. Rory’s made it a habit to leave notes in Annie’s lunch since she started to read — they’re either playful warnings about trading her protein for dessert (again), or kind, encouraging messages of love. Annie, never one to be outdone, has started doing the same for Rory whenever he has an occasion to pack his own lunch: except her notes are far more nonsensical and humorous, the young seven-year-old fancying herself a jokester. None of the jokes she writes down ever make any sense to Rory — he still finds them hilarious. He’s unfolding today’s note now, furrowing his brows as his eyes scan the words written in his daughter’s amateurish penmanship:

What’s scary but not that scary? A french pig!

It’s accompanied by what Rory can only assume is meant to be a pig, drawn remarkably similar to what he believes Annie’s dog doodles look like. He snorts softly, unable to keep himself from smiling fondly. “Turkey sandwich,” he eventually replies to Micah, glancing over at him. He holds up the paper in his hand. “With a side of seven-year-old humor,” he quips. He nods back down at the bag situated comfortably in his lap. “Would you like half?” A pause. “Of the sandwich. ‘Fraid the humor’s not for splitting.”

[annelouiseoosterhuis]

ANNE-LOUISE'S OUTFIT—

the weissberg law firm's charity luncheon / sunday, september 29th, 2024.

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