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[baedalites]

Who: EVERYONE.
What: Swap meet.
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Sukkardi the 14th of Haneden
Notes:

• Swap Meet Spreadsheet: Pre-chosen swaps are green. Assigned are blue. There were a few characters that were selected more than once, so objects were assigned on a first-come first-serve basis. If you have any issues or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact the mod team.
• For objects that might not be immediately apparent as belonging to their owners, there may be a picture or name attached, or players are welcome to have their characters ~just know~ it's for them. Drr drr drr, bb.
• Party post nights are a great time to come join the chatroom.
• The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread.

Warnings: None yet. Please put warnings up on individual threads.

The Apache is much the same as it always is: dimly lit, with the jukebox playing in the background, and the bartender serving whatever's on tap.

Comments

Bar Area:

[baedalites]

To combat the cold as well as the pain of social endeavours, drinks can be obtained at happy hour prices. Beers in pitchers, whiskey in heavy crystal glasses, shots of some concentrated liquor that burns on the way down but is not, apparently, called tequila. Also some springtime specials such as the first of the season's citrus beers and something mint-like and tart that comes with a stem of something herbal with iridescent leaves. The sound of the jukebox is heard over noisy conversation, and people camp at bar-edge for access.

[attentionseeking]

Having strung the engagement ring - emerald, nice enough - that arrived earlier with her tiger's eye to avoid that awkward scenario known as 'losing somebody else's engagement ring' that's funny in movies and not so much when it's you doing the losing, Gilly's first stop is not the swap meet itself but the bar. A shot first, then maybe that mint thing--?

(Getting up in the morning to go with Sally to some guy's moving day is going to be fun.)

Re: Bar Area:

[requiresssacrifice]

It was, perhaps, unfair to the box's original owner to have had it sent to Rex Lewis. When presented with a locked box, there was no way he wasn't going to take a look inside-- with his sister's help, of course. Ana being the expert that she is in matters of reconnaissance, it was easy enough to have her pick the box so that he could take a good look at the contents.

In the end, the effort was a wasted one. What did he care about drawings and... whatever the other stuff was. Not tech, so it wasn't worth Rex's interest.

Now the box is as good as new, locked as if nothing had happened, and sitting on the bar as Rex sits there nursing a drink. He's not feeling particularly sociable so much as he's keeping an eye out-- figuring this to be a good enough vantage point-- for his own object.

[23rd]

Laura doesn't go to parties as a general rule unless she's dragged by someone else (Kiden, usually) but having someone else's stuff ultimately drags her out of hiding. She's not a jerk, of course she's going to come return it, and honestly she is really curious what the gods could possibly have chosen to give to her. There are precious few belongings she had back home that she places any value on. One is with her -- her choker with her mother and cousins' pictures in it -- and the other she burned a long time ago; she memorised the contents of that letter and has never forgotten a single word.

What else is there?

She's dressed, as usual, inappropriately, and her body language and expression indicate she could not give less of a shit about it. She's not trying to look tough; her expression is its usual calm neutral.

The first thing she does is get a beer. She can't get drunk, she just likes the taste, and having it in her hand makes her feel as if she's not so out of place. People drink in bars. She's in a bar. Therefore, she is drinking.

Notably, she is holding a hamster ball. There is a live hamster inside.

Shepard + Garrus + recipients + anyone who wants to stare at the turian!

[cmdreffingshepard]

It had taken some convincing, but Garrus had agreed to go with her to this thing. They did have items to return to their respective owners, after all. Shepard was wearing a leather jacket, jeans and a t-shirt, rather than her completely-inappropriate-for-a-party armor, and the strange photo album was tucked under her arm as she made a beeline for the bar.

She definitely needed a beer before dealing with this.

[satrinah]

Lyla doesn't usually frequent this particular bar, but she's certainly familiar with them as a generality, so even though she's clearly nowhere near twenty-one, there's a teenager there, in her ripped leggings and short skirt. She has a tall glass of something or another, though frankly, she'd prefer the bottle.

