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vestigelogs2020-07-07 01:26 am
channellings) wrote in vestigelogs2020-07-07 01:26 am
lake party invite + mingle (open)
Who: any and everyone!
Where: the lake and nearby!
When: right now! (july 7th, afternoon)
What: motha 👏 fuckin 👏 lake 👏 party
Warnings: Language (!!!) for now, will be added as needed!
[no, this is not a joke and yes, it's an actual invite to a party over the network from the username: cock.licking.idiot (and no, that's not a joke, either).
those who decide that they'd rather not be square will arrive at some unspecified patch of lake shore (thanks, klaus) at a similarly unspecified time (good work, asshat) to discover that something resembling a slapdash but heartfelt lake party along the northern waterfront. a couple of tables have been dragged out of nearby cabins and now hold a probably inadvisable quantity of foods, at least half of which don't belong at a party by any means. is this what rationing looks like? this is definitely what rationing looks like. there's also an alcohol table, filled pretty sparsely early on in the party but gathering bottles and cans throughout the day. (word of mod says feel free to wing it on what kind of alcohol we have!).
a number of chairs sit in a wobbly line in the stone-filled waterfront sand, most of them not meant for beachgoing but nearly all of them able to recline. about fifty feet down the beach seems to be the splash zone, where all water horseplay exists well out of range of splashing those sitting in beachside chairs. some people dive or cannonball off the mostly-sturdy pier, while others seem to be batting around a-... is that a beach ball they have? no, it seems to be a balloon that says "get well soon". how fitting. please, someone bring them a fucking beach ball.
(this is a mingle! go ahead and make top-levels or tag into other people's.)]
Where: the lake and nearby!
When: right now! (july 7th, afternoon)
What: motha 👏 fuckin 👏 lake 👏 party
Warnings: Language (!!!) for now, will be added as needed!
[no, this is not a joke and yes, it's an actual invite to a party over the network from the username: cock.licking.idiot (and no, that's not a joke, either).
those who decide that they'd rather not be square will arrive at some unspecified patch of lake shore (thanks, klaus) at a similarly unspecified time (good work, asshat) to discover that something resembling a slapdash but heartfelt lake party along the northern waterfront. a couple of tables have been dragged out of nearby cabins and now hold a probably inadvisable quantity of foods, at least half of which don't belong at a party by any means. is this what rationing looks like? this is definitely what rationing looks like. there's also an alcohol table, filled pretty sparsely early on in the party but gathering bottles and cans throughout the day. (word of mod says feel free to wing it on what kind of alcohol we have!).
a number of chairs sit in a wobbly line in the stone-filled waterfront sand, most of them not meant for beachgoing but nearly all of them able to recline. about fifty feet down the beach seems to be the splash zone, where all water horseplay exists well out of range of splashing those sitting in beachside chairs. some people dive or cannonball off the mostly-sturdy pier, while others seem to be batting around a-... is that a beach ball they have? no, it seems to be a balloon that says "get well soon". how fitting. please, someone bring them a fucking beach ball.
(this is a mingle! go ahead and make top-levels or tag into other people's.)]
eliot waugh | ota
[ eliot is here, because of course eliot is here. he has a phd in partying, after all, especially when it's partying while something else considerably more important is occurring adjacent, like the fact that they all appear to be trapped inside some huge fuckoff electric fence! he refuses to indulge the horror that is graphic t-shirts, especially not after the last few months where he was equally trapped in those, thank you very much, and as such has made do as well as one can with making all black summer friendly. specifically: his shoes and socks are gone, his dress pants and sleeves rolled up to just below the knee and elbow, respectively (looking, somehow, like they were tailored to exactly that length??), vest and jacket folded neatly beside the several chairs he has dragged together to form a lounger fit for a person verging on six and a half feet tall.
this already ridiculous tableau has been topped off by a tattered umbrella stamped with what appear to have once been carebears; you can't have his flawless complexion, sun!!!!!!!
