OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

[baedalites]

Who: Everyone!
What: St Kelley's evening
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Veerdi evening.
Notes:
(1) The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread.
(2) All mementos will appear overnight in some part of your character's apartment.
(3) Dance!

St Kelley's is one of the more sedate occasions in Baedal, at least as holidays go. It passes more or less unnoticed by the majority of the population as many of them feel it doesn't concern them. It's not their holiday; it's for the others. Those with severed ties and broken hearts. The temple and church preach that it's a time for reflection or for glorifying the generosity of the gods. It's one of the few days on which no one looks askance at first generation Citizens mourning their missing loved ones publicly.

As night rolls around and floating lanterns are set to sea, the Apache in Mog Hill prepares to accept guests from the newer cohorts. It's something that happens every year, making it a practical tradition. The alcohol will be cheaper for first timers, and the music will be kept at a reasonable level.

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. The sound of the jukebox is heard over noisy conversation, and people camp at bar-edge for access.

[boomvox]

As much as he loves clubbing, low-key gatherings are, believe it or not, Jae's favorite way to play. So he's very pleased to be at the Apache, despite being a bit out of place aesthetically. He's got a couple shots in him already and is pleasantly up to beer, mellow, chatting with anyone who's interested and generally enjoying himself. He moves in between the bar and the lounge area as needed, though at this very moment in time, he's back at the bar.

[gifted_hands]

Tadhg is no longer at the bar, per se. He drifts in the direction of the jukebox after collecting a large, hot mug of something the bartender referred to as a Nose Warmer. Even his nose can't pick out all the various liquors that went into the coffee, but it should live up to its name nicely enough, he thinks.

He offers the odd greeting and excuse me to those he passes, but his mind is still on the little boat he set adrift earlier, draped with a delicate heart-shaped charm braided of grass stems. Fetching up against a pillar next to the jukebox, he raises his mug to no one in the room. "Bail ort," he murmurs. Blessings upon you.

[gramarye]

Due to crippling shyness, Wolfgang has actually been spending more time outside, smoking and politely, but distantly, socializing. He's easily lured out by the promise of cheap alcohol, that's why he bothered at all -- and then sent out a boat for the hell of it, even if now he feels a little guilty. It's not really a big deal, but he still probably ought not be doing anything involving Baedal's Gods.

He comes back inside whenever he runs out of whiskey, like now, leaning over the bar to talk to the bartender -- something he says makes Wolfgang lean back and laugh, which softens his face somewhat.

While he normally makes an effort to dress down in situations like this, apparently tonight he felt like going nuts. He doesn't usually do much with his hair aside from brushing it, but the worse he feels, the better he has to look, apparently. No one will notice.

[cerebral]

Charles has so far declined to send out a lantern, for his own reasons. But the Apache isn't too far from work and it's a Veerdi night, which means he isn't about to pass up a free drink. Or a few paid. He's been circling the room making chit-chat, talking to the few people he knows and introducing himself to people he doesn't

Until he finds that his glass is once again empty. Then it's back to the bar for another, reaching over the counter for attention with a cheeky smile to whoever is serving. Hello. It would appear that he isn't drunk, but he is reaching a nice, competant level of tipsy.

[seeyaduke]

Ana loved parties; she'd always loved them. Ever since she was a child parties were something that made her glow and grin. Even in college, even after college, even after she'd become the Baroness, parties were always the best part of her job.

And parties being part of her job meant that they were a great place to make contacts. Not just professional contacts (though she could use some of them) but also personal contacts. Perhaps being here was a second start to have some friends.

Or something.

But for now she moved up to the bar wearing a black dress. stilettos and a smile as she moves up to the bar carrying a a glass of something that is very much like wine. She's tempted to move onto stronger drinks, but hasn't yet.

[captaincocksure]

"--it's more than that," Jim says as he and McCoy step up to the bar. He pauses to wave at one of the bartenders, making sure he catches her eye. "Yes, it's nice to get something from home. But maybe it's a clue, too. How far the city can reach, what it can bring through, how it can get things here. And if it can bring things here it can certainly get them out. Maybe there'll be some clue to that in this."

He's certainly not trying to justify a bout of sentimentality, what are you even talking about.

He leans on the bar slightly, unbuttoning the jacket of his suit. "You want a bourbon when the bartender gets down here, or are you going to surprise me tonight?"

Side alley:

[baedalites]

Outside is a good enough place to escape, even though it's sharply colder out here than it was in there. There's melted snow on the concrete ground, along with cigarette butts and discarded beer cans. Good enough to have a quick smoke, be alone with your thoughts, and lurk in the shadows.

[fish]

Being a proponent of all three of these things, as well as a practised creator of spent butts and empty cans, Fish will probably visit this alley at least a couple of times during the evening. In general he's content with a casual up-nod and the customary hey, and just leaving it there, but should anyone actually approach him they'll find it easy to strike up conversation.

Lounge and tables:

[baedalites]

There's space for guests to take their drinks and have comparatively quiet conversations. Some are talking about the people they've left at home, while others might mention new friends made in Baedal.

