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Of course, she'd already scalped some tickets at double price to a few stupid sods that caught on too late. That was just icing on the cake of this New Year's bash.

With Robbie in tow (who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else), Kate drifted from stage to stage, pausing at each one to dance in the center of the throng. The bar-carts made regular loops and Kate took regular withdrawals while holo-animals ran through the crowd. Every time one made an appearance, Kate ran after it, basking in the neon glow of its tracers.

So many familiar faces in the crowd, she stopped to talk to each one until it was time for the fireworks. She had a small boat waiting with champagne and furs, to head out onto the water to count down the new year with her emo puppy demon.

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NYE @ EgoTrip with Ace

They came, a deliciously matching pair They saw, dancing and drinking and exchanging pleasantries They conquered, a stroke of midnight kiss never to be forgotten

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Alice arrived closer to midnight than she would have liked, missing a good deal of the party, but she was in the company of a good friend who earned a lengthy kiss on the cheek and a friendly, vice-like hug when the clock struck twelve.

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Yep. Salvador was 100% there, almost entirely in Canaan's company. He spent whatever time he wasn't attached to the Cajun's side finding corners to tuck himself into to watch his lover dance and delight in social interaction, and generally avoided physically bumping into anyone else. It was an exhausting night spent continuously dodging bodies, and he did not dance himself, but it was well worth it in the end.

He traded cheek kisses with Jewell at some point when she swept her gorgeous self on by for a brief moment of interaction. Somewhere in the crowd he swore he spotted Ducii and was certain to give her a lecherous wink, for old time's sake. Most shocking of all was when his sister Cassandra swooped in on him to deliver an extremely super belated birthday present. Her presence alone was a rare enough treat to make him smile, and he even used his words to thank her before she went on her way. Somewhere in the mess of bodies he caught a glimpse of Trick among his friends, but he did not draw attention to himself or bother saying hello.

Cane and Salvador shared their heated kiss after midnight, jointly overindulging in inappropriate touching and excessive tongue action. And after that Salvador was pleasantly surprised to indulge in another perhaps not so lewd kiss with his other lover Sinjin. Though he was mildly disappointed to see the sinner go, he knew for certain after their making of amends that 2018 was going to be a good year.

( Edited to reflect reactions of posts following mine. )

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Meadow arrived in style with her usual entourage of California glitterati. The gaggle of girls occasionally dissolved and split apart, indulging a kiss or a dance (or any number of other things) with the willing, but the cluster always found its way back together as they moved from stage to stage.

If there was no one else in particular to kiss at midnight, the luscious ladies kissed one another with wild, champagne-flavored, lipstick-smearing abandon, much to the delight of anyone lucky enough to catch them in action.

The post-dawn after party wore well on into New Years Day, and the Starling starlet awoke sometime late in the evening with a whole new scattering of people at her pad.

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Ancelin was a hard man to pin down unless there was an epic party involved.

But this definitely qualified.

True to form, the happy-go-lucky lounge cat could be found in the thick of things, dancing and/or drinking and/or flirting with any and everybody around and down for it. He snuck up on Jewell to steal a dance or two for sure (maybe even a kiss if he was lucky! it was New Years, after all...), made sure to get in at least one dance with Senka, and always kept his eyes open for his Murder Queen, who might —or might not— be making an appearance.

The rising of the sun found this social animal still dancing, making friends, hanging out and having fun. By that point it was totally possible that his entire outfit had changed, he might or might not have jumped on stage with a DJ or two, he might or might not have made a game of dancing with the holographic animals.

As easy as he'd come, he'd go, with a pocket full of new numbers that he may or may not remember to transfer into his cellphone, maybe or maybe not with new friends, there one minute and gone the next.

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While Lucy did not want to go full 80s costume for the event, she did take at least some Madonna-inspiration in putting together her outfit for a little bit of who's that girl magic.

