Felix and Miranda want to congratulate their employees and whish them a happy Christmas!
Small reminder that Felix isn't a CEO of S-X Apple, his best friend is.

* * * * * * * *

She entered the room - as much of a spectacle as the venue itself. Small and round, as a glittering bauble, golden gown sparkling excessively, like an overcompensation for her stature, white fur cloak bouncing with each deliberate step. Miranda rarely emerged from the confines of ehr office, but when she did, she commanded attention like a prima donna in her grand debut.

Glass of champagne clutched in one of her hands, the other squeezed an elbow of her best friend and the company’s creative director. He moved with a precision of a pendulum, cutting through a room in a perfectly tailored suit, every detail of which - from the polished shoes to a fresh dwarf rose lapel clip - exuded cold, effortless elegance. Miranda was the beating heart of the company - at least, she looked that way - while Felix was its spine.

They made their way to the stage, the possum ascending with dramatic flair bordering on parody. She was a rare sight in public, and she made sure it counted. Her little speech was as gaudy of a firework as her image, oozing with over-the-top friendly attitude and flamboyance, praising the results of dedication, creativity, and tireless effort, however grotesque it sounded for adult industry. Felix listened, standing to the side. He didn’t smile - not really, but tilted his head slightly, leaning over with the usual precise attention that usually drew people near by the weight of authority.

The festivals resumed, performances and treats, pulled right from Miranda’s wildest dreams. She clapped furiously at every live musician, every dancer, every acrobat, and even a few magicians she managed to pull through relentless protests of her friend; her high-pitched voice and squeaky laugh ringing over any music. Felix, meanwhile, hovered at the edges, conducting small conversations with whoever approached to have one. With his reputation he did not, however, attract a crowd.

The highlight of the evening came when Miranda started handing out gifts - or rather, she theatrically revealed them, leaving the handing to any manager that cared to come to the party. She prided herself on giving personalised treasures - custom jewellery, monogrammed leather bags, new gadgets - all based off the information human resources collected for months in advance to make the night special. And the gratitude was genuine, even if tempered by overall extravagance. By that point, Felix almost lay down in one of the chairs, looking up at the glittering lights, barely touching whatever drink he had in his hand. Someone overheard the reason for his tiredness when, before hitting the dance floor and bestowing the employees with attention, Miranda approached, asking why he was so tired.

"Well, wasn’t it you who asked me to add a hand-written note to every gift?" He asked, and, seeing confusion on her face, sighed, and explained: "Miri, we have almost fourteen hundred employees." He unconsciously looked over at his hand, pads obviously bruised.

The evening stretched on, Miranda finding herself on the dance floor, adoring and granted quite drunk employees clinging to her every exclamation. Felix lingered between the bar and his little corner, nursing whisky, and eventually finding himself in a quiet conversation with one of the photographers of the company who finally put down his camera to let hired hand take snaps of the memory.
It was chaos - gaudy and glittering, and impossibly grand, much like the company itself; or rather, much like one of its peculiar leaders.