Subject: The Aviator gave him a lazy salute.
Author:
Posted on: 2019-10-17 20:07:21 UTC
"I'm the Aviator, this is Zeb—"
"I'm Adam Young!" Elanor piped up, brandishing the stuffed dog. "I'm the Antichrist!"
"...And this is Elanor," the Aviator said. "My daughter."
"Adam is not Crowley's daughter!" Elanor said, stamping her foot.
The 2019 PPC Halloween party was ramping up
The Large Enough Events Space had been decorated for the occasion. A flock of magical bats fluttered near the high ceiling. Candles had been hung from chandeliers and placed on tables, giving the room a slight orange tint and creating appropriately spooky shadows. Skeletons of many species, along with pumpkins (which had mostly been carved, often elaborately, by agents who really needed somewhere more constructive to channel their urge to stab something) had been placed around the room. The overall decor stuck mainly to black and orange.
The back of the room held the most important part of such a party: the free food and booze. One section of the buffet, which was already being pounced on by Nursery kids, was devoted to heaping piles of candy, while other parts included stacks that were less likely to give you a sugar rush, appetizers, and all matter of drinks. The items were labeled so that the partygoers would know roughly what would agree with their biology because no one wanted a repeat of that time someone didn’t realize that the cyanide fries contained cyanide and had to be rushed off to Medical.
In front of the food, the room was roughly split into two halves. One half was a large open space for agents to mingle in that eventually gave way to a dance floor. The A/V division had, over the years, scoured the multiverse for things that would sound spooky but also make good dance tracks, and they’d done a pretty reasonable job of it (though, due to the many different musical cultures in HQ, most attendees found some of their choices just plain bizarre). Sound dampening fields allowed the music to be up loud on the dance floor without making it more than a quiet background sound in the rest of the room.
The other half of the room had been fitted with tables and some chairs. The tables varied in size and height from an inch or so high (these were meant for faeries, pixies, and other small agents and were cordoned off to prevent larger agents from squishing everyone) to a very tall and tall table that could accommodate dragons and Marsha the triceratops (which a lot of more typically sized agents were gathering under).
Facilities, sadly, had slightly misestimated how much of each seating type was needed, so most of the human-sized agents would need to share tables.
Off to the side, there was a door that led to a quiet room full of couches and other places to relax for people who needed to duck out of the party for a bit.
As HQ’s denizens filtered in, the noise level began to rise slightly as conversation flooded the room.
There is nothing here in this post. I just realised that I cannot role play because I don’t have permission. I feel like a fool.
...and a handful of Agents came in.
The first ones in were a trio of small kids. Emily and Anthony Homewood, a fair-haired human boy and girl about nine years old, were clearly twins and dressed as Luke and Leia Skywalker. They were holding the hands of a younger girl, who on first glance seemed to be about three or four years old. Fiona Talathion had glossy black hair, pale skin and slightly upswept ears, and was wearing a school uniform, complete with a satchel slung over her shoulders.
Just behind them came their parents. Nat Freidar wasn't keen on dressing up, so she'd come as an ordinary World One human, but her long-term boyfriend Zach Homewood had decided to stick with the family theme and sported a reasonable Obi-Wan Kenobi ensemble. Cassie Young had gone for an adult Queen Lucy the Valiant look, while her husband, Kelvin Talathion - in his usual hunting leathers - had claimed that people used his usual outfits as a costume anyway, so he technically was dressed up.
Trailing after them in a little group were a pair of teenagers and three adults. Stephanie Fielding, her long brown hair braided carefully, was doing a good impression of Katniss Everdeen, occasionally adjusting a silvery bow and quiver of arrows over her shoulder. Her best friend Owen Hayles, a bulky fourteen-year-old who seemed to be hitting a growth spurt, had painted a few scars across his face and used his red hair to his advantage to show up as Bill Weasley. They were deep in conversation and completely ignoring the adults, who were used to this by now.
Cara Fielding had gone for a complete change from her usual look and strongly resembled Magrat Garlick, down to the messy flower crown, while William Marshall resigned himself to a "movieverse" Auror outfit. They were both quite happy to chat to Owen's father, Luke Celinus, who was in his usual fallback costume of "pirate".
"They've really pushed things out this year, haven't they?" Zach observed, impressed, as he eyed the room's setup.
"Indeed," Kelvin replied, as everyone drifted off to enjoy the party. "It feels like it's been years since we saw a real PPC party."
[Feel free to accost any of the people mentioned here!]
Henry Robinson approached the teenagers with a show of confidence he didn't quite feel. It had taken an effort on his part to get the costume he wanted this year, and now he was second-guessing it.
Going as a Spartan was a great idea on paper. They were cool, and he knew that because the coolest person he knew spoke of them in admiring terms. His mother, however, had resisted the idea for reasons that weren't at all clear to Henry. Not in so many words, but with a reserved demeanor and multiple alternative suggestions. He had insisted, though, so in the end she'd helped him put the ensemble together: leather sandals and skirts, a sword belt, a shield with painted lambda strapped across his back, and a bright red cloak over one shoulder. (No helmet; helmets were no good at parties.) Su, of course, had contributed, too, so the degree of historical accuracy was excellent. In addition, Henry had taken to growing out his hair this year, and it was almost down to his shoulders. A pair of thin plaits at his temples kept the fine black stuff out of his eyes. Green eyes, he knew, had been considered exotic and very fetching in ancient Greece. He wasn't sure that applied to boys, but on the other hand, why not?
The only problem was that he really didn't have the physique of a warrior. He was tall for his age (ten—nearly eleven!) and perpetually skinny. He had muscles, you couldn't learn to ride a horse and use a sword and shoot a bow without getting some muscles, but he was still just ten (nearly eleven), and even though he was growing taller quickly, he wasn't showing signs of starting to fill out any time soon. He was also naturally pale, and no amount of sun seemed to do more than make him temporarily pink.
Head Nurse Suzine had taken pity on him and donated her cosmetic skills to the cause of giving him a bit of bronzing and his stomach a bit of contouring, but he wasn't sure how good it really looked. Suzine always looked amazing, but that was just her face, and she usually went for a very feminine style. Sure, you could watch how to do anything on the Internet, but was that really enough?
He would just have to find out. The first rule of being a warrior was "never let the enemy see you sweat," and Henry reckoned that applied to people you wanted to like you, too.
So he walked right up to Stephanie and Owen, one hand resting on the hilt of his cardboard xiphos, and said hello. "Cool costumes!"
Stephanie hadn't been quite sure how to react to a small Spartan warrior marching up to her and saying hello, but she quickly recognised Henry Robinson and gave him a warm smile. "You're looking good yourself," she said, looking him over with an approving smile.
"I'm guessing Spartan?" Owen offered with a wry smile. His voice was still high at the moment, but it was starting to break, so he was well aware that at any moment he could end up sounding rather croaky. "Looks detailed."
"Says the guy who spent over an hour trying to get his facepaint done properly," Stephanie teased. "Anyway, Henry, what's up?"
Stephanie telling him he looked good had put a smile on his face, and Owen noticing the details had made it even bigger. Henry liked things to be precise, and he'd put a lot of effort into the little touches.
"Not much," he answered Stephanie. "I haven't seen you guys in a while. You both look really awesome, too. Is the bow real?" It looked a bit too shiny to be real, but you never knew.
