tampered | Happy Birthday To Me

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Happy Birthday To Me

When: November 30th.
Where: The Blue Light
Rating: PG-13 (will modify if needed)
Characters: Peter Rumacek, Roman Godfrey, Julie Grigio, Lydia Martin, and anyone with even a tangential relationship to any of them; if you can six degrees your way back, you have an invite. Or, hey, just show up at the OBVIOUS PARTY AT THAT BAR OVER THERE; almost no one gets turned away.
Summary: It's Peter's 18th birthday. He wanted a small affair at their apartment. There is music and banners and strings of lights and drinks and a giant birthday cake and nothing about this party is small. It might even be what Julie and Lydia had been insisting on: awesome.
Warnings: Bad language, teenage boys and feelings, disgruntled werewolves... TBD

He knew that Lydia had wanted an awesome party, but he'd thought that meant decorating the apartment, actually making a cake, and things like that. Peter had failed to appreciate just what sort of things could happen if his friends all came together on this. Even after his begrudging acceptance of the fact that he was really going to have a party, he hadn't had any idea of the lengths they'd go to, so that's the main reason why he's not suspicious when Roman drags him out to pick up a few things and swing by Julie's. Of course, they don't make it to the store.

Instead, he finds himself befuddled and slack-jawed in surprise as he stares at the happy birthday Peter banner that hangs over the doorway of the bar. Well, fuck him. Really? He shakes his head and drags a hand through his hair because, really? What the fuck do you even say to that?

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

Apparently that's what you say. But it's a smile and there's warmth in his blue eyes as he looks at Roman and then walks in, and the party kicks off. Something something party don't start 'till I walk in. If the Blue Light doesn't revise its policy on renting out for parties after this, he might have to adjust his choice in friends.

[ooc: general birthday party mingle log! Everyone is considered to have somehow gotten an invite or overheard an invite or whatever. Peter's friends are jerkfaces and intent on making this a birthday extravaganza. I'll try to hit up anyone that tags in sometime today. <3 People shouldn't let me write logs at 4AM.]

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[It's after the celebration.

It's after everyone's left and the cake is demolished and the lights are dangling and the banners are torn and left fluttering in the stray breeze of the first whispers of December. Peter did his best to seem disinterested, but if he's honest (he really tried not to be), it's probably the best birthday he's ever had. It's just him and Roman and Peter is leaning with his back against the bar and a drink in his hand as he ashes his cigarette into a convenient ashtray.

It's just the two of them in the remnants of the party dead around them; scattered paper plates and plastic fork crusted with quickly aging icing, broken birthday candles and wrapping paper. The music on low, and there's a lazy enjoyment in Peter's body he hadn't allowed himself when there were so many people around. And there's that part of him, the part that likes beautiful broken things that like this too. He feels like he should say something, like there's something in the air between him, but he doesn't, not yet.]

Hey.

[Peter's shit at saying what he wants, but it's less vulnerable than saying get over here.]

[Roman is fresh from the men's room. His face is still a little wet with water he splashed on his face. It is easy to get lost in the haze of good company, of music. Being close to Peter and seeing people appreciate him the way that people should on their birthday was a high watermark by far. Presents, a party for a low key nomad. The only problem would be in trying to top it next time.

The crowd has gone away. All the white noise makes his thoughts loud again. Thanksgiving is over. Before they know it Christmas will be around. All that familial shit he has done his very best to skate through or avoid, all that is gone for good.

A solid rub of his nose ensures that the one line of coke he allowed himself is long gone. Yeah, that's why he's down he'll say.

Would a wolf nose sniff out lies?]

Hey.

[Up nod and a smile comes back. Fuck, make it easy why don't you, Godfrey.]

So...?

[Peter's still just marveling at all the fact that he didn't just get presents, he got actual... nice things. Thoughtful, meaningful. He's still a little bit flushed just from the realization of it. It's a new thing. The last time he'd had an actual birthday party, he'd been about twelve and it had been his mom, Nicolai and Destiny. There's a pang at the thought of his cousin. It had been nice, getting to see her, even if it had only been briefly.

