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.

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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.

Steph is passing the time until Kate turns up with that promised hug, and when she spots Charles at the bar she decides to go say hello. Partly because of Kate's reveal about the whole telepathy thing.

"I don't think they've noticed you," Steph comments as she appears beside Charles, watching the bartender serve another person.

The bright side about being telepath: it's ridiculously hard for anyone to sneak up on you. Steph's appearance is treated like the most natural thing in the world.

"Well, it is busy. Besides, I don't mind --I've got company now." And she gets a cheery little smile as he turns to face her. "How are you this fine evening?"

"Who says I'm staying?" she replies with a grin that's a little cheeky; it's easier to act a little ridiculous. Steph answers his question with a heartful, "I feel like shit." But there's amusement there, because it's the expected sort of terribleness and that's not as hard to deal with, "What about you?"

Oh, Steph. Your admission gets a frowny face from the slightly sauced telepath. "I do. Because I'm buying your next drink. Because you feel shit." And with a look of some concentration, the bartender magically notices them, followed by a little wave from Charles. The most polite abuse of powers.

"I'm all right. Long day at the office, as usual. I'm not bothering with any of this," and he gives a gesture to indicate the goings on around them. "That's the thing with eidetic memories, it's really difficult to forget things."

"If I'd realized being sad would get me free drinks, I would've been a much drunker fifteen year old," It would've been easier than making out with one of her girl friends to get a 21 year old perv to buy them alcohol. Steph what was your life.

"You didn't want anything from home?" That is probably a wildly inappropriate question to ask someone she's only met a few times, but that seems to be the spirit of the celebration. "It's good you're feeling alright, though, I think you're a rare one tonight."

"Thankfully, I had some very convincing I.D. when I was younger. But don't tell anyone I told you that." It's difficult to tell people off when you're being hypocritical, but he'll still manage it. Somehow.

"I'm in a mixed mood about the entire thing. On the one hand," and there are gestures to go along with this, Steph, pay attention, "I love my little sister dearly. And I've come to realise I was really awful to her right before I left. But on the other hand, I don't want to tempt fate and find her in the arrival room tomorrow. She --or a version of her-- was here before I came along, you see. But she got sent back home. Anyway, I...I don't know which is worse. Here, or where I left off. So."

At this point, the bartender comes over. "Another of what's on tap, please. What are you having?"

"It'll be our secret," she adds a wink for extra effect, "But you're also British, do they even care about legal drinking ages there?"

She's paying attention, don't worry, Charles. She does frown a little though, that sounds like a rough situation to be in, "I think she might be better off at home. You can apologize when you go back." And now she feels a little guilty for thinking of Cass and Kara -- what if they get dragged here? She's the worst friend ever for kind of wanting that.

"Um," she gives Charles a bit of a lost look, she wasn't even supposed to be drinking tonight, "Just a glass of the house white." She's so adventurous.

"I am, in fact, American. Shocking, I know." He grins for emphasis, before explaining, "My mother was English and I've studied there for the past nine years. But I still like baseball and hamburgers."

When the bartender moves off to get them their drinks, Charles resumes speaking about more heartfelt matters. "Mm. If there's one thing this place has taught me, it's never to take people for granted." There's a bodily jolt as he picks himself up and out of the mood he's headed towards. "But it's not all doom and gloom; my best friend is here."

...never mind the fact that they've found out hideous details about their futures and that he needs to be slightly drunk to apply the word 'best.' And so happily, too.

"You sound British, like..." she makes a vague hand gesture that is apparently supposed to mean something, "Posh British. But I'll take your word for it on the Americanness."

"That's a good lesson to learn," Steph doesn't think she ever really took people for granted -- her mom, maybe, but that was because of Reasons. She smiles at him trying to pick up the mood, and decides to make a conscious effort to not be depressing, "From back home? Did you guys show up at the same time?"

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Empty glasses are a drag. It's why Odessa's wandering (haha) to the bar herself for some more vodka and tonic. She's gone right on past tipsy and is working her way toward drunk by this point in the evening, and by all accounts loving every moment of it. It makes ignoring the fact that she really does hope to reach someone back home that much easier.

Her face lights up when she realises it's a familiar face she's slid on up next to. "Charles!" She throws one arm up toward the ceiling, smiling wide. "Nice to get out of the lab coats once in a while, right?" Though she's quite fond of hers, actually, she's definitely going for a different look tonight. A short red dress, fishnets, and black ankle boots with silver buckles are decidedly different from her work attire of wool skirts and sweaters. "It's good to see you."

"Odessa," and he pulls back from what he was doing, smiling cheerily, before adding, "I hope you don't mind my saying that you look better out of one than I do."

It's the truth. Despite how casually dapper he appears in his waistcoat and shirt, sleeves rolled up. And as the bartender strays their way, he puts his hand up to signal for attention. "Whatever's on tap and a vodka and tonic." At least he has the decency to pretend to be coy when he turns back, with, "A lucky guess, I promise."

"You're too kind. It's the heels." All three inches of them. "It's an unfair advantage." Odessa laughs and shrugs her shoulders. What can you do? "I like the waistcoat, though. You hardly see those anymore where I'm from. It's really too bad." Mmm, classic style.

When he orders her drink for her, she pokes him gently in the shoulder. "Uh huh. Sure it was." But she's more than amused, her nose wrinkling up with another little giggle. "Having fun?"