For her, this is behaving, and she calls up to the bartender: "Can I get a chaser? I'm gonna take it easy tonight."

[hellsayshello]

Avoiding the not-tequila and ignoring the minty nonsense, Stark convinces the bartender that yes, he really does want 'the godforsaken red shit that no one drinks because it tastes like diesel'. With a glass in hand and a weird-ass book Vidocq would give his eyeteeth for, Stark leans against the rail and watches the cohort move through the room. It's no Bamboo House of Dolls, but there's that same sort of dive vibe that permeates the Apache and it's as close to home as he'll find outside the arena.

Paging Ilde

[catiana]

Tatiana is weaving through the Apache, a camcorder hanging at her side in a small canvas bag, searching the bar for the girl she'd seen on the tape. She'd felt odd watching it - intrusive - but she figured it was the best way to find the genuine owner.

She couldn't help feeling a bit envious. She and Laurie didn't have any videos like that. Her dad had been gone by then, and her mom definitely wasn't interested.

Tatiana figures they must be nice memories to have, especially here, so she's going to give them to Ilde if it takes her all night.

hay shrieky lookit what i got (and open to anyone else, too)

[whattigerscanchange]

If Odessa didn't know better, she'd suspect the object she found in her living area when she trudged up the stairs for coffee this morning was actually meant for her. It's a nice sleeping bag, after all. She would have liked to have had one of those back in New York.

But she has a home now. A house. Hers. Properly. Someone else needs this more than she does, and despite any disdain she may have for the notion of a higher power, she isn't quite selfish enough to tempt fate by keeping the insulated bedroll. Not without attempting to find its owner first, at least. Cord tied around it to keep it rolled up, it's also precariously hanging from the barstool she's seated at by the same. Maybe whoever it belongs to will see it, and come to claim it.

And if they don't, then she'll keep it. Whatever. Guilt is for lesser mortals. That notion keeps her warm, or it could just be the bright blue drink she's nursing.

[apotropaic]

With the necklace that she received --cheap, but well-loved, and with the remnants of magic, which is what really gets her interest-- wrapped in tissue paper and tucked into her pocket, Philomena heads to the bar first because she's got an inkling for something fruity. Afterwards, cherry schnapps and lemonade in hand, she starts to wander around the room, sipping from her straw and keeping an eye out for whoever she has to gift.

And, of course, whoever has something for her. Surprise surprise, she likes it when she gets nice things.

[thedominatrix]

For Irene, parties mean business. Hence why, at any given moment, she can be seen leaning in to make the sort of joke that needs to be murmured, or accepting one drink or another (though the astute observer may note that she is drinking slowly, keeping track) and making sure not to play favourites too badly.

Not that she doesn't enjoy herself, of course. She just enjoys herself with aims in mind, and a rather ruthless approach towards achieving them. That's how you have fun, right?

No item is particularly outstandingly not hers; either she's already passed it on or it's in her bag, depending on when you've found her. She's in McQueen- stelanmancy is a beautiful thing- and if she says so herself, she looks ravishing. And she would say so herself, wouldn't she?

[seeyaduke]

Ana Lewis wasn't cold, and she approached parties as rather serious business. It felt like they definitely needed a good party after the last several months. Her goal was to get as drunk as she could and find out who on earth was called Cinderella back home and why they had a princess crown that was real. The temptation was great to steal the diamonds, but after seeing what the gods could do, Ana was in no hurry to piss them off.

But it was a pretty tiara.

Belly upping to the bar and feeling a bit overdressed in her nude lace and leather, she ordered one of the shots, slammed it and then raised a finger for a second.

[lt_boomer]

Once she's found Sol, Boomer considers just going straight home, but it seems inconsiderate make whoever has her item track her down somewhere in the city. Instead, she gets a beer to nurse, and mainly watches people. She's content, for now, to keep herself apart.

She can't decide what to do with humanity, but she has an idea about what most humans would like to do to her, if they could know what she's done. What she is. But surrounded by other people, she can just pretend for a little while that this is almost normal.