"Yeah, it's real," she said, touching it briefly. "Mum figured if I was going to become an Action Agent, I might as well get used to carrying the gear, so she picked this up from the Hunger Games 'verse for me. The arrows are padded, though - didn't want to bring real ones where there's little kids around." She nodded to the small fry running around and smiled wryly.
"Not to mention they spent ages getting the hairstyle just right," Owen added with a brief grin. "Anyway, yeah, we haven't seen you for ages - pity your mum doesn't let you spend more time in the Nursery, really. Unless she thinks you're going to pick up bad habits."
As he said it, though, his smile faded into a somewhat suspicious frown. He had lately felt that Mom was holding him back, insisting he wasn't ready to get out into the field even though he totally was.
Going home after school most days instead of living in the Nursery had just been a fact of life, and made a fun diversion of the times Mom had a big date night and he got to sleep over with his friends instead. He hadn't really questioned it. He was happy to clear out if it was Jacques, who was around way too much lately. That guy was so weird and annoying. He did resent it just a bit when it was Su, though.
And... what if it was all part of the plot to keep him a little kid forever? Just about everyone else he knew lived in the Nursery, after all. Why not him and his brother? Just because Mom worked in FicPsych and had a relatively stable schedule? Or something more sinister?
He wasn't quite prepared to admit to being overly coddled to his cool older friends who were allowed to carry real weapons, though, so he covered his momentary lapse with a shrug. "I'm just really busy! I've got Sprout stuff most weeks, and Su—Agent Suicide," he clarified importantly— "he's been teaching me. I'm sort of like his intern now."
And not too humble to boast about it just a bit, even if interning with Su in practice hadn't turned out to be quite as great as he'd imagined when he'd come up with the idea. Sure, he was learning a lot, but it turned out that it involved a lot more coffee runs, hard exercise, and exhaustion than high adventure out in the Word Worlds. For now, he was still stuck in Headquarters. Such were the evils of compromise between adults who liked each other.
(( I'm very amused at being given an opening to explore this question. ^_^ In an unfinished story set back in 2013, Jenni expresses some doubt as to the wisdom of trying to give Henry a more normal life by having him live at home when that's actually not the norm for most of HQ's kids. She is reassured, and she jokes that he'll resent her when he's older one way or the other, though. I guess we're seeing that seed sprout into reality now. Whee, serendipity! {= D ))
Owen tugged thoughtfully at the ponytail he'd persuaded his parents to let him grow as he thought it over. "I know my dad said straight that he wouldn't even think about me doing internships until I was about sixteen, so you're already well ahead of the game there. I think a lot of the Action parents are like that, though."
Half-shrugging, Stephanie glanced over at her mother and uncle, who were both happily mingling with the others, secure in the knowledge that this was a reasonably safe space - insofar as anywhere in HQ was. "Well, they've lost partners and friends on missions, so I guess it makes sense," she said with a resigned sigh. "Or back in their homeworlds. I mean, a lot of heroes and people in various canons were about our age when they started getting involved in dangerous stuff..."
She cut herself off before she could point out that Henry was pretty much the same age as Harry Potter had been when he started actively fighting against Voldemort. She certainly didn't want to be facing down megalomaniacs yet, and Mary Sues were pretty much the definition of that, no matter how cool it might be to be out there in the Worlds. Granted she'd been much more enthusiastic about the idea when she was younger, but she was beginning to see the dangers more clearly now.
"Anyway, it's not that bad if you get to live with your parents," Owen added reassuringly. "I reckon it'd be pretty cool to be able to see my mum and dad every day instead of just whenever missions allowed for it."
((Isn't it amazing how life lines up like that? XD I know these two have had issues in the past, but a few horror stories and possibly careful supervised visits to assorted canons have shown them the reality of what they have to deal with; they were shaken up a bit.))
He supposed he would be sad if he didn't get to see Mom much and it wasn't a choice. That was true. And he knew she worried about bad things happening to him—he just didn't think it was very likely. Everything would have been fine that time he'd borrowed a remote activator and followed Ilraen and those trainees into the Potterverse if only Ilraen hadn't caught him.
"Well, anyway, it's not like Mom is letting Su take me on missions or anything," he added, not wishing to give an entirely false impression. "It's just some weapons practice and stuff like that. I could show you, if I could see your bow," he said hopefully to Stephanie. "I'll just draw it; I won't fire it dry, either."
(( {= D Henry is still young enough not to realize that danger is, y'know, dangerous, specifically to himself. He's been pretty well kept out of serious trouble. Doesn't help that he's a wizard, and they're canonically fairly indestructible. Might be interesting to get him talking to William, though. [Or to get William talking to Derik, whom he met at Henry's party that one time, or Iximaz's Agent Ix, who is a fellow ex-Auror and a werewolf... and best hope Ix doesn't run into Owen, 'cause she's fairly sensitive about it!] ))
"Even if we end up in Infrastructure, there's always the possibility of needing to defend ourselves from stuff getting into HQ."
"Plus it keeps us on the ball," Steph put in. "Keeps people fit. Mum says she'd be a lot slower by now if she didn't practice as often as she does." She might not have been especially convinced by her mother alone, but the backup from her uncle and Owen's family had sufficed to persuade her that Cara knew what she was talking about.
After a few moments, she glanced round to make sure no adults were watching them too closely and unslung her bow with a grin. "It's not got a heavy draw," she said, handing it over, "but there's still enough of a pull that you could do some serious damage if you were using it for real." She was becoming quite a keen archer, and had made a point of learning some of the terminology just to show off. (Then again, she was thirteen, which was usually an age at which a lot of people liked to show off.)
((Yeah, I figured Henry was still just young enough not to grasp the idea of personal risk too well. XD William would be interesting, though, with whoever you like! He's one of my special babies; I actually took him over to Tumblr and RP on there with him now as a regular Potterverse OC. [Remembering my time at the PPC, though, I made a more plausible backstory for him. XD] He'd be quite pleased to talk to another native of his homeworld, but I think he liked Derik too.
As for Owen, he sees it as more of a tribute to a pretty awesome character than anything else, but I can get why other people might not be so impressed. XD)
"Nice," he observed, examining the silvery finish. "Did you say this came from the Hunger Games 'verse? Was it a Sue weapon, or from one of the higher districts, or something like that? Doesn't seem like one Katniss would use, except maybe for a photo-shoot or something."
(( BTW, what kind of bow? Compound, I'd guess, since it's fancy, but you never know!
(( I'm up for whatever strikes your fancy with William. ))
"You'd think, wouldn't you?" Stephanie said lightly. "But no, this is is a replica of the one Katniss carries in the arena in the first book... or movie, I guess. The Capitol's got all sorts of special inventions, and they seem to like giving the tributes metallic-style weapons. Katniss has a few different bows, though, over the course of the series. I guess I just like this one best."
"It looks intimidating enough," Owen said lightly. "More than this, anyway." He produced his wand from an inner pocket for a moment and grinned.
((The bow's actually pretty simple - it looks like this - actually, that whole image is a decent idea of how Steph's costume looks. XD))
((And feel free to send Derik over, I guess? William's not one for parties much, so he's probably not trying to get too involved. Either that or my lad's going to be discreetly keeping an eye on these three kids just to make sure no actual archery occurs, so Henry could notice him/he could step in :P ))
Henry realized there was no clear space to be found on any side. He settled for sighting over the crowd's heads and drawing toward the ceiling. He held the string taut a few seconds, just to prove he could.
