This Is Halloween--Everybody Make a Scene!

[bargeist]

When; October 31^st to the early morning of November 1^st
Rating; G to PG-13 (please post warnings if your thread rating goes higher than this)
Characters; Yours!
Summary; To lighten the mood after the trials and tribulations of the past month and to celebrate the expulsion of the "witches" from the City, the Anonymous Movement are hosting a great Halloween party

Come, join the festivities in the Square or in Xanadu! The City has been dressed to the nines with all the trappings of Halloween--from jack-o-lanterns to twisted trees, to eerie lanterns, to burial shrouds, to mounds of burning candles, to any horror your mind can imagine--the Anonymous Movement has done their best with the decoration. And they hope you'll dress up for the occasion too. Come and feast on pumpkin stew and roasted beasts, come and dance under burning orange stars and lights, come and laugh with real witches and goblins of all sorts. (Spooky Goat costumes seem to be quite popular this year for some reason...)

Enjoy the festivities--and the things described here are just a starting point. Feel free to invent other things going on this evening~

Mingle! Mingle and talk and dance and have fun! To keep things basically organized, please feel free to note where your character is ("Misery Square, dancefloor"--for example) and whether the log thread is open to all or only certain characters in the subject line of your comment. Feel free to log things out in action tags or full prose tags, as you'd please. Happy Halloween, Polychromatic~!

Log; The Anonymous Movement has done their best to decorate the City--and they have done a passing fair job of it. Perhaps it's even grand enough to rival the celebrations the Deities hosted long ago (of course, the old remnants of those same decorations from years past were easy enough to find, so give the Anonymous Movement credit for finding this finery at least). Perhaps it's better than that--seeing as so many members of the movement and people in the City have come together for this celebration. Overground, underground, City-born, and City-captured--it's a holiday for all.

Misery Square bespeaks the holiday occasion today: Halloween, All Hallow's Eve. Already, the square is draped in holiday colors: orange, black, purple. Long rags of black hang down the sides of buildings or across alleyways and streets, touched only by strange banners sewn in diamond patterns, in harlequin patterns, of orange and black, and purple. Even the lamp-posts are wrapped in bundles of black sticks, hung with tattered harlequin banners of orange and purple, ribboned with tattered crows' feathers and black rags. And, look, the lamps themselves are Jack-O-Lanterns, grinning out at the City with their mocking skull smiles. The last of the decorations are going up, the twisted ladders are being taken away from the sides of buildings, and the spidery climbers who had been on them are coming down again.

It is daylight yet, perhaps, and the scene seems more like something from a children's book: the Kingdom of Halloween. The walls are draped with the king's colors, of course, or the queen's. The streets are lined with pumpkins, the candles are waiting in windowsills and on rooftops to be lighted. Dead leaves blow in the distance, the trees are bare, or nearly bare, as the wind strips them further. It is daylight, and the scene is eerie, though perhaps not yet so interesting as it will be.

At night, though, the celebration will truly begin: with long tables laid out for a feast not yet there, but promising to be there, if the masked and costumed figures laying out black dishes and ragged silver (probably stolen from a thousand different pirate caches) are any indication. The tables are dressed in black lace, torn from the wedding dresses of jilted, ghostly brides, dyed black with hints of red (their blood perhaps?), and dressing now these tables. And the tables? Made from old coffin wood, of course. What else could bear such a rich shine? Their feet are old gravestones, their chairs are made of ebony and bone. The whole is dressed for mourning. Look, even the flowers are black or dead or only bare twigs. Watch how sadly the ribbons flutter in the wind. But there is an elegance to it. And perhaps these tables will bear wonderful things. Perhaps there will be sweets made from grapes stolen from Paradise and the last drop of blood from an enemy's heart, perhaps leaves and mushrooms from a thousand hidden forests where the oldest creatures in the world make their way through time to the end of the world will lie soaked in old wine and new vinegar, perhaps there will be a monumental and towering and toppling cake that fairly bleeds sugar when it is cut, perhaps candy of every sort and every kind will lie in glittering obsidian bowls to be grabbed by the handful with utter disregard (and those bowls will never empty), perhaps wine will be mixed with blood (and even those who aren't vampires can partake), perhaps the ordinary will become extraordinary, perhaps the extraordinary will become horrific. Perhaps anything: the tables are bare for the moment--but only the moment.

