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Parties were never Blaise's strong suit. His old partners would probably attribute it to his more abrasive personality, but he knew it was something much, much more fundamental. He was absolutely hopeless when it came to formalities.
Something that made this especially apparent was his outfit. Despite having nearly everything hand-picked by Amber, in Blaise's own hands, it quickly became disheveled. He could never figure out his tie, since he never had a reason to do so in the past, and so it sat in his vest like a big, burgundy ribbon a clown would wear.
The door swung open suddenly, Amber poking through with a panicked expression.
"The driver's here!", he shouted, "Why aren't you ready!?"
Blaise gritted his teeth, "Already? Shit, I—", he paused, trying to decide if it was worth it to try and salvage this.
Amber swung the door open and turned around, sparing a stern look at his partner, "Let's go, I'll fix it in the car."
Blaise scurried after him, anxiety already increasing steadily. They quickly descended the stairs of their shared apartment.
When they stepped out, the sun was already setting. There was a black sedan on the street with the window rolled down on the passenger side to beckon them in.
Amber slid into the passenger’s side while Blaise established himself in the back.
"Where are you two kids heading to?"
"The Oceanic Museum," Amber supplied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Blaise balked, lunging forward to whisper quickly to Amber, though the driver could obviously hear him.
"The museum!?", he hissed, clutching the back of the seat tightly, "I can't go there!"
"I told you that, were you not listening?", the other looked exasperated, "It's a ceremony, they're honoring the team behind the new flood prevention systems. It's only natural the venue would be there."
"Slateport has so much food though! It's supposed to be a dinner party, they couldn't even rent out a restaurant?", he seethed, "There's no food in a museum."
Amber rolled his eyes, "They've got caterers, but that's beside the point. The food isn't the focus."
The taxi began to move, and the two continued to engage in their conversation with Amber uncomfortably and unsafely turned around in his seat.
"I promise it's not going to be a big deal, I know these guys, they're pretty nice.", he supplied affirmingly, "Here, hold still. I'll redo your tie."
Blaise nervously tapped his foot against the floorboards as Amber undid his clumsily fashioned knot, "Yeah, nice to you, but I'm not one of them! I don't know the first thing about stuff like this."
Quickly the sleek fabric was redone to be much more presentable. For good measure, Amber also tugged out some wrinkles on his dress shirt.
"Who all's gonna be there? Anyone I know?", the better question would have been 'anyone who knows me?' since there was absolutely no chance of him recognizing a single person, but the latter felt especially incriminating.
Amber paused for a moment, pondering, "Uh… Agawa, Hamaguchi, Utsumi, Dock, and of course, Captain St— Oh!", he was interrupted by the sudden illumination of his window, stalls aligned across the street with the taxi significantly slowed to allow pedestrians through.
The Slateport market was always bustling, but took on a more intimate and exciting tone as evening approached. The heavy traffic slowed the car to the point that the people outside were moving faster than they were. Truthfully, they could have just walked to the museum. The fact that they called a taxi was just more frills, but in any case, walking would have been faster than this.
Eventually, the taxi would reach the entrance of the museum. The vibrant blues of its walls against the ashy, light-polluted sky became daunting instead of cheerfully nautical, windows obscured and dark. Blaise swallowed hard. He held his breath as they entered, the chilly night air transforming into something suffocating. The counter where tickets would usually be sold was instead populated by a couple of workers who offered to take people’s coats, which he thought was absurd. This place had absolutely no business having a coat closet.
He scanned the area quickly, noting the people there and the small groups they were clustered in. It was a modest crowd, mostly consisting of older, established men who cheerfully spoke to one another, byproducts of Stone's circle. The more elite atmosphere was cut by the scientists who directly worked on the titular project: their fingers wrapped round their glasses with a slight tremor, laughter more subdued, holding themselves as visitors rather than guests. He identified with their anxiety, but it wasn't like he was the guest of honor. His own nervous energy was a bit less justified.
The generational split was amusing to observe, but that wasn't to say there weren't people in between. Assumed department heads and shareholders, people like Amber with unexplainable connections, a full breadth of executives from young adulthood to those pushing retirement. The diversity of age in the field was comforting in a way, it reminded him of his days in Team Magma. They had attracted a wide range of people, so it was a great coincidence that he and the other flames were in such a similar age bracket. He knew as many disgruntled middle-aged members as he did those in their 20's, which was a testament to both his Boss' demographics and the influence of Team Magma as a whole. They seemed a lot more credible with full-blown adults behind them.
He people-watched for a bit longer, eyes darting from face to face until he found one he recognized. Stern.
Blaise let out an honest to God yelp, multiple heads turning in his direction as he hid behind Amber. That was him, same glasses and mustache he'd sported when Blaise took him hostage.