He was feeling fairly full of himself, but Stephanie's comments deflated his ego. "Oh," he said. He lowered the bow and handed it back with a disgruntled expression. How had he missed the fact that it was a canon weapon? "Well... I haven't actually seen the movies yet," he grumbled. Stupid PG-13 rating. Stupid Mom and her stupid adherence to stupid age limits.
The appearance of Owen's wand proved a highly effective distraction. Henry's eyes went wide. "Is that real?"
(( Poor Henry. It's not his fault I saw "silvery" and made assumptions. Still, doesn't hurt him to be knocked down a peg now. ^_^ As for Derik, I'd say send William down to that thread, and maybe we can revive both of these! ))
"To be fair, it's pretty ambiguous in the book," she said, slinging the bow back over her shoulder to keep her hands free. "They don't really give it much of a description, as far as I remember, so the movie-makers just added their own interpretation. Nice aiming, though."
Owen laughed sheepishly at the sudden attention, and twirled the wand, which emitted a few bright red sparks. "Kind of? It's one of those Hogwarts Fanfic Academy-style ones - it can cast a few basic spells like Disarming and Stunning, but anything serious is beyond it. And Dad already told me if it gets used for anything other than an emergency he's taking it off me." He offered it to Henry to take a look anyway.
Action Agents were remarkably lenient about letting their older kids go around armed - but then again, given all the trouble that could happen even on a quiet stroll through HQ, it wasn't entirely unfounded.
((Bless! Henry's adorable and my two are quite fond of him. XD
On the other hand, I'm not sure how or where to add William into the thread with Derik >.< ))
Charlotte grabbed Ix's arm and dragged her across the room when she saw the scarred face and the sparking wand. She forced down the shield Ix was attempting to disappear behind and beamed. "Nice costume!"
((Since I don't know if you saw farther down the thread—Charlotte is Peggy Carter, and Ix is Captain America.))
Still, he took it, just for the pleasure of holding one. An HFA wand was almost as good as the real thing—it was still an Ollivander of a sort, after all. He thought he could feel it warm slightly in the palm of his hand, and a hesitant wave produced a few obliging sparks. But it was supposed to do that, even for a Muggle. It didn't mean anything.
He gave it back to Owen with a sigh. "I can't wait until February. Mom promised I'll get a real one when I turn eleven, and I get to go to HFA in the fall, too!" That, like a Muggle-use wand, was almost as good as the real thing.
Henry looked up, started, and backed quickly away when the two agents rushed up, seeming intent on talking to Owen.
He might be still one of the younger kids as far as she and Owen were concerned, but she was fond of him and tried not to talk down to him. It was a nice feeling to be looked up to, and she didn't want to spoil that by making him feel like a baby.
"You're gonna be just great when you go to HFA," she said. "And when you get your own wand it'll be better than Owen's - it'll be the real thing."
She, too, was startled into silence when a couple of Agents rushed up to them, but nodded politely anyway. Owen, on the other hand, looked rather nervous, and gave the pair of newcomers a tentative smile.
"Um. Hi?" he said weakly. "I like your costumes, too."
“Thank you!” she said. “Ix worked really hard on them—come on, Fwai, just take the mask off for one minute?”
Ix gave Charlotte a desperate stare.
“Please?” Charlotte wheedled. “Come on, that’s a Bill Weasley costume if I’ve ever seen one, I’m sure he won’t care.”
Ix bit her lip, looking between Charlotte and Owen. She shuddered, but reluctantly pulled her cowl back, revealing the disfiguring claw marks that slashed across the left side of her face, obliterating her eyebrow, leaving her nose crooked, and twisting the corner of her mouth into a permanent grimace. “Lottie seems to think you’ll like this,” she muttered.
Touching his painted-on scars rather self-consciously, he glanced at Stephanie for reassurance. She smiled slightly as the older Agents talked, giving him a faint nod.
When the rather uncertain one took off her mask, Owen couldn't quite hide his startlement at how bad the scarring was, but he nodded approvingly anyway. "Looks like you had a pretty bad time," he said. "But my dad always says marks like that just prove you survived, and that makes you tougher than whatever did it."
"And he'd know better than a lot of people," Stephanie agreed with a little smile, leaning in as though to confide in the newcomers. "His dad's got some pretty noticeable marks too, when he's not trying to keep them covered." She nodded towards Luke, who still wore the same ragged black scarf covering his left eye that he'd worn for over fifteen years.
Something felt weird about all this, though he couldn't put his finger on what. He didn't bother to hide his wide-eyed amazement when "Captain America" revealed her face. The pair of agents seemed to want them to look. It wasn't like he hadn't seen scars before, though. Besides Owen's dad, Su had some impressive ones, and Ilraen had that one big one on his chest, and there was that one ex-dragonrider guy his mom knew, too. These scars were pretty alarming, being on the agent's face, but Mom said you never judged anyone by their appearance, even if they looked a bit scary. Heck, if anything, "Peggy Carter" was freaking him out more by being so excited. Just what was she playing at?
(( Edit: Speaking of Derik, just noting that I've created an opening for him to be approached below, if you like. {= ) ))
"See, hon? Nothing to be ashamed of," she said, elbowing Ix gently. "You're really not as ugly as you think."
Ix, eyes bright with unspilled tears, yanked her cowl back down and ran off. She managed a good pace despite her limp, and disappeared into the crowd.
Charlotte hesitated, wanting to run after her, but at the same time realizing somewhere along the way, she'd messed up, bad. "...I just wanted her to feel better," she said miserably.
((Downsides of being a badfic rescue with no previous personality: you cannot people, sometimes.))
"Did I - I mean - I didn't mean to upset her or anything..." he faltered, a surge of Awkward Teenager Feelings overwhelming him. Ducking his head, feeling rather ashamed of himself for his costume now someone seemed to have been distressed by it, he shuffled his feet and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"Maybe she's just a bit overwhelmed," Stephanie offered, trying her best to make him feel better and darting an anxious look at Charlotte. "I bet she hasn't had many people being encouraging up till now."
(( Not that I'm complaining if you are. ^_^ Also, your tag with Ellie below, I think, if you're still interested? ))
((And yeah, I'll get on that in a moment. Had kind of a bad entire week, no energy for anything. Was real fun.))
"You say that every year, and yet you still come, don't you?" Tom grinned. "I guess it's not so bad."
Thoth grimaced. "The event is tolerable. However, I believe my costume was a tactical error."
"Hey," said Tom, adjusting his cloak. "I said you should go as Alphonse. I even had some extra cardboard after cutting my prosthetics. It could've been a great partner costume!" He gestured at Thoth with his cardboard-covered hand. "For once, this wasn't my fault. Why'd you pick that anyways? Seems unlike you."
Thoth grunted. "No time. This was the best I could get on short notice."
Despite whatever protests Thoth may have to contrary, his costume was a totally acceptable Conan. He'd even managed to get a pretty reasonable sword and belt for it, and the long hair was convincing enough to make people swear it was real (which it was—he'd spent quite a lot of time making that work, but it had at least got him back into practice with biomancy). The effect was only slightly ruined by the metal jacks covering his flesh.
"...You're just uncomfortable showing this much skin in public, aren't you?" Tom said, grinning.
"..."
"That really is it, isn't it? Well then. Embarrassed, or paranoid?"
"Not. Another. Word."
He'd never before realized just how many dangers lurked in a room full of happily partying agents. There were far too many costumes with hard or sharp bits. Too many legs and chairs and tables and other objects to blunder into and grab and tip over. Too many choking hazards on the food tables. Too much noise interfering with his hearing, even with the music cleverly muted away from the dance floor.