But eating is only eating. What else is there? Perhaps this: a shining floor of ebony laid out in the midst of the square. For dancing, of course, and large enough to hold any number of waltzers or twisters or turners or swirling mass of dancers. Let the music take hold, as ever. It's guarded, of course, against those monsters and spirits and evil forces who (that explains the chalk lines streaking across the surface, doesn't it?). But how soon will those be smudged? There is no keeping things at bay on this night. And there will be no keeping still.

Look, a place even for musicians, hung with those same harlequin banners, draped in bunting of black burial shrouds, and lit by candles in their jewel-like glasses (but who knows what bony, knobby claws and talons will play those instruments, for they seem made of the flesh and bones of the monsters from the week before, now fused and melted into some new shape, gray and ragged, with fingerbones for tuning pins and knucklebones for the mouthpieces--perhaps the music will be sweeter than their appearance).

And over it all, strung up on some nightmare's wire, some massive spider's blackened thread, not a chandelier but its inverse: something hidden, something wrapped in black crepe and gauze and burial fabric. Dusty, too, as though it were a forgotten relic now revived. The whole of it hangs like some malevolent cloud above the festivities, strung high between two buildings, and hanging delicately by those wire threads. The chandelier (if there really is one) is hidden--or nearly hidden, for there may be some hint of twisted metal or barbed wire peeking out from within, and the fabric that drapes it is hardly new and untattered, and those holes to move when the wind blows--under layer upon layer of widow's weeds, all black and darkly glittering, the lack plain and torn, the embroidery ragged. Jet beads hang down in long waterfalls, trailing towards the floor, caught up sometimes in some vain attempt to keep them out of the way by some hand somewhere in their time. A locket here or there contains some twist of black hair, and a name that can't be read. And those same harlequin tapestries mark the points of the compass, hanging down from this widow-turned-chandelier (a woman can be made into stranger things, can't she?).

And, to light it all? A thousand candles or more, black and white and orange as a pumpkin and purple as a sunset before a nightmare, all mounted up in thirteen times thirteen candelabra, each bearing thirteen candles, and all made of the twisted and filigree iron stolen and re-wrought from the gates of churchyards and cemeteries and prisons and insane asylums. They are beautiful, in their twisted way, like twisted trees or the candelabras of a church or the great chandeliers that light so many manors and ballrooms and theaters of so many worlds. And all are draped in the colors of the day: black and purple and orange, in long swags of black gauze and those same harlequin banners. But, wait, what about those candles lying idly on those tables? Well, of course one needs a little more light for the occasion (though not too much): these are the candles that will be tossed into the air, and what hidden hands will hold them in the air are unknown. But know that these candles will yet be used, left to float in midair, all surrounding the rosette of crepe that hangs over the dancefloor.

And the Jack-O-Lanterns, too, of course, one cannot forget them, and the way they light the whole of the event: mounded up on tables, peering out from behind tables and chairs, sitting at the feet of the musicians' chairs, perched on window ledges, peering from rooftops, perched in trees--wherever there is a place for a grinning Jack-O-Lantern, there is one--save for when one looks for one.

But this is not the only place where the celebration will take place.

Xanadu, too, has been dressed for the occasion. Of course it must be, if it is, indeed, the famous pleasure garden. Though what pleasure can be found here must be strange, or so one must think upon passing through the twisted gates and under the twisted arch--though that arch is largely hidden by that same black crepe, those same black rags that seem to decorate the whole of the City this day and this night. Candles stand guard at either side of the entrance, melting quietly onto the real guardians: two massive statues (do they or do they not move as the night progresses?) of beasts perhaps only seen in some worlds (and those few are enough) that seems like creatures seen before or seen only in nightmares, with such fangs and such claws and such horns as that. And, grinning over it all, a Jack-O-Lantern, with his cohorts beside him, and their veritable army of burning candles.