"You didn't tell me Stern was here!" he hissed, crouching awkwardly behind the taller man.
"I feel like it was pretty obvious," Amber muttered matter-of-factly, "You can't exactly have an event like this without Captain Stern."
Blaise furrowed his brows, "I don't know that. I don't know anything about your weird conventions or what's 'tradition'. Here, you know what? From now on, assume if you haven't directly told me, I don't know anything about oceanography."
"I feel like you'd get annoyed by that pretty quickly."
"No! I promise I wouldn't, because none of this is as obvious to everyone else as you think it is!"
As he spoke, Amber suddenly began to step forward, nearly revealing Blaise.
"Where are we going?", he glanced around at the others neatly ushering themselves forward.
"They're seating us", Amber supplied, "Appetizers are about to be brought out."
Sure enough, they entered the hall where the room expanded greatly into a dimly lit area with many circular tables scattered throughout the venue. He'd never seen this part of the museum before, but truthfully, he'd seen very little of it in the first place. They found themselves at a gorgeously arranged table with fresh, bright flowers sitting simply in the center.
As they slid into their seats, it became apparent how out of place he was. Every utensil came in a set of three or more, multiple plates stacked on top of each other. He began to move the topmost one before Amber graced his arm.
"That's your plate, you don't use the charger."
His mouth hung open for a moment, "What did you just say to me?"
Amber rolled his eyes, "It's supposed to be there, it's decorative mostly. The fish plate you can take off if you'd like."
"Charger", he muttered, "I thought they brought your meals to you? Why do we have the plates already?"
"I think they have some table-side service, but I assume it's mostly to share," he shrugged.
"There's too much stuff here, where am I supposed to put my arms?"
Amber blinked slowly, "… In your lap."
The seats around them filled in just as Blaise opened his mouth to protest, a couple and two businessmen. They spoke amicably as a group, but as the conversation shifted, it became a bit harder for him to jump in. He wasn't especially eager to do so in the first place, but he could only fiddle with the tablecloth for so long until he started to feel awkward.
Just in time, waiters began to emerge from the kitchen, and he'd realized that he hadn't even looked at the menu yet. A young woman approached and greeted them enthusiastically, pouring water before setting two pitchers down on each side of the table.
"Could I please get a caprese salad and oysters for the table?" Amber smiled, "and a glass of Riesling."
Wine! He hadn't even thought of that, he didn't know any wine names. Back in the day, he would just nick some of whatever Maxie wouldn't notice was gone.
"I'll uh— I'll have the same thing. The wine, I mean." He skimmed the menu quickly, pausing for too long, "And the asparagus risotto?" his voice lilted at the end like it was a question, and as soon as the waitress left with their orders, he dumped his head in his hands.
"That's not, uh, going to pair super well."
Blaise grumbled, hunched much too far into himself since there wasn't enough space to prop his elbows.
"I can order you a red if you'd like," Amber offered, "I think I could pick something good for you."
He lifted his head to shake it, "No, I'd just drink too much."
Amber hums, "See, I thought that'd be your coping mechanism."
Blaise cracks a small smile, "It's not a regular party, everyone'd judge me more."
"Nobody's judging you, they're just people. I don't think you're as famous as you make yourself out to be."
He rolled his eyes, "It's not that— I mean, well okay, partially. I mean that I don't really, uh, know how to act. Here."
The others at the table continued on with their conversations.
"Just be polite," he offered, "the guests of honor don't either. Look at them, they're a mess."
To Blaise, they actually seemed fairly composed, which only served to make him more insecure. He went quiet, silently observing the room that was slowly stagnating in its flow of people. A stand with a mic was set up on stage, but nobody was there yet. He's honestly not sure how long they should be expected to be at the dinner either.
He craned his head to see who was nearby. Their table wasn't especially good, probably because they were less important than most of the other guests. Regardless, they were still on the edges of a good row where some more businessmen resided, already laughing and sipping on their wine. Maybe he could see what they had on their bottles, learn what the good brands were if he decided against his earlier sentiment, sleek dark bottles that were intermittently picked up and—
His eyes widened, Stern tilted the wine into his glass, back mostly turned from them. He was there again! Their table was so close to their own, it would be so easy for him to turn and glance at Blaise's guilty face. God, this was like some karmic punishment. Why were they doing this to him!?
A bowl was set down in front of him and he nearly jumped out of his seat, startled by the waitress who'd just returned with their appetizers. She flashed him a polite, if awkward smile.
"Are you all ready for your entrees?", she finished placing all of their respective meals.
Amber leaned over, as if anticipating Blaise's imminent floundering. "You should get the lamb, you'll like it."
Blaise paused for a moment, then nodded.
"Could we also get a glass of Cabernet?", he asked the waitress before gesturing to Blaise's fresh Riesling, "I can take it off your hands, if you'd like."
