Log - Can't read my, can't read my Poker Face!

[totallyinaband]

When; Sunday April 17th (backdated)
Rating; PG-13, probably.
Characters; totallyinaband, worksmart, foundababy, shifts, withloadedguns, dude_imbatman, adamantined, brokemysmoulder, loonyandproud, jesusing_clown, manofgnee, AND ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO CRASH THE PARTY!
Summary; Stephen Stills' poker night
Log;

Stephen's apartment is pretty cramped, the main living area being taken over by an extremely large dining room table with an assortment of miss-matched chairs circled around it. A few arm chairs are sprinkled around the room, mostly pushed against the wall. There is a bowl of nacho chips in the centre of the table, with the dip on the side. The carnivores will be pleased to know that Stephen has also decided to make a plate of hot wings.

Stephen is shuffling the deck of cards (for about the fourth time) and waiting for everyone to show up. He might have had one beer already.

[ooc: Okay guys, poker game! Not entirely sure how we are going to do this, but whatever! Show up, get drinking, eat nacho chips, and MINGLE. :-D]

Comments

ARRIVALS?

[signatures]

[ Eames checks the time on his watch as he arrives at Stephen's place, checking the number splashed across the front door before he raises his fist and raps his knuckles against the wood of it. He glances around him briefly, noting anyone else that may have arrived around the same time he has. Not directly at the specified time, no, because Eames wanted to give everyone else a chance to be settled and warm up - but not so late as to avoid having the chance to observe them before they actually sat down to play. ]

Re: ARRIVALS?

[totallyinaband]

[Stephen jumps up when he hears the knock at the door. Not that he's been waiting for everyone, or anything. He just finished all the prep early, that's all.

He answers the door before Eames has a chance to knock twice.]

Hey man. Come on in.

[signatures]

[ Eames holds up his items of trade - a bottle of rum and chips for the dip - with a quick curve of his lips. ]

Cheers, Stephen. I hope I'm not too late?

[totallyinaband]

Naw, man. Everyone's just hanging around and having a beer. You want anything?

[signatures]

What've you got?

[totallyinaband]

Beer basically. Like five kinds of beer. And some stuff he brought. [Gestures to cowboy guy. Man, he needs a name.] Not sure what it is, but it's... strong.

[signatures]

Looks like we had the same idea as far as getting you lot drunk enough to take all your money. [ Said amicably enough to make it unclear as to whether or not he's being serious, though. ] I'll have a beer, myself.

[totallyinaband]

[Eh, Stephen laughs anyway. He's just in this for the company, and he figured he's probably going to loose money tonight anyway. He needs to stop inviting really badass people to poker games.]

Yeah man. Hold on, I'll get you one. Grab a seat, if you want.

[signatures]

You're an excellent host, thank you.

[ Instead of sitting, Eames places the items on a nearby table and remains standing, observing the other guests Stephen invited over for poker. ]

[withloadedguns.livejournal.com]

[signatures]

[ Stepping further inside, Eames flicks his own eyes toward the man, brow raising briefly before he's raising a hand in greeting. He approaches soon afterward. ]

I don't believe we've met.

[withloadedguns.livejournal.com]

No, I don't believe we have.

[signatures]

[ Nice hat, bro. Eames extends a hand, considering it's polite enough. ]

Might as well fix that now, shall we?

[withloadedguns.livejournal.com]

Might as well.

[signatures]

[ I feel like now is the time to mention I made this icon just for you. Eames notes the lack of hand offering, so promptly drops his to his hip, though not for any sense of awkwardness or uncertainty. ]

Name's Eames. And you?

[withloadedguns.livejournal.com]

"Eames," huh? Haven't heard a name like that in a while.

[signatures]

How long is a "while?"

[ If it's any consolation, Eames is now referring to him as "Rupert." ]

[withloadedguns.livejournal.com]

As long as a while usually is.



Where're you from?

[jesusing-clown.livejournal.com]

[Allen arrives maybe a few minutes late because directions are hard, knocking on the door.]

[totallyinaband]

[Stephen opens the door. Logically, since it is his house.]

Oh, hey man! Allen, right? Good you could make it.

[jesusing-clown.livejournal.com]

Mm, that's right. It's good to meet you Stephen.

[I look like such a nice sweet young boy definitely not the type that would ever hustle you for all you're worth :)]

[totallyinaband]

"Well, come on in and grab a drink. I think we're all about to get started."

[withloadedguns.livejournal.com]

[totallyinaband]

[He is so ready. (Except probably not. I have a feeling everyone's going to be giving a lot of money to this guy tonight.)]

[withloadedguns.livejournal.com]

Hello.

[totallyinaband]

[Ah yeah, dodgy moonshine! This party is about to get interesting.]

Hey, man. Come on in.

[Wow, he's... taller in person.]

[withloadedguns.livejournal.com]

[totallyinaband]

"Yeah, come on in man. There's beer and pretzels and stuff. I think we're about to get the game started."