As ever, though, Gall's voice managed to come through loud and clear: "We didn't have to come, you know."
He tore his gaze from the room and forced the tell-tale frown from his face. It wasn't too hard. The sight of her with little Gadrik tucked securely in his carrying harness against her chest had a way of making him smile even when he was anxious about the whole business. The boy was awake and alert, his head with its cap of dark, curly hair turning this way and that as he took in the fascinating sights and sounds around him. At seven months old, he was perfectly fearless and eager to explore the world with his newfound crawling ability.
Hence Derik's trepidation. There was no way Gaddie would be content to stay in his harness the whole time. Eventually, they'd have to let him down, and then... Gaddie would be Gaddie. And they would do what they spent most of their time doing these days: trying desperately to keep up.
Derik sighed. "Yes, we did; it's a tradition. It'll be fine. Probably." He made himself smile more.
Gall rolled her eyes, unconvinced. "Of course it will, you big sissy. Come on—I see Jötun, and you are not going to believe this." She cackled and led the way toward their friends.
"Oh?" Derik followed, one hand at her elbow to keep them from being separated as he looked around again, this time scanning over the heads of the crowd.
Thoth was easy to spot, but Derik didn't recognize him at first, with a full head of dark hair long enough to reach his broad, bare shoulders. He was surprised into laughter. "What in the world...?" When they got within calling distance, Derik raised his voice and waved. "Thoth, man! What is that on your head?"
"What's that on your face?" Gall riposted, unable to resist such a shining opportunity to jibe him.
Derik's "costume" was a red plaid shirt he'd scrounged up to go with the beard he hadn't bothered shaving for the past month. Thanks to his scars, the beard was sparse on the right side and some of the hairs that did grow in were white, a stark contrast to the rich black of the rest of it. He looked lopsided at best, mangy at worst.
Gall hadn't done anything out of the ordinary at all. Gadrik was the only one of them they had managed to put in a real costume, and he was quite possibly the most adorable sausage roll of a baby Gronckle there ever was, even if he wouldn't keep the hood up. Gall simply had to dress as her Berkian self to make it work. Derik had adjusted the harness (which he'd made in the first place) to accommodate the extra bulk of the hoodie with its protuberant padding of soft scutes and spines, and they were quite comfortable.
(( Edit: post expanded. That should be better to reply to! ))
...at the sound of his name being called. You wouldn't see it, not unless you looking for it. All other signs had been repressed with his usual care and attention. But the Marine was on edge.
He turned, calming a bit as he consciously recognized the source of a call. "Ah, Derik. I trust you have seen hair before? It usually grows on the head and body of most humanoids—"
Tom caught Thoth with an elbow to the rib. "Oi! No growing a sense of humor on me. It's one of the few areas I can provably best you. Well, that and Smash... but no, everyone brings out the tape measures." He waved a hand lazily. "Insert short rant here. Elric I may be, but my dedication to costume has its limits."
Thoth mostly ignored both the rib and his partner's diatribe. He'd found it was better to do that at times like these. Medical had not looked kindly on him the last time Tom's shoulder had been dislocated. "I am dressed as Conan. I admit I am largely ignorant of the source material, but it was the best I could do on short notice, so I was required to grow out my hair for the part. This also gave me an excuse to practice my biomancy—I must admit I'm slipping in that area. I gather you found yourself in a similar situation, albeit for... different reasons." He cast a glance towards Gall and the extremely fuzzy sausage roll. "That must be young Gadrik, then?"
"You know full well it is," said Tom. "Why do you have to state everything so formally?"
"It's simply the way I speak."
"C'mon, let your hair... erm. Down. Relax! It's Halloween! I get to talk all about the my job and The Laundry without having demons blow up my brain after years of watching what I say! Can't you say one thing without it being incredibly formal?"
"...Pahk mah cahr in hahvard yahd 'cause that's a good idear?" Somehow, Thoth even pronounced the lack of an 'r' with extreme deliberation.
Tom facepalmed. "How did you even know about... nevermind. Just... that's... so much worse." He turned to Gall and Derik. "Anyways, how have you all been getting on? If Thoth knows anything, he isn't saying."
"Oh, do we get to answer now? 'Cause I get it if you're feeling like you've got to make with the long talk on account of needing to compensate for being so small a bean sprout would look down on you." She grinned. It may have been intended as a friendly invitation to share in the fandom reference—ironic as it was, since she was by far the shortest adult in the group—but it was hard to tell with her.
This time, Derik cut in. "Don't," he said, half warning to his partner and half plea to Tom not to rise to the bait. "We're... all right. Gaddie's in fine fettle. He's sleeping through most nights now, and I thought that would make everything easier, but his crawling might be the death of me." He scratched absently at his jaw, as he sometimes did when feeling uncertain. As usual, his emotions were a mixed bag, in this case of pride in his son's rapid development and fear for the new kinds of trouble he could get into. The fear was under control thanks to his practice of mental discipline, but that only meant it was prevented from becoming full-blown panic. It still gnawed persistently at the back of his mind.
Gadrik, meanwhile, was craning his head around to get a look at the people his parents were talking to, blue eyes bright with curiosity. Gall obligingly turned sideways, and Gadrik reached out toward the glinting metal bits on Thoth's costume and body, making excited burbling sounds.
"Aww, look who wants his own sword already!" Gall cooed, petting the baby's curls. "That's my little Viking!"
"You see what I mean?" Derik said weakly. "He goes right for the most dangerous thing in sight. No offense, brother." He glanced up at Thoth with a watery smile, then away again. The costume and the apparently real hair were amusing, but the sight of the metal jacks gave Derik the willies, which he wouldn't care to admit if he didn't have to.
"Alright, alright. I'll be back once I've had a drink." At the very least, he had enough social awareness to recognize that he didn't really have much to say.
Thoth, on the other hand, had noticed Derik's unwillingness to look at him. "They don't hurt. If that is what's concerning you. They've been in me far too long for that." He glanced sadly down at the jacks. "Although I admit they ruin the aesthetic."
The marine reached out to touch Gadrik's hand as it reached towards a particularly awkward bit of metal. "Do not pick up a weapon of war, young Gadrik. Not without intent to use it. I fear your father would try to assault me if you injured yourself on my account." Fear, of course, in the loosest sense, and more for Derik than for his own wellbeing. But you had to simplify a bit when speaking to a child.
It was a good grip for a baby. He tugged the large digit insistently toward his open mouth, leaning out to close the distance with his tongue protruding.
Both parents watched in fascination. Would Thoth allow this?
(( Verbal replies when this action resolves. {= ) ))
He had considered pulling away his fingers. But no. This child was testing him. Testing his ability to supress his instincts, however well-developed they may be.
Consciously, he was aware that this was probably an absurd way of looking at the situation. But he found it useful.
Gadrik nommed Thoth's fingertip with a satisfied mutter, only to pull his head back with a frown of intense confusion. (In that moment, it was possible to remark his burgeoning resemblance to his father.) This finger did not taste quite like the other fingers he'd encountered in his young life. It was weird. Weirdness warranted further investigation. He went back for another sample.
Derik let out a slow breath. He wondered fleetingly if Thoth's transhuman body chemistry might disagree with Gaddie's constitution, but that was the sort of concern that prompted Gall to roll her eyes and tell him he was being an idiot. She fully believed it was good for the boy to expose himself to things to build up his tolerances, and he had been assured by trusted external sources that she wasn't wrong, within reason, so he kept it to himself. Anyway, the image of his son and his best friend bonding was heartwarming enough to dispel it.
