It's like paradise, spread out with a butter knife :: [OPEN]

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

Who: EVERYONE
What: Réjean has decided that more people ought to celebrate and help raise a bit of dosh for one of his favourite bars. See: flyer.
Where: The Apache.
When: Misdi night and into the wee hours of the morning.
Warnings: Discussion of Pickman's manky feet.

The Apache is much the same as it always is: dimly lit, with the jukebox playing in the background, and the bartender serving whatever's on tap. Tonight, the bar is packed with people from all across the city, different cantons and cohorts, all out to celebrate surviving the fungal plague. Patrons are encouraged to buy tickets for a door prize with the proceeds going to repair the damage tunnelling ants made to the cellar.

Comments

[rhinemaid]

Against all good sense and reason (which, admittedly, she does not have in spades), Ilde's become really very fond of Réjean since their slightly unorthodox first encounter. He's entertaining, and that tends to be good enough for her more often than it isn't; she likes his company and finds that he is, in his own way, respectful enough.

If he's not careful, though, she's going to slap a Lisa Frank sticker on his ass. Don't ask where she got it.

[gotbottle]

"Thank you." Her gaze drops for just a moment and then she lifts her eyes again, nodding. "Yes, please."

She surveys the crowd again. "Looks like a good turnout tonight." She's wondering if some of these people are from different cohorts--there do seem to be some people, here and there, who are older than their group.

But then she decides, that just for tonight, they could stand to not be picking at everything. That sort of goes against the whole celebrating thing, right?

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

With such bounty on offer, he'll be as reckless as possible. Truly, if there's anything Réjean needs in his life, it's a neon dolphin stuck to his pants.

"Be gentle with the merchandise?"

[gotbottle]

"Réjean," Rachel repeats, careful with the pronunciation. She takes a moment to sip from her drink and then she turns to Ilde with the most important of questions.

"Who is he, and is he good-looking?"

[gotbottle]

"Hellboy! Hi!"

And yes, that is totally an appraising gaze sweeping over you, sir. She notes that he appears to be in better condition than when last they talked; satisfied, she offers him a smile.

"Not bad, thanks. Glad to see you here, how are you?"

[rhinemaid]

This gives her a moment's pause; she leaves her hand where it is and casts her eyes thoughtfully toward the ceiling, as if giving him a thorough evaluation. Regretfully, "Well, it's not going to do me much good else. Buy me a drink, Réjean."

Friendship.

[edsidlemirth.livejournal.com]

Eddie shows up, in his usual suit, and absolutely no sign of recovering from any injuries, because hiding is good for avoiding that problem. He feels he has just as much right to celebrate his continued survival as people who put their necks on the line. He is, after all, still alive.

He buys a ticket for the raffle, acquires himself a beer to carry around, and proceeds to mingle and chatter with folks. It's an excellent evening already.

[rhinemaid]

Scanning the room, she eventually finds him in the hideous Hawaiian shirt and points him out. "Réjean Sept-Heure. You be the judge."

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

"For you? Always," he says with a grin before leaning over to signal something to the bartender that results in a ridiculous drink with an umbrella and a straw shaped like a pair of glasses. Not the Apache's usual fair, to be sure.

[gotbottle]

Rachel sits up a little straighter, craning her neck to see.

"Not bad," she declares. "Is he a friend of yours?"

[rhinemaid]

"King among men," she declares him, accepting this absurdity with the good grace of someone who would've been disappointed in anything less. Taking vampires seriously is apparently something she's fundamentally unable to do.

[rhinemaid]

"Mmmhmmn. I fished him out of the river once- he brought me a picnic to say thank you." He's one of her more entertaining acquaintances and it shows through in how she talks about him; she could probably be content for an evening just poking him to see what'll come out next.

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

Réjean is pleased to be anything other than a Prince among Kindred.

Looking almost sincere, he pouts and bats his eyelashes before speaking, "If you keep your hand in my back pocket, will you expect me to carry your books to school?"

[gotbottle]

"Awww. That's cute!" Mental note--say hello to this gentleman at some point this evening, he seems interesting.

"By the way, I love those shoes. I'd so fall and bust my ass if I tried walking in them, but I love them."

[rhinemaid]

"My father warned me about boys like you," is the very prim response to that, which - all things considered - is just a little bit rich. Resting her chin in her hands on the bar, she adds, "Are you going to dance with me?"

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

"I love it when fathers do that," he says, implying that it encourages their lovely daughters to get involved in all sorts of trouble. "Of course, p'tite. I may be old and worn, but I can still manage a soft shoe shuffle, but only if you promise to keep a little space between us and no funny business."

[rhinemaid]

Glancing down at her feet and the shoes in question, Ilde brightens; as great as Réjean is, these heels remain closer to her heart. "I love this style- I have the same in watersnake blue, as well." There is absolutely no reason that is necessary, and yet. "Sonja showed me how to kill somebody with them," ...enjoy that blithe conversational tangent, "so I was showing them to Arthur the other day. I don't think he believed me."

Well.

[rhinemaid]

Ilde's father was one such gentleman to inspire dire warnings to daughters, which probably partly accounts for why she's temperamentally inclined to find that kind of trouble all by herself regardless of what's said to her.

"I'll be good," she promises, with the sort of wide-eyed ingenuousness that her face was designed for.

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

"Don't bother with good; be better." In life, Réjean was a moderately good dancer and now, in death, he's had plenty of time to hone that skill. Tragically, he will not dance on a table this early in the evening.

[rhinemaid]

The night is young.

"Is that your advice in all things?"

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

"Most, but not all. How many dread secrets are you willing to pry from my cold, dead teeth?" Réjean smiles, small and privately just for the two of them. He's not entirely kidding about being willing to share some of his secrets provided he's properly motivated.

[rhinemaid]

"All of them," as she leans in, so very serious - and that is what she wants to know, all the time. Knowledge; understanding. There's nothing more valuable, she thinks, with the privilege of thought that comes from having never done without before Prometheus.

(Freedom goes hand in hand with it, after all.)

...still, the fact she beeps his nose a moment later is just down to the drink.

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

The fact that he meeps when she does it is down to his own bizarre sense of humour.

"Three is the traditional number and where we can start for now. Ask and I'll answer." There's something oddly formal to his speech and it's at times like these that he's less a purveyor of exotic goods and more of an inhuman creature bound by unusual rules.

[goodeintentions]

Aimery strongly considered staying in his Inn room and locking himself away for a week to freak out like last time, but the familiar call of alcohol was a strong one, especially when his thoughts were so cloudy and his spirits low. It pained him that he could remember agreeing not to drink alone, but couldn't clearly recall who he promised it to or why it was so important to keep that promise.

No matter, he could drown his worries and distract himself, two wonderful benefits of alcohol that he definitely remembered, without breaking it. He wasn't early nor was he late, and he spent a little of his gifted money on tickets for the door prizes. In a room packed with people, it was easy to get it back by ghosting his hand through a rich-looking drunk's wallet as he passed. Then he made his way to the bar and, in his new, well-accented Modern English, ordered himself a bottle of beer (nothing with ice, lesson learned).

He figured he would have one or two drinks, perhaps loosen his tie and his cuffs a bit, maybe unbutton his jacket, and let the rest of the crowd provide rowdy background noise for his initial not-moping.

[rhinemaid]

Through the alcohol that always hits her harder than she's expecting - she knows, and even so - Ilde focuses on him, her gaze blue-black and wide, like she feels the need to study him for a moment with her own eyes. When she blinks, the glamour was never gone at all.

Her head tilts to the side. "What drives you?"