ᴇᴜɢᴜᴇɴᴇ ʜɪᴄᴋs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
preseance) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
logsinthenight2019-08-04 07:19 pm
preseance) wrote in logsinthenight2019-08-04 07:19 pm
sunday dinner+wake! come one, come all! (bohemian rhapsody plays in the distance)
characters: gene+wanda+anyone else who cares to come
location: the church
date/time: the afternoon of sunday the 4th, possibly until the wee hours of the 5th.
content: eating, drinking, being merry. may or may not involve some underaged drinking/smoking/death refs.
warnings: none yet! will update if that changes.
( around three in the afternoon, folks will get a little chime from their tablets. it's a simple text from @/hicks that says — )
Hello to the old faces and welcome to the new ones. There's dinner on at the Church, if you're of a mind to join, around 1800. Six PM. RSVPs aren't necessary, so long as you bring an appetite. Just mind the rats. If you need an escort or haven't been here before, please let us know.
[ wanda’s username pops up next into the mass text, a rather blunt @/witch: ]
Eugene has organized the hallowed place strategically for supper, but tonight’s attitude I think shall proclaim it the first instead of the last. And I hope you’ve all got a thirst as well as an appetite — this is no sit down dinner. We are having a wake. Irish, East Orthodox, faerie — whatever tradition you might like to think of it. Contraband spirits liberated from the tavern, and memorabilia to celebrate all our lives.
Some of us have suffered for a month. Some have wounds still fresh and bleeding.
Let’s take a night off, shall we?
⚰️🍴🍺🍲🍗🍴⚰️
THE WAKE ➽
[ a sign above the church doors hangs, paper draped and scrawled in black shoe polish, some mixed brand of mutiny, heresy, and irreverent joy:
“ABANDON ALL WOES, YE WHO ENTER HERE.”
once inside, the responders to the invitation will see a new, brighter cast over the church, not unlike a spell woven from stone to stone, twixt and twain through and ‘neath all the cobwebs, and what once was ghostly now glows. on every standing surface there are extra candles, flames borrowed from the bonfire and flickering in a way that seems to invite — come closer, be warm, be full — and their light seems somehow brighter and less mournful than the prayer candles at the front of the pews.
the little flames adorn and catch the true stars of the main hall now: not the pews, not the decayed paintings of virgins or martyrs, but tokens hung carefully just so along the walls, over candelabras, on pedestals, over fountains and baths long empty of any holy water. tokens of the deceased, some somber, some with a sense of humor, all with affection:
a cowboy hat, hanging crookedly off the corner of the priest’s altar.
dog tags, a medical kit, enshrined in nocturnal flowers.
a rather large plastic sword, draped in twine with keys (a keyblade? perhaps).
little girl patterns holding hands, strung together, all in black… an attempt at shadow children?
several piles of chocolate gold coins, fit for any treasure hunter to indulge in.
taped and brightly lit, a picture of a rose drawn in crayon; the inscription reads only “family.”
a sadly empty pack of cigarettes… something shared in this church once, and not forgotten.
the list goes on, so many small and precious and luminous items that mean something to your character, to wanda, to gene, to the moments in between — something to touch you or make you laugh, snort while you eat and have a whiskey or vodka or juice.
because you do not — and we mean do not — have a respectable, rowdy wake without a drink in your hand. help yourself. ]
THE FOODENING ➽
[ the food is on a bench along one wall. it's not much — the rats have been getting into the supplies, and it's with that in mind that any cooking has been done with a keen eye towards minimal waste. but there are a few recognizable earth dishes. mostly things from the deep south of america, the cultural melting pot of new york and various areas across europe. feel free to say that your character's favourite dish (within reason!) made it to the table somehow.
in lieu of having an actual table, characters are encouraged to stand or sit on the pews to eat so as to mingle some with others. there's a gramophone in one corner softly playing playing... the greatest hits of queen? odd selection for a church. maybe someone will be inspired to dance?
after the party, there's some clean-up to do! who wants to stay behind and help clear and clean dishes and pack up food? maybe it's time for a food fight? either way, tag around, have fun and remember: the real treasure is the friends you make along the way! or... the rats you stomp on? mind those pesky critters! they're hungry too! ]
location: the church
date/time: the afternoon of sunday the 4th, possibly until the wee hours of the 5th.
content: eating, drinking, being merry. may or may not involve some underaged drinking/smoking/death refs.
warnings: none yet! will update if that changes.
( around three in the afternoon, folks will get a little chime from their tablets. it's a simple text from @/hicks that says — )
Hello to the old faces and welcome to the new ones. There's dinner on at the Church, if you're of a mind to join, around 1800. Six PM. RSVPs aren't necessary, so long as you bring an appetite. Just mind the rats. If you need an escort or haven't been here before, please let us know.
