multiversallogs | open post ● we're about to get up and burn this floor

Entry tags:

open post ● we're about to get up and burn this floor

Who: Everyone.
What: The Grand Re-Opening of the Gravity Falls Station.
Where: Babylon.
When: Veerdi to Sukkardi.
Notes: Party post!!! Go nuts y'all.
Warnings: Probable alcohol (and drug?) use. Flag stuff in subject titles if it needs a warning and I'll edit it up in here.

It's clear from the first moment anyone even gets on the Skyrail tonight that the Stratosphere Entertainment Group's pricey investment is going to pay off - every rail car is crowded with people decked out and excited for the event. To natives of Baedal, the idea of a holiday is days off work, maybe some camping - escape is alien, a little frightening, and completely thrilling. Even when the Gravity Falls station had hosted other venues, it was nothing so ambitious as to capture the imaginations of the city as a whole. And to immigrants to the city who no longer have the luxury of even simple trips out of town - well, it's priceless. A bittersweet but suddenly vital excursion.

Doors open just as the sun begins to set, the light reflecting off the water of the ocean illuminating the great floating platform as if the entire sky was on fire, before slipping into deep purple then black, the ceiling of their experience dotted with brilliant stars. Staff members wrangling the hazards of the first night are anxious but excited, kind and helpful even if they end up frazzled by the overwhelming turnout. There is security, all sporting neon purple shirts with lion logos, but even by their own admission, they're only there to breakup fights - and even they're smiling all night, too.

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She laughs. "It's alright, I won't tell anyone. I didn't have many friends back home who were saints, you know."

"I know saints are held up as the ideal," Jim confides, "but sinners make for better stories, when history's being written."

"Is that how you identify yourself, Captain?" she asks with a bit of a smile. "Or are you taking other people's word for it?"

He shrugs, full of good humor. "I try not to take too much stock in what people think of me. But there's no denying there's a certain image people have. And there's also no denying it's grounded in at least a little truth."

He's maybe not quite the danger-loving, swashbuckling, lady-loving figure rumor has him cutting... but it's not entirely unfounded.

"Well, a saint would probably be less fun to talk to. And a saint definitely wouldn't help me get a drink that's a strange color and more alcohol than sugar."

She feels a bit like she's pretending to be someone else. But that someone else is having a good time, so she'll keep going for now.

"Now I can definitely do that," Jim agrees, "whenever you're ready."

"Ready when you are, captain," she says with a small grin.

He chuckles, sketching out a mock salute with two fingers. Jim takes a moment to get his boots back on, and then he rises to his feet, offering her a hand to help her up.

"Main bar or the lounge?"

She takes her hand up, considering. "...lounge." And before he can let go of her hand (or otherwise respond), she blinks them both there.

He's momentarily stunned to find himself in entirely different surroundings, but once his brain catches up with his eyes, he breaks into the biggest grin.

"I see where traveling like that has its advantages." And is just really really cool, besides.

She can't help but grin back. Sure, she was showing off a bit, but she'd been so thoroughly trained that her powers were just for fighting that she's still exploring using them just for the pleasure of it. "A bit flashy," she says, releasing his hand, "but it saves gas? Or it would, if we were living someplace with more cars."

"Listen, I always love a flashy entrance." What can he say? He's a thrill-seeker and he likes attention.

"They still use cars a lot where you're from? There's some around where I'm from but they're antiques, collector's items and stuff. Still get driven around, though."

And wrecked. Jim.

"They did - when I was little they were common." By the end it was rich folks, the military, or those well enough connected in the black market to be sure of regular fuel - few and far between. "I never learned to drive myself."

But she slides past her world without dwelling on it more than that. "So. Have you had any of these drinks yet? What's good?"

He shakes his head. "I haven't tried anything yet. I usually go for beer but I'm open to trying something new. Maybe we can ask a bartender for a recommendation."

"Let's see if there's something fancy and ridiculous that's a special tonight," she suggests. Beer is more her general speed too, but why not get in the spirit of the evening?

"Looks like the bar's over there. Shall we?" He offers his arm, clearly playful.

She takes his arm. "Sounds good to me."

Jim leads her to the bar, where he waves at the bartender, trying to get her attention. "I'm sure there has to be some opening-night special," he muses, studying their surroundings. "And something tells me it's some neon color."

"Maybe it'll match my hair," she suggests, amused. "If you can figure out what to get, I'll pay for the first round."

"You got it."

The bartender comes over, and Jim flashes her a winning smile. "Hi. So we'd like to know what your specials are tonight. Also, I won't presume to speak for my friend, but if you'd like to just surprise me with something, I wouldn't argue."

He turns towards Clarice, eyebrows raised--her turn.

"Two surprise me with somethings," she decides, a split second later. She doesn't plan to get terribly drunk tonight, but she can gamble on the first drink of the night. And she's been bad, in her adult life, about dares, spoken or un.

Jim grins as the bartender departs, clearly pleased by this development. Two surprise me with somethings. He likes it. He likes adventure! Even if it's just a drink.

"Here's hoping we don't wind up regretting this choice."

"Well, if we do, they say misery loves company?" Or they could just pour them in a nearby potted plant. "Besides, I'd have spent all night wondering what she would have picked."

"Yeah, we'll be all right," Jim decides, leaning on the bar with a faint smile.

A couple of minutes later, the bartender returns bearing two drinks. The one she sets in front of Clarice is sort of what they expected: elaborate, a layer of green on top of a layer of purple, garnished with a couple of fruit wedges, a glowing straw, and a long swizzle stick with stars set into clear plastic that makes it look like the stars are cascading up out of the glass.

Impressive.

Jim, however, gets a plain glass tumbler with an ungarnished blue liquid. He looks down at his drink, and then he meets the bartender's gaze, eyebrows raised.

"It matches your eyes," she explains, in what's probably not a professional tone. And then she wanders off to help the next patron.

Jim has the good grace to look startled by this development, and to further turn over the napkin under his drink--when he lifts the glass, you see, he realizes it has a CiD number written on it.

"Sorry," he says to Clarice, sheepish, leaving a slightly-larger tip than he would usually offer on top of the upturned napkin. "Should we go find somewhere to sit?"

Clarice laughs as the bartender walks away. "I bet that happens to you often," she suggests, mischievously, as she carefully picks up her concoction. "And yes, let's, I don't want to try and stand and drink this. I won't be offended if you take the napkin," she adds, an afterthought.

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