Blaise sighed, "Nah, I'm not gonna waste it."
Amber hesitantly relented, with a face that said 'if you say so', which aggravated him for some reason.
As if in protest, he took a bite of the risotto in front of him. It was fresh and aromatic, with creamy sauce and crunchy, bitter asparagus. He took a sip of the wine afterwards and cringed, the food on his tongue became unbearably tart as it mixed in his mouth. He swallowed as quickly as possible, and then promptly downed the wine in order to get it over with.
Amber looked at him with something resembling pity, but didn't say anything.
Over the course of the meal, he couldn't help but spare glances at Stern. He wondered if he was still upset. Probably. A lot of people were. He seemed fine though, chatting amicably with Dock, who was almost definitely still upset.
He was practically staring at this point, head fixed at their table in a much too suspicious way. He wanted to stop but he was just so anxious, would they kick him out? Call the police? God, it was too nerve-wracking. He topped his glass off again, drinking just to satiate his paranoia.
He forced his gaze away, gripping the stem of the glass like how a kindergartener would hold a pencil. Eventually his lamb would be placed in front of him as well, less to his surprise than earlier. Along with it, another glass, this time red.
Finally, someone came on stage. It was a welcome distraction from the thoughts racing in his mind. He gulped the glass down quickly. Amber put a hand on his arm and squeezed it, almost like a warning.
Was he worried? He wasn't going to do anything, he just needed to loosen up. Everyone else had drinks, it was normal.
His brows furrowed as he looked at Stern again. It'd be funny to confront him, see what he would say. Maybe he'd freak out, get angry. Maybe he'd think he was there to extort him again.
He didn't make an effort to look at the stage as the speech began, he simply stared into the thick, dark liquid as he swirled it lazily in his glass. The lamb leg sitting in front of him was daunting, but Amber was right, it looked amazing. The small bone sticking out reminded him of a chicken leg, how easy would it be to just pick it up and eat it? He didn't know which of the forks or knives to use anyway, they'd laugh at him for anything he did at this point.
Blaise picked up both ends of the lamb with his hands while his partner stared, horrified. He took a tentative bite that smeared sauce on the corners of his mouth.
"What are you doing!?", Amber hissed.
As he peered up, he saw the others at the table give polite, awkward chuckles. If they thought he was disgusting, they should just come out and say it. Everyone here was too polished, too uptight, too rich. It made him sick.
Suddenly, he felt hands on his lap. Looking down, he saw Amber dabbing a handkerchief on his rumpled dress pants; he hadn't even noticed the lamb had dripped onto him.
"I got it, wait." He stood suddenly and his chair stuttered unpleasantly across the floor. As he did, his knee hit the edge of the table, making a loud clattering noise. Some eyes turned to stare as he brushed meat bits and sauce onto the floor.
Amber grabbed his arm to stop him, "Stop! Just, please stop", Blaise met his eyes for the first time, desperate and pleading, "You're making a mess, just sit down."
Blaise stilled, hands dropping to his sides. He looked around, lots of people were staring at him. Confused and reproachful faces, judging and ashamed. The host was carrying on, but sneaking occasional glances in his direction. Stern was looking at him now, face unreadable.
His mouth opened and closed like a fish, their glares shook him into sobriety, suddenly very aware of how he looked. Amber was averting his gaze and instead rested his hand on his head like he was trying not to be seen. Seen with him.
He was silent for several moments. "I think I'm gonna hurl."
Blaise stalked off, fists balled at his side tightly. He didn't tuck in his chair, didn't fix the plates, didn't spare a single glance at his boyfriend.
The bright lights of the entrance hit him like a truck, sending him reeling for a moment. He didn't realize how disoriented he was. After composing himself, he made eye contact with one of the clerks he mentally chastised earlier.
He stared blankly as he spoke with a level voice, "Where's the coat closet?"
The clerk, a young boy with an unsure expression, pointed with a hesitant finger, "Um, just down that way, are you ready to leave? I can send someone to get your things."
Blaise turned as soon as the directions were given, not meeting his gaze. "Thanks."
He continued down the hallway, face drawn into a tense grimace. He could leave without him, he probably would. Might as well let Amber finish the night, he was the one who was actually invited anyway. He wants to just gun it for the exit, but something inside of him is opposed to the idea of walking through the market alone, dressed like this.
Finally, he found the closet. It was ridiculous that high-profile events happened enough for there to be a designated room, or maybe it was a storage closet refashioned into one for coats. If he looked hard enough, he could probably find old exhibit pieces in there.
Sliding inside, it was actually quite spacious. Everyone's things were arranged on hangers across a U-shaped rack. Maybe he could peek through their pockets and sell whatever he finds, the idea is entertaining, but it'd probably just make Amber more upset.