he seems, and perhaps is, mostly asleep. perhaps you would like to come by and inquire about any of these absurd details? or admire the fact that his shirt's buttons are like, undone to the sternum? maybe you just want to know where you can get one of those fruity drinks the size of his head, the ones that do not appear to exist at the snack table? or maybe you wish to invade his peaceful semi-slumber with lake water. eliot waugh is your oyster, party-goers. your ludicrously good looking oyster. ]
ii. refreshments table
[ eliot and gwen did not bring food to this enterprise; since when does a party need that? what they did bring, surprising probably no one who has encountered either of them for longer than it takes to say 'my god you're pretty,' is a quantity of alcohol that could put a liquor store to shame. all of it, alas, frankly terrible and named things like professor hotbod's cinnamon tequila.
naturally, even before they so much as left the house, eliot decided that was unacceptable, and upon arrival, extended that massive tidal wave of disdain to everything available. thus, before he descends into the aforementioned state of liquid, he is doing a public service by wandering down the drinks table, doing a series of complicated hand movements over various bottles and leaving them ......different colors? glowing?
the natural progression of this, of course, is that a little while later he appoints himself bartender, stopping anyone who will allow themselves to be stopped before reaching for any of the table's original offerings. ]
Allow me. Friends don't let friends drink - [ he examines the closest can ] Schloppy's Imitation Eggnog Schnapps.
iii. wildcard!
[ if it can be done at a beach...ish...party ...thing, eliot has probably done it at some point. gimme a prompt and we'll do a thing! ]
refreshments
He should stop himself before he lets the comparisons go too far, but there's nothing wrong with letting the mind wander, is there? Certainly not.
Hannibal had been hovering around the alcohol table after looking at the food offerings and deciding that consumption of anything available here required some sort of drink to go with it. To dull the pain.]
Friendship requires some sort of introduction first, I feel. My name is Hannibal, it's a pleasure to meet you.
no subject
He offers a languid hand for shaking, wrist crooked such that the effect suggest Hannibal would be as correct to kiss his hand as to engage the more traditional greeting, hazel eyes virtually alight with the prospect of a challenge. What fun! ]
I'm Eliot, and the pleasure is mutual. Can I fix you something?
[ perhaps a tall glass of me? he seems to say. ]
no subject
While he doesn't kiss Eliot's hand, he does slide his fingers briefly along the inside of his wrist before taking his hand and squeezing firmly in greeting.]
It seems to me like you have quite the touch, when it comes to drinks. [The glowing is no stranger than arriving here, he supposes.] Why don't I let you choose for me? What would you recommend?
no subject
the confines of metadifferent worlds (obviously!) he is unaware of any such dinner parties.Anyway, Eliot takes the occasion to shamelessly check Hannibal out, though to be fair he really is also assessing his general personage to decide what he recommends and is therefore already thirty seconds into making. It seems slightly cliche, but as distractingly and horribly attractive as his new best friend is in flannel, Eliot has the innate sense he'd be much more at home in a suit tailored within an inch of its very life.
So again, maybe a little little cliche, but what is a cliche when it's fucking excellent? A classic, is what. Which is to say Eliot is making a martini, face like he's performing an operation approximately the importance and delicacy of open heart surgery. There will, in fact, be no dialogue in this tag, because by god this drink should speak for itself!
He sliiiiides the totally inappropriate like, solo cup across the table, quietly smoldering. ]
Unfortunately, I lack the ability to conjure olives out of thin air. My post graduate education was tragically interrupted....by death. 39 times. After that the world kept trying to end, I was High King of Hell's Narnia for a while ...
[ uhhh okay i lied about no dialogue ]
You know how these things go.
no subject
Hannibal allows himself to be assessed, basking in it. Enjoying the attention that Eliot is giving him. And Hannibal assesses him in return, admiring his lean build and dark curls. Though Eliot is a few inches taller than Hannibal, which is unusual but not unheard of in his usual choice of partners.
The comment gets an elegantly arched eyebrow in return.] I'm afraid I don't know. I think the world I come from is... slightly different from yours. Or at the very least, we've had vastly different experiences.
no subject
Now glowing. Glowing is interesting.