She had no date for New Year's Eve, but she did have a plan to have a good time. With a crowd of that size, it was easy to get lost, dancing and drinking, making one-night-only party friends.

Was she looking for a stranger to kiss at midnight' You bet she was.

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Cass was alone at the start of the evening, which probably surprised exactly no one who knew her. Jochin had business with Kelley, and she figured it was best to leave the boys to their own devices; she could catch up with the Hunter later.

As it was, as much as he might snarl about it, she hunted down Sal to give him a belated birthday present—a bottle of Sambuca with a little something extra in it.

With any luck, she'd have a few drinks, dance a bit, and find Jo by the time the clock struck midnight.

The demon spent a cigarette during his arrival with Kate. Robert carried his usual not-smile, the one punctuated with the way his eyebrows knit as he studied the bright lights, their glittering promises like spilled confetti on the floor. The eighties seemed like it was yesterday, it was hard to feel that the event was retro.

There were, at times when he looked at Kate, a smile that terrorized the corner of his lips. He wasn't well versed in the new style of dancing, but most of the men in the city weren't expert enough to dwarf him. He held his own with her when she laughed, curling her fingers at the back of his neck as she said something about cookies through her smile. If it weren't for the wires of his hair and the five o'clock brush of devil's beard stubble, he might have been hard to spot. Kate wouldn't allow him to attend the party looking like he robbed a college professor of his clothes. He was eighties, on point, and usually trying to find a way to indulge in another cigarette.

That was how Saila caught him for a dance. Jewell had Kate and when Robert made an attempt to slip outside, hide behind a tree and smoke in solitude, it was Saila that caught him by the hand. He could have pulled away, but he didn't. The strange little girl had her dance with the demon, the smell of his skin muttering that he'd been up to no good. Truth was, he was glad to see her, but it was difficult to discuss much over the blare of music and the bombardment of near-familiar faces.

Others could have caught a dance with him the same way. It was just a matter of Kate being preoccupied with a dance and him attempting to have a cigarette. When it was time for the New Year to come? Robert looked at Kate and smiled in that way that made her happy while also causing her to roll her eyes. He leaned in and kissed her, their year starting with the eighties tasting like cinnamon stars.

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Patrick spent the whole night in the company of his best friends Spencer and Connie and Connie's girlfriend, Oceane. There were no New Year's kisses for Patrick this year, a thought he reflected on while Connie and Oceane expressed their love at midnight. He went home arm in arm with Spencer in the early hours of the morning, pleasantly buzzed and looking forward to the new direction his life would take in just a few short weeks.

He had asked her to attend the New Years' party, in part because they had gone together in the past. The dark man needed to do more than work, he needed to be more than a single father. He had to be a man, separate from paper cranes, coyote bites and bookends.

When her hand curled around his arm as they approached the party, he remembered the fire, and smiled anyway. Tag had next to no knowledge of the eighties beyond what Penny was able to help him with. He ended up being more James Dean than he was the eighties, appearing as a less wholesome modern-day knight.

At times he recognized faces, momentarily hoping to see Fin but only seeing his friend, Lucy. Saila slipped by, social and occupied but he nodded for her anyway. Most of what he did was nurse a single drink, thinking that the world was spinning too quickly, putting an impossible pressure on his feet. Tag felt Jezebel's smile before he saw it, his black-eyed gaze ticking to the corners of his eyes to see her beckoning him to dance.

He was embarrassed whenever they bumped into anyone else, and while he had tried to spot and wave to those he was familiar with, he had to focus on her to be able to dance. Somewhere in the back of his mind buzzed the fireflies of Beltane, less kind than the modern-day flicker of lights at the party. Ego Trip felt like getting pummeled with celebration. The laughter of others came in waves, some more subdued than others.

When midnight rolled near he was standing beside her, watching the practice he had seen many times before. People paired off, not just lovers, but friends. 20...19...18...17....16...

His voice was quiet, but still parted the sounds of everything else to reach her. "Do you mind...?"