Attn. Remy/open

[toooldforlosing]

At least, Raylan thinks, the compulsory socializing is at the Apache. It's a lot more people than he'd like, and he plans to go home once he offloads the goblets sitting in front of him, but in the meantime he's working his way through a glass (first or... not at all the first, it isn't immediately evident) of neat whiskey.

The goblets, he thinks, are not the sort of thing he'd ever own himself, but nice. Family heirlooms maybe? Idle speculation and people-watching are the orders of the night.

That and the feeling that perhaps he should speak to more of them, ever, with no movement toward actually doing so.

open to all, up to and including item receipt (sup Balthazar)

[gotbottle]

It's not tequila, but the burn's close enough for government work. Or whatever it is they say.

One shot, a good ten minutes' respite, a second, a shorter break, and a third, and then Rachel spins around on her stool, back to the bar, facing the crowd. The purple (a few shades more so than the wrap top she's in, with jeans and silver flats) rind of a not-quite-a-lime-but-close-enough is just visible between her lips; she chews it a bit as she considers how best to go about finding the owner of the fabric case full of needles and medications that currently resides on the bar behind her, by the glass she just downed.

She's glad the party seems to be going well. Maybe it's morbid to be celebrating when so many have died or lost so much, but, fuck if they don't already have little enough to celebrate in this city. Take the opportunities you can, that's always been her standard operating procedure.

Open

[nolimitation]

Having dropped off the item she received with its proper owner, and found her own gift from the gods, Olivia isn't quite ready to go home yet, and the bar is as good a place to sit and think as any.

She has a glass of whiskey in front of her, but most of her attention at the moment is on the token she's holding, dangling from her fingers by its braided cord. She can remember the night Lincoln gave it to her, what he told her it was for, though the memory's more distant than she'd like - and that alone makes the object seem surprisingly appropriate here and now. She smiles faintly and runs her thumb over the round metal of the token, lost in thought.

Side Alley:

[baedalites]

Outside is a good enough place to escape, even though it's quite cool in comparison to the Apache itself. Some kind soul has put out a bench and an ashtray. Good enough to have a quick smoke, be alone with your thoughts, and lurk in the shadows. 

[norea]

Hasibe hasn't ventured out much, besides work, since her little incident. She's got her mask perfectly in place, mind you; few people know what really happened, and she's effortless because she makes it seem effortless, greeting friends and buying drinks. After a certain point, however, she realizes she needs to pace herself, and eases out into the side alley where she assumes she runs the risk of other individuals feeling a bit overwhelmed, but that's fine.

She just wants a second, that's all.

So: one young woman with long black hair and a cigarette, wearing a dress that's white at the the shoulders, straps poised to fall over her shoulders, and scarlet at the skirt. Her heels pose no problem in the alleyway, not with her supernatural balance, but she's careful not to stray too far.

open

[deservesadaisy]

Lurking in the shadows is a bit cliche, but the courtyard is a bit too festive for a quiet smoke. Ivan isn't averse to chat, but he's conspicuous enough at Ilde's side indoors. He prefers looking to being looked at.

[satrinah]

In the alley, there is one half-vampire, rummaging through the pockets of her leather jacket, searching for cigarettes and a little baggie with something extra-special inside. She just needs something to calm her nerves, she decides; she ends up taking more than almost anyone else due to her physiology, but six or seven pills really do just calm her down a touch. Of course, there are vastly better coping mechanisms...but she came out here so no one could point that out to her.

She's not oblivious. She knows people stare at her a little now, like she might flip out or break...and she's sick of it.

So. They're in here somewhere, and she just hopes no one from Hellsing follows her out.

Lounge and Tables:

[baedalites]

This is where the swap meet is taking place. Patrons can come, show off their unwanted objects and hopefully send them away with their rightful owners. There's a table for unknown, unwanted, or just plain weird.

[asklepios]

Benevenuta, loosening her coat as she makes her way in, has had a glance inside the slim silver briefcase she's carrying and certainly has her suspicions about to whom in their cohort it might belong...but there's more in heaven and earth, after all, and certainly more in Baedal. No need to assume straight out of the gate that what she's carrying (and what she's mildly troubled by, frankly, although she can't tell precisely what it is and has a limited pool of options to draw from in having it quietly tested) belongs to a particular mad scientist just because they're already acquainted.

