multiversallogs | blow a kiss for all the hearts they gon drop

Who: EVERYONE IN THE WORLD
What: When it's time to party we will always party hard.
Where: Megan's apartment, Howl Barrow
When: Sukkardi/Saturday night
Notes: Threadjacking is encouraged. Also, again, if you want to tag in but your character wouldn't just show up, feel free to assume Megan befriended them somewhere and dragged them over/invited them personally.
Warnings: Preemptive warnings for drug use, naughty language and sexual situations.

Megan's housepartment (it looks like a house to her, but the realtor assured her it is an apartment, okay, whatever) is a quaint little thing in the middle of a friendly, middle class Howl Barrow street that is deceptively tame by day and comes alive by night. Her neighbours are super chill, which is her favourite part of living here -- she asked around about a party, if the noise would be a problem, and nobody had any problem with it. Howl Barrow rules.

The inside's a bit furnitureless right now -- she's got a few mismatched chairs and a pull-out sofa, that's about it -- but she's already started decorating a little, hanging art on the walls and putting up nice curtains. (Nobody is allowed to puke on her new curtains.) She's well-stocked with a wide selection of alcohol, ranging from mid-price beer to hard liquor, and snacks, nothing fancy.

She's got her bong out too, yeah.

By 7, there's already a couple people milling about and drinking -- coworkers from the Vault, mostly. Music's playing from an old suitcase turntable set up on the kitchen counter, it's something Baedal-native, hard rock, and in an alien language.

For the shy and/or drunken Snow Whites, there's a friendly, fluffy ragdoll cat lounging around, casually draping herself wherever is most convenient for attention and adulation. Caution: do not give cat beer.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's his habit never to use anything but text on the network; he likes surprising people in real life, whether or not they're able to see past his human face. Vanadi is pretty easy to spot, but Balthazar takes his time to get to him. In fact, he's just about passing Vanadi when he leans in just noticeably and hisses, "I like your mask."

Probably a dozen people have said that to him tonight, but there is a certain weird intensity to it, and the way he almost immediately moves on (though if Vanadi wanted to, it's not like he's totally beyond catching).

People have said it to him, a few times tonight and more times than he can count before tonight, but it doesn't usually come out like that. It's mocking, or interested, or sarcastic, or sometimes apathetic. Intense? Not usually. So his attention is pretty thoroughly snagged, head swiveling to see just who was emulating that text conversation he'd had not so long ago (what else would it remind him of? it was decidedly odd), and finding only a retreating back.

He presses his nearly untouched drink into the hand of the woman he's talking to, along with a thorough and heart-felt apology and a promise to continue later, and then he's slipping after his attention span-less complimenter.

His passage is remarkably fleet; he's six feet tall but not terribly big, yet people seem to unconsciously accommodate a much wider berth. Then again, as soon as that impression might filter in, other people seem barely to notice him at all, passing very close to him and possibly impeding Vanadi's progress. Balthazar comes to pause by the table of food, and it's there that party-goers absentmindedly clear away, forming a small convenient space. He pours a drink and turns smoothly, offering it to Vanadi without any indication of surprise.

"Hello," he says with a faint smile.

It's a struggle to keep up with him, but not one Vanadi minds. Curiosity helps a great deal with that. And then just when he's finally going to catch up, one hand nearly risen for a tap on the shoulder--

--He's being offered a drink.

The mask hides his surprised blink, at least, and he only smiles. Instinctive, easy. Charm is the best default he has. "Well, hello. Is this for me?"

"For one of the happiest people on the network," he says, deadpan, still holding out the drink. In a metaphysical sense, he is very still, keeping all of him wrapped up tightly. To Balthazar, Vanadi carries a tint of something not quite human, but it does not feel xenian, nor dead; merely, perhaps, absent. The closest comparison he can make to any experience from his own world is a golem, but there's no sense of magic, and much more vitality. Vanadi doesn't seem to see him for what he is, but then, that mask is hiding half his face.

The drink is, incidentally, some sort of terrible fruit punch and vodka, with a gummy worm floating in it.

"I've never heard a clearer invitation than that." He accepts the drink with a nod of thanks, hesitating not at all to begin sipping. He seems to see nothing wrong, either with Baltazar, or with accepting a drink from such an odd character.

"So," he starts, head cocking curiously, tipping forward just slightly for a full sweep of the look of his company, "I suppose I'm not wrong to associate you with that short-lived textual conversation, not too far back. And in that case, it's a pleasure to address you more directly! May I ask your name?"

He smiles without otherwise confirming Vanadi's statement, though the entire time, he appears to be scrutinizing Vanadi's mask rather than trying to look into the darkened eye holes.

"It's a pleasure as well. I go by Blake." There's no offer of a hand to shake. Instead, Balthazar moves smoothly into the subject he's interested in. "Undoubtedly you've had many questions about your mask since coming here, let alone at the party itself. I have to say I consider myself slightly more informed about masks than your average soul. But I doubt you come from a world similar to mine... do you tire of such questions yet? Or might I tread the same old line of inquiry?"

This man is stranger and stranger. Not that Vanadi minds the cold type of personality, no! He can come to like all sorts. It's just that they're rarely in places like these. But he smiles on, not at all put off by any of it.

"Please, be my guest! Although I'm sure you're a much more interesting subject, if I must wait for the pleasure of asking after it, I will." He gestures grandly with a roll of his hand. "Ask away."

"Oh, I'm just one of the oldest jokes in the book," he says with airy dismissal, though it's not the self-deprecation that such a remark should be. "So. The significance?"

It's not really a plague doctor mask, Balthazar thinks, though the similarity is obvious.

The remark is met with a moment of bemusement, but it neither shows nor lasts. The mask is to thank for the former, and the air of the party for the latter.

"Oh, old family heirloom," he says with a shrug. It's not true, of course, but very few answers he ever provides on the topic of his mask are. "I think my grandfather bought it for no reason other than aesthetics, I'm afraid to say. It's sorely lacking in any kind of interesting story. Although I could always make one up, if you like!"

blow a kiss for all the hearts they gon drop

:V

:B

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject