2009-06-19: "Place Your Bets"

Original Airdate: Friday, June 19th, 2009

Starring: "Lily", "Reid", "America", "Mark"

Lily.png Reid.png America.png Mark.png

Guest Starring: "Jagger"

Notes: A typical party in Beverly Hills. A hooker, drunken rockers, rivals, blackmail… the usual!


This is not the first time Lily has been a guest at such a party, and it likely will not be her last. Arriving as the "plus one" of some writer or producer or… something. It's not really important. A big-ish name who just wanted to have a pretty young blonde on his arm with no time or even inclination to actually go and meet one on his own. Sometimes, just sometimes, escorting means simply escorting. As charming and bubbly as ever, she's put quite a bit of effort into being her client's ideal date. Though when his cell phone rings, and he suddenly has to make a hasty exit, he doesn't think twice about leaving her behind. Oh well. At least he's already paid. And look! Free champagne! Fantastic.

Observe the free roaming Reid in its natural habitant. The man has found his way into attendance one way or another, more than likely via some musical friend who wanted something interesting to watch during the festivities. So far the man has found the champagne and several other bottles of something, enough to loosen him into an even more pleasant mood. He's yet to break anything, just seems to be weaving animatedly back and forth through house and crowd, body shaking from side to side, liquid occasionally escaping from his glass and making home on floor, table, or clothing. He's happy, definitely.

Beverly Hills may be a fond and familiar place to Ms. America King. So, too, are the parties; the mingling, the networking, the champagne and wine and cocktails, the avoiding of anything too wild that inevitably happens later or in areas she valiantly avoids. But parties, such as the one she's ploughing into at this very moment in time, when she a) is not here for some work-related reason or another, b) is not invited, and c) has so many better things to be doing, well— those parties are not her cup of tea.

To say she looks out of place as she barges in, elbowing anyone who's in her way (her politeness would just be a waste of energy on the drunk and stoned, who are the ones that get in her way), would be a true enough fact. Stunning blonde: check, part and parcel around these parts. But the satiny red blouse and severe pencil skirt, combined with a glaring look that seems like it could produce laser beams of death — those are key features of the Hollywood Agent. Next person in America's way to be shoved at: Reid.

Lily knows that look well enough to get out of the woman's way before she is /shoved/, and she reacts quickly enough to avoid it. What she can't avoid, unfortunately, is ending up in the path of someone else being shoved. She lets out a quiet yelp as Reid is pushed into her. Ah, well, it just wouldn't be a party without this sort of thing happening.

It's not like Reid isn't used to being pushed around. After all, at the celebrations he usually frequents it's not considered a success until someone has at least fractured a few bones. So he takes it in stride, even if he's not particularly balanced. "Shiiit." He keels like a ship taking water, tipping into the awaiting Lily with a splash of liquid from unbalanced glass. "Hi." He's at least cheery when he corrects himself, stumbling to proper footing and giving a neat thumbs up. "I'm okay." Just encase she was wondering. The woman that shoved him, though, gets a shout of: "Hey!"

A "hey" which is ignored, because the stomping blonde is on a mission. She's looking for something or, very likely, someone, given her intent scanning of the crowd she shoves through. A few power strides beyond Reid and Lily, though, she halts and veers around to change course, not finding the prize yet. America shoots a look at the last man she attempted to brush out of her way. …'brush' being a bit of an misnomer. So she's a little pushy, deal with it. "You," she says accusingly, despite the fact that they've never met in their lives. She hones in on him, pointing. "You're that guitarist who partied his way into reality TV. You look like someone who would know my fucking idiot brother." The impassioned swearing is punctuated by a frustrated, searching glance around the room. Guess who she's looking for.

There's a slight hiss from between Lily's teeth as the drink hits her. COLD drink, WARM cleavage. Not a good combo. At least she's wearing black, and there were no ice cubes. Small comforts. When the scary lady starts talking to Reid, Lily turns to leave, but finds herself trapped by a wall of people- she is not quite as willing to shove people as America. Okay then, she's stuck here. Goody.