The paths here are lined with those candles, like ghosts lights, and pumpkin and paper lanterns are hanging from the black, bare, gnarled tree branches. This is the antechamber of Xanadu, if one should like to think of it so. This is only the beginning. Look, this scarecrow (if one can call him that--he'd probably scare anything that came near him) is pointing the way: this way or that way? The paths diverge...

There are different paths here: those paths with little light or none, and those that glitter like Algol--the Demon Star. Choose whichever you would like.

If you choose the paths with little light or none, lit by those tiny ghost lights, burning blue and faint along the path, then be wary of the darkness. Be wary of those long rags that hang like mist or ghosts in the trees, blowing across the faces of those who pass. There are spiders in these trees, and the grinning faces of Jack-O-Lanterns--but never giving enough light to truly see. Watch for the shadows--there!--that rush by before one can see them, these creatures of fog and imagination. There are people in the trees all around, or creatures, or worse. Crows call as they do after they have found fresh carrion. Owls call, bats flutter across the sky. There are old houses, their broken windows menacing anyone who passes by like the empty eyesockets of a skull, there in the woods all around. The moon's light does little good here, and perhaps only casts a malevolent glow, twisting the shadows of the trees. But press on, find the way through the labyrinth of this path, and the horrors of one's own mind. The reward is yet to come.

If you chose the glittering path, then follow the lights that burn in the trees like stars themselves: purple and green and orange and white, wrapping around branches light fairy lights. The candles give way to glitter and starlight. There is no great light here, though--no, of course not. The whole is still in darkness, though in the darkness of starlight. The saddest spirits might haunt these paths, or the most beautiful, the ones who will lure the unwary into unsafe ways or into rivers. The harlequin banners are here, too, hanging from the trees, along with their black bunting. If there is a king's progress, then perhaps this is the way he would go, leading his court down a street of wicked trees lit with wicked stars. And he knows the reward that lies at the end of this road.

Regardless of the path one takes, one will find oneself, at the end of the maze, one will come upon the real celebration and come before a great twisting, spiraling tower of Jack-O-Lanterns.

Where Misery Square had its wretched chandelier, like a widow inverted and hung with candles, Xanadu has a blazing tower of Jack-O-Lanterns. All grinning, all orange, all burning with candles, the spiraling tower sits in the midst of another ebony floor (stained with chalk, yes, of course). It is like some stolen column from a monstrous temple, like some strange altar to a monster deity, like some horrific growth from a nightmarish pumpkin patch swelling up towards the sky. Be careful in getting too close. There are rumors flying tonight that some of the Jack-O-Lanterns have been seen laughing.

There are tables just beyond for conversation and a little rest, as one might expect (and still made from the stolen wood of old coffins, as one also might expect), and stone benches (stolen from cemeteries). Like Misery Square, the whole is hung with black rags and lace, tattered crows' feathers, and that same royal harlequin tapestry. Another ballroom, then. Though perhaps more secret, given the darkness just beyond the tables. Less grandiose, perhaps, given the simplicity of table and floor. Or better, if one so prefers to sit with one's companion over the soft light of a Jack-O-Lantern, and have sweet wine mixed with blood brought to one's table by a tall, dour, skeletal man who seems to say too little and know too much. Or so those burning eyes would suggest.