He pries himself up and meanders over, sleeves rolled to his elbows, trouser cuffs above his ankles, and the most hideous of flip-flops on his feet. They smack against his heels as he approaches the impromptu bar. He offers the tender an amused half-smile, toasts him, and drains the rest of his garbage liquor from the novelty cup.]
Then what would you suggest as suitable?
no subject
[ he rests a hand gently over his heart, as if to somehow emphasize his sincerity and not just draw attention to how much of the neckline of his shirt he left behind an hour ago. depending on how daemon sees it, this roll lands on either nat 20 or critical fail; eliot figures it's some kind of win either way, even if it just means another chance at perfecting that particular move. his level of Flirt is currently percolating at around Nuclear, on the grounds that that keeps him from thinking of
spoilerseverything painfully far out of reach at the moment. wherever this is, it's a chance to distance himself from his latest batch of fuck ups, and what better methodology there than to throw himself heedlessly at all available forms of hedonism?tall dark and strong looks like exactly that, so. so, he finds some whiskey to spindle, fondle, and otherwise manipulate until it like, tastes good. or as good as whiskey tastes, which from this vantage point is not at all, but let's just go with eliot's here. ]
An Old Fashioned, on the other hand, virtually brims with class. As a purveyor of professional grade debauchery I stake my reputation on such things.
[ drink this, it's delicious. apparently. ]
no subject
Playing with fire to come onto Daemon, but the boy doesn't know that. Tsk tsk.
But adding the words 'purveyor of debauchery' to his whole mien, well. Many an aristo have taken a similar tack and Daemon's reaction after the words leave his mouth is instinctive. Disdain and a slight cooling of his expression.
Daemon catches himself as he drops a chill look on the drink.
This impossible situation is this stranger's saving grace; the chance that he's flirting because he knows who Daemon is and what he can do is very slim. The boy is young. The situation isn't anything like the bullshit Daemon's been fending off for...ever. And Daemon holds all the cards here, unrestrained by the complicated bindings of polite Blood society. There is no intricate dance that he must submit to and he is centuries an adult who knows better than to judge a young man who merely reminds him of those he'd rather forget.
Thus, as far as flirting goes, this is harmless shit. Daemon breaths out, lets as much of his cool disdain go as he can, and allows his expression to shade warmer as he accepts the 'Old Fashioned.']
This is where I would say your reputation precedes you, but I think we both know the problem with that particular nicety.
[He cannot entirely get rid of the frost to his tone, the slightly mean edge that promises that he bites. Humming, he sips, feeling the burn of alcohol, feeling it hit his system before his power begins to burn if off. A pity. Still, he toasts with the drink.]
I appreciate your restraint, and your skills. All the more-so because I would have sworn that the selection of alcohol here could be called anything but classy.
no subject
What a coincidence. [ A pause, heavy with nonsense. ] I also appreciate restraints.
[ ...................... i'm really sorry
eliot isn't
but i am ]
no subject
Is that so?
[He flicks his gaze first to Eliot's throat, then to his wrists. Perhaps a little bit of playing along? Get himself out of his head. Because that was blatant and he honestly could not say for himself whether he was amused or not. More would be necessary to make any sort of judgement and, well. What the hell else was he doing? He takes another sip of his whiskey to inject the appropriate amount of dramatic pause.]
I must say I am surprised. With this quantity of liquor on offer, quality regardless, restraint seems like it would be hard to come by.
ii
Wow, ain't that some fancy looking shit?
[and he plucks up a neon-colored pink one, gives it a brief once-over then tosses it back without thinking before yoinking a second one. taller glass this time, so he sips instead, letting his gaze wander to eliot who gets an appreciative look over as well.] Eggnog Schnapps and it isn't even Christmas yet. Who thought that was a good idea?
[however, to be honest, it wouldn't be all bad if there was actual eggnog to mix it into. that shit would cover just about any kinda alcohol they could find at this shindig.]