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

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.

[charismatic]

If Will were to sit down and survey his own behavior since arriving in Baedal, he would probably conclude that he's become something of a busybody. He's not doing that right now, though, and probably never will, so he just pauses next to the table, peering down at the lone occupant and the not-very-empty pitcher of beer. That's never a good combination.

He plops himself down uninvited, folding his elbows onto the table and looking over at Shrieky. “Today is not a good day to be drinking alone,” he says.

[wontturntofoam]

Why ever not?

The question floats through Shrieky's mind, but he decides against asking it. He's getting a little tired of looking like someone who doesn't know anything about anything. Instead, he blurts out indignantly, "I'm not drinking alone!" Except that... he sort of is, isn't he? Shrieky amends: "I was not drinking alone, when this jug was initially purchased. I don't think I have any money, so I couldn't have been, and legally, this probably doesn't even count as being mine."

He frowns, staring at the pitcher with some new misgivings, before redirecting his gaze towards Will, "You should probably have some of it though. To prevent me from drinking alone."

[charismatic]

Will shrugs, taking the explanation in stride. That's better than buying a whole pitcher for himself, even though none of it is actually any of Will's business. “I'll go grab a glass,” he says, though, and disappears for a moment. He comes back with a clean glass and fills it halfway. He's had a couple already, and he wants to be companionable, not drunk.

“Well,” he says, tipping his glass toward the other guy before he takes a sip. “Since we're officially not drinking alone, I should introduce myself. I'm Will.”

[gwynn]

After a while, a face pops up in Shrieky's line of vision -- upside down, pink hair dangling floorwards. Megan likes to make room for other people by not occupying the floor, evidently; she's hovering in the air, not giving a single flying fuck whether that makes her sweater ride up. (She's got something under it, jeez, it's fine.)

"Hi!" ... She does this a lot, yes.

[wontturntofoam]

Pink hair! Dragonfly! Shrieky stands up instantly, then wobbles slightly, and puts his hands on the table for support, grinning widely, "You! Dragonfly Girl! Hello!"

Had they exchanged names last time they'd met? He can't be certain, but he feels as though he managed to dodge that particular social bullet, so Dragonfly girl it is!

"I didn't know that your wings were functional! Although I suppose it would make no sense to have purely cosmetic wings..."

[gwynn]

Megan laughs -- 'Dragonfly Girl' is a new one on her, but it's certainly less awkward than some of the other mutant names she's heard other people go by, so why not? She's not picky. "'Course they are! I can't even imagine how annoying they'd be if they didn't even work, gosh." She kicks her legs at someone until they move out of the way so she can touch down on the ground, righting herself awkwardly. "Whatcha doin'? Did you send out a little boaty thingy?"

[fish]

"Heyyy, it's the mermaid-man." Heads up, Shrieky, this slightly pinkish-cheeked little guy has appeared out of nowhere to raise his hand at you. It is a most efficient combination of greetings and a request for a high five. "What's up?"

[wontturntofoam]

"Yes! And it is Fish!" The bringer of blankets and towels! Shrieky looks so so pleased to be accosted in this way. He raises his own hand in a perfect mirror of Fish's, and for a moment, it's almost as if he's planning on delivering the requested high five...

...Then the reality that he doesn't know what a high five is brings that lofty dream crashing back down to earth, and his hand remains stationary, defiantly leaving Fish hanging.

"Nothing is up, really! I came with some people, but they appear to have dispersed. What is up with you?"

[fish]

This isn't the first time Fish has encountered such a phenomenon as lack of high five awareness, and so he shall roll with it. Observe: "Nothin much, dude. Hang on, keep your hand right there..." Aaand slap. Not too hard, though, in case it's somehow insulting.

"Yay, awesome."

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.

[controlledvariable]

"Thanks for coming," Steph announces her presence by dropping into the seat beside Kate and leaning her head onto Kate's shoulder.

