Party Peeper

Studying his champagne flute for a moment, Samben decided it was appealing enough and began to move around the room. He brushed a shoulder here, gently maneuvered by a large person there, but he was fairly adept when it came to navigating a tightly packed room while trying to remain invisible.

"Sam!" cried a girlish voice.

"Roy," said Sam as the other man moved close enough to share a breath mint.

"I'm so glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it." Sam tucked into his champagne flute for a second. "Zora's got quite a spread here," he said while hefting the glass.

Roy beamed. "Doesn't she?" He winked and made a motion with his tongue.

Calm under crassness, Sam ignored the obscene entendre. "What's this one for, anyway?"

"What?" asked Roy, giving his ear and still-wet hair to Sam.

"What's this benefit for? Pox? Scrambles?"

Roy shrugged, his wet blonde hair shimmering with the movement. "Beats me. Maybe something about homeless people? Raising money? Or awareness? Did you give?"

Sam turned his gaze. "Do I ever?"

"What?"

"Nothing." He took another bit from his glass and then knocked it toward a well manicured man near the Grand Hall's entrance. "Isn't that Bastion there?"

"Oh," cried Roy, his feminine voice cracking a moment. "Oh, yes, it is! Bastion! Over here!" Sam used the wild gestures as a distraction for finding a new vantage point.

After choosing a spot near the edge of the stage, Samben felt he was safe.

"Ben," said another girlish voice.

Cringing, then forcing a grimace, Sam turned to face Tracy. Her tiny frame coupled with her bouncing chest made her a peculiar spectacle when in motion. Her long black hair covered more than her sheer, green dress, leaving little to the imagination.

"Tracy," he said as she approached quickly, her stiletto clicks making their way from the floor with ease, despite the crowd.

"Ben, you old so and so."

Sam hated being called 'Ben'. Tracy knew it.

"Trace, you young... something or other."

She flashed her shining teeth, the deliberately-crooked one catching extra special attention. Her smile then became purse-tight. "You never called."

"I'm working," he said while looking over her and taking a bit from his wineglass. "And I'm sure you have better people to harass."

"Harass my ass. You owe me two rocks."

With a shushing sound, he closed the gap between them fast. "Keep quiet, you nintz! I said we'd settle that later. Now buzz off." He met her eyes as they rolled back to meet his. "I mean it. I'm working. I'll Flick you later."

She smiled, giving him the up-down. "You'd do more if you were a gentleman. Ben."

With that, she walked away and left Sam to watch the crowd once again. He'd been hired by Zora to keep watch. Zora Gapoosa seemed to think someone would try to infiltrate the group and make an attempt on one of the higher-ups this very night.

Sam didn't see how that was even plausible but took the job nonetheless. He started in on his glass once again when he began to notice a smell in the air. Setting his glass aside, Sam moved like a tuxedoed shade through the crowd.

The scent wasn't unpleasant or unfamiliar, but he couldn't place it. He started forming thoughts about telling Zora to hide away, but the enthusiastic leader took to the tiny stage and began to speak of the party's plans for the future. It was the same rhetoric Samben had heard time and again so it was easy to tune out and focus on the odor that was out of place.

Following it as it moved around the room, Sam found that it was strongest near the kitchen. He raised his arm to open the door when it came at him suddenly. The server on the other side looked shaken. "Sir, wh-what're d-d-doing?" he asked as he stabilized his tray. "This is an... exit only," he finally said after settling himself. "A-and it's time to s-serve the appetizers."

"Hor d'oeuvres."

He blinked as beads of sweat peppered his forehead. "S-sorry?"

"Those are only appetizers if there's a main course." He gestured around the room then. "With events like this, those are probably going to be the only morsels of food these rock-heads see all night."

The server nodded. "I-I see."

Sam chuckled for a second. "I think it's French for 'Eat somewhere else'."

Sam could see that the sweaty server had to force himself to laugh at the terrific joke and something felt off. Looking down at the tray, Samben found several answers.

Something about the hor d'oeuvres looked suspicious.

Picking one up off the tray, Same sniffed it and wanted to wretch. "Where'd these come from?"

The server turned sheet white, as if he had colored his underwear. "Uh..."

"Where?"

"Uh, c-c-cows?" stammered the server as Sam motioned for him to go backwards, into the kitchen.

"I know where cheese comes from. Why is it here? Zora would've never ordered..."

With a quickness, the server shoved the disgusting cheese tray at Samben's face and darted past him with a gun in his hand. Quick to respond, Sam was on the sweat-stained man in no time, the useless gun disarmed just as easily. "Who sent you?"

"You Rocks can't do it. You can't be part of our society!"

Samben felt rage course through him and realized that Zora had been right: someone wanted to stop the Rock Folk from becoming equal citizens.

Hours later with the server in custody and Tracy deep into her fourth champagne glass, Zora found Samben with the intent of giving thanks. As she left him, she asked, "How'd you know he didn't belong?"

Sam smiled before taking a bite from his own wineglass. "He brought in cheese as hor d'oeuvres. No self-respecting Rock Folk would think to bring that in here."

Zora smiled. "Cheese isn't too bad. Keep an open mind. That's what we're asking of them."



Word Count: 997