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Party Like...

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Kame's wearing a sports jacket over a T-shirt, over artfully distressed (but not ripped) jeans. He feels if not precisely underdressed, then showing a lack of planning and consideration. The theme is "party like it's 2000," because that's the last time the world was supposed to end, and no one believes it's happening this time, either.

There were prizes for the costumes earlier, with Tegoshi taking the grand prize. He is dressed as a dragon, thick liquid liner in black and gold and bronze outlining not only his eyes, but scales that pattern his face down beneath his cheongsam. He's still a bright white blond that only makes his scales look even more exotic. Kame can only imagine what he will look like when he gets it all smudged, if he hasn't already. Kame hasn't spotted Tegoshi in the crowds since he ran off with his tacky made in China trophy.

No one recognised Kamenashi-- no one recognised his costume, he should say, because it's a company party, and that means nearly everyone knows Kame by name.

This costume wasn't Kame's first choice. That would have involved a jersey with "Ichiro" written across the back of his shoulders, but even though this is a big party, a company party being thrown in someone's marble floored mansion, Kame was sure he couldn't make it.

He's filmed two movies this year, and the second opened just a little under a week ago, ending weeks of trips round the country, and he will have studio filming over Christmas eve again this year, keeping his streak unbroken. But somehow, tonight of all nights, found him in Tokyo with nothing in particular scheduled, five hours ago when Koki rang just in case to remind Kame about the party, and so here he is.

These parties happen every year, some night in the last few weeks of December, not Christmas and never New Year's Eve, when so much of the company has to be on live television. The last time Kame made it was 2010. It's always someone new. Kame doesn't know who owns this house, hasn't visited here before, but they know how to throw a party.

There's beer in bottles and steins and long, tall glasses and pint measures poured recently enough to keep the head. Rainbows of shots, and margaritas in salt-frosted glasses and bourbon in square tumblers around a bucket of slowly melting ice. There are champagne flutes and cognac snifters and white wine in glasses perfectly shaped to enhance the aroma. None of it's cheap.

Kame never could have won the Eternal Jeanist title if it hadn't been created for Kimura Takuya. It shouldn't be strange that he would be able to throw together a "Kimutaku" costume just from staring at the clothes already hanging in his wardrobe. Kame is apparently the only person in a crowd of hundreds who remembers the cologne Kimura Takuya wore in 2000.

It's nearly midnight and everyone is drunk. No one cares that Kame's costume is neither obvious nor flashy nor cool. No one except Kame. He knocks back the body temperature red in his wine glass and goes in search of more.