[withloadedguns.livejournal.com]

That's why I'm here.

[totallyinaband]

[Stephen moves to stick the moonshine beer in the fridge. He cracks one open himself, and manages to only choke slightly at the first sip.]

[adamantined]

The only girl - as far as Claire knows - shows up only a few minutes later than expected, two plates of meatball sliders and another poker player in tow. She's tied her hair back from her face, but the longer pieces still manage to get in her eyes without a free hand to ensure they're periodically shoved back. Claire doesn't knock, but catches the door with her foot before it swings shut behind the last person to enter the apartment.

So she's off to a good start, as far as luck goes, even if all this really means is that she's getting competitive with a door. Still, she glances over her shoulder, waiting for someone behind her to push the door open the rest of the way so they can get inside.

[worksmart.livejournal.com]

Someone behind her has already reconciled himself to having to let his girlfriend win this evening or sleeping on the couch - who invited girls, anyway? - and catches the door with a mumbled, "I've got it."

He's also got an armful of beer crate, so he has to get through the door himself before there's a free hand to let settle in the small of her back. as far as he knows she's going to be the only girl there. No harm in establishing boundaries early on.

[totallyinaband]

"Hey, nice to see you guys made it!"

Stephen is seated at the main table. At some point he added a bowl of pretzels and is munching on several at once.

"Need a hand with that, man?"

[designedtoparty]

[Nathan hasn't brought the six pack he was told to, but at least he's got a little bit of cash in his wallet. He figures Stephen may actually be annoyed enough to throw him out if he doesn't.

And in case he needs an excuse for not having the beer, he's even got an old pair of socks. It is a curse day, after all. He thinks he can pass off pretending he thinks they'd be an acceptable substitute. So, with that, he wastes no more time waiting to knock on Stephen's door.]

[totallyinaband]

"Oh. You didn't bring beer."

Yeah, Stephen's given up being subtle with this guy.

[designedtoparty]

"No," Nathan answers, apparently not put off. "But I did bring these. And money. So, you really can't complain."

He stuffs his socks at Stephen's chest then, eyebrows raised as though to challenge him to say anything. Really, he should probably just be grateful Nathan didn't decide bringing his wank sock would be a great joke. But that's probably not the easiest thing to appreciate when you're having a pair of dirty socks shoved at you.

[totallyinaband]

Stephen takes a moment to appreciate that he's just been handed a pair of socks. Very dirty socks. So instead he just drops them back on Nathan's head.

"Yeah, thanks man. Now I'm gonna go wash my hands. Make yourself comfortable."

[designedtoparty]

Nathan laughs, stooping to retrieve his socks. "Hey! I spent ages picking out those from my washing heap for you. Anyway, they're clean. I've only worn them three times, give or take."

He doesn't try to force them on Stephen again, though, stuffing them into his coat pocket and sauntering inside to find the food. Something which doesn't take him long, at all.

[totallyinaband]

"Yeah whatever, man!" Stephen yells from kitchen, where he's scrubbing his hands off in a way only a trained chef can, "You ready to get your ass kicked?"

[designedtoparty]

Digging into the bowl of nachos first, Nathan makes sure to cram his mouth as full as humanly possible. He can't swallow them all at once, but he doesn't care.

"I think that's a question you probably want to ask yourself!" he yells back, spraying nacho crumbs everywhere.

[totallyinaband]

Stephen figures it probably isn't worth the time to try and ask Nathan not to get mess everywhere.

"Yeah, doubt it. How long have been been playing poker for?"

[designedtoparty]

"That's none of your business," Nathan answers, trying not to make that answer sound like he hasn't been playing long. He's actually been playing several years, but he's never had much luck with it. And the rules are far too forgettable for him to have much patience with.

On second thoughts, maybe bringing his money hadn't been such a great idea. And now he'd admitted it, it wasn't like he could pretend he hadn't got any.

[dude-imbatman.livejournal.com]

Game started?

[Dean asks this as he's shoving his way through the door. He's got a twelve pack of bottled El Sol beer in each hand.]

Sorry I'm late. Wife was nagging.

[By which of course he means Cas. Duh.]

[totallyinaband]

[Man! DOES THIS PARTY HAVE ENOUGH BOOZE?]

Hey man! Come on in! You can stick the beer in the fridge if you want. I think we were all about ready to get started.

[ooc: lo, wife. SO CANON. :-D]

[dude-imbatman.livejournal.com]

[This is a good thing!]

Looks like you gotta good turn out.

[He's heading toward the fridge to put the beer there.]

[totallyinaband]

Well, when aren't people in the mood to drink beer and take each other's money?

[dude-imbatman.livejournal.com]

You got a good point there. Want one of these [He gestures toward the beer he's bought.]

[totallyinaband]

No, I'm good now, man. Thanks.

[That dodgy moonshine that nameless guy brought was... strong.]

[dude-imbatman.livejournal.com]

No problem. So how's it been going?