10...9...8...

His question was rewarded with the warm vibrance of Jezebel's smile, and a subtle shake of her head. No, she didn't mind at all.

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Spencer arrived with her roommate Patrick wearing an outfit stolen straight from from the red carpet runway she had no business being on. With it came the leggy swagger of many nights of practice and studious poses in a mirror. She ate, she danced, and for a non-drinker she may have had one or two! At some point she hunted down Ancelin encouraging him to make bad choices to start his new year off right.

Alas, her lips were hers for the countdown. At midnight, the fairy tale disappeared for the princess she was not. With a backpack stashed in a forgotten corner and a five minute bathroom stop, she stripped off one skin and stepped into another.

You could bet on the way home she didn't have to convince Patrick that waffles and pancakes were the best way to start new beginnings.

Oddly enough she didn't have any hot chocolate. When asked,she simply stated that she was promised something better—then threatened to punch anyone who asked further questions.

Mannique was in no mood to go out He hadn't been excited enough, and feeling jilted, she stayed at home. That left Amare on his own, speeding to the New Years party until.....what was that' Quinn?

So his Alpha was with him, then. That made the world a better place for everyone but him. Quinn didn't want to have to clean his hands at the end of the night, and unlike the rest of the world, he had the authority to make Amare bow. Whether he liked it or not, he bowed. There was something heavy, something melancholy, to the way Amare could bow. It was like a dangerous, half-lived star had stumbled out of life. It promised only a greater, better explosion elsewhere.

Beneath it all, some part of Quinn loved that about him. That there would be a brushing off of stardust and blood whenever Amare exploded.

Yet the werewolf was contained enough that there wasn't a headline. Saila drew him in a for a dance and he obliged in a way that promised other things to come. His hand squeezed hers when they parted, catching sight of her hellion when they parted. Right. Perhaps some men and women took a liking to his energy, to the way he smiled like blood and promises. He was a flicker of excitement, he was a fire that burned so bright that an audience couldn't see the scars. They couldn't hear the parts which were despondent in his laugh.

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Where had the year gone? From nothing to something, she could only hope the trend continued. Onward, upward, all that positive affirmation bull****. And if it didn't turn out so great' Eh, there were worse things that could happen. For the evening she focused not on the future and what it would hold but rather sending 2017 off with a bang. Not a literal one of course (unless you count the fireworks), but rather one filled with music, dancing, and a little too much alcohol. When midnight rolled around, she was wholly intent on a lip lock with a certain someone. Maybe sending 2017 off with a bang was literal after all...

"The works must be conceived with fire in the soul but executed with clinical coolness." ? Joan Miro

The possible inspiration to be found at such a gathering was too much for Melina to resist. She arrived an hour and a half before midnight, curves tucked into sophisticated black velvet with thin gold pinstripes, drinking glasses of champagne while she soaked in the nightlife. Once she was mostly boneless from the liquor in her veins, she sank herself into the dancing crowds and sinuously shifted from one partner to another, never lingering long in any particular orbit. She only danced with those who seemed open and willing; the rest she bypassed with cursory glances, always on the lookout for chiseled features and impressive physiques that would trigger epiphanies the next time she stood in front of a block of uncut marble.

The moment the fireworks heralded the new year, she exchanged chaste cheek kisses with those of like mind and drifted away with the scent of jasmine and orange blossom the only proof she'd ever been there at all.

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i.

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Christmas in Paris became New Year's, but there is a six-hour time difference between the two metropolises that permits the couple to celebrate the auspicious arrival of 2018 twice. A massive street party explodes on the Champs-"lys"es several hours prior to the witching hour where there is the promise of a spectacular midnight light show, but there are numerous bars and clubs situated in this neighborhood that revelers dip in and out of indiscriminately. Ray and Charlie partake in the party, but do not linger for the light show for they have tickets to a cabaret and burlesque event at the Lido de Paris where they partake in the gastronomic three-course meal of succulent foie gras, duckling fillets served with artichoke in jus and chestnut pur"e, and pear and mandarin Vacherin cake from Len'tre that the doe-eyed nymphet feeds the mutt-violent detective with her delicately manicured fingertips.

