We're gonna close the curtains
We're gonna rabbit hole down
Well, it had been a month since his gold-embossed, silk-printed invitations had gone out, which could only mean one thing: It was time for Bastien's annual dinner party.
He didn't like to brag (oh, who was he kidding, he loved it) but it was quite the annual event. There would be disappointed people in town who had not received the call, he was sure. His selection process was known only to himself, based on people he found interesting, connections he wanted to make, atmospheres he wanted to build. This wasn't just a party, after all - it was a consortium, a coming together of all different people to build something better than themselves.
Or maybe it was just a dinner party. Either way, he'd still had to set a table and buy hundreds of dollars worth of wine. He'd rather have died than served cheap stuff.
The apartment was clean but messy in the fun bohemian way, retro stereos over colourful couches and prints hanging on the walls; the only room off limits was his and Rexanna's bedroom. Some things had to stay private. After all, he'd just graced the cover of GQ magazine after his third successful art show in as many years - surely the paparazzi would be all over his secrets. (Oh haha, what a drag it was to be famous and successful! hairflip fake laugh smug m)
As for what dinner would be? For the moment it was a secret. Pottering around the apartment and neatening each corner, artfully arranging napkins, he waited to see what Rexanna had chosen to wear, as it was always a treat. Personally he had decided to dress rather modestly for the night, in a floral suit. Of course, he expected his guests to dress to impress too.
The time was near; he watched the door and waited for the first knock, pouring out preliminary wine glasses.
---
For an idea of how Bastien and Rexanna's apartment looks, here's some reference vibe pictures for a general atmosphere: bloop bloop bloop
He didn't like to brag (oh, who was he kidding, he loved it) but it was quite the annual event. There would be disappointed people in town who had not received the call, he was sure. His selection process was known only to himself, based on people he found interesting, connections he wanted to make, atmospheres he wanted to build. This wasn't just a party, after all - it was a consortium, a coming together of all different people to build something better than themselves.
Or maybe it was just a dinner party. Either way, he'd still had to set a table and buy hundreds of dollars worth of wine. He'd rather have died than served cheap stuff.
The apartment was clean but messy in the fun bohemian way, retro stereos over colourful couches and prints hanging on the walls; the only room off limits was his and Rexanna's bedroom. Some things had to stay private. After all, he'd just graced the cover of GQ magazine after his third successful art show in as many years - surely the paparazzi would be all over his secrets. (Oh haha, what a drag it was to be famous and successful! hairflip fake laugh smug m)
As for what dinner would be? For the moment it was a secret. Pottering around the apartment and neatening each corner, artfully arranging napkins, he waited to see what Rexanna had chosen to wear, as it was always a treat. Personally he had decided to dress rather modestly for the night, in a floral suit. Of course, he expected his guests to dress to impress too.
The time was near; he watched the door and waited for the first knock, pouring out preliminary wine glasses.
---
For an idea of how Bastien and Rexanna's apartment looks, here's some reference vibe pictures for a general atmosphere: bloop bloop bloop
She's gonna flip some tables
I'm gonna move this tale on
BASTIEN
Base Code by Sky!