If Lily wants to go somewhere, Reid is particularly oblivious. She's here after all, so he questions, "Who are you?" It's only polite, after all, now that she's wearing his drink. The angry blonde woman, of course, receives a majority of his attention. "Hi." It seems his natural greeting for just about everything. Reid favors his returning visitor with his brightest smile, too. It can't be said that it isn't just a little vapid, though whether it's the drink of the usual is harder to tell. "I know a lot of fucking idiots, one of them might be him, yeah. Mind telling me which one he is?"

The woman in the black dress gets a sharp, cursory glance from America, because people who linger and hover naturally annoy her — but she has far more important matters to deal with besides shoving more people out her way. Perhaps remarkably, given how good she is at it. Like every time she tells someone her brother's name, first comes a slightly reluctant eye roll. Someone's not bursting with family pride. "Jagger." Can you blame her? "Not the Rolling Stone. Just a typical washed up loser, dresses something like you." Insistent, she goes on, "Do you know where he is?"

Lily is used to those kinds of glances, and brushes it off easy enough. While she does hear Reid's question, she finds it in her best interest not to distract him from the Scary Lady. Finding a napkin from… somewhere, she busies herself with attempting to prevent her dress from gluing itself to her skin with sugary alcohol. Although the name the woman mentions sounds… vaguely familiar. Client? Friend of client? Client of friend?

"Jagger," The word is rolled off Reid's tongue, left to hang in the air for just a few seconds as he considers. "Jagger King?" Nod. "Oh, I know him. We went wave jumping, he ran into a crab that was like-" Arms rise in one broad circle, fingers becoming makeshift pincers. "/This/ fucking big. It was huge." A few more crab motions, then a pause. "Or maybe that was Jorden. But he was there, I'm pretty sure." The man gives one enthusiastic nod, eyes sketching over the impatient woman quickly after. "Ah. I think I saw him around. He was with some girl, then I saw the bar, then he was gone. What you need him for?"

America cranes her neck toward Reid ever-so-slightly as she waits, expectantly, for him to get to the point. Even so, her attention is constantly split between Reid (her possible lead on her fucking idiot brother) and over his shoulder, at the crowd (where her fucking idiot brother, if he knows what's good for him, could theoretically be sneaking through— she won't let him pass her by, no way). Instead of answering the question, she asks one of her own, brows raising and voice shushing, though it miraculously loses none of its anger. "Do you remember what girl he was with?" Meanwhile, she takes a cell phone out of her purse and starts dialing.

"I think he comes to these things with Chantelle a lot," Lily offers. "I haven't met him, but I /think/ she's mentioned him to me," she adds after a few moments of thought. "She's tall, black hair, usually wears red," she adds. "Has a bit of a retro look going for her. Kinda hard to miss, really." Either Hollywood is a very small world, or she's making shit up to placate the scary woman. 50/50 chance either way, really.

Reid's finger lifts to indicate Lily when he talks, another arc of a smile painting across his face. "Maybe that was her. I don't really remember, sorry." Fingers reach to scratch at his forehead, perplexed gesture before he mentions, "I don't think he ever said he had a sister. Or that she was wound up so tight." He glances backward, eyes scanning the crowd before chiming, "I'm sure he'll show up sooner or later. You could probably just wait around, right?"

America presses her Blackberry to her ear and listens to it ring its rings of uselessness into her brain. "Who the hell is Chantelle," she snaps to Lily — mind you, she's really talking to herself. She doesn't care about Chantelle, if such a chick exists, but if she's hard to miss, maybe she'll be a beacon. "Yeeeah, we're not what you'd call close," she replies with a twist of a wry smile— wry or not, there's a hint of sparkle there, something not entirely Evil Bitch. Aaaand then it goes away once she turns around to leave a voicemail. "I swear to God and all that is holy, if you don't pick up your phone, I'm going to call it every five seconds and track it down like a fucking GPS device all over Beverly Hills and then I'm going to have a real tracking device implanted in your cute little ass to make my job that much easier. You are too good for him, Alexis. If you're at this party with him, I'm going to have your publicist fired and I am going hire one for my FUCKING IDIOT BROTHER. PICK UP YOUR PHONE." And breathe. Like night and day, America turns around and smiles politely at Lily and Reid. "Thank you for your help."