While Roman's in the bathroom, Peter cracks open the bottle that Stiles got him, grabbing two clean glasses and filling them nearly full. There's an acoustic guitar leaning against the bar (did Roman even know he played?), a bracelet with a wolf's head that decorates one slim wrist. He thinks it's a little bit macabre, but that just adds to the wonder, makes it pretty fucking metal.

But, it's the lighter that's in his hands, Peter staring at it, flicking in in between his fingers. It's a contradiction, the expensive piece of metal, silver and engraved and it means something to him. At the same time, it almost feels like being tied down, but maybe not more than he already is in this city. It's more than he deserves, more than he should accept, but he never bothered trying to offer it back. He just toys with it in between his fingers like it's a magic trick. P. R. on the side in that curling script reserved for rich assholes. He smiles when Roman returns, a faint tilt of his head.]

Hey. Want a drink?

[He nudges the glass in Roman's direction, even if it's not what he really wants to say, it's at least a good start. Something about how it was amazing. Something like thank you.]

Yeah.

[After so many. What's one extra drink with Peter? One he needs badly. Roman keeps his spooky eyes down. He hopes there's no tell tale shine of blood shot red or anything that would betray himself. It makes him see the glasses. One set out for him.]

Thanks.

[For sharing a gift. For not being an asshole about having a party thrown for him. He can feel proud about that.]

What is it anyway?

I dunno, Stiles brought it. Some fancy-ass kind of whiskey, I think. Seemed like something you'd appreciate.

[He's teasing, a little bit, but something also feels off, just a little. Something that almost makes him want to ask what's wrong, but at the same time, it feels too revealing, too vulnerable -- for both of them. As a child, some preteen idiot, he might have been able to be open and honest. But, things are more complex now than he could have dreamed as a child that just wanted raspberry sorbet and arcade games.]

So, uh, the party. It was, you know, pretty fucking decent. So. Thanks, I guess.

[Now it's Peter's turn to duck his head, and not meet his eyes. Apologies are difficult, but somehow saying thanks, just trying to tell Roman how much this means is harder still. Because it does. Mean something. No one's ever done something like this before. And all the gifts are things he likes, things he'd never get for himself.]

[Fancy-ass whiskey has his name on it. So fucking true. Roman nods.]

I'll be the judge of fancy ass.

[Sitting beside Peter gives him a chance to not look directly at him either. A little aversion, he feels it is a chance to gather himself just a little bit more. A fun evening out for his birthday bash should stay fun the whole way through. For the nth time he is telling himself to be happy for Peter, to be grateful. It's a great day. They're both alive. Peter could have died in the fight and he didn't. That is worth celebrating.

All that was lost in contrast tries to blacken his vision. He blames the fast coming bright lights of the season that make everything he doesn't have any more seem more of a distant past.]

What's your comparison for parties?

[Talk to him. Tell him something else. Distract him. Roman smiles a little and rubs one sleepy eye before looking at Peter.]

If I can't pronounce the name on the bottle, it's fancy-ass.

[Peter declared like some sort of fucking universal truth. And maybe it was, who knows. He takes a drink, and it's definitely smoother, tastes like too much money. He's never really had money before here, and even here, it's not like he lives like he's rich. He's never really been in the habit of celebrating his birthday much.

He shrugs his shoulders, nudges a little into Roman's side. Come on, stay here, stay with him.]

You know. Lynda'd make peanut butter cookies and I'd steal myself something I liked. Always got something for her, though. You know, pearls or one of those sparkly fucking bracelets. She always liked that crap.

[He huffs a laugh that tries to be bright, but there's something in the moment, the tension that stretches. It's in the mention of his mother and how they've both lost things no one else will really grasp.]

[Roman scoffs loudly. Peter speaks other languages. Speaking doesn't mean reading though. Making a sort of flourish--a watch me-- he smells the contents. Swish, swishing the glass before taking a sip and sloshing it in his mouth before swallowing.]

That's how you take a taste.

[Before a solid chug. The nudge almost makes him spill a little. But it keeps him on his toes, keeps him calm.]

Mom's do that. [A pause before adding:] Women do.

[Shelley's earrings gleam in his mind's eye.]

That's not a party though, Peter.

[Peter can't help huffing a laugh at the over-dramatized way that Roman tastes the liquor, but with the lift of an eyebrow and a curve of his mouth, he mimics the motions. Sniffing at it, swishing it in his glass and then taking a sip.]

