Sy’s Pokemon were no strangers to the industry, as it were, though he did his best to keep them out of the more sordid corners of his occupations. Vermillion, especially, was well-used in Sy’s routines-- she looks like a regular accessory and yet her ability to magically conjure petals out of thin air came in handy more times than you’d really think when you started life out.

If Sy had a nickel for every time he’d had the thought, as a child, gee, you know what would make this better? An impromptu flower storm, he’d have zero nickels. His grandmama liked that analogy a whole lot.

But Verm wasn’t much of a party princess, and if Sy had to be honest, neither was he-- he liked a good hoedown, much as he hated to admit it, and was plenty fun to be around, but honestly? He’d just turned 30. He really didn’t need to be out wilding it up. And everything was balance, right? Sugar and booze tonight meant water and extra reps tomorrow. Which he did anyway, but still. It paid to be cautious, especially when your body was your livelihood.

An industry party, however, was a necessary evil. With summer winding down, companies were going to be swapping into their fall and winter advertisements. Sy was gifted with a body for swimsuits and underwear, but sweaters and suits were a harder industry to break into. So he’d dressed to impress (fishnet t-shirt and black pants, which left little to the imagination without being entirely too tacky, he hoped) and headed to the event, business cards in pocket.

Vermillion accompanied him, as one of the only quote-unquote ‘adult’ Pokemon he had; for some reason, he’d been collecting babies. Maybe that said something about him.

As a Hoennian model of some prestige (mostly swimsuit ads and underwear commercials) he got to stand in the VIP line, which was slightly shorter and went a little faster than the regular joe line.

Pluto Fürst Niky Racz
i was invited i promise
wearing

☉

Once inside, he found the bar and helped himself to a sparkling water with just a squeeze of lemon, before wheeling back out amongst the populace. He talked to a handful of people, exchanged contact info and business cards.

He ends up pulling a loop and ending up behind the curtain with a group of people staring out at the stage.

“It’s nice,” he comments, voice warm; and it is nice. It’s not as good as his stage, by virtue of it being his.

Pluto Fürst Niky Racz
i was invited i promise
wearing

☉

Having lived in his body for all of his life, Sy was acutely aware of the effect he had on other people. It came with the territory and, as it happened, was one of the most important selling features of his whole personal business venture.

Still, he tried to tone it down, as much as possible, when it wasn’t a real benefit. Which was hard, because, he was hot as shit. But he didn’t like to make people uncomfortable.

He did remember that Pluto was prone to blushing. Their meeting on the beach was proof enough of that.

“Good to see you again,” Sy said, smiling politely; then his expression turned quizzical. “You said you play the trumpet? Like, alone, or part of an ensemble?”

Pluto’s shirt question made him laugh. An honest to goodness, surprised, feel-good laugh.

“I do, sometimes,” he said, faux-insult weaving into his voice. He stuck his lip out in a bit of a pout, looking back and forth between Pluto and Niky. “They have a bad habit of shredding off of me for no reason, though, so I thought I’d save them the trouble.” He barely suppressed a wink-- tone it down, tone it down.

“This is your party, isn’t it?” he asked Niky, tilting his drink glass in the blonde’s direction. “It’s nice.”

Pluto Fürst Niky Racz
i was invited i promise
wearing

☉

Sy had a brief flash, a vision, of what it would be like to attend these events with someone important to him. A specific someone. Though, that specific someone would probably hate them. At the very least, they could stand in the corner together, drinking and commenting on people’s fashion.

“Finding one that fits is the trouble,” Sy said, about to resign himself to the peanut gallery with the rest of the people watching the show. He didn’t really have aspirations of being a supermodel, just paying the bills. But more modeling work meant… less other work. And he’d tried to adjust his body mass ratio, but he also wasn’t willing to be unhealthy just to fit into clothes.

Pluto’s invitation backstage was met with a smile. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, figuring it would be better to see how things worked from back there; though that did dash his plans for leaving the shindig early. Now that he was acquainted with the DJ, that seemed a bit rude.

Pluto Fürst Niky Racz
wearing

☉