Well, so much for trying to be helpful! With Dragon Lady's attention shifting to her cell phone, Lily turns hers to Reid. "I'm Lily, by the way," she tells him, giving him a friendly smile. America had mentioned reality TV. That means he probably has at least some money. If she can't /work/ tonight, she's at least going to /network/. "Hope you weren't too attached to that drink," she quips.

Reid's neck cranes backward from Amercia's verbal assault on her phone, as if it might save him from her turning in his own direction. She's scary. "Wow." It's more mouthed than said, voice becoming stronger after, "No problem. You don't take no shit, do you? This mean you're gone?" He turns his attention to Lily then, extends one hand out toward her. "Yeah, sorry about that. I thought about chasing it, but," A lopsided smile is offered. "At least it doesn't show too much, right?"

"For now." Ominous. America excuses herself from the people she nearly barrelled down earlier, um, no hard feelings, right?, and starts a moderately less destructive stroll through the party crowd inside the exorbitant house. Blackberry clutched in one hand with a vice grip, red-and-black Louboutin heels power walk their way through a nearby patio door, the great outdoors lit by hanging party lamps and the glow of the pool. Sharp eyes never stop scanning the crowd. "I'm going to find you and I'm going to murder you," she murmurs under her breath to herself, but oh, in her head she's talking to her brother.

"She's probably just having a bad day or something." Right? "Or she's a massive bitch." Right. "Everyone around here is more uptight than I'm used too. Like someone shit in all their cereal this morning. I guess that's the thing, though." Reid's shoulders roll once, lips fitting into a smile a second later. "Guess I'll get another drink." He raises his glass to Lily, demonstrating its obvious emptiness. "You want to come? Or I'll get you one, to apologize. Why are you here, anyway?"

Meanwhile, America sashays her way around the pool area, on the prowl. There's no elbowing people out of her way anymore; it's not as crowded here, and if she pushed someone into the pool, well— that's more trouble than it's worth. Besides, she's trying the tactic of not scaring her idiot brother out of his natural habitat. She grabs a random twenty something by the shoulder only to immediately dismiss him when his face isn't that of someone related to her. Useless. Next?

"This town orders massive bitches in bulk," says Lily with a shrug. "I've developed a very high tolerance for them," she adds. "And I would love a drink, thank you. I was here on a date, but he had to go take care of some… business emergency of some sort." Or his daughter was going into labour. Or something. Whatever. "And I know I should know your name. It's on the tip of my tongue…" she tells him, apologetically. "I've seen your show and everything, but I think the champagne's gone to my head a little," she says, tapping her temple a few times.

"Oh, yeah," Reid remembers the name thing on his way, calling back, "Reid!" Guest star some days, musician others, though he doesn't clarify any further than that. He also takes a long time to come back. Mostly because he has to stop here and there, engaging whoever he can in animated conversation before he finally returns to his previous companion. He offers one flute, keeping the other for himself. "That sucks, though. I guess I'm supposed to keep low key, right now, so you can help."

"Of course!" says Lily. "I knew that, I really did. And there's no harm in laying low every now and then," she assures Reid as she takes her drink. "And I'm happy to be of help, Reid," another smile, well-practiced and oh-so-charming. Though she has the feeling this one in particular won't take /too/ much charm to win over.

A black BMW rolls right up into the driveway of the large house where there's a massive party going on. Right about now, the man known throughout the entertainment world as Mark Israel Long hops right out of the vehicle, reaching to pull the jacket of his suit together and button it. His phone rings as he makes his way towards the door and he answers it: "I don't care if she's in labor right now. She needs to FUCKING READ THE SCRIPT! I don't give a shit! Read it TO HER! Fuck the baby!" And the phone is hung up in that next moment, before Mark breaks all the hospitality rules and just walks into the house.

"Hey hey! Looks like a party, baby!" He's all smiles and hand-shaking as he immediately starts to recognize face after face after paid for boobs. "My, Tanya. Those are nice. You didn't have those last time, did you?" And there's another familiar face. "Johnny! Rehab does a body good, right?" Laughing, he slaps high-fives with another face he knows all too well and then proceeds to stop wherever the drinks are being poured to order something Strong and Fuck Up, while he takes stock of the party. A shark. On the prowl. Kind of.