[ wanda’s username pops up next into the mass text, a rather blunt @/witch: ]
Eugene has organized the hallowed place strategically for supper, but tonight’s attitude I think shall proclaim it the first instead of the last. And I hope you’ve all got a thirst as well as an appetite — this is no sit down dinner. We are having a wake. Irish, East Orthodox, faerie — whatever tradition you might like to think of it. Contraband spirits liberated from the tavern, and memorabilia to celebrate all our lives.
Some of us have suffered for a month. Some have wounds still fresh and bleeding.
Let’s take a night off, shall we?
THE WAKE ➽
[ a sign above the church doors hangs, paper draped and scrawled in black shoe polish, some mixed brand of mutiny, heresy, and irreverent joy:
once inside, the responders to the invitation will see a new, brighter cast over the church, not unlike a spell woven from stone to stone, twixt and twain through and ‘neath all the cobwebs, and what once was ghostly now glows. on every standing surface there are extra candles, flames borrowed from the bonfire and flickering in a way that seems to invite — come closer, be warm, be full — and their light seems somehow brighter and less mournful than the prayer candles at the front of the pews.
the little flames adorn and catch the true stars of the main hall now: not the pews, not the decayed paintings of virgins or martyrs, but tokens hung carefully just so along the walls, over candelabras, on pedestals, over fountains and baths long empty of any holy water. tokens of the deceased, some somber, some with a sense of humor, all with affection:
a cowboy hat, hanging crookedly off the corner of the priest’s altar.
dog tags, a medical kit, enshrined in nocturnal flowers.
a rather large plastic sword, draped in twine with keys (a keyblade? perhaps).
little girl patterns holding hands, strung together, all in black… an attempt at shadow children?
several piles of chocolate gold coins, fit for any treasure hunter to indulge in.
taped and brightly lit, a picture of a rose drawn in crayon; the inscription reads only “family.”
a sadly empty pack of cigarettes… something shared in this church once, and not forgotten.
the list goes on, so many small and precious and luminous items that mean something to your character, to wanda, to gene, to the moments in between — something to touch you or make you laugh, snort while you eat and have a whiskey or vodka or juice.
because you do not — and we mean do not — have a respectable, rowdy wake without a drink in your hand. help yourself. ]
THE FOODENING ➽
[ the food is on a bench along one wall. it's not much — the rats have been getting into the supplies, and it's with that in mind that any cooking has been done with a keen eye towards minimal waste. but there are a few recognizable earth dishes. mostly things from the deep south of america, the cultural melting pot of new york and various areas across europe. feel free to say that your character's favourite dish (within reason!) made it to the table somehow.
in lieu of having an actual table, characters are encouraged to stand or sit on the pews to eat so as to mingle some with others. there's a gramophone in one corner softly playing playing... the greatest hits of queen? odd selection for a church. maybe someone will be inspired to dance?
after the party, there's some clean-up to do! who wants to stay behind and help clear and clean dishes and pack up food? maybe it's time for a food fight? either way, tag around, have fun and remember: the real treasure is the friends you make along the way! or... the rats you stomp on? mind those pesky critters! they're hungry too! ]
rats!
But this is Mary, and Vanitas just can't help himself.
She isn't looking at him when he swoops in and grabs the animal by the scruff of the neck, plucking it right out of her hand and holding it up in front of him, not unlike he'd just snatched a toy from her and was purposefully, vindictively, keeping it out of her reach.
He hasn't seen Mary since he'd been in the inn that one day, having retreated almost exclusively to the lakeside for weeks. He doubts she even noticed, but that's par for the course for someone like Vanitas. He's not a kind of guy that would be missed. But it does make him bare his teeth at her in a feral kind of grin, as if to make his newfound presence stick all the more. ]
Rats are dirty, Mary.
no subject
He's not dirty! He's my friend! Don't hold him like that!
no subject
He's your friend? You know your friend has been eating all our food?
no subject
[She absolutely starts to jump for her rat friend, trying to grab him and save him.]
It isn't his fault!
no subject
Yeah? Is that what you're gonna keep saying when him and all his other friends leave us with nothing to eat?
no subject
[The poor thing distresses her. Will he blame her? Will he be mad that she couldn't protect him? Tears well up in her eyes.]
I'll never be mad at him for being hungry! They're just like me!
no subject
What do you mean they're just like you?
no subject
[The rats just eat and eat and eat whatever they can find. They must be so desperate.]
no subject
Humiliation floods through him, making him hot under the collar of his turtleneck. Instead of dropping the rat, he throws it back at her— flinging it with it's full weight right at the middle of her chest, and with much more force than anyone should be tossing anything, nevermind an animal. ]
Whatever. I don't care. If it gets into anything I want, then I'll kill it.
no subject
There, there...there, there...
[Comforting is not an emotion she's good at being, but as stilted as it sounds, it's no less genuine. She bows her head down, hiding behind a curtain of her hair.]
I won't let anybody kill you.
no subject
Let her keep her stupid rat. It's not fun to make fun of her for it anymore. Vanitas turns around and walks back into the party. ]