Chapter Text
If you ask the average person on the street what a ball was, they would answer that it was a round object, typically a child’s toy or a basketball or something like that. After you tell that ‘not that type of ball’ they would describe a describe a dance with women in long beautiful dresses, men in formal wear. They would describe ballroom dancing. Fine expensive drinks. Excellent food. Men acting like proper gentlemen and women acting like fine ladies.
In other words, they would describe a Disney film, the type in which the Princess would meet her Prince and they would fall madly in love and live happily ever after.
A real ball is far from that Disney dream. Oh, there are all the things that made up the Disney ball, but what Disney missed is the battles that happen at the ball. It’s not a battle of fists or weapons but a battle of words.
A word in someone’s ear can have a rising star plummet to the ground in a fiery display or an unknown person thrust into the limelight. A passing comment can turn a business from near bankruptcy to the roaring success or do just the opposite.
And then there are the princes and princesses of the ball. They may not be the richest nor the most attractive person to attend the ball, but they are the ones who how to manipulate the events, the battles that occur at the ball.
One of the best-known princes is Anthony Edward “Tony” Stark who is also known across the world as Iron Man. In the past, Stark has played the fool of the ball, been the knight of a ball but he’s always been one of the princes of the ball. Some would ever dare to call him king of the ball with how much people watch him and how much they listen to his words.
Almost everyone had at least one eye or ear on Stark at any given moment as he moved through the guest. In many ways, Stark was like a maestro and the guest was his orchestral which he directs to produce the music he wants to hear.
Among the guests were two sets of eyes that paid more attention to Stark than others. The first belong to a man with light brown hair which boarded on being blond. His blue eyes watch Stark like a hawk. The other sets of eyes belong to a young woman in a burgundy dress with her long brown hair in a French braid.
“I hate Stark,” the woman said softly before taking a drink from her glass; her eyes never leaving Stark as he moved through the crowd.
“Don’t blame you,” the man grumbled. “He makes all this look easy. But then again he probably teethed on this type of events.”
The woman glanced over to her companion for a second before turning her eyes back to Stark.
After a few minutes of watching Stark move among the crowd, the man asks, “Do you want a drink?”
The woman glance over to the man then down to the champagne glass in her hand which was half full.
“I meant a real drink,” the man replied with a nod towards the bar. “There is only so much champagne you can drink at these events before you start to feel like you should be upper class and speaking with a British accent. Beside whoever arrange this went cheap with the champagne. They didn’t get the poor man’s version but they didn’t get the good stuff either.”
“I won’t have considered you an expert on champagne,” the woman stated.
The man snorted. “Blame Natasha. She’s a bit of a fine wine snob. Personally, I prefer a good lager. Of course, if I drank on at any event like this Natasha would… well it would be painful.”
“Then what would Natasha consider to be an acceptable drink at these events, Clint?” the woman inquired.
“A fine wine of course. Scotch. Brandy. Cognac,” Clint rattled off a few drinks.
“No martinis? Shaken, not stirred,” the Woman asked.
Clint shook his head. “Only if you want to die, Wanda. Due to the movies, Natasha hates Bond. She claims that Bond is a philistine since he asks for the drink shaken. She said shaking it bruised the gin.”
Wanda shook her head. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t prefer martinis.”
Clint smiled. “So, what is your drink of choice then?”
“I never really have a chance to try different drinks. This is my first taste of champagne,” Wanda said look down at her glass.
“We’ll have to work on correcting that,” Clint stated. “So, what do you want to try?”
Wanda shook her head. “I think I will stay with champagne for the night.”
Clint nodded his head. “In that case I think I’m off to dare Natasha’s wrath but I’ll probably end up with a ginger ale. Being sober helps me avoid the pinching fingers of those old ladies.”
Wanda chuckled softly was Clint wondered off towards the bar. Taking a sip from her glass, Wanda turned her attached back to Stark; her hatred for the man reflective in her eyes.
She watched Stark as he moved through crowd; kissing the checks of elderly ladies and the hands of the younger one. He would shake of the hands of some men and with other, he pats them on the back.
Suddenly the noise of the party was interrupted by the sound of two gunshot closely together. All eyes immediately turn towards the sound of the sound. They watched in silence as Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch crumpled to the ground. They stare in silence for a heartbeat at the older woman dress in a forest green gown who had been behind Miss Maximoff; they stared at the gun in her hand.
And then the screaming started.
People started fleeing for the exit. Pushing and shoving at each other as they tried to escape; blocking those who tried to aid the Scarlet Witch or those who wanted to stop her assassin.
The woman in question ignore what was happening around her as she ejected the magazine, allowing it to dropped to the floor. Her next action was to cleared the chamber of the gun, then pointing the gun to the floor pulled the chamber before putting the safety on. Turning toward the young man who had been wondering around the event with glasses of champagne on a tray; she places the gun on the tray as she took a glass.
The young man stared at the woman as she took a sip of champagne; his eyes wide in shock.
“You should probably set the tray down,” she said softly like mother would say to frighten child.
The young man nodded his head before walking towards the bar with the gun on the tray.
“Freeze!” a balding man, dressed in a cheap dark suit that scream either security or police officer, ordered as he pointed his gun at the assassin.
The woman looked at the man then she turned her attention towards the cooling body at her feet.
Shortly after that other police/security arrived along with the other Avengers. Some dealt with securing the woman. Other dealt with the gun while other check to Wanda in the hope that she was still alive. Still other dealt with the guests at the party; calming those who were upset or panicking or getting medical help for those who were injured in the mad push to escape the room.
The Avengers stood by helpless as they watched the police do their job as the police lead the woman away.