"I'd trust you with him more than I trust us sometimes," he said. "You're his guardian, after all."
"And if anything ever does happen to him on your watch," Gall added cheerfully, "Derik only gets to kill you if I don't get there first."
"Good luck with that," Derik muttered, casting a look of amused tolerance for the empty threat at Thoth. Again, he winced from the appearance of the implanted ports. Since Thoth had more or less seen through him, as usual, Derik decided he might as well explain. "Sorry. It's the thought of all the cutting that bothers me. A cultural thing. Surgery just wasn't done except in cases of extreme medical emergency, and sometimes not even then. I know it's not rational, and attitudes had started to change in my own lifetime, but still, the taboo runs deep. I'm glad they're not painful."
"But then, there was little about the process that was not. I cannot recommend being a Space Marine to anyone."
He paused for a moment, keeping his eyes on Gadrik. "I believe your son may have your looks when he grows." He wiggled his finger slightly, scritinizing the young boy. "...Although I think his curiosity may come from his mother. I by no means trust myself with him, but I will do my best, should it come to that. I've said this all before."
The marine gave a wry smile. "At this point I believe it is traditional to say that I'll teach him what I know. But I don't think that's something anyone would desire."
"How can two big, hard men like you both be such wusses?" she demanded. "He's a baby, not a bomb! If you can avoid literally dropping him on his head, he'll be fine—and honestly, I knew at least one kid in Berk who actually was dropped on her head, and she was still smarter than Kana."
"That's not saying much." Derik scowled at the memory of the Sue.
"It's saying plenty. Look. Here." As Gall talked, she had loosened the straps of Gadrik's harness, and now she lifted him free.
Gadrik, who had responded to the wiggle of Thoth's finger by chewing on it and had happily drooled quite a lot in the process, was obliged to let it go. He squawked and kicked his stumpy Gronckle-paw feet in annoyance, but stopped when he found himself thrust into his father's hands. He looked up into Derik's face with expectant wonder. What new entertainment was this?
Derik, taken by surprise, held Gadrik at arm's length and looked between him and Gall. "What are you doing?"
"Getting something to eat and maybe finding a conversation that isn't totally embarrassing." She ducked out of the harness and tossed it over Derik's shoulder. "Also making a point. Bye!" Free of extra weight, she practically skipped off into the crowd.
Derik was left standing like a statue. Gadrik, not terribly pleased to be suspended in midair anymore, started to wriggle and fuss. Reflexively, Derik gathered him against his chest, but the harness bunching up in the crook of his elbow made his hold awkward, and Gaddie squirmed more.
Derik grimaced. "Er. A little help, brother? If you could just—no—Gaddie—!" Gadrik lunged sideways, and Derik compensated. In the midst of his struggle, he tried to indicate with gestures that Thoth should please take the harness off him, quickly, please.
...which was pretty fast, leaving Derik with only Gadrik to deal with. Not that that was necessarily an easy feat.
"...Brother, I don't think that saying I believe your son does not need to learn of horrors known to drive men mad counts as excessive caution."
Derik wrangled Gadrik into a comfortable position for both of them. Gaddie faced outward, so he could see, and Derik supported him with one arm under his bum and the other hand restraining his tiny chest. For the moment, the boy was amused by studying the texture of his father's knuckles.
Derik dared to breathe a sigh of relief, for all that he knew the peace wouldn't last long. "It's too late," he replied wryly to Thoth. "He already knows his mother!"
The Aviator, dressed as a certain sunglasses-wearing, redheaded demon, stopped not too far away from them, smiling at Gadrik. "Enjoy it while it's easy, mate, he'll be back-talking before you know it."
"I do not backtalk," Elanor said, and stuck her thumb in her mouth. She was dressed in khaki shorts, a jean jacket, and a striped shirt, and held a stuffed dog under one arm.
Zeb—who looked quite odd with his curly blond wig and tan waistcoat—grinned. "I don't know," he said. "I think it gets easier when they get older."
"Yeah, for you, maybe," the Aviator said, elbowing him.
"I... have... seen you before somewhere."
"I'm the Aviator, this is Zeb—"
"I'm Adam Young!" Elanor piped up, brandishing the stuffed dog. "I'm the Antichrist!"
"...And this is Elanor," the Aviator said. "My daughter."
"Adam is not Crowley's daughter!" Elanor said, stamping her foot.
Derik knew the Aviator and Zeb by sight, and it was possible to recognize the one by the other; Zeb's distinctive coloring in human form made up for the Aviator's sunglasses. They had shared the Hunger Games arena a few times in years past, but luckily never crossed paths there. Derik didn't much care for himself under those circumstances, and they'd occasioned some of his heavier bouts of drinking. He seemed to recall seeing the Aviator doing the same.
But that was a few years ago, and they'd both undergone some life-altering changes since then.
He wasn't sure how Thoth might know the other agents, but he supposed he would find out.
He smiled at the little girl's self-possessed antics. Gadrik had taken notice of her high, piping voice, too, and was staring down at her in some fascination. Those pigtails just begged to be grabbed and chewed on.
Derik tightened his hold, wondered if he was going too far, let up a little, felt that was not secure enough, and wasn't sure which fear was confirmed when Gadrik squirmed and grunted in displeasure. "It's not the sass that worries me, it's the mobility," he said. "If this is the easy part, I think my heart might give out when we get to the hard part. Good job you've got two."
She grinned toothily up at Derik, and stood on tiptoes to see Gadrik better. "How old's he?"
Thoth thought for a moment. "Perhaps I have confused you with others. I sensed something familiar around you three. A sense of... melancholy. No, that's wrong... sadness? Anger? I cannot quite place it. It is weak, now."
He shook his head rapidly. "Where are my manners? I am Thoth. You seem to already know my companion. As for children... there is not much I can say on the subject."
"I've normally got four legs," he said. "Might remember me as a lion? Mixed it up a bit for the party, though. And I can't exactly go around grabbing Ellie in my teeth by the back of her neck," he added, wincing. "Glad Ave thought to tell me that bit before anything bad happened."
"Try telling that to a Monstrous Nightmare," he said. "Fellrazer's gotten Gaddie by the onesie before—not that I'm complaining, exactly, since it kept him from pulling the entire toilet roll off the wall. I swear, we only looked away for one second..." He shook his head. "This is Gadrik—he's seven months old," he added, remembering Elanor's question. "What about you, young lady?"
Gadrik, after a moment's thought, smiled back at her with dimples and reached out with both hands. He'd take the hair or the stuffed dog, whichever came into reach first.
Derik thought he should probably distract his son, but all the requisite baby-care objects were in the pack on his back, completely inaccessible by himself, and he wasn't quite desperate enough to ask Thoth to dig through the nappies and spit rags for him yet.
(( The diaper bag was totally there the whole time, I swear. >.> ))
She eyeballed Gadrik's incoming hands with a shrewdness that would have escaped most three year olds, and hastily stuffed the dog into his reach before her pigtails could be yanked. "I'm the Antichrist," she said, turning to Derik and planting her hands on her hips in a manner eerily reminiscent of her mother. "And that's Dog. He's a Hellhound."
"She goes by Elanor the rest of the year," the Aviator murmured, leaning over to Derik.
"Your costume is lame," Elanor added.
"...She's about this polite year-round, though," the Aviator sighed.
