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! ]
no subject
Still, this event had been mentioned a few times and he knows Wanda- she'd had them all over for dinner just a little while ago. Coming here feels like the right thing to do, and there are so many familiar faces to run into along the way. Some more familiar than others.
Sora doesn't stray far from the lakeside these days, and though it isn't his first time visiting this church this is his first time going inside. It's hard not to notice all the little memorials; harder not to be reminded of the graves and shrines from just a few weeks ago. He doesn't put his hands in his pockets, and he doesn't touch anything either. Maybe because he can't help it, because light is such a precious resource here- he makes his way to the little rows of candles and looks down at them, throwing his shadow up against the wall in uneven slashes at a time. Do they burn like the lanterns do? All on their own, into forever?
He raises one hand, and passes a single finger through the flame- looking for warmth.]
no subject
He couldn't say what draws him in. Maybe it's inevitable, the way he's been drawn to the lakeside time and again since his arrival. An asteroid circling a small star.
Vanitas wanders to his side in time to watch him put his finger into the fire. He doesn't reach out to slap his hand away, doesn't try to pull it from the candle wick. Instead, Vanitas follows the movement— the moment it pushes through, waiting to feel some echo of sensation that isn't just the feedback loop of shuttered silence they feed into one another like an unending oroboros. Logically, fire should create heat. Logically, Vanitas knows he should feel more warmth coming off this wall than the lantern Sora carries, casting out the shadows all along Vanitas' left side. ]
no subject
You define me he'd said.
I'm the shadow you cast.
It's a lot like that now, though maybe more literal than figurative. He doesn't feel Vanitas everywhere and he doesn't keep track of how readily he's followed these days- but part of that is owed to his nature. Sora has never been particularly suspicious, and he's never worried much about the connections he shares with others. He might not be strong or smart, and he's not a keyblade master- but his heart has been close to so many others. It's the reason he doesn't startle to see Vanitas come in along his periphery, black from head to toe. This is the first time he's seen him outside of armor. Sora knows that's not the same thing as not being armed.
His finger passes through the flame, then curls in towards his palm. They're close enough to the little lights that it casts a glow over them both. Sora doesn't lift his face to look. It's good he thinks. It'll give them a little privacy.]
I like your new clothes.
no subject
[ He doesn't know if they're new, of course, but nothing in the general store really looks new. Vanitas isn't even entirely sure why he decided to change to begin with— his armor was familiar and safe. Being in anything else makes him feel a little vulnerable— which is stupid, because Vanitas is so hyperaware of everything at all times he'd see someone coming from a mile away before they ever attacked. In a remarkably self-conscious gesture, when he raises one hand and adjusts the high collar of his turtleneck before dropping it to his side again.
Sora doesn't look at him, he's still looking at the candles, but that doesn't matter. Vanitas stares at his profile without being dissuaded at all, as if he could read exactly what the other boy was thinking by watching him hard enough. The tie between them doesn't work like that, of course; Vanitas, instead, can only feel the ebb and flow of what Sora feels in his heart. This close, the sensation is even more powerful. ]
Aren't you going to hang out with your friends?
no subject
Maybe the reason it doesn't work is because it's too quiet. He isn't lobbing it across a room or over the shape of a keyblade. He's just asking.
Sora's hand returns to his side, finger smudged with a little black streak. There are voices all around them, snatches of conversation and the creak of pews, chairs being moved, forks and knives.] Are we friends?