"This is the worst holiday ever." Some people had looked happy, like they had accepted being stuck in Baedal and were excited to be receiving something from back home. Steph just feels sad and lost and lonely.

[joiedeviolet]

Steph is in the club a lot of their cohort is in. Kate doubts any of the people who truly look happy are from their section. They have to be from the people who've been here at least a handful of years. Lucky them.

She gives up on finding any appetite tonight and holds the pastry out to Steph. "It's a knockoff Valentine's Day." It sounds like a close enough explanation for everybody being miserable to Kate, including herself.

[controlledvariable]

Steph doesn't really lose her appetite, even when she's upset, so she takes the pastry with a small smile and eats a bit before responding.

"Only in Baedal could they make Valentine's Day worse," Steph doesn't have any particularly strong feelings about Valentine's Day one way or the other; she usually just sends silly cards and presents to her friends, but she understands why a lot of people hate it.

[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.

[wontturntofoam]

It's not so much that Shrieky chooses to intrude into the girl's evening out by lurching into the seat opposite her, as it is that the process of making his legs work is becoming increasingly complicated. So it is, that he drops (more than a little drunkenly) into the seat opposite her, and gives his legs a thoroughly disapproving look.

After a moment, he redirects his gaze to glance across the table at her, "Do you mind me sitting here?"

He hopes not, because having to move sounds like a pretty terrible option right now.

[instead]

Lily smiles across the table at him and raises her eyebrows, taking a sip of her water.

"I don't think I've much of a choice in the matter, do I? But please, have a seat." Her eyebrows lift slightly. "Had a bit much this evening, have you?"

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.

Lounge and tables:

[wontturntofoam]

At some point in the proceedings, someone saw fit to spill a drink down Shrieky's back, and he may never get over it. He can feel the unpleasant, sticky sensation of whatever syroupy beverage they'd been indulging in, clinging to the hairs on the back of his neck, and glueing his tee shirt to his back. While it's a completely nonsensical thought to have, just in that moment, it seems like the single worst thing ever to befall him.

He's been trying to remedy this situation, of course, by getting two pints of water from the bar, and carefully, inch by inch, dribbling it down the back of his neck. So far, it's only served in rejuvenating the sticky qualities of the drink. What he really needs is something he can use to wipe the other drink away, like... a cloth, or a handkerchief...

Conveniently, at that precise moment, he happens to spot someone dressed in such a way as to surely be in possession of the coveted item. He raised a hand, so as to catch the well dressed gentleman's eye, before asking somewhat shamelessly, "Do you have a handkerchief?"

[oneborneveryminute]

Nico by this time is lounging well back, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle, an arm tossed over the back of his chair. He can't help but watch with amusement Shrieky's dilemma: the drink down the back. The mad search for a towel. Unfortunately, the other man's eyes have settled on him like a searchlight, and Nico is stricken with the unpleasant feeling that he's going to be asked for a favor.

Thankfully, it's only the handkerchief. Still, it's rather irksome. The handkerchiefs - oh, yes, of course he has them - are for show. They're fine linen. Embroidered. His eyes drift to the napkin on the table in front of him, but there's really no escaping this sort of thing. He's already slipping a hand into an inner vest pocket, drawing out the cloth, and holding it out with an upturned palm.

"For all the good it will do you."

[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.

[gifted_hands]

Tadhg heads in Rachel's direction as soon as he spots her, glad to see someone familiar in the crowd. He pauses, though, when he sees the pensive look on her face. After a bit of internal debate, he shrugs and walks over to the vacant chair. She can shoo him away if she wishes; he won't argue.

He has appropriated a bowl of mixed nuts from somewhere, which he proffers in Rachel's direction as he sits. "Care for a snack? Conversation? Both or neither are also acceptable answers."

[gotbottle]

Rachel stirs at the sound of his voice, turning toward him. She'd been lost in her own thoughts, but the company is more than welcome.

"I could do with both," she replies, smiling. "It's good to see you again, Tadhg. How've you been?"