In the middle of a frustrated and tired sigh, America spins on her heel out by the pool, ready to march back to the other end of the yard to explore the house and its shadowy corners of inevitable iniquity. With one hand poised on the patio door, she spies a familiar face. "Oh, great. That's great," she mutters under her breath with a roll of her eyes. Standing tall, she tosses her hair, swipes at her blonde bangs and starts to stalk through the house, weaving in and out of the crowd. Unfortunately for America, the stairs she's aiming for require her to walk past the bar. Past Reid and Lily again but, more importantly past one Mark Israel Long.

"Yeah, but it's really boring. Like watching milk curdle." Reid's hand rises, glass tipping to his lips and one giant swig taken. He glances back at Lily after, another smile parceled out. "Anyway, I was playing a game. Going to see how many people I could meet, and have a drink with each one." His eyes narrow then, face fitting into pensive mask. "I, uh, forgot how many I did so far." He does, however, find a solution, "I guess I'll start over." Alcohol poisoning is assured. "Hey, there's that woman again."

"I can drink to that," says Lily, clinking her glass against Reid's for a moment. "Mhmm," she murmurs as he points out America. "I wonder if her brother's even here. There are at least two other parties that I know of going on tonight. That I was invited to, anyway." She shrugs. "I feel bad for the poor bastard, if she finds him."

Oh hell no. Mark knows those legs anywhere. And he knows that ass anywhere. He also knows that lack of chest anywhere. Which is why he's smiling like Sylvester Pussycat the moment he gets his drink from the bartender. "It's on her." he says, pointing off in America's direction and then he immediately steps away from the bar to plant himself into her path. Gotta' stop her from going up the stairs. "Well. I see you finally got your legs done. You don't walk like you have testicles anymore. Nice." Grinning and holding up his drink, which is expensive as shit, he sips at it. "Thanks for the drink, by the way."

America stops dead in her tracks in front of the stairs but, without hesitation, turns herself right around to face Mark. America King, avoidant of a challenge? Never. Despite the words that caught her attention, one of her trademark wide, dazzling smiles is already waiting in the wings by the time she's turned about on those designer shoes. "Stalking me to the ladies' room, you've sunken to a new low, Mark. What, not getting paid enough at Midas, you have to make women pay for your drinks now?"

"Yeah, maybe I should warn him." Despite concern, Reid isn't in a hurry to go getting in America's way. He just sort of pauses when she finds a new person to fight with, watching with an idle interest. "I wonder if she's going to kill him." It's an idle though, head swinging slowly back to Lily after. "You want to bet on who'll win?"
"I think she might be bulletproof," Lily says thoughtfully. "So my money's on her." What? It could totally happen. Bitchiness as the source of superpowers. Or something. She takes a sip of her drink and leans back against the bar. "And you thought the night would be boring. We might get to give statements to the police later, after she rips off his head and eats it."

"Actually, I just wanted to make sure you went to the right room. Remember what happened at Sundance last year?" Mark just flashes a big ol' smile at bringing up bad memories. What exactly happened, he'll keep to himself until the proper time for blackmail is upon him. "Listen. I didn't come here to trade blows with you, USA. I'm here because I'm a close, personal, amazing friend of the guy throwing this little shindig. How'd you get in?" He pauses and narrows his eyes, looking down at her skirt. "Huh. Nevermind. I can see the rug burns on your knees."

Lily is about to say something else, when her cell phone rings. She doesn't answer it, but she does frown a bit at the number. "Excuse me, I have to get going," she says apologetically to Reid, then begins to squeeze her way through the crowd and out of the party.

The blonder and womanlier of the agents arches a brow at the other, her smile twisting into a smirk to better match the barely restrained hate in her eyes. "Go fuck yourself, Mark," America replies coolly. She takes a step back onto the first step, one hand on the rail while she points with the corner of her cell phone at Mark with the other. "I asked nicely at the gate." Her eyes narrow for an instant in short-lived challenge. "And for the record, when aren't you thinking of trading blows?" Innuendo: check. "Enjoy the shindig," she says before promptly turning to beginning sauntering up the stairs. Slowly.