[wontturntofoam]

Since his eviction from the Inn, Shrieky's living situation has taken a brief dip into the unfortunate, before veering off into the unexpectedly wonderful. A chance encounter with a charming young woman whose face and neck were bejewelled with scales, led to him being invited to join a close knit Xenian squatters commune occupying one of the abandoned houses in Badside.

In all, five or six of the first generation Xenians from the squat have come out for St. Kelley's, but over the course of the holiday they've drifted away. Some alone, and others in pairs, to contemplate their old homes and the memento's they've received.

Shrieky is sitting at the table they'd initially settled down at, alone now, and a little drunk. There's still a fairly good measure of beer left in the last pitcher they'd bought, and he's beginning to understand why people force themselves to like the stuff.

Re: Lounge and tables:

[indiscreet]

It's not as though she has anyone she's planning to meet, or even a boat to send. (Well, there had been some lingering thoughts of a certain Gangrel -- all that nonsense they had shared about mates and the like -- but it was so much easier to put it behind her.) But, to be honest, Anna has been really longing for a good party -- something to put herself back out into the world. She did get lonely without the other Chicago Kindred; Jones understood a great deal, but they could not and would never quite be of exactly the same sphere.

In any event, rambling philosophies of loneliness to herself was all well and good for the last hours before dawn, but they were dull during the night, and she had a new dress. And besides, all those little floating lanterns were bound to be pretty. So she had taken care of the irksome business of feeding in Mafaton, and was now draped prettily over the lounge, cradling an untouched glass of wine in one hand.

[joiedeviolet]

Originally, Kate had no intention of showing up tonight. There's no sense in doing the boat ceremony for her, not with her wanting the people for real and Kate knows well enough to know that just wishing for them won't do. It's funny how even she's become a little jaded at life in an alternate universe, but was that so impossible? She's human too. She wants the actual people, not material items of theirs.

She's also human in the way that she can't ignore a text from Steph asking her to come down to the Apache for a hug. Even Steph sounded miserable and that was just through text. But Kate is a friend and Steph is someone special to her, so she's here at a small table, picking at a soda and some meat thing encased in flaky pastry as she looks around for a familiar face.

[instead]

It's still dangerous for Lily Potter to be out and about, but Daisy Williams is able to sit at a table in the corner, hair charmed blonde and curly, and a pair of glasses that started out life as a coffee mug perched on the edge of her nose. She has a glass of water, and takes small sips from it as she watches the crowd, happy to be out among them and learning more about the city.

After all, the more she knows, the better she can plan her escape.

Re: Lounge and tables:

[oneborneveryminute]

It's always a good idea for those who have made themselves at home in a city - lifers, he would call them, with no intention of escape - to try and mingle with the natives as well as their cohort. Catenrat and St. Kelley's are excellent excuses for Nico to pretend to be sociable: parties held at nighttime, crowded for the most part, plenty of drinks at hand.

Well. In most cases.

He doesn't drink the bottled stuff. It's like tofurkey, he thinks. There's just enough uncanny valley (for lack of a better term) about drinking blood from a bottle to put him off it. But he can pretend to drink while and pretends to be sociable, while he pretends to be a rakish European vampire. But that's just fine, because everyone else is pretending not to be miserable about having their lives disrupted by the Twelve Point Divinity of Baedal. It's one big pretense.

It's sedate tonight, at least, but always the same pattern: Someone claps him on the back and he gives what he thinks is a winning smile. Someone pushes another drink his way though his glass is mostly untouched. Someone shakes his hand, oh, yes, having a marvelous time, bit like a wake, isn't it? Sold you that two-headed cat, didn't I, and oh, scale rot, you say?

Someone shoot me.

[gotbottle]

Rachel's mind is certainly on the boat she set adrift earlier in the evening, and with the people she left behind. It's not a big group, and, to be honest, some of the leaving-behind took place well before she arrived in Baedal, with her ill-advised flight from San Francisco.

She's clearly occupied, but not closed off; she sits in a big overstuffed chair with her legs tucked under her, in jeans and a black wrap top, her red hair down and loose over her shoulders. There's a second chair near her, open, and she wouldn't say no to company, she's far too polite.

Courtyard:

[baedalites]

Slightly more sociable than back alleys, this outside option is lit with paper lamps in the shape of boats and hearts, surrounded by the ubiquitous 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.

[rhinemaid]

As much as Ilde likes to socialize, periodically, the way the Apache fills up when they do this is sometimes a little more than she's quite willing to embrace, and it's easier to be outside (where she can still wear her hat); it's cool enough that it's quieter out here, cigarette smoke rising and enough dimmed chatter going on that she doesn't feel isolated by drifting away from the bar proper, the lounge areas.

Her attendance had been spur of the moment, so she texts Ivan (at the Apache; are you coming?) after her cigarette is lit and-- watches, mostly, for the time being, big-eyed and quiet in her slightly unsettling way.

Re: Courtyard:

[djravenfall]

This really isn't the sort of thing that Kaitlyn has money for at the moment, and yet here she is. How could she not, sentimental sap she could be. A stop by the bar had rewarded her with a glass of whiskey, probably her only one for the night, and from there it was out to the courtyard. As much as she loves bars and would rather be leaning up against the jukebox, something about being outside just felt better for the moment.