This resulted in Dog dropping to the floor.
"Sorry, don't want him to put it in his mouth," Derik muttered. He'd realized at the last second that that would be the inevitable result of letting Gadrik get a hold on it.
Having found some of his wits again, he also found himself chuckling at the somewhat deserved lecture. He'd only meant to ask Elanor's age, as she'd asked Gaddie's, but shame on him for not being precise with his words—him a Harper! And his costume was lame.
He put on his silkiest appease-the-masters voice, and being who he was, it was pretty good. "Deepest apologies, m'Lord Adam Young, if this humble raiment has offended your presence. I am a mere woodsman—a lumberjack. But I'm okay."
At this point, Gadrik gave up trying to turn himself far enough to bring Elanor and the stuffed dog back into view and started fussing instead. Derik quickly swung back toward them to forestall an outburst, prompting a surprised laugh from Gaddie. Surprised himself, Derik repeated the motion. "Oh, you like that, do you?" Swing away: Gadrik fell quiet. Swing back toward girl and toy: gales of giggles.
Derik grinned at the others with an absurdly disproportionate sense of accomplishment. He felt ridiculous, especially with Thoth looking on, but shards, he would happily sacrifice a little pride for the sake of that laugh.
(( Slight retcon there, sorry. Didn't bank on Ellie actually letting him have her toy! ))
"Brother, I don't think I've ever seen you quite this joyful. About anything." He sighed. "Mortals and their offspring..."
He turned back to the group and gave them a proper bow. "A pleasure to meet you. All of you."
Elanor stooped to pick up her Dog toy and held out a tiny hand to Thoth. "You look like a dee an' dee barbarian."
"I think he's supposed to be Conan," Zeb said, suppressing a laugh. "It does look good. Very intimidating. Zeb and the Aviator, by the way, DMS. The little cub is—"
"Adam Young!" Elanor insisted.
"—Elanorelisindrivar," the Aviator said, a warning note in her voice.
"...Ellie's fine," Elanor said with a sigh. "Sorry, Mummy."
"Greetings, young Elanor. I gather you are dressed as the Antichrist. A classic costume. Although do consider that ending humanity will eliminate many supplies of food... and books. Books are also nice."
"Though, if I remember correctly, this particular Antichrist doesn't actually choose to end humanity. Seems being raised human, or just spending enough time around us, can make one rather sympathetic to our charms, such as they are." He grinned a contender for the least charming grin in the room. He was teasing his Astartes friend, whom he sometimes still couldn't believe had the patience to put up with him. The sentiment likely extended to the other non-humans in the group as well.
Gadrik, having lost Ellie's attention and therefore half the entertainment value of the swinging game, was losing interest. His reactions grew less pronounced.
"Humans are far too useful to destroy."
"You're funny," she said. "I don't wanna destroy humans, Gramma and Grampa are humans! So's Uncle Alex," she added. "He's super fun."
The Aviator grinned, resisting the urge to ruffle Elanor's hair. "What about Uncle Zeb?" she asked.
Elanor turned and gave Zeb a thoughtful look. "Yeah, he's okay."
"Hey!" Zeb protested, scooping Elanor up as she giggled. "I'm plenty fun!"
It struck him that Gadrik didn't have family beyond Gall and himself. Gall's father and step-sister still lived as far as they knew, but they were background Vikings in the recently relocated village of Berk, and the agents couldn't exactly pop in for a visit. As for Derik's family, he couldn't be sure they had ever existed outside his memories of them, and he didn't think he wanted to find out in case they hadn't. The thought prompted a surge of loneliness and, always on its heels, his anger at Sue-kind. He immediately took a breath and reached for his enumerations to calm himself.
That, of course, was the exact moment Gadrik started crying. Not only had the game stopped being fun, it had stopped, and like all babies, he was exquisitely sensitive to being held with a lack of assurance. Down seemed like a much better option. So he cried, and squirmed, and kicked, and generally made his displeasure known.
"Oh, hang it all," Derik muttered, "not now. Don't do this." He was talking to himself, not Gadrik, but it was hard to tell. He tried to settle his son and his mood at the same time, and quickly gave it up as a bad job. He wasn't going to put Gaddie on the floor, though, so... He cast a slightly panicked look at Thoth. "Er...?"
(( I'm mean. I also want to make a Space Marine hold a baby. I make no apologies. ^_^ ))
"...I... suppose I could hold your son." He said, stiffly. "While you calm your nerves."
In truth, the idea of holding a young, possibly fragile child who was definitely important to the person who had entrusted them to him terrified him. But he'd rather kill than admit it (dying, he wouldn't prefer. Practicality before bride).
With little patience to spare, he thrust Gadrik into his friend's outsized hands.
Gadrik was momentarily startled into stillness, his eyes and mouth wide, gaping up at Thoth.
"Excuse me," Derik said to the others. "I just need a moment."
He stepped away, and maneuvered his way to a nearby gap in the crowd. With a screen of disinterested people between him and the group, Thoth could probably still mark him, but not the others. That was all he wanted: a veneer of privacy. His inclination was to pace, to raise his physical activity to the level his surging adrenaline demanded, but he mastered the urge and focused on his breathing instead.
(( Practicality before pride indeed. ^_^ ))
On recognising the agent, who looked rather agitated, he hesitated for a few moments before moving towards him with a backward glance at the kids. Steph would be fine - she and Owen were sensible enough and wouldn't let Henry run into any trouble, and there were plenty of adults around who were responsible enough to stop any escapades.
Reassured by this logical line of thought, William approached Derik with a tentative smile once the bigger man looked a little calmer. "Hello," he said mildly, with a little smile. "Fancy seeing you here."
“I could take him?” she offered. “I’ve got a bit of experience with babies, if that helps...”
"No. I am perfectly capable of handling this. It is fine." He awkwardly attempted to get a better grip on the child, closer to what he had see others do, without accidentally crushing him. Gadrik was not crushed, but whether he was comfortable with Thoth's attempts... that was yet to be seen.
This was important. It wasn't something he could just entrust to someone else. No matter how much he may wish to.
(( Gonna bring in Ave and Ellie, perhaps? That could be fun. {= D ))
The young man fussed with the baseball cap he was wearing, still not entirely used to the feeling.
"I am not entirely sure, but it's certainly possible," his slightly older partner replied. He seemed much more relaxed, although he was glancing every now and then at the red armband on his left arm with letters S.E.E.S. emblazoned on it, making sure it hadn't fallen off.
"At least my hair is behaving," he said, reaching up and brushing his hand against the side of his head. It was still odd to feel it cut so short, but at least it wasn't regrowing like it normally would. Shaking himself slightly, he looked around the room, managing to avoid being too distracted by the fact that his partner looked remarkably good with blue hair. "Do you see anyone we know?"
"Not at the moment," his partner replied, before frowning slightly. "It is... disconcerting not being able to notice what I usually would."
"Hey, now," the young man said, elbowing his partner and then grinning at him. "I'm dealing with actually worrying about paper cuts, you can take off your glasses for the sake of the costume."
"That is fair," he said, then joined his partner in surveying the crowd. "Let us see if we can find someone."
Charlotte thumped Ix on the arm and pointed; Ix shifted her shield so she wouldn't whack Charlotte with it when she turned to look.
"What is it?"
"Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad!" Charlotte said excitedly. "Those guys are Persona fans—come on, we have got to talk to them!" She grabbed Ix's hand and dragged her through the crowd.