"That would be so fucking awesome." Reid's head bobs enthusiastically at the prospect, hand raising to wave toward Lily when she wanders off. Then he's left alone, an alien state. So, he'll rectify it. The man downs his glass, giving it one small shake before he begins to thread his way back through the crowds. He'll hook another drink on the way, offer friendly smile and chatter to those he passes. Mark is on the way, so he's one of those unfortunate few. "That looked like it might have been rough," He mentions, "You scare her off?"

Saunter. What female still has to saunter these days?! Ugh. Mark just shudders at the thought of watching America head up the stairs. He turns himself around at the voice of someone else and immediately rolls his eyes. "Unfortunately, she's hard to get rid of. Like furniture." He glances back to see if America's still within earshot. "But trust me, everybody in town's already sat there, if you know what I'm sayin'."

"I get it." Reid even displays a helpful thumbs-up to assure Mark that he can read such complex subtexts. Another drink then, one smooth motion before a hand is extended outward. "Reid," He offers, "She seemed nice for a few seconds. Maybe when she's not hunting down people to kill she's better." He offers that helpfully, even if it might not be true. "I don't know you, do I? I don't think I do, but at this point I can't even tell."

"I only introduce myself to talented individuals that want to make a shitload of money. Nothing personal, but I've had issues with restraining orders in the past." With that being said, Mark still reaches out to shake the man's hand. Don't ever let it be said that Mark Israel Long isn't a polite enough person to speak openly and honestly, but still shake hands with strangers.

"Do you want me to find a chop-shop doctor with a medical diploma printed off the internet to neuter you like the dog you are?" That would be the return of Ms. King already, but, shocker of shockers, she's not talking to Mark. No, she's coming down the stairs, one arm wrapped around a staggering man about ten years her junior. Before you get any ideas, her hunt was successful: it's her brother. "Because I can make that happen." Her saunter is banished, since she has to help him down the steps lest he fall and crack open his skull on the lovely tile below. On the last step, she has to grab onto him as he stumbles and groans. "I swear to Christ," America cringes, glaring, "If you throw up on my shoes, I'll castrate you myself and trust me, I do not want to go there."

"Well, shit." It's not a particularly derisive expletive, merely one of acknowledgement from Reid. "Heard it before. Nice to meet you anyway, whoever you are." His head cranes back when America returns, dragging her brother along with her. "Shit, Jagger." Glass is raised in pitying salute toward the man being dragged off, the rim scratching absently at his cheek afterward. "Poor guy. I hope he doesn't really lose his dick, he probably likes it a lot."

Mark finds himself turning to look over his shoulder and off in the direction of where America and… some guy. Huh. "Oh, this is too good to be true." Mark flashes a grin and hands off his drink to Reid. "Hold that. Slip me a mickey and I'll rip your balls off." is quipped ever so quickly at Reid, before Mark's full attention is on America and the drunken stupor that is the guy she's hoisting. "Say Internet!" Mark exclaims, holding up his phone and immediately starting with the mega-pixel snapping of pictures! It's good to have one of those awesome cell phones that can do everything, isn't it?

"What part of off-limits don't you understand?" America continues to chastise her flesh and blood; whether he's actually understanding anything beyond blahblahblahbitchbitchbitch is questionable, because the guy's in a pretty good stupor.

He's coherent enough to wave at Reid and make a gun-to-the-head at his own temple while staggering along with his sister, mind you — and oh, timing. *click* His friendly visage is caught on Mark's cell phone along with America…

…Whose expression is an angry glare, a blur of her hand coming up too late. "What the hell, Long. Get that thing out've my face."

Reid can only hide his grin, the man making sympathetic nod toward America's brother. He does accept the glass that Mark passes on, examining the thing a moment before shuffling it to his other hand. There it hangs, balanced without further though. "She's probably not going to like that." And she doesn't, so Reid gives a firm nod of emphasis to prove that he was correct.

Mark is in the midst of snapping more photos, just to make sure he gets a firm grip on the horribleness of what's happening right now. "Oh, come on. Don't you want everyone to know how dedicated you are?" His sarcasm is near biting, as he's shrugging and actually shifting his position to get a better angle of the horrible facial features of the drunken one and the pissed off ones of America. Oh, blackmail is going to be such fun. "God, I hope he blows all over your shoes." Wishful thinking comes right out loud.

