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

[returntous.livejournal.com]

"And they seem to work well over video..." Mabel heartily approves of trolling. Especially drunk trolling. "My biggest claim to fame is being a dead people magnet. They got their charms, but they aren't the party type."

[rhinemaid]

"Vampires or ghosts?" The immediate blitheness of this question probably says a lot about Ilde's life, but given how candid she is about not being human- well, it's not as though that's a surprise.

[returntous.livejournal.com]

"More ghosts than vampires; I've never been all that appealing on the taste level of things, or so I've heard." Though it's taken more than a few bites for mos creatures to get the hint.

[rhinemaid]

Even drunk, Ilde thinks better of declaring to all and sundry that she's basically candy to that which goes bump'n'grind in the night- the moment where she catches herself and changes course is more visible than it usually would be, though.

"Are they very picky? I know a few."

[returntous.livejournal.com]

Mabel would appreciate her restraint, if she knew.

"Well, I've never been given an exact reason - those that want to take a bite outta you don't tend to be forthcoming on why they spit you out - but I've never had the chance to ask."

She avoids the fuck out of Alucard, though she doubts he's very offended by it.

[rhinemaid]

While Alucard can't rightly be called one of her growing collection of vampires (some other fairy already called dibs on that), Ilde is much inclined to like him from her brief encounters so far. He caught a monkey in his mouth when she threw it, one time, it was the best thing ever and probably one of those memories only improved by a slight haze of alcohol if she had occasion to think of it now.

"Oh, that makes sense." And perhaps if she were sober, that might have occurred to her in the first place; most people do not socialize with people who want to bite chunks out of them. (Cindy has already correctly observed that Ilde has sweet fuck all of a self-preservation instinct.)

A few moments, then, "Aren't there vampires you could ask at Hellsing?" Perhaps she doesn't want to know, Ilde. Stop fixating. "You work there, don't you? I like the sassy one." She means Alucard.

[returntous.livejournal.com]

Mabel shivers. She can't help it; the building pressure of her dreams was starting to bleed into reality. She knew better than that, especially at Hellsing, but it didn't take much for tall dark things to start looking alike.

"I haven't talked to him," she confesses. "When I look at him, I see... well, I don't really know, but it hits all the wrong nerves and it's scared me off so far. Ain't his fault my abilities tend to backfire like that."

[rhinemaid]

"Oh." She does briefly enjoy that Mabel appears to have known immediately who she meant, though. After a beat, she nudges her, curious - it's safe to assume that the more Ilde's cheerful personal space invasion is tolerated, the more she'll try to see what she can get away with, it's like keeping a cat around. "What are you?"

Her abilities are interesting, and Ilde is sometimes blunt.

[returntous.livejournal.com]

It's like staring at the sun; she has to concentrate really hard when she's not using her wards to help or there's the ever helpful dead nearby to prod her natural tendencies into action, but for a few moments, the white of her eyes dim and fade into blackness.

They didn't have the brilliance Mabel saw in Ilde's natural eyes, which she could see clearly at the moment. Hers were deep. And dead.

And then they're back to normal as Mabel blinks, because a party is no place to go hunting for the haunted, and anyway, most people didn't like being seen for what they were trying to keep hidden.

"I don't know," she says, shrugging. "Not demonic, I've had a few priests check that. Not fey either, far as I can tell."