Yeah, well, no one's ever taken me scotch tasting before or whatever highbrow shit that is.

[It's said with a definite dose of good humor however, as he sighs, nodding in quiet agreement to his comment about moms and women. It makes him a little wistful; he does miss his mother even if he isn't sure that he really wants to go back home. His mother, Destiny... He sighs a little, then shakes it off with a deeper drink of his scotch and when he comes up again, he's got a smile on his mouth.]

Then I guess this was my first real party. So, uh, thanks for that.

[He scuffs his shoe against the floor, leans in a little closer. Somehow, it's still not an easy thing to say between them, but he does mean it.]

Edited 2013-12-24 09:45 (UTC)

Until now you mean. Now you can bullshit your way through. Say stuff like 'it is woodsy' or 'nutty' and everyone would agree and get more and more smashed.

[Roman licks his lips savoring the bitter flavor of the drink. Again he rubs his nose. No coke visible he hopes. The wistfulness has been trying to pull him down. Here in the City they're free to do what they want. That's good...right?

The cool glass rolls between his palms.]

Hey. I feel like it was my responsibility. There are gonna be more, you know. That's how it goes.

[Closer together, and he's more aware of how warm Peter is. He runs hot like some sort of a furnace all the time. Roman never knew how cold he felt until they took on this habit of being side to side.]

Damn, where do people come up with that shit?

[He shakes his head with a curl of his mouth, a shake of his head. A flicker of blue eyes catches how Roman keeps rubbing his nose, but he doesn't comment on it. He's not oblivious to Roman's addictions, he's just not that hypocritical.

He swirls the glass in his fingers, and then takes a drink, rolling it around over his tongue and miming a high-brow asshole as much as he can, raised eyebrows and all. Then he has to swallow it fast before he starts snickering at his own antics.]

Alright. As long as you don't try and get me sipping champagne like some rich douchebag.

[He's dryly joking, but it's accompanied by a faint bump of his shoulder into Roman's side. They're all alone now, but this is still supposed to be fun, right? Roman feels cool where they touch, but pleasantly so, like a balm.]

It's not just to look like a dumb ass. You swish it around for flavor in your mouth. There are parts of the tongue that catch different flavor profiles.

[Duh. As though it is the simplest thing in the world. Just bullshit. Rich kid bullshit that he can now and then pull out of his pocket. Roman sets his glass aside before he drops it. He'll fill it again in a moment or two.]

Don't tell me you've never had champagne. There's a reason people drink it. It's fucking good. You have to drink a lot to get wasted, it's more like an alcoholic juice.

[Listen to him. Does any of it really matter?]

You got a few nice things there. I didn't know you could play the guitar.

Flavor profiles? You're making this shit up.

[He's half teasing. He believes Roman about this highbrow stuff, but that isn't going to stop him from idly teasing him about how bullshit it sounds to him.]

I've had sparkling wine.

[He says it like it's the same thing. He's never had the French shit, though. Too expensive and usually locked up or behind the register or just generally a pain in the ass to shoplift.]

Yeah. I had one back home. You know, shitty beat up thing. The one Jules got me is actually pretty nice. I could play something, if you wanted.

[The offer's only a little shy; he hasn't really ever played for anyone before. Busking on a street corner's a bit different. Shitty pop songs and whatever else.]

[ He's kind of weird when it comes to gifts. Nothing will ever top Lydia's extravaganza but y'know, he's still the same. So when he turns up it's with one of those ridiculous party bags - covered in butterflies because he's an asshole. Inside is some pretty awesome whiskey, like a dozen different kinds of candy, and a coffee mug with naked strippers. Fill it up Peter, see their clothes disappearing.

He puts it down when he finds a place, then gets himself a drink. ]

[Peter can't help laughing at the party bag Stiles hands him and just shooting him a look. You know, one of the ones that definitively says you're a jerk. So, after he's done with the presents and birthday cake is being passed around (if one notices, Peter eats the cake but avoids the creamcheese frosting like it's made of death) he wanders over to find Stiles.]

Hey. So, uh, thanks for coming.

[So much for the not a big deal and small party crap he'd told his friends.]

[ He grins at the spectacle of the party, wide and happy for a moment. ] Dude, with Lydia planning it you should've known it wasn't going to be contained.