Glitter, feathers, diamond-encrusted silhouettes and artfully bared bodies circulate the stage as if in bacchanalian ecstasy, and as soon as the lurid after-party show that follows the stroke of midnight finishes, they abandon the glitterati to retreat to lesser known, overcrowded bars. White powder sticks in places to her mirror compact where they indulge themselves in bathroom stalls in between bottles of champagne and Aberlour whiskey, an anchor to keep the world from spinning around them the further they slipside down the rabbit hole of sybaritic excess.

Around 3 AM, it's time to leave and travel to the Other Side for EgoTrip's Tech Noir extravaganza, leaving precious little time for a costume change so neither participate in the circa 1980's style theme (not that the shrewd fashionista would have regardless). Clad in a skintight Herv" L"ger bandage dress that's short enough to flirt with scandal and showcase million dollar legs still faintly bronzed from a protracted honeymoon (nearly a month split between the Maldives and Bali before finishing with a tour of Italy) languishing under a tropical sun, she's a wicked little sylph in point-toe Louboutins with toweringly high heels and a black satin clutch styled like a fan that she waves prettily over the lower half of her face when avoiding the attention of any prospective suitor.

Despite the elegance, there's always a dream-smeared, eyeliner-smudged touch of the rock-'n'-roll baby in her, tonight in the form of sapphire-tinged diamond earrings in electric guitar shapes that recall the flashy extravagance of David Bowie. The Lanvin choker is a vampy, Gothic touch that compliments the poison-apple red of her vivid lipstick that becomes less vibrant with every kiss that's shared between the couple, the big ruby-like jewels framed in darkest silver touch the overly prominent lines of her clavicles that jut up, so sharp as to lend the illusion of being dangerous to touch, might split skin like butter.

A fat black ribbon bow at the nape tries to soften this, though, remind that she's touchable, vulnerable, like hot wild velvet in between the curves of her thighs and past the pearl-white barrier of her teeth. For a hint of anonymity carried over from their first party, she also sports a mask in gold-plated brass decorated with an array of Swarovski crystals in clear, grey, and black, another fat ribbon tied back behind her head, the edges curving up cat-like around gunmetal-painted eyes rimmed with more crystals just above the black lash line. Overthick, darkspun curls lost between black and brown are everywhere, nearly veil one eye where two-thirds of the mass has been swept over to one side, but they end up at various angles throughout the night, the part in her hair forever shifting from dance to dance to expose the errant skinny, red lace-limned braid underneath a riot of ringlets.

Ray is similarly ill-matching for the "80s theme (which is unfortunate because that's one that he might actually be into, given the age difference between him and his young bride - he's got fond memories of that time period and is at turns amused and ashamed of the fashion from that era), but in his own way, he's a fitting counterpart for the doe-eyed girl that almost never leaves his side. The suit he wears is expensive, immaculately tailored in a slim-fitting European style, but he wears it like the cost means nothing to him, and he lost his tie somewhere in Paris (probably in one of those bathrooms when he became annoyed with it getting in the way whenever he found himself briefly ducked over Charlie's compact) - punk rock prince, the way his shirt has the top few buttons undone and the way his hair is more haphazardly spiked than usual (likely from his girl's hands being in it from time to time), devil-may-care, cocksure and wild.

It seems like Ray has no issue remembering his girl's touchability, because he's almost always got his hands on her when they dance (and sometimes, one drifts to the lush curve of her backside, shameless, but the touch speaks as much of possessiveness as it does of infatuation), kisses her red, red mouth at times, sometimes grabs at her fine-boned hand to try to pull her off to a darker corner for brief, stolen moments of seclusion which he experiences success at, particularly due to the surprise challenge she springs on him at the last minute.