Charlotte struck quite the figure as Peggy Carter, Ix thought as they wove between agents. The uniform suited her.
It certainly suited Charlotte better than Ix's Captain America costume suited her. Feeling very self-conscious, she hovered behind Charlotte when they stopped to chat with the pair.
"I love your costumes!" Charlotte said excitedly. "Charlotte Webb, and this is my wife and partner Ix," she added proudly, holding out a hand. "Can I get you guys drinks?"
The one who, to a familiar eye, was obviously dressed as Junpei Iori, smiled. "Hey there!" he said. "Thanks- wait, Charlotte?" Apecian blinked, but on closer inspection... well, she looked like Charlotte, anyways. There was something different about her, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Ah, well. It might just be the costume. "Charlotte! Hi!"
It took a little more thinking to realize who Michael was dressed as, but, once one got past the fact that he was wearing the male version of Gekkoukan's uniform, it didn't take much to realize that he had come as Fuuka Yamagishi. "Good afternoon," he said, as he silently tried to figure out who Charlotte was dressed as and wondered when she'd lost a few inches of height.
Charlotte's smile widened and she let go of Ix's hand to hug him tightly. "Oh my goodness, I haven't seen you two in forever! I'm not a vampire any more, look!" She twirled on the spot, skirts flaring out around her.
"You're not? Oh, you're not!" he said, the reasons she seemed to look a little different finally clicking now that he was looking for them. "When'd that happen?"
Charlotte shrugged. "A year ago?" she said. "More, less? Got my hands on a morphing cube, and Fwai and I are stuck in ESAS as a result. Still," she said, looping her arm through Ix's, "I can't complain. I'm mortal, so she and I can spend the rest of our lives together."
He smiled at them, then looked around for some sort of drinks table. "... You know, I feel like I'm supposed to toast you right now, but I don't have anything to toast you with."
Charlotte grinned and pushed Ix's shield down so she couldn't hide behind it. "Come on, Fwai, you know them!"
Ix gave Apecian a nervous look. "...I know," she mumbled, keeping her eyes down. She tugged her mask a little lower out of reflex.
He almost reached to rap on the shield, thought better of it after seeing the look his partner was giving him, and asked, "What's it made out of? Is it actual... uh..."
"Vibranium," Michael helpfully provided, before frowning slightly as he poked himself trying to adjust glasses that weren't there. Ah, habitual behaviors.
Ix looked down at her shield and shook her head. "Just steel. Has the weight of the real thing, but it won't get DoSAT breathing down my neck for unregistered use of the stuff." She bit her lip. "Sorry."
Apecian absentmindedly adjusted the baseball cap, then added, "I mean, I'm not gonna be pulling out Hermes anytime soon, and you don't see me apologizing for that, do ya? And not wanting DoSAT mad is a pretty good reason not to use it - after all, they could probably do something like make your Console's noises even worse."
"Hey, have you guys seen the food here?" Charlotte said quickly, sensing a subject change would be for the best. "It looks fantastic—I'm gonna go get some of those hot dog mummies."
Apecian started glancing around the room, trying to see what Charlotte was talking about. "I'm not that hungry, but it'd still be good to know where they are - and what are hot dog mummies?"
"Actually," Michael murmured, nudging Apecian to get his attention, "I forgot to eat before we left. If you're going to find out where they are anyways, could you go and bring me something?"
"Oh, sure!" Apecian said. "In that case - lead the way, Charlotte!" Michael coughed lightly. "Er, I mean, please, if you don't mind!"
Mira was dressed as a witch. She looked quite like a stereotypical witch anyway, so hadn't had to spend too much time finding a costume: a cheap black dress and the hat Kat had used for her own costume last year. A golden eagle (her "familiar", or so she said) was perched on her shoulder.
Edward couldn't be bothered to find a decent costume, so was simply dressed as himself. "Why are we here?" he muttered. "We're the most anti-social people in HQ - "
"That's hardly accurate," said Mira, "from what I have seen of this place so far. And it could be useful to get to know people. But..."
The eagle squawked.
"Yes, Alma, did you want me to call you?"
The eagle nodded its head.
"She says we should try and be more social," translated Mira, who had cast a temporary translation spell for the party.
"I don't care," snapped Edward. "Shall we... go and sit down?"
"We may as well."
"Hey there!" the elf in the eggplant costume called out to the approaching pair. "Have we met?"
Edward shook his head briefly.
“My name is Mira. This is my partner Edward - “
“You are not my partner! K - Al - Kat is my partner.”
“This is my... trainer Edward. It is nice to meet you all.”
Neither agent exactly looked delighted, although Mira had at least managed a smile instead of Edward’s permanent scowl.
"I'm Itae," she said amicably. "These two are Ailienas and Ava." She gestured to the squeegee and eggplant respectively.
He said nothing, but Mira asked “May we sit down?”
"I can't do this," Zaphoriel declared, gripping his plastic pitchfork tighter. He squeezed his eyes shut, hiding the blue goat-eye contact lenses he'd put in, and shook his head. The devil's-horn headband slipped, threatening to slide off. "People are going to get the wrong ideas, Faust—they'll believe you're the angel in this... blasphemous partnership, and then where will I be?!"
((...And because a picture is worth a thousand words, Zaphoriel is absolutely wearing one of those cheesy Halloween costumes, tail not shown. :P))
He, unlike his partner, was enjoying himself immensely. He adjusted his white, angelic garb and set the halo more precisely atop the crown of his head in the manner of a particularly prissy butler.
"Don't worry about it, angel," he continued, surveying the room. "Besides, if anyone's going to be able to avoid being mistaken for an agent of infernal evil and chaos, it's... Well..." He looked the angel, dressed in cheap jacket and looking as if he might jump out of his skin if anyone stood up particularly loudly, up and down with a bemused eyebrow. "You're certainly in the running."
“Are you mocking me, demon?” he said stiffly. “Because insulting a member of the celestial host while dressing as one—however poorly—is hardly the most effective way to go about it. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what Heaven is like so soon.”
"Like She'd ever let me forget," he muttered. "Still, I'm glad the mockery didn't go over your head, angel-- did the halo help you catch it?" He plucked his own with another grin, before seemingly shaking off the urge to continue batting at it.
“Let’s just get out of the way of the doors,” he said sourly. “We don’t want to get in the way of anyone.” He paused, then added, “I don’t want to get in anyone’s way. You likely don’t care.” He stalked past, clenching the plastic pitchfork in a resentful fist.
"I just happen to care in the opposite direction to everyone else, that's all." He looked Zaphoriel over. "You need to relax, angel. Come on, let's go over to the bar." So saying, he grabbed Zaphoriel's resentful wrist and dragged him in a roughly alcohol-bound direction.
When they reached the table, he wrenched his hand out of the demon's grasp. "Human beverages? Really? You don't require sustenance—unless this is you indulging your gluttonous ways again."
"Just something you need to try. It's a sort of relaxant they developed to deal with the anxiety of their infernal judgement riding on their everyday decisions-- it's quite helpful."
"It looks foul," the angel said, peering at the cocktail. He sniffed, and one eyebrow rose. "It smells... sweet, though?" He looked back up at Faust. "What deception are you attempting now, demon?"
"That's for after you've drunk it."
"And just what," he said, eyes narrowing, "do you mean by that, exactly?"
"I mean, they talk about it in the bible, don't they? Lots of people on your side got drunk. They had wine at that last supper thing-- this is that. Well," he corrected, eyeing the glass, "Basically."