[ Sucks to be you, bro. But he guesses it must be kind of nice. ] You having a good time?

Yeah, I guess you're right. [There's a hint of a laugh and a shake of his head. Lydia, after all. He guesses that once she and Roman were working together on his party he should have known better.]

I'm not usually one for parties, but, you know. It's nice getting to see everyone together like this.

[He shrugs his shoulders, but there's still a smile on his lips.]

You should totally lap it all up bro. It's good for you, all these people here to celebrate the occassion of your birth.

[ He gives a dorky grin. ] Now let's get a drink.

[What do you get for the boy who steals everything?

A sweater to start, because Peter never seems to dress warmly enough for her, a flashdrive full of music that she thinks he'd like, and a leather and brass bracelet with a wolf's head on it.

She seems moderately pleased with the party, content to nibble on food, sip sparingly at her drink, and mingle with her fellow party-goers.

[Peter had tried to tell people not to get him gifts.

He hadn't wanted a party at all, just a couple people hanging out at his place with booze and movies, let alone something of this size. Clearly when his friends get together and pool their resources magic happens. He's a little ambivalent about the sweater (how do you explain to people about difference in body temperature), though it comes off as good-natured teasing -- a jibe about how she just wants to play dress up with him again. The flashdrive he happily pockets for later, but the bracelet is something special.]

It's uh, really nice, Lyds. Thanks.

[Did he really just say that?]

You're welcome, of course.

[There's a kiss pressed to his scruffy cheek, leaving behind her scent of strawberries.]

I hope this party is a happy medium between 'no big deal' and the spectacular spectacle that we would have thrown if a few of us had our way with it?

[Peter smiles as she presses a kiss to his cheek, and he sighs, shakes his head a little bit dubiously.]

You're really saying that you and Roman wanted something bigger than this?

[Of course, Peter's idea of a huge party mostly has to do with the ones schools put on in the gym. He's admittedly never seen one of the Godfrey Galas, or one of Lydia Martin's birthday parties.]

But, yeah. It's actually really nice.

Hello, have you met us? [A broad grin.] Of course we did. It was really Julie you have to thank for combining her powers with Roman's, though I did help a little. I'm glad you like it, though. I don't think anyone wanted you so overwhelmed you couldn't have fun.

[Nall hadn't actually known about the party. He'd just been flying around the city. He wanted to learn what he could about this new place he was apparently calling Home and, well, sometimes just flying about is fun. Just flying about when you're taking care of 20 kids doesn't happen often.

But he slowed and found a perch at the sound of the party. In a bar. He looked one way and then the other. There wasn't anything suggesting to him that, well, he couldn't go in for a look. He jumped down, gliding to the ground on his wings and shifting into his human form as he landed. Barkeeps tended to kick out the flying cat, you know?

He found a spot inside the bar that wasn't exactly inside the party. He'd just watch from the outside really.]

[It wasn't the sort of party where you were really allowed to watch from the outside. If it was, that was exactly where Peter would be, as he wasn't exactly the sort that enjoyed parties -- especially when they were his own.

So when he inevitably ends up next to Nall in his attempt to escape out to the fringes, he shakes his head and look over with a sigh. He doesn't recognize him, but Peter's circle of friends is admittedly pretty small, and Lydia and Roman seem to have managed to invite all sorts of people.

Peter has a drink in his hand and a half-exasperated smile on his face.]

So, uh.. what's your name?

I'm Nall. I take it you're Peter?

[Given that he seemed to have been the centre of attention, it's a fairly decent guess.]

[Julie hadn't quite been in a social mood since her return. Honestly she kind of just threw herself into work and didn't really say much to anyone. Nothing really meaningful, anyway. She kept it superficial and really avoided talking about home too much.

This worked in her favor because she learned that one of her best friends in the City loved music. Specifically playing it.

It took a few hours of hunting but Julie managed to find Peter a pretty decent acoustic guitar.

Low-key indeed. Who did Peter think he was talking to?

Enjoy your guitar, Peter. Julie'll be sitting at the bar, previously blue and now gold eyes watching everyone with a Long Island in her hand.]

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Happy Birthday To Me

Locked to Roman~

Locked to Roman~

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