InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "into the very fires of Mordor"

Amrit Nikesh (piece_o_dat) wrote in paxletalelogs,
@ 2011-02-06 00:05:00

Current mood:	excited
Current music:	FOX NFL news
Entry tags:	aphrodite, ares, freyja, hermes, osiris, tlazolteotl

[Open] "Green Bay will feel Hammer time"
Who: Open!
What: Seventh Floor Superbowl Party
Where: Rick's apartment (706), Pia's apartment (708), Samuel's apartment (707), the hallway, and wherever else the party might leak to
When: February 6th 2011, 3 PM - 10 PM
Warnings:   Usual party warnings, anything can/might happen when you get a pile of god-possessed people drunk in the same place.

Notes: The noise from the party can probably be heard from the sixth and eighth floors. Game starts at 3:30 PM. Totally feel free to riff on the halftime show/commercials as you please.   I, Sage, actually am at work all day today (boo), but you can assume that Rick will greet your character during the party. I'll be around in the evening to post.

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Superbowl is more than a football game. To many, it is a celebration of the spirit of America itself, maybe moreso than the Fourth of July. Because today, more than any other, men and women live to celebrate their united right to get drunk with a group of friends and strangers and scream at the television.

And the black, yellow, white and green colored balloons and streamers, and tiny themed Nerf footballs lining the seventh floor hallway was the first indication that Superbowl mania had infected at least part of the building.

Rick's apartment looked like a fiesta waiting to happen, even on a normal day. The kitchen was painted a chili red normally seen on sports cars, with food and drinks piled buffet-style on the island and the counter bar, and plenty of team-colored cups and plates to go around. The living room itself was painted a bright golden yellow, and for this occasion, had banners of GREEN DAY PACKERS and PITTSBURGH STEELERS draped in the empty spaces between artwork. At least 15 people's worth of sofas, chairs, and oversized floor-pillows were arranged between the living room and kitchen combined. The wide-screen television in the corner of the living room possessed nearly an altar-like feel to it - today, even though Rick was the host, the TV was the central star.

The hallway even had a few card tables scattered through it, with bowls of popcorn and junk food to accompany the playing cards and poker chips. A radio sat out there as well, blaring off stats and scores so truly, nobody could miss a touchdown on that floor if they tried. Though perhaps one could duck into the other open rooms on the floor - one with exquisite food smells wafting out of it, and the other loud with the squeals of slain assassins.

Rick himself works through the rooms and crowds, greeting new arrivals, chatting, and porting food from Pia's room around. Between the black Steeler's jersey, yellow Nikes, and black and yellow greasesmarks under his eyes and his unsinkable grin, his own investment in the Superbowl is impossible to miss.

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706

warandbeauty
2011-02-08 09:27 pm UTC (link)

As Cara saw it, she had a choice: she could either attend the Superbowl Party downstairs or she could find something to do away from the apartment for a few hours. Leaving the apartment, of course, meant fighting post-Superbowl traffic back -- and that was not something she looked forward to.

By the time she had finally made it to the seventh floor, she had convinced herself that she had had made the right decision in accepting the open invitation to attend. After all, she hadn't met many of her neighbors yet, not really. Who cared if it was football and she honestly couldn't define the difference between a field goal and a touchdown?

It had taken a call to her brother to help her choose a dish to pass. She had settled on a dish she herself didn't personally enjoy but her brother promised would go well with the crowd downstairs. He had sworn his recipe was to die for, and she hoped he was right.

It had taken a little arrangement (thus her late arrival), but she at last appeared in the yawning elevator doors with her dish. The main course had been packed in hot bags and placed in a cooler, along with a generous case of cold beer. With the roll-along cooler in tow, she arrived at room 706 just in time to watch the Packers score their first seven points of the game.

"Hi," she greeted with a smile, finding herself raising her voice a little to compete with the TV. "I'm Cara Clark from upstairs. I come bearing barbeque chicken wings." Trouble was, she had no idea where he wanted her to set up.

Cara had chosen to dress down for the game. Anticipating the seventh floor hallway to be as warm as the eighth (and warmer still, due to the bustle of party-goers), she had dressed in a simple pair of blue jeans with strategically-placed designer tears. For a top, she had chosen a simple white tanktop and a newly-purchased Steelers jersey which, despite being a jersey, seemed to have been engineered to emphasize her feminine figure. Her make-up was lightly and expertly applied so that, on first glance, she appeared to be au naturale. Likewise, her hair had been combed into a neat pony tail. Despite its appearance, the simple outfit had been most carefully chosen by Cara hours before.

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Re: 706

piece_o_dat
2011-02-09 06:14 am UTC (link)

At the call of a guest, Rick put his beer down, kicked his feet up, and jumped off the couch at the sound of another person at the door. He dropped some apologies as he got out of the way of the TV. It was time for him to take a break from the game anyways. With the Packers hitting a touch down like that, the hint of a sulk already hit his face.

But the newest guest was his priority now. Especially since she looked to be a Steeler's fan too.

"Cara! Good, someone else on my side. Rick Nikesh," he said, offering his hand to her for a shake. His eyes widened at the sight of the barbeque wings, and he looked to them, then back up to Cara. "Wow. That's your work?"

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Re: 706

warandbeauty
2011-02-11 05:23 am UTC (link)

Cara had to do a little juggling to shake his extended hand. She leaned the cooler handle against the blue and white box, then moved the sack she carried to the other hand. At last, however, she was able to accept, and she laughed. "There we are." Her eyes went to the TV screen, then to her wings.

"Sorry I'm a bit late. And don't thank me for the wings just yet. I haven't tried them yet, and they're my brother's recipe. I hope they turned out." Was there a way to screw up this recipe? She was not great chef, but the crock pot was a brilliant invention. "You can be the first."

Reaching into the bowl, she delicately picked one of the wings up between her thumb and forefinger. She extended the wing towards her host expectantly, other hand already reaching for a napkin to prevent any sauce from dribbling onto the carpet from the wing. They were still quite warm, but not uncomfortable to hold.

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