They arrived star-kissed and star-eyed, bathed in the burning aura of Johnny's latest cocktail. Their comet tail was hedonism and self-combustion, lust and bone-ache; one the leasee of borrowed time, and the other the leaser. Elijah looked at John with a guillotine swing of hazy eyes. John evaded death on the dance floor, turned his head to the sky, and imagined flying. Imagined a soft wind beneath feathers the color of black wave-caps. Imagined being anywhere else, unchained, free. Then Elijah grabbed him by the wrist and threw him headfirst into undertow. Hip roll, hip roll. Heart break. Black wave.

"Castor."

"Pollux."

Hours before midnight they set a fire in a restroom stall, then fled to another to finish doing their drugs.

As the appointed hour neared, Johnny excused himself to make a call and never returned. Across town a patchwork girl showed up on the doorstep of a salt-skinned muse and knocked twice. At the party, a man of smokeless fire appeared like conjured dreamwork and found Elijah in the crowds. Midnight tipped over; they found each other, found themselves, in their ways.

Somewhere a gorgeous sun rose above waves the color of feathers and warmed the waters like slept-in sheets.

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Eden and Cory joined the party for the Ego-Trip NYE event. The two of them danced from stage to stage, waving to those they recognized in the crowd. Thankfully Eden's wings are naturally bendy enough that they didn't cause any trouble even in the crush of bodies. And anyhow, they spent the night dancing close together in their own special way.

Eden didn't know anything about special midnight kiss traditions, but Cory made sure to teach her.

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New Years Eve, and where else would they be but the hottest party in town. Tahlia was decked out in neon pink and purple, and had managed to cajole Eddie into an outfit that made him look like the villain of the week from an old Miami Vice episode. It worked for him, and she made sure to let him know that at every opportunity, and in toe-curling detail. Threading through the packed crowd, the two spent time at every stage, and every bar, and made sure to sample as many of the specialty cocktails as appealed. Along the circuit, they ran into a few familiar forms, some more welcome than others, but it was a sure bet the blonde was never more than an outstretched arm away from Eddie, if that far, as she paused here and there, making sure to shout greetings at least to her team-mates, and their companions. And Tanya, of course - no missing her blue-haired bestie, even in this crowd.

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"A closet full of couture and you really won't go?" Clara asked earlier in the day. The younger sister had had a veritable heyday going through the collection of slinky gowns owned by the elder.

"I'm just not feeling it," Addie told her with the shrug of a sweatshirt muted shoulder. Ultimately Clara had settled on something black and gold and sparkly (and a little short in Addie's sisterly opinion) but she declined any of the sky high heels that Addie kept in a separate closet. So Addie sent her on her way with direction to have fun but not to ruin the dress and to have it back whenever. It wasn't as though she didn't have plenty otherwise.

It seemed like it was going to be a night at home with pizza and movies, a low-key mimicry of their toned down Christmas a week prior. But as the sun began to set and the first thrums of bass from Dockside managed to echo across the way to Seaside, Ro quietly coaxed her into more.

"I don't really see what the big deal is," she said as he loaded her up into his SUV.

"You survived one of the hardest years of your life, mo chroi, I'd say that's worth celebrating," he answered simply. They drove down the winding Seaside streets to a little shop in the old market. A plain sign outside said Mehndi. There, he took her inside, where they were met at the front counter by a short and immensely beautiful Egyptian girl who offered Ro a knowing look and a pretty smile before leading Addie through a beaded curtain to a back room. There the woman explained in crisp Common just why Romeo had brought her there. With a little sweet talking and lots of encouragement, Addie shed her bulky sweatshirt and allowed the young woman to create a beautifully intricate henna design on her back. Tense as she may have been whenever the cone shaped applicator hovered over her scars, still fresh and pink and raised as they were, there was no pain in the ritual. When all was said and done, a trifold mirror helped her see the swirling looping pattern as it turned slowly from reddish-brown to nearly black upon her skin, masking the ugly scars beneath.

