I was determined to write a story for the 1 year anniversary! It's about a month late, but I figured it was appropriate since this week we kick off the anniversary book. This can pretty much stand alone, but I hope you catch a few familiar characters in this piece.
"Darling, it doesn't seem like we've missed a thing," Bruce said.
Rava strolled forward and sniffed the air. "That damn ham smell is gone, too."
Bruce nodded his approval. While the ballroom was filled with the usual money grubbing snobs he liked to rub elbows with, an odd pair stood out by the buffet table.
"Rava," Bruce yanked her back to his side. Rava fell backwards and scrambled to gain back her footing.
"Bruce, for the love of God, what the hell are you -"
"Rava, who are those people?" Bruce pointed towards the buffet table.
While most of the guests in the ball wore elegant costumes for the black and white ball, the three men Bruce spotted wore plain clothes of casual jeans, pants, and sweaters. One young man, who seemed to be the most shocked of the three, wore a jacket with a college name stitched on the lapel.
"Go find out what they're doing here." Bruce demanded.
Rava brushed Bruce away. "Bruce, why the hell would I -"
"Rava, go spike the punch."
She rolled her eyes. "Bruce, really -"
Before anything could be said, the shortest one of the three hobbled over to the couple, and finished the last bit of tuna roll on the napkin he carried. He eyeballed the dancing ladies and as he got closer, he brushed off his hands.
"Pleasure to meet you both," he stuck out one of his chunky hands. "Mine name is Figaro. We have to crash your party."
"Parity?" Rava asked, ignoring his hand.
"Party," he corrected. "Do you know where we can find our way out?"
Rava and Bruce pointed behind them in the direction where they were taking everyone's coats. Before anything else could be said, a flustered skinny man rushed forward, looking furiously at the short man named Figaro.
"Figaro, where did you lead us this time?" he hissed. Realizing the company, he straightened himself out a bit, and stuck out his hand alongside Figaro's. "Mine name is Marco, and this...this is....I'm sorry, what is your name?" He was talking to a curious young man who was gazing about like a buffoon.
"Where - how - who?" the young man repeated over and over again, his eyes wide and searching all over.
"We're not sure what his name is," Marco laughed nervously.
"What, did you fall from the girders? Where did you come from?" said Bruce.
"Oh, good use of the word, darling," Rava said.
"Ah, I see our exit. Excuse the interruption, and I hope you enjoy the evening," Marco said. He headed off towards the coat check, followed by Marco, who pulled along the young man who still hadn't absorbed his surroundings yet.
"Odd trio," Rava muttered. Disinterested, she gazed down at her dressed and picked off a piece of lint. "I should never have bought this dress on sale - "
Bruce tugged on Rava's arm again. "Rava, what on earth are they doing?"
To be continued....
Word Count: 493-ish