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
Did he just him boring? It's the first time in his life on the receiving end of the accusation, and it leaves him shaking his head, a bit stunned to be the one shrugged off for playing it safe. Him. Afraid to cause trouble? There had been a time he'd stolen more with bigger consequences, and he hadn't thought twice about it.
It feels like forever ago that he'd had a reason to.
"It's not that." Why is he even bothering to defend himself? He wrinkles his nose, starts again. "I meant I don't care. Go ahead if you want. I'm not going to stop you."
no subject
"No point," he sighs, "Moment's gone." Makes him wonder, however, why the stick up his proverbial tailpipe. Is he just super straight edge, a no-fun-zone kind of guy? Or has he been there, done that, and got burned badly enough to swear off causing trouble?
It's a good thing Riku's grown enough to know these aren't questions to ask. He turns his head, looking over at the other.
"Maybe I wasn't wrong."
The silver-haired stranger eyes him off, assessing him, "You don't look like a guy who made it this far by accident or by playing it safe."
no subject
But another part of him recognizes it'd be an overreaction to... playfulness? The other's playing with him. The power of his gift and the volatile edge to his resolve had kept the majority of Pilgrim's acolytes at a distance, and before that? Not much "playfulness" had passed between him and the Widow's butterflies with steel bars between them, unless one counted the physical, businesslike exchanges that had kept the confinement from eating at his sanity that much sooner.
"I'm not," he confirms firmly. Bemusement colors his frown. It's been a while since anyone's talked to him this... carefreely. If he still had his scars, the boy probably would have had second thoughts. "It must be bad in there if you're coming out here to me."
It almost sounds like Riku's inviting him to a drink. That's quite a downgrade in friendly company.