Try as she might to scold Ro for the surprise, she didn't have it in her. In truth, it was nice to look at herself and not feel as if she had been terribly disfigured by what had happened not even a few weeks prior. Instead she hugged him, cried, and hugged him some more. That wasn't all he had in store, from there, they went home where she unwrapped a slinky little rose gold backless number that plunged just enough to display the artwork across her back without venturing too low. After getting dressed and a bite to eat, they finally arrived incredibly late at EgoTrip's grand new year's event. Once within the festival's perimeter, she lingered there, mingling very little and sticking incredibly close to Ro's side. Ever protective as he was, he did more than bristle anytime someone got a little too close (truly an inevitable fact at such a busy event), but thankfully it never came to blows.

Still, she managed to find it in her to let loose and dance toward the end, her hands roaming the bruiser's body with near scandalous intent until midnight was upon them and fireworks lit up the sky. Beneath their brilliant fire, she slid into the broad warmth of his arms and his lips, lingering long after the final toll of twelve. Only when her head swam and her chest ached with breathlessness did she relent, dipping her chin with a diffident smile against his neck. They took their leave soon after, not for any after-parties or anything particularly wild, but rather for breakfast at Delia's Diner, where they stole away into the kitchen and she sat on the counter while he flipped her a stack of pancakes (her favorite) and started off the new year properly.

Finding herself in the arms of a handsome stranger, Tone Deaf, Lucy's smile brightened. "Resolutions?" She laughed, her red hair glinting as the night was swept with flickering lights. "Drink more champagne, less coffee," and then with a playful grin, "dance more with handsome strangers." She sank back towards the crowd, testing the weave of their fingers before letting him reel her back close. "And you?" Her reciprocation of the question was nearly swallowed by the relentless beat of the music and the collective gasp of the revelers as a hologram rabbit raced across the sea of bodies against the dark sky.

Whether he answered or not, by the time the dance was over and the two had parted, Lucy found herself wondering who was that guy?

"Call him Judas if you want but he did it for reasons much older than silver." ― Toby Barlow, Sharp Teeth

Not all that yearned for the New Year did so with light hearts, or even hearts at all. Some sought midnight out like rabid beasts or savages, souls untamed, unrestrained. Some ran the hour down, ran it tired, ran it out — ran it into the dirt, blood on the air, mouths salivating. They ran without hearts. They ran for all the emptiness inside them, and took their fill, took their fill, took their fill.

He manifested amid the crowd with a bell crack, a single reverberating note that echoed through tooth and chest. Startled people jumped back. Others gawked. He barely saw them; someone had told him once that most people were ghosts, and the memory came back to him then. Those memories always came back to him. They were hard to escape.

"Am I a ghost?"

"No, Andreas. Not you. Never you."

"Excuse me," he said to no one, and made his way out through a parting of people. His path led to the fringes of the event. Along the way he accosted a stranger for a cellphone and stole food from a vendor, making a call between hungry bites of sugary confection.

"I made it. You were right. She must be here, too. No, don't call me back on this number. It's not mine. I'll reach out to you when it's safe."

A watch officer was summoned, but by then the man was gone. In the report, the only element witnesses could recall were his hands. Not the face, the clothes, his height or weight or what he sounded like when he spoke; just the hands. The hands displaced the other details, casting their shadows across memory and time.

She laughed, spilling red hair over her shoulder. He found it difficult not to smile with her when she was smiling. His hand tightened over hers as they turned in their little, informal dance steps. She was good at giving answers.

"Mine" More champagne, less stumbling," he winked at her after he said it, a half repeat of her "resolutions." Had he heard the bit about dancing with handsome strangers" Certainly. But he just smiled for her, the sort of smile that said talking like that would only get her in line for another dance.

They parted at the end of the dance, but he remembered what she looked like when she was laughing.