multiversallogs | OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Will's mostly just passing through – clearly this is a short cut for something, nevermind what – but he pauses for a moment after he catches sight of the face floating behind the glowing cigarette tip. Hey, it's that guy. “I see you're brushing up on your ninja skills,” he says.

Although he doesn't actually bust out the huh? guns here, there's definitely a moment of computation before it occurs to Fish a) what Will is talking about, and b) who he even is. When he does, the switch from a perplexed—and somewhat wary—frown to an obvious look of recognition is instantaneous.

"Yeah, well, this's the place to do it. My camo works best out here." He is wearing an awful lot of black, as usual. "What's up?"

“A party, apparently,” Will says, like he wasn't down by the river doing the boat thing with everyone else. He's a little apprehensive about what he's going to get. He's a little apprehensive about getting anything at all. “I'm just out here hoping to steal some ninja pointers.”

"I dunno, man, this is some secret stuff." He pauses here to take a drag from his cigarette, speaks through the exhaust... "I can't give it up for just anybody." ...and then exhales properly, swaying a little to shift his weight from one foot to the other.

"You been inside yet?"

“A couple times,” Will says. “It's less maudlin than I was expecting.” Which is a good thing, and a tiny bit surprising. Take a bunch of people who've been kidnapped, give them a whole day to brood about people they're missing at home, and then shove them all into a bar together with a lot of booze. What could possibly go wrong?

"Yeah, the discount prolly helps with that." He feels pretty okay about it, personally (see: prolly). Mash all those feelings down and douse them in liquor! It's the only way.

"I was thinking... it seems mean to remind everybody of where they're not, and who's not here. Like, they could just not have the holiday at all. But it's kinda nice, too. At least they recognize it." They. Whoever.

Edited (html nooo) 2012-02-12 06:43 (UTC)

Will makes spooky fingers, but he's quiet for a moment, considering it. “I suppose,” he says, eventually. “I'm not sure if it's worse to kidnap people and then create a holiday acknowledging that it sucks or to kidnap people and act like it's totally normal and no one should be upset.”

Fish shrugs and ashes his cigarette with a flick of his thumb. It's easy to pretend they're talking about everyone else; he's been here nearly a year. "I'd rather feel like someone gives a shit, personally. Even if it's the same people... or whatever...that made this place. We don't know why they did it." He only barely pauses to take another drag, speaks through the smoke. "Maybe they had to."

“I suppose,” Will says. The smoke bothers him a little – he's not really used to it – but he ignores it. This isn't an angle he's thought of before, and he's not quite sure what to make of it. “What do you think they could need us for?” Not anything good, is his guess.

(no subject)

fish - 2012-02-16 06:16 (UTC) - Expand

At some point later in the night, a pink-purple blur lurches out of the building, slides past Fish, and topples over before promptly puking all over the ground.

(Despite rumours to the contrary, there's no glitter in it.)

"Well, shit," said blur -- which is distinctly less blurry at this point -- says. Someone indulged a little too much in all that cheap booze, apparently.

Once the initial freeze of gross fascination passes, Fish feels a momentary urge to applaud... but that might not go over well with someone he doesn't actually know, so, perhaps another time.

"Uh, you okay down there?"

To be fair, Megan would totally dig some applause. Not only was it pretty impressive, but she managed to get through it without getting anything on her outfit, including her shoes and her hair. That takes skill.

"Yeah, I just -- ugh." She straightens and spits a few times, trying to get the residual grossness out of her mouth, wishing she'd thought to grab a beer on her way out. Good life decisions: that. "Wrong pipes, or, like... whatever."

He hums some vague agreement through his cigarette, exhales, wills himself not to look at the, uh, spillage. Why is it that your eyes are drawn straight to barf, anyway? Is it really that interesting, brain?

"If you're gonna do it, might as well do it out here. It's basically the perfect setting." It's kind of romantic, he thinks. Not...like that, but in the broadest sense.

Megan reaches into her leggings and her bra to pull out a pack of cigarettes and a bedazzled lighter respectively, because purses are for jerks, evidently. God only knows where she keeps her cash. "I was just marking my territory anyway." Oh... okay. "So how's it going?" Casual!

Yeah, that piece of the ground definitely belongs to her now. He's not going to argue.

"It's goin okay. I'm not really into the whole depressing boat thing, so I'm just here for the discount, basically... aaand I'm guessing so are you."

A fellow comrade in shadow-lurking, Mitchell decides to hit the alley before he hits the bar, taking out a cigarette of his own and trying to light it. But after a few cursory shakes of his lighter, it's clear he's having problems.

"Hey mate," he calls over in an obviously Irish accent, "you got a light?"

Hee hee, mate.

"Yep!" It's not hard to trigger Fish's compliance autopilot; he wanders toward Mitchell at once, producing his lighter from his coat on the way, and reaches to hand it over. It is purple, and has a foil sticker on the barrel: the bust of a unicorn. So majestic. "Go nuts."

He will stand by and continue to emulate a small chimney in the meantime.

As he lights up, he feels the need to at least push his way forward into some small-talk. Sure, this may be an alley, but this is still a social event.

"Any other man might think you were encouraging arson." Humour is obviously the best way to go with these things. And once he's finished attending to his cigarette, he hands the lighter back. "Cheers."

"Who says I'm not?" Thankfully, he manages to avoid delivering that in a forced, I Am So Clever And Awesome kind of way. This is deliberately wooden, though: "I mean, never, that would be morally wrong. Also how dare you and stuff."

He gives a small laugh as he leans back against the wall. "It's the 'and stuff' that really sells it."

Then, after a moment, "Mitchell, by the way. Member of the newest cohort."

"Oh, hey, me too... I mean, I work for you guys." For the first time in ages, it occurs to him, he offers to shake hands. (Usually he just meets people via the network, so waving's more his thing.)

"I'm Fish. Yes, that's actually my name, no I've never been to prison." He will never get tired of saying that. "I watch the desk at the Valhalla."

Hands are shaken. It's not a gesture that Mitchell is used to (he left formality behind in the 60's, along with the suits) but such is the way of this city and its unending introductions.

"Ah, yeah, I thought you looked familiar. You're the night guy."

"Thaaat's me. I never thought I'd get paid to, like, send fresh towels to kidnapping victims... but that's life, I guess." He should probably feel strange about having such a blasé attitude about this, but it doesn't even cross his mind. This is the work of liquor, probably. "You been here long? I've never seen you on the network."

Said to the man who ate Chinese take-out whilst watching the corpses of kidnap victims for signs of reanimation. Vampires.

"Yeah, I bet." And if he notes any similarities, it doesn't stop him from laughing off the seeming weirdness in a wholly natural way. The second question, however. "Yeesh, let me see. Four months, now? Yeah, that sounds about right. I keep to myself, mostly. Head down, get on with work, that type of thing." Nothing to see here. Some habits are too well practiced.