Amber. He probably won't talk to him for weeks. God, he deserves it too. He can't believe he acted so ridiculous, everything that he'd been slowly taught over the weeks leading up to the event was thwarted by his own divine ability to sabotage. He knew it was a bad idea from the start, he should have trusted himself.
He slid down onto the floor underneath some expensive-looking mink coats. It reminded him of how he used to hide in the thrift store racks as a kid. Of course, though, instead of reasonably priced jackets that were probably giving him lice, they were handcrafted luxuries worth more than his apartment.
Maybe he was just predisposed to hate rich people, they always came off as smug to him. That fueled a lot of the rivalry between Team Magma and Aqua. Most of the people on his team came from nothing, and that was a rallying force. Their base was a cave for gods sake, it was dire.
Team Aqua, on the other hand, was undeniably and unbelievably wealthy. Their connections to Hoenn TV were one thing, but you could tell they were used to it. Every member failed to recognize their privilege until it was time to rub it in his teammates’ faces. The way they all took it for granted infuriated him, Amber infuriated him. Together, emancipated, they've reached more of a sense of normalcy. Amber was learning how to budget for the first time while Blaise had stopped taping his shoes back together.
The other could never comprehend how fundamentally alien this all was to him, Blaise should have anticipated it, really. He only has himself to blame. Amber is relatively clueless about his upbringing. There was no way for him to anticipate how cultured he'd be.
He sighed shallowly, resting his head in his crossed arms, this was so stupid.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. Blaise whipped his head around, meeting Amber’s cautious, exasperated form.
"Blaise!", he slid through and shut the door behind him, as if trying not to be caught, "Are you okay?"
He blinked, not moving from his spot on the floor. How did he find him? Did the clerk say something? That's probably what happened, god, of course. But why did he look for him, to yell? He didn't seem angry. Upset, sure, but not angry.
"Blaise?"
Agh, he was just staring and not saying anything, he probably looked like an idiot.
"Hey stranger," he smiled weakly, not nearly as smooth as he would have liked.
Amber had a way of doing that though, making him stinted, awkward even. All the charm he tried to pull, being the most mysterious and unpredictable, he broke that so easily it was almost humiliating.
His smile dropped and he lowered his head in embarrassment, "Uh, listen, I'm sorry. I really fucked up. I know this was important for you, and I ruined it." He pinched the ends of his hair between his fingers, "I need you to know I didn't do it on purpose. I really did want to do good by you."
He was struggling to meet the other’s eyes, and continuing to excuse himself became more of a soliloquy rather than a conversation.
"I like you a lot, y'know. And I want you to think I can do this kinda shit but I just can't, there's just— there's something. Paranoia or judgement or, or whatever, but I can't click in events like these. These people, they're something else that I'm not."
Amber shifted, out of the corner of his eyes he could see him moving to sit in front of him, coats shrouding him in a distastefully goofy way.
"I want to fix that, but I'm not ready. As shitty as that feels. You should have gone without me."
"Are you kidding me?", Amber chuckled, "Ok, yeah, first, you didn't ruin anything. I promise you nobody cares. But also, I probably wouldn't have gone in the first place without you."
He cupped his hands together, "You really overestimate how together I am, socially? I'm a nightmare. Did you see my conversation with the Verdanturf directors?" That's who their seatmates were? "I was a mess, I didn't know half of the terminology that came out of their mouths."
Amber sighed, "I'm not a scientist— everything I learned was from Shelly, and fishing can only bring me so far." He hesitated, "I love the ocean, but I can tell these people think I'm deranged. They know who I am, they don't want me here."
Blaise stared, face contorted into an intense, sympathetic gaze.
"I'm famous in their world. The extremist. They'll be civil, but I know."
"Then why would you tell me otherwise?", Blaise grimaced, "I've felt like that the whole time, why did you lie?"
Amber sighed, "I guess… I wanted to believe it too? I want to belong here, but I chose not to. I can't change what I did." His hands moved to take Blaise's, calloused and warm, "I wanted to help you belong in this world, not oceanography, but events. I think you're helped by your disconnection, and also not having your face on TV nearly every day for years. It's hard when you're new, but you deserve to be able to experience luxury. There's things to celebrate now. You don't have to follow every arbitrary rule and expectation, but there's beauty in them as well."
He paused for a moment, then stood up suddenly, "But today, that's not the case. Let's get out of here."
Blaise startled, "Wh— but, dessert?" he slowly followed, making their way down the hall.
"We'll look through the market, who cares! We're not bound to anything, we're still criminals." Amber smiled, crossing the entrance. It gave his form an almost frontlit look, the night behind him boundless and dark.
Blaise cracked, face splitting into the biggest grin he'd brandished all day. He grasped his tie tightly, pulling it to the side and letting it unravel as he stepped into the brisk evening air.