So. Drink in one hand, mad science in the other--

Arguably that sounds like the beginning of an interesting night.

PAGING TATIANA; Open to All

[theworstmagician]

Cheated. That's how Marty feels by the piece of junk he finds himself with. Here he is, saddled with a snow globe. And not just any snow globe, nooooo. The piece of crap's broken! That's like... a freaking cutting hazard or something. He'd been hoping for something he could pawn off for riches, like somebody's long-lost family heirloom or something, and instead: snow globe.

The gods must be laughing.

He's half-tempted to put a curse on the damn thing, just to be spiteful. A cursed snow globe... Hm.

Marty stares at the object in his hand, this perfect encapsulation of his disappointment, as he leans against one of tables and takes a good, long drink of beer. There's a streak of white makeup still on his cheek, left over from tonight's show. Other than that, though, he's dressed completely normally, like he hadn't just spent the last few hours prancing around on a stage, singing poorly composed-- yet oddly catchy-- tunes with some Xenian cougars (that is, fine older Xenians, not literal... alien cougars).

Courtyard:

[baedalites]

Slightly more sociable than back alleys, this outside option is lit with paper lamps and strung up fairy lights. The ground is damp concrete and some outsider furniture scatters around the space, barred off from the rest of the neighbourhood with rustic rough plank fencing. People stand, smoke, chatter in loose mingling in the chilly air.

[behindfirelight]

Solomon isn't planning on staying out long tonight - he's only got a sitter until one-thirty, there's the trek between Mog Hill and Sobek Croix (he'll get a cab, he thinks), and then there's the fact he's got to be up at six to get the moving show on the road. Still, he's got somebody's hand-mirror (--not just any, but he can't tell yet exactly what the point of the thing is and it doesn't seem dangerous, just odd), so he can make an appearance, see if he can't figure out what it is he's been sent in turn.

And if he happens to have a beer or two in the process, and maybe he'll work harder on quitting smoking tomorrow...

~the outside world, for Lucius Malfoy (Sr)

[leviohhhhsa]

Hermione's rather worried about the gift she's been entrusted with, to be quite honest. It seems like the sort of thing she really shouldn't lose. Then again, it could be infinitely worse, and at least a ring proclaiming someone's love has to be a welcome sight- right?

It's in her bag, protected by various charms, and she's hoping its owner will be at the Apache. Aside from that, she's honestly not thinking, or expecting anything to occur as she tries to get from point A to point B without Apparating, enjoying the time that walking gives her to relax- because as convenient as Apparition is, it's not exactly a good time. For precisely this reasion, her shoes have been Transfigured into flats; she'll turn them back to their former state just outside the door to the Appache. Magic, it's useful.

That's the thing about fighting monsters; after they've gone, you forget to worry so much about other things, hence why the population of Death Eaters isn't causing her so much grief as it was.

...For the moment before she runs into one, that is.

[amourpropre]

For Lucius Malfoy, it's a matter of practicality and preference. To everyone else, it's being overly dramatic, alarming, and possibly creepy. But some things come natural.

But all the same, the clip of her magically flat shoes is interrupted by another point of audible punctuation; the tap of a cane, following on from silent Apparition. He is dressed with the intention for being presentable in public, in case curiousity gets the best of his mood, unlikely as it is when he would rather take care of this now. He is in black, Muggle clothing at a glance until a fullness of sleeve or an angle of lapel is noted for having a little more flare than the average coat, subtle differences that mark him as such appropriately, as if he needed help in this regard.

He's also had a rough week. A rough year, or more. He wears it as visibly as he wears his coat, and the evidence of recently having had a scrap only serves as emphasis. But one thing that hasn't really changed much is his voice, prim, vaguely nasal, nails on a chalkboard to many;

"Hermione Granger. How long has it been?"

He is holding a book. It's tucked under an arm.