But, look: another stand for the musicians, with those same melted, stitched, ragged, wretched instruments. Who would touch these to play them? Who could play them well? The musicians will, of course, as they read their music by the light of the Jack-O-Lanterns staked on candelabra all around them. That is the light for this place: Jack-O-Lanterns and moonlight. Perhaps the better question, though, is to ask who would dance to it. And here is the answer, tumbling across the floor, skittering on stilts, twisting itself into knots and tangles: dancers themselves, or something like them, or perhaps something more like clowns, or jesters (if we imagine that Halloween King still). A flock of them, a troupe of them, each with his or her own skill. This one balancing high on stilts, that one bending herself into tangled knots, another breathing and eating and throwing fire, still another twisting herself like a serpent as she dances, still more tumbling in--clowns or jesters or the kin of Harlequin himself, yes, but masked as the day would require and dressed in its livery of black and purple and orange. They are amusing, yes, but perhaps they draw up the feeling one has when dreaming a dream that is mere moments, mere seconds away from turning into a nightmare. Watch, but don't stare too long: they seem human, if talented, but to stare too long will make certain inconsistencies appear, certain details grow clear, and certain unsettling problems very, very noticeable. Don't ask where they come from. Don't ask why they use a Hand of Glory to light their way. Speak to them, if you like, but don't expect answers.

Perhaps if Misery Square is meant to be supper with dancing, then this is the proper ballroom? Or does it work the other way? Or perhaps this is the entertainment after the ball? Or should one perhaps visit both? Yes, visit both.

Come, join the festivities. Wear your best costume, bring your best mask. The City has adorned herself for you. Show her the same courtesy, and let us all celebrate together...

Comments

Misery Square

[hischair]

[ After the month Jim's crew have been through, he hasn't bothered to dress up for the occasion at all. He's looking far smarter than he has for the past four weeks, having donned the jacket Bones gifted him once they made up after a stupid fight, but the scent of aftershave has rubbed off under the scouring whiskey-breath he picked up at a bar with his best friend not hours ago. The sky is a lot darker now, though. The City looks less festive than incredibly fucking suspicious and he's glad for habitually bringing his private comm and phaser along just in case those creepyass jack o'lanterns decide to pull anything funny.

It's not that he begrudges anyone else a good time, but it's pretty difficult to lighten up when you're all too aware your crew narrowly avoided getting eaten alive not a week ago.

Hands shoved in his pockets as he wanders around to take in the sights, he doesn't ingest a thing on offer. If he does then it'll be from the bars a few streets over where a small contingent of the populace appear to be thoroughly sick and tired of the 2spooky theme, still licking their (literal, in some cases) wounds. He doesn't mind being the security detail for the evening, really. Anyone who approaches him will find a smile hitched up and sent their way, along with sincere well-wishes for a good time.

Anything for a quiet life tonight. ]

Re: Misery Square

[recognize_an_opportunity]

[Quiet was what Meyer had hoped for, today, but somehow -- and he's still not quite sure how -- he's been dragged into the festivities despite himself. Although he'd spent most of the evening serving drinks and dealing hands of cards at the casino, he'd found himself at the Halloween celebrations instead, after some thorough convincing. He's not exactly attired for the event, although the pair of devil horns that appears to have been shoved haphazardly onto his head (he hadn't picked the costume, but someone had decided it was necessary) is his one concession to the spirit of the holiday.

Otherwise, he's keeping to himself, wandering, perpetual cigarette in hand, wondering why he'd shown up, and just what one is supposed to do at this kind of thing. That's when he spots Jim, and at least a familiar face is something to smile slightly about, so he waves him over.]

Evening.

[hischair]

Meyer, hey.

[ He pulls an approving face when he wanders over, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he gives the other man (and former host of around an hour prior) a once-over. ]

So who's got you feeling horny?

[ Nodding to the headwear. Very slick. ]

[directives]

Would you believe this is the first I've heard of Halloween?

[ it's true. in the 24th century, halloween's been demoted to a lesser known holiday that's on the verge of going the way of the dinosaurs; a day that's mostly forgotten outside of strict old earth traditionalists who insist on keeping up with the ways of earlier centuries. kathryn's family could be a little old school at times, but they never celebrated halloween. the whole premise of it is as baffling as it is fascinating, and the appeal of dressing up in costumes and gorging oneself on treats is completely lost on her.

she's only here in costume because he put the idea in her head, and it was less of a copout than wearing her actual uniform -- which she very nearly did. funny how she's the one in costume and he isn't, but she was always one for at least making an attempt to look like she belonged at a celebration, even when she wasn't too keen on attending or present for reasons other than enjoying herself. ]

How's your arm?