Glass in hand, she spends most of the time milling about the edges of the courtyard. She'd been mostly trying to avoid thinking about back home too hard, but after finding out what today was all about, it was a bit hard. Still, she tries to keep a smile on her face as she mills about, offering a smile to anyone who looks in her direction. If nothing else, it's nice to be out and be something resembling social again.

Re: Courtyard:

[deadclumsy]

Tonks has occupied one of the chairs near the door, watching the comings and goings of others and being more than a little too quiet. It's just that sort of night, isn't it? When one can sit and consider all those who have been lost?

She's not one to dwell - not really. But she can't help thinking of Sirius, or, to a lesser degree, of Remus (because that's something she's told no one). She can't help thinking of Bellatrix and wondering who was behind her killing. Or of Lily Potter, and how she must be missing her husband terribly. She hopes Harry has contacted his mother. She hopes he's keeping her company.

Maybe she'll call Snape-the-younger and go have a drink with him, she thinks, then writes it off almost immediately. He tolerates her (she supposes) in much the same way she tolerates him. He probably has his own lanterns to set loose tonight, anyway.

She's getting a little too sentimental, is the problem. There's no raucous howling and laughter from her, no pig snouts or duck bills or fire engine-red hair. She settled on a nice brown and stuck with it. Everything about her is quite muted, and she's content to just sit here until someone she knows - preferably someone from home - wanders along.

[norea]

Hasi is a little--or, okay, more than a little, but pleasantly so--drunk when she comes into the courtyard, though not teetering (never) in her high heels and gold dress, bare-legged with her coat somewhere in the bar. The courtyard is pretty depleted of people at the moment, and she separates from her in-bar company--all male, at the moment--with laughing but firm dismissal. The fairy lights and lamps cast strange shadows over the courtyard, and she trails around, tracing fingertips over the old walls of the courtyard.

"There needs to be a piano out here," she announces, half-to herself. Nothing grand, she thinks, not at all, just a little thing to bang around on.

[ruinedu2]

Things have started to feel less overwhelming over time, which is as much a good thing as it is a sign of resignation, as far as Olivia's concerned. Life has started to take on a sense of normalcy, and it's partially out of a wish to defy complacency that she gets a little dressed up to attend the St. Kelley's Memento celebration. The open black jacket and the beer in one hand take some of the softness off the more feminine image created by her sleeveless red and white dress, and black pumps.

She's not necessarily looking for anyone as she sort of meanders through the courtyard so much as she is just looking. It makes her seem more approachable, anyway. If there was anybody she's hoping to see, she's not actually expecting to see them. Her little boat has already been sent off. She'll see if there's an real merit to all this soon enough.

[captainredwhiteblue]

There's a part of Steve that's occupied tonight, busy thinking of home, of lost friends and loved ones, of what was left behind. But he's an old hand at remaining optimistic even in the face of adversity.

So he's his usual cheerful self, outwardly, as he roams the courtyard, saying a few hellos. After a while, he leans on a wall, people-watching, nursing his glass of club soda.

@the shore

[controlledvariable]

It takes her a long time to send the boat out into the water. For at least ten minutes, she stays crouched with the paper boat cupped carefully in her hands as the water laps at her boots. The whole thing is probably just a superstition, and she knows not to get her hopes up and actually expect anything, but there's still a little message written on the boat. I'm safe, I miss you, I love you. Stephanie. She's not sure exactly who she has in mind, but her mom, Cass, Kara and the Babs from her world are people she misses desperately. She hopes they aren't worrying about her, even though she knows they will be.

She doesn't believe in God, not the kind she had back home, and she isn't inclined to believe in the ones here, just because someone told her to. She knows she should investigate properly, but there hasn't been the time. It's an excuse for this now, anyway; she can send the boat out, and if she receives something from home, maybe she'll start putting more faith in the Twelve Point Divinity.

Eventually she stands and walks in a little deeper into the water, not minding that the hems of her jeans are getting wet, it's good enough that her boots are waterproof. "Please." She whispers to the boat, or maybe to the gods, before setting it in the water.

She stays there for longer still, arms wrapped around herself against the chill, watching her boat until she can't pick it out from the others.

[betterthansubpoenas]

Kalinda isn't the kind to put faith in anyone on high. She also isn't the sort to indulge in sentimentality of this sort. But... she is one for traditions. Usually her own, the sort she makes up on the spot because it sounds like fun and probably at someone else's expense. She'll take a chance on this one. It's a good way to meet people, and make new contacts. (Not friends.)

She's got her boat of paper cradled in her hands yet. Her message is simple: I'm sorry. And like Steph, she isn't sure who she actually wants to receive it, but it's genuine enough in sentiment. Her boots are off, because they may be expensive, but they aren't the most practical, and are definitely not meant for total submersion in water.

Some respectable distance from the young blonde, Kalinda crouches down just enough to set her boat into the water and send it floating off without getting the hem of her skirt wet. "It's picturesque, I'll give it that," she comments without taking her eyes off the path of her boat toward the others.