Zaphoriel lifted the glass up again and sniffed it; it did smell rather fruity, which was what he'd been assured wine smelled like. "I mean... it's still supposed to be a human beverage, but if Christ drank it..." He glanced up at Faust momentarily and bit his lip. "I am going to regret this decision immensely," he said, and downed the drink, only stopping to cough when it was completely drained. "It burns."
The "robot" was about the height of your average human male. He seemed to be made out of cardboard with a snack display painted onto his torso. His "human" friend was about 8 feet tall and boxy looking. His suit looked like it was made out of wrapping paper and his round head was frozen in a creepy wide smile, featured a pair of large unblinking eyes and seemed to have the same consistency of paper mache.
"Dressing up as each other was a good idea." The 'robot' said as he surveyed the room, eyes finally resting on the booze table.
"I am very grateful they have accommodated the larger body types here." The "robot's" friend piped up, also eyeing the drink table. Giving each other knowing nod they quickly made their way to the alcoholic beverages. The "robot" got himself a red solo cup of import beer from a small keg and was quickly followed by the "human" who decided to just take the whole keg. Standing with their drinks, they looked out at all manner of strange guests currently present.
Off to the side, near the entrance of the quiet room, stood a bald and rather alien looking woman, nursing a can of beer. Her skin seemed to be a normal shade at a distance but upon closer inspection one could tell it had a slight purple tint to it. She eyed the rest of the party with her smart, yellow eyes.
One was a bipedal lioness wearing an Original Series-era Starfleet security uniform (was dressing up as a redshirt baiting the IO? Probably. Did it matter? Not really.) She was carrying a plate of various snacks.
The other had a long, rat-like face and bony hands. He was wearing rather tattered Slytherin robes, and had a wand sticking out of his pocket. The faint smell of ammonia contributed to the Infernus look slightly. He didn't have any food on him, but had grabbed a cup of punch.
"Hey," the lioness said, looking up at the "human". "I'm Farah."
The large "human" looked down at the bipedal lioness.
"Greetings, I am a regular huma-." He was cut off by his partner sliding in between the pair and giving Farah a look over.
"Hello, nice to meet you, Farah. I am Phil and tonight I am a member of a race of alien robots that want to 'connect' with other forms of sentient life. Oh and this is Spensor."
Spensor gave wave and looked over to the rat-faced alien and gestured with his thumb at his partner, as if saying "get a load of this guy".
"And who are you?" Spensor asked the odd rat fellow.
She smiled. "Unless the costume means I get tragically injured by the end of the party."
"You and Spensor partners?" she asked.
"I'm Kkukttak," the kif replied to Spensor.
Phil took off his robot helmet to reveal his average looking human face. He needed to shave. Despite his scruffy outlook he flashed Farah his best smile.
"Don't worry. If anything bad happens to you I can take you back to my RC and take care of you."
"Hello Kkuttak." Spensor replied. "Despite my outward appearance I am actually a Cybertronian. Convincing, I know. We Transformers pride ourselves on our ability to seamlessly take on another object's appearance. What are you, exactly?"
"You have a medical setup in there? What sort of missions are you going on?'
"I'm a kif," Kkukttak said, holding out a hand. "From the Chanur series."
"Rad. I'm a Cybertronian." The robot took a swig from his keg. "So, my kif friend, what do you think of the party?"
Phil chuckled. "Oh, Spense and I get into a lot of trouble. Only the most dangerous missions for us. But, no, we don't actually have a full on med bay in our RC. I'm just teasing you is all."
"But I'm getting more used to this sort of thing."
Farah nodded. "Got it," she said. "What department are you two in, anyway? We're in Crossovers."
"I am in the Department of Mary Sues." Phil gestured to his partner. "Rustbucket over there is part of the Eclectic Subdivision of Advanced Species. By default, mind you. No other Cybertronians in the PPC. He's currently serving a probationary period. I am his designated babysitter." Phil made a fingerbanging gesture. "He's real trigger happy."
"I know Kkukttak did," she said. "Though for him they probably didn't put me in charge keeping an eye on him for ... let's just say there's a few good reasons that would be a bad idea, and some of them would be on me. So they set him up with visits to FicPsych."
Kkukttak had heard some of Phil's comment. "Trigger happy?" he asked Spensor, slouching a bit. He was hoping that meant aggressive on missions, but he wasn't quite sure.
A teenage girl with antlers, dressed up as Toriel, lounged in the quiet room, crocheting something and snacking on a stack of cookies she'd picked up from the snack bar.
A pair of elven women were also sitting in the quiet room, arm in arm, chatting softly. One, a smallish wood elf, was in knight armor, while the other, a tall high elf with dark hair and an androgynous frame, wore a long purple princess gown.
Over in the main room, a half-elf dressed as a satyr leaned on the wall near the tables, with a little elven girl in a valkyrie costume bouncing around at her side.
Three women sat around a table, all dressed in Obligatory Ridiculous Sexy Costumes. They were a high elf, a wood elf, and a human, dressed as an eggplant, a squeegee, and a tennis racket, respectively.
A tiefling and a human danced together, dressed up as an old married couple. The tiefling wore a nightgown and had curlers in her voluminous green hair, while the human had pinned her hair back to look short and worn a bathrobe and fake glasses.
Someone unrecognizable behind their tree costume stood somewhat awkwardly in the corner, trying not to poke anyone with their branches with little success.
An elf wearing butterfly wings stood frozen in the doorway, unsure what to do.
A dark-haired man - on closer examination, he had cat eyes, so probably a witcher - danced with wild abandon, dressed up as Nasuverse's interpretation of Cu Chulainn.
Two winged twentysomething women, both dressed as birds, were methodically sampling all the appetizers.
A brother and sister in ornate robes, wearing beaked masks of woven straw but not dressed up as anything in particular, observed quietly from the drinks table, somehow still standing up perfectly straight after a worrying amount of brandy.
Someone who'd just draped a bedsheet over their head, without even cutting any eyeholes, and called it a day picked their way through the crowd with perhaps a bit more confidence than might be expected from someone who couldn't see.
((Apologies for dumping my Entire Enormous Roster on the thread, but I couldn't pick ^^;))
Then he doubled back. "Nice costume!" he said, talking to the man dressed as Cú.
He wasn't sure if the man heard him. Ah well. It was still a nice costume.
On closer examination, he cut quite a distinctive figure. Six and a half feet tall, about as musclebound as it was physically possible to be, and ruddy-faced with a resting lustful smirk - even in a meticulously detailed costume, Nathas was unmistakable.
"Heh, thanks." He offered Tom a hand. "Have we met? An' who're you goin' as?"
The accent had taken him aback. He had to take a moment before he actually recognized the words. "Oh! Ah. RIght. I'm Tom. Currently dressed as Edward Elric, since you asked..."
He picked out an assortment of Generic Sweets and some cake from the buffet, then walked off to the tables to eat quietly.
A young-looking woman clad in elven garb looked around the room, scrutinizing the decorations and occasionally staring at the dance floor in confusion. Levitating a golden harp and a contraption that looked suspiciously like a mechanical replica of a hand, a unicorn wearing a mummy costume walked toward her.
Suddenly, the unicorn collided with something and lost focus, dropping the items she was carrying with a loud crash and cracking the contraption. "Sorry, wasn't looking, uh, I have to go fix - wait, who are you? I don't think I've, uh, run into you before?" she said, noticing that she had walked into the "ghost".