[thenormalsquint]

There's no costume for her this year which is out of character for Angela, but who'll judge her when there's a decent amount of people skulking around without one already. It's bad enough the City ruined her birthday a few days ago with the corn maze and a gaggle of witches. She suspects nothing will go decently enough tonight, just because this is the City after all, but still, Angela is Angela and she's sunny enough to be carrying a sack full of candy to give out to any kids she runs into. No need to ruin the holiday for them, after all.

At least there's a few familiar faces to tangle up with and with Jim, Angela greets him by playfully bumping her shoulder against his before handing him a giant jawbreaker".]

Hey you.

[medicos]

[ bones is in acceptable clothing, and probably has already made his rounds greeting people that he knows, and then getting some more drinks because he's not a lightweight like some people that he knows. all in all, for a grumpy man, he's in a pretty swell mood tonight. ]

I was wondering why you didn't dress up.

[ not really. ]

You think they'd be spooked if you dressed up as a Klingon?

Mostly Misery Square, but OPEN anywhere anytime because hooray >>

[defies_reason]

[For once, Isaak's spending the evening out, leaving the cozy nest of his bar in the capable hands of its staff to explore the City's festivities. In general he hasn't much of an interest in holidays, but when in Rome... and, really, doing as the Romans do is rather the theme of the night. Though that is perhaps less a matter of conscious irony at the expression, and more that the costume suits him well.

He's out admiring the decorations, chatting a bit here and there, though generally he's not touching the food and drink, at least not til someone's had some and he's watched them a while, and even then it's more for show than anything. Old habits die hard and Isaak is a man who's made a living out of mistrust.

Still, he seems to be enjoying himself, by and large. And really, who could blame him?]

Re: In Misery Square, then!

[recognize_an_opportunity]

[Just because Meyer hasn't dressed himself up much -- other than the ridiculous little devil horns, and that wasn't exactly his choice -- doesn't mean he can't appreciate other peoples' costumes. And that is, perhaps, why as soon as he sees Isaak, he can't help but smile slightly. The costume is fitting, somehow.]

You certainly went all out.

[It's not a criticism. Just an amused observation.]

Oh, I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Misery Square & Xanadu)

[lefthandedgenius]

[There's a lot of fuss about women's Halloween costumes these days, and the camps seem to fall far too often between skimpy or scary. Lydia has elected to fall into neither category; she has opted for beautiful.

Dressed as the belle of an 18th century ball, she navigates through both Misery Square and Xanadu with ease ease despite the width of her panniers or breathlessness her corset may cause her. Her face is partially hidden by a pink floral half mask, so who knows if she'll be recognized? Of course, if those who recognize her choose to pretend they don't tonight, she'll happily play along and offer the same anonymity to others.

She will partake of the food and drink, and games that might be played, but regardless as to the location in which she is encountered one thing is clear: this belle dame sans merci wishes to dance.]

[ooc: please indicate in your header or your post somewhere as to which location you encounter Lydia in, please!]

[hischair]

[ ... Damn. There's room for a hypothesis that dressed so elegantly, Lydia will bring out the best of any gentlemen around. Jim's had the formal dancing lessons, he can waltz as well as the next captain, even if he's a little rusty, so he thinks no time like the present and heads over to offer Lydia a hand in the middle of Misery Square next to the dancefloor. His lips twitch, but mostly he keeps an amused smirk off his face.

Unfortunately, he's not dressed as a prince, so she'll have to make do with his play-along attitude. ]

May I have this dance, milady?