He flushes slightly at being caught out. And the compliment, although both are influenced by his alcohol intake. "Well if it wasn't, then thank goodness. However else would I impress pretty girls."

Sir.

"Mmm, sort of, sort of. I like meeting new people. I like beer. And I'm very good at helping people to cheer up if they feel too miserable."

"Why, with all that charm you've got going for you, of course." Oh, so serious with a hand fluttered over her chest. "I know I find you impressive."

Then there's a sudden, but very brief hitch. A hesitation where she fully registers what he just said and it brings a blush to her own pale cheeks. Oh, he just said you were pretty, 'Dessa. Directly. Not some hypothetical other girl he could be talking to right now. Demurely, she glances away to watch the bartender fill their respective glasses.

"I hope I'm not keeping you from your pursuit of new friendships," she teases lightly, though it's still an out offered. "I'm definitely not keeping you from the beer. I'm in support of beer."

There may be some smiling-but-lip-biting going on as he pretends to ignore any blushing (and those thoughts).

"Technically, you still count as new." He leans his elbows on the bar top, bent slightly over, but turning to the side in order to keep eye contact. "But not completely new, which means you know it's in everyone's best interest for you to distract me from pestering the entire room, and to keep me out of trouble."

And he tilts his head, as though wonderingly. "Or encourage me a little." Which is followed by a well-practiced smile of innocence.

"Oh, well then. I suppose it's my duty to... distract you," Odessa muses. Her smile curves sly. "But I do like to encourage trouble. Fair warning." She leans to rest her arm on the bar, studying Charles for a moment as if to decide whether or not he's just having her on. In her defence, that's happened before.

Is this appropriate? Since when did I even care about appropriate? Different departments, so it's fair game.

"You're cute when you pretend to be a goody two-shoes."

It's mostly (shameless) flirting on Charles' part, with the potential for a little more. But it is genuine.

"I am both respectable and upstanding, I will have you know." And then, in slightly sly tones of his own, "But we all need to let our hair down, once in a while."

Especially him, especially lately. There's this city, the political climate, his work, potential futures, Erik, a thousand questions burning in his mind from his research on social movements that both terrify and also thrill him a little. Someone once said to him it must be hard being a telepath, having to deal with everyone else's thoughts and your own. But sometimes he needed an escape from those, too.

"Mmhm. I can see that." Odessa reaches out and fusses with Charles' hair briefly, and she smooths back into place what she's messed up, but he had to make a hair comment while she's almost qualified as drunk, so it's his own fault. "Is this what your hair looks like down?"

Then she folds her hands together on the bar's surface, looking a little sheepish. "Sorry."

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"Oh, wait, please," Steve calls out, and the girl who'd been turning away turns back, apparently pleased enough by his good manners to allow herself to be waylaid. He flashes her a winning smile, and then he gestures at Charles. "This gentleman just walked up, I hate to make him wait. You could get his order, too, when you get mine, couldn't you?"

And he looks at Charles expectantly, waiting for said drink order.

"Another of what's on tap," he says, and very cheery about it. He turns to the nice mannered giant standing next to him with a smile. "Well, thank you, that was very kind."

And then, with a back glance at the bar keeper once she's out of earshot, "Oh, I think she's a little fond of you." Thankfully he still has some presence of mind not to be completely forward.

Steve shrugs, all modesty and good manners. "You're welcome. I always hope everyone does that for everyone else."

And then his eyebrows go up in surprise, and--god bless him, it's true, he's blushing a bit. "Oh, well. I. That's sure nice of you to say but we don't know each other at all."

You can only drink for so long before you have to retreat back to the bar for a refill or three, depending on what you're choosing to have that evening. For Kaitlyn, it's time to get her next filling of whiskey. There's no home in getting a little buzzed, after all she's here to be social and enjoy herself, even if she's not terribly keen on the ideas behind the holiday.

She's barely even tipsy, but Kait can be a bit of a klutz sometimes, and she's had just enough to make tripping over her own feet easier than she's comfortable with, and that's what she does right before reaching the bar, resulting into a hard stumble and a bit of a thud as he knee connects with wood. There's a quick curse and a sigh as she looks over at the person closest - just so happening to be Charles - and gives a weak smile.

"Sorry about that," she says with a bit of a laugh. "Hope I didn't disturb you." She only came in long enough to get a drink and to put some Joan Jett on the jukebox, and already she's finding ways to embarrass herself. Fantastic.

Charles had noticed what was about to happen, right at the moment when it did, and his hands have already gone out just in case there's any more damage. Thankfully not.

"Oh, steady there." He smiles good-naturedly, but his brow furrows a little in concern. There was a definite thud, after all. "Are you all right?"

Kaitlyn can't help but hang her head a bit in embarrassment, sighing as she gives a bit of a nod to Charles. "Sorry," she repeats with a bit of a nervous laugh. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks. I promise I haven't had that much to drink." She straightens herself back up, scanning the bar for the bartender in hopes of flagging her down before she heads off to tend to someone else.

"Having a good holiday?" may seem like a random question, but Kaitlyn likes making idle conversation. And she still feels bad for nearly literally stumbling into this guy's day. "Bar's a little packed for my taste, but eh." She gives a smile, leaning her elbow against the bar while she waits.

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