Mark's cell phone gets a lovely snapshot of America giving him the finger as she leads her brother away from the staircase.

Gathering up a wave of energy, the drunken partier throws the horns up in the air and yells, "WOOOOOO!" for no particular reason, eliciting a series of cheers from the party-goers and a sharp shove from his sister. "I fucking hate you both," she snaps as she drags him past Mark. Or at least tries to. Her brother, he is not so cooperative.

Reid, of course, has to show his appreciation. It would be impolite not to. So he lets out a little cheer, raising a glass that doesn't belong to him in salute. "Sorry about that," He offers in passing to brother and sister, though it's not really clear to who. Probably both. Either way, eyes move down toward the glass in hand, juggling it back and forth.

Oh, this won't be good. Because Mark is nowhere to be found at the moment. In fact, he's a little bit too busy being off to the side and sliding a hundred dollar bill into the hand of some random (and mostly drunk) party goer. The uneasiness of America's Brother not moving helps with Mark's plan, it seems, as it gives the bribed guy some time to get into position. And that's why he's smiling. Mark's smiling, anyway.

Cue Cinematic Slow Motion.

America's Brother is raising up horns.

The bribed guy's eyes are narrowed as he moves in. He looks menacing.

America is looking like the bitch she is.

Horns and cheering from America's Brother.

Bribed Guy wastes no more time, before he moves in for the kill. A kill that is, as they say, a strong punch towards America's Brother's gut.

Mark is standing nearby, with the cell phone camera ready!

If there's one thing the King siblings have in common, it's that they both have a feisty side. When the brother is punched in the stomach, he stumbles back (causing America to let go and hurriedly backpedal in her heels), and his immediate reaction is to swing back. He misses by a mile and, in a display of general drunken disgustingness, reels around while simultaneously puking, falling, and passing out.

"…Forget it." America throws her hands up, disgusted and prepared to abandon her brother, if only because it would be physically impossible for her to drag his idiotic ass out of here. She glances around until she finds Mark and, making sure she gets to shoot him another icy look of death, starts to skirt her way around the crowd.

Oh /no/. Reid may not care to follow along with the spat between two well dressed talky-people, but he isn't about to let a friend go by unavenged. Besides, he's been waiting for something like this to happen the whole damn night. So Mark's glass is discarded, tossed over one shoulder to land with a crack and mess of liquid. His destination? The scene of the crime. Reid, lightly less drunk than the victim, decides to extract revenge. He pulls back, then comes forward with one exagerated hook toward King's attacker.

Bribed Guy is no match for someone that appears on the Opening Credits, so the hook of justice finds its mark (haha!) and he goes sailing backwards and knocking into someone else. Of course, this causes that guy to shove back at someone else. And that someone else punches another guy and… well… the chain reaction has begun. There's about to be a brawl in this house!

Meanwhile, Mark has weaseled his way through the crowd, to make sure that he's planted against the wall, where he can see America clearly as she leaves. He's tucking his cell phone away at the moment she's passing him by to get to the exit. He looks up with a fake disappointed look. "Shame. Look what you started." And then he's smiling. Victory.

If America could walk any faster, she would, but the serious striding action she's capable of in those heels is already impressive. She sees ahead of time that she's about to pass by Mark, but she doesn't break stride. "I didn't start anything," she counters, plain and simple and bitter, as she whisks past, throwing the elaborate front door open. Maybe she'll be lucky and it'll hit Mark on her way out.

Reid has hard decisions in his life. Eventually he decides to take the best of the two. He'll move to collect America's brother, taking the occasional push and swing that he can. He doesn't want to miss all the fun. When he gets a chance he'll nudge the unfortunate Jagger to a place where he won't get trampled, hand off a napkin, and sit around to wait for more things to hit. Life is, for Reid, pretty good.

Mark just watches America go… and OH SHIT FRONT DOOR! A quick reflexive move has Mark stepping out of the way and then he's frowning. "God, I hate that she has such a nice ass." Biting his lip for a moment, his concentration on those thoughts is broken by the sound of his cell phone ringing. He flings it up to his ear quickly. "Yo! E! What's up, you little bitch?" Back to work.


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