Misery Square | Open

[thenormalsquint]

[One of the many non-dressed up few, Angela doesn't let that actually stop her from partaking in a few Halloween traditions. She's been handing out candy to both kids and adults tonight and the good stuff too: full sized candy bars and not a hint of fruit filled anything to be seen. Anything that's close to being fruit flavored has ARTIFICALLY FLAVORED plastered all over it purposely. There's 364 other days in the year to be healthy. Halloween is the night where dentists and doctors balk at everything. It's Angela approved.

What she, herself, doesn't approve of is the bevy of Jack-O-Latern's hanging around. There's okay, artwise, but where's the creativity? It's inside her, obviously, and that what drives her to find an uncarved pumpkin lying around and begin sketching a design on it. Now all she needs is a knife...]

Misery Square | Open

[saturniapavonia]

What are you supposed to be?

[Because only an asshole would ask that question. And honestly, maybe she's supposed to be one of those plain clothes TV personalities. Roman catches a glance that she's drawing something.]

Misery Square | Open

[recognize_an_opportunity]

[The extent to which he's not a fan of parties depends entirely on the party, but he's been talked into going to this one, complete with a costume -- albeit a lazy one; he'd let someone shove a set of devil horns onto his head, but he'd been decidedly opposed to wearing the matching tail or carrying the little pitchfork. He's still not convinced this party isn't just another way to screw with all of them, to unleash something horrible once they've all gathered in one place, so, true to nature, he's come armed, although nobody needs to see the gun in his shoulder holster.

At the moment, he can be found in the square, hanging back a little, smoking lazily and looking around the crowd, somewhat amused and somewhat baffled by the costumes. It's not that he's opposed to all of this, it's just that he's never been the type to throw himself enthusiastically into something. Which is why he can also be seen swigging from a silver flask every so often -- might as well entertain himself, if the party isn't going to.]

Re: Misery Square | Open

[deadmanbusiness]

[There's a break in the crowd as Theo wanders through. He's giving everyone hate glares and radiating enough spawn of evil that he should be the one wearing the horns. One or two people have started trying to give him a costume but back away quickly when they get a look at his expression.

Oddly, he's not wearing his sunglasses, which really doesn't help his expression any. The silver eyes, you know?

But at least he's ratless.

He stalks right by Meyer.

Pauses and then turns around to stare at Meyer.]

Misery Square | Open

[saturniapavonia]

[Hey fellow flask user! Roman's isn't getting out much. He's tried the punch. It's right on target. Someone doctored it up just fine. While he might be dressed up as an American Revolution redcoat there is a mask, it's on his forehead. Whatever.]

Hey boss.

Re: Misery Square | Open

[ex_sorted385]

[ Tosh's costume is pretty lazy too, but in her defense, it's not a holiday she's ever spent much time celebrating. Nonetheless, she managed to find a pretty black mask to wear, so at least she's in the spirit of things.

It feels weird to be out in a celebration like this, no mobile connecting her to the team, no reason to be looking over her shoulder and wondering what's hiding behind all the costumes. Which is probably why she makes a beeline for a familiar face. ]

Oh good, you did come.

everywhere idk

[olduvai]

[ john doesn't celebrate much by nature of the fact that a) he probably usually always is elbow-deep at work; b) celebrating with his friends and co-workers usually means getting piss drunk until the crack of dawn; and c) his family is either dead or distant. halloween, even less, considering that this is his first halloween after the incident at the olduvai facility at mars, and first right after the boney invasion and witches attack brought to the city, he's more or less apprehensive about the whole event.

he wasn't going to go, and was honestly just passing by to see if everyone's doing alright. he's probably gonna pick up a candy and then leave for the rest of the night if no one's gonna stop him. ]

[directives]

[ janeway happens to be at one of the candy tables, alternating between examining pieces of candy and making a series of bewildered to unpleasant faces at them. she's likely quite the sight to behold as she inspects the candy like its some sort of alien delicacy she's unsure of eating. ]

It's a miracle children of this era made it out with their teeth intact.

[ he doesn't celebrate, and she had no idea this holiday even existed until now. that's what happens when holidays and traditions get swallowed up by the centuries, when interstellar travel and contact with alien worlds transforms the planet into a world where halloween is very much a forgotten thing of the past. ]

[thenormalsquint]

[He's not alone in being apprehensive, so he's in good company with Angela. She just doesn't show it on her face--consider it just her being used to the whims of the City. Besides, there's enough booze to drop a full grown elephant and that always makes dealing with nasty things that pop up so much easier.

Oh, and she's certainly is going to stop him, sidling up against his side, holding up a giant Tootsie Roll from her personal stash towards him.]

Trick or treat.

[hischair]

[ Slinging an arm around John's shoulder, blue eyes implore him to listen as Jim makes his pitch. It's a little hard to do so around the black lollipop caught between his teeth, black liquorice already staining his tongue and the corners of wet lips from sucking on his goody. ]

So I seem to remember that I owe you for checking up on me last week.

[ Mildly drunk, it doesn't stop the brightness in his eyes when they flicker up-and-down over the other man, friendliness radiating in waves. ]

Open to All!

[saturniapavonia]

[Perk number one is that this is not a high school party. Roman actually tried to dress up some. The outfit came with a tricorn but he's taken to just holding on to it. The redcoat he's got on though is staying. It's pretty bad ass. It came with a pistol, just a useless stage prop but he holds onto it. Getting swept up into the revelry is easy.

Last Halloween party he went to it with soon spent with his dear cousin and then some crazy bum. So far it is a vast improvement.

Also alcohol! He stands by the punch bowl puff, puff, puffing away on a cigarette.]

[lefthandedgenius]

That's not terribly thematic, is it?

[The young woman in a teal and pink gown from the same period as his redcoat couture, and though she wears a pink mask, he may or may not recognize the scent and flavor of strawberry blonde. She seems to mean his cigarette, though her tone is light.

They haven't talked since their last conversation about eyeballs for appetizers, not really, but the anonymity that her masks offers might make things easier. Or more difficult. It depends.]

[velveteenwolf]

[It's later. It's after the talks and the people watching and drinking wayyy too much punch that Peter had personally added too much rum to. It's after the bobby pop songs faded to slower songs, and Peter is laughing over some quip that probably wasn't actually that funny, but Peter still presses his face into Roman's shoulder to muffle a spout of giggles.

He's lost his hat to a particularly jaunty looking jack-o-lantern, his collar is unfastened, and there's a button or two undone so he doesn't feel like his shirt is secretly out to murder him. He will never understand how Roman can wear these sort of things.

He was well into tipsy and probably rapidly approaching drunk, though for better or worse, he didn't actively have another glass of punch in his hand.]

I can dance, I just don't like it. Usually.

[Either non-sequitor, or a response to an earlier conversation half-forgotten. And either way, what difference did it make?]

[velveteenwolf]

[It's later. It's after the talks and the people watching and drinking wayyy too much punch that Peter had personally added too much rum to. It's after the bobby pop songs faded to slower songs, and Peter is laughing over some quip that probably wasn't actually that funny, but Peter still presses his face into Roman's shoulder to muffle a spout of giggles.

He's lost his hat to a particularly jaunty looking jack-o-lantern, his collar is unfastened, and there's a button or two undone so he doesn't feel like his shirt is secretly out to murder him. He will never understand how Roman can wear these sort of things.

He was well into tipsy and probably rapidly approaching drunk, though for better or worse, he didn't actively have another glass of punch in his hand.]

I can dance, I just don't like it. Usually.

[Either non-sequitor, or a response to an earlier conversation half-forgotten. And either way, what difference did it make?]

[lefthandedgenius]

I'm not taking no for an answer.

[Lydia holds out her hands expectantly, all the devil-may-care in her smile inviting him to join her.]

I told you I was going to dance my feet off with as many guys as possible tonight and you made the list. There are worse obligations to fulfill.

[She schools her face into an appealing expression, eyes going enormous, like a Disney princess sitting on a rock while waves crash around her. C'mon, Peter, be part of her world. Also, Big. Green. Eyes.]

Please?