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Tweak says, "NO. You can has veggetables."

Baron Samedi ☠ Nate Simmons (baronsamedi) wrote in paxletalelogs,
@ 2011-10-25 20:25:00

Entry tags:

baron samedi, chernobog, erebos, eris, geb, horus, loki, maman brigitte, marzanna, nephthys, nyx, phobos, set, sif, thor, tiamat

Going to a Dead Man's Party, Pt 1
Who: EVERYONE.
What: CASKET’s 16th Annual Halloween Party!!!
Where: CASKET
When: October 30th, starting at 7 pm sharp! This thread is getting posted early so everyone can get a head start on the festivities, since this weekend will undoubtedly be busy.
Warnings: Anything can happen.
Notes: All right, boils and ghouls, this is how things will go down.

Upon arriving at CASKET, for two hours everyone will remain in their mortal forms. Drink, discuss, have a good time. Please label your thread with the location of your character - At The Bar, On The Dance Floor, Lounge Area, On Stage Singing My Drunk Little Heart Out, In The Bathroom Puking My Guts Out, whatever strikes your fancy.

Let’s have everyone be nice and courteous: please ask before entering a thread in which there are already two people, unless of course you already have it planned that way.

At 9pm sharp, the deities will begin to take over their mortal shells, though not entirely; only certain aspects will show through, whether it be appearance, powers, or whatever. No full transformations. In this thread, you don’t have to worry about the deities just yet - I will post a second thread for that part of the night.

Have at!

Waiting for an invitation to arrive...goin' to a party where no one's still alive...

CASKET was done up with bells - every inch of the club was redecorated for the main event of the year. Though Julian professed to like no holiday above another, Halloween had always held a special place in his heart. Even if, in modern times, it was meant for those of a younger age, that didn’t mean those of a younger spirit couldn’t join in on the festivities as well! And he strove to provide the most elaborate environment possible for everyone to get their freak on. The addition of Pax patrons was a nice touch, or so he thought - with how lucrative his neighbors had been thus far, who knew what could happen next?

Red lights were exchanged for ultraviolet, hoping to pick out and showcase ghoulish specters in their best light. Every bartender was done up in the best make-up money could buy, elaborate skulls painted on their faces and dressed to match with bones detailing arms and rib cages. The stage area was covered in a thick, ground creeping fog, The Crypt Keeper Five’s instruments already set up and ready to take center stage once the karaoke was done for the evening. Multicolored string lights of skulls were hung from the rafters, adding a festive air to the space amidst the spiderwebs and other macabre decorations. Julian was surveying his work, his own face done up in a friendly looking sugar skull, skeletal gloves covering his fingers while a suit made him seem rather dashing despite his dead demeanor.

The club was already brimming with costume guests, ranging from the sexy to the obscene; as long as no one toted a fake weapon, anything was welcome. Lingering by the bar, he watched the entrance to see who might show up first - and to see if a certain wife was going to make an appearance. His mind lingered for the barest of moments over what would be clinging to those curves, but Julian quickly wiped his mind clean of those thoughts. Undoubtedly she’d only be here to cause trouble, nothing more. Instead, he ordered a Blue Voodoo Doll, which a skeletal Yvette handed to him with a smile. With his potentially most loyal ally manning the bar, Julian was ready for whatever this evening might bring; his lips curved into a smile as Oingo Boingo’s No One Lives Forever blared out over the sound system.

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ladyofaralu
2011-11-07 04:07 am UTC (link)

“For the record, the Southern accent is just an English one, more relaxed.” His eyes fell to her hands as she mixed his drink, watching her progress with no small interest. He winked, the effect somewhat lost behind the black domino, showing only as a flash of one black-limned lid.

“And I’m the Dread Pirate Roberts, thank you. Sometimes known as Westley.” His smile deepened - and with it, the scar at his cheek. “You should know pirates always take what they want, Baroness. What good is a costume if you can’t get in character?” His hand stretched out, slim fingers plucking at a thin cocktail napkin.

Fee laughed as she misted the inside of his glass with a spray of vermouth, then poured the chilled liquor into the glass.

“You know what they say about costumes, Westley,” she told him as she plunked an olive into his glass, laid a cocktail napkin down, then set the drink on it. “They’re just excuses for girls to wear a third of the clothes they normally do.” She grinned at him as she slid the martini over to him. “Oh, and something about how they say a lot about the people wearing them.”

She took the next order, a mango mojito, from the customer standing next to him. As she quickly dropped the mango, mint, and lime into the glass then poured the simple syrup, she said, “I’m guessing you’d have shoved past all these nice people and then flashed your cute little smile at me whether you were wearing that getup or not, is what I’m saying.”

He lowered the glass, having raised it for a first, exploratory sip. Finding it very much to his liking - and her accurate commentary all the more so - he pulled it closer, drumming his fingers against the countertop. “I wonder what black PVC says about you, then,” he mused, arching a brow. His vulpine smile quirked sharper for an instant, then faded altogether, his amusement retreating to the depths of his eyes. “I have a few ideas, but I hate to assume.”

“Oh, God, don’t keep me in suspense,” she arched a brow as she muddled the fruits and mint, then quickly dropped in the ice and rum, then a spray of seltzer. “I’d love to know what a nice Southern pirate boy like you thinks this catsuit says about me.” She smirked as she put the shaker over the top of the glass, shook it up, then passed the summery beverage to the waiting customer, grabbing her tips and tossing them into the kitty and making eye contact with the next patron as she did.

“Two Heinekens, sweetheart,” the apparent Boardwalk Empire extra called out. Fee nodded and smiled, then reached for the beers. She cast a look to the Dread Pirate, giving him a little smirk.

“Well?”

His tongue flicked out to the corner of his mouth, swiping away the smirk threatening to show itself again. From the look in his eyes it was clear a number of potential comments crossed his mind, each discarded in its turn. Though he gave away no hints as to the nature of these unspoken remarks, it was simple enough to discern. Fee arched her brow at him again as she popped the tops off the beers.

“I think,” he said, his slow drawl dragging out the words, “it means that if you weren’t workin’ right now, in two drinks or less you’d agree to things it’d take me maybe three, four dates to talk these other...” He raised his free hand, a little wave over one shoulder indicating the entirety of the bar. “...Ladies, let’s say, into doin’.” He grinned, lifting his glass to his lips. “And that you’d probably be better at it, too.”

Fee laughed at that, too, shaking her head as she handed off the Heinies and waited for the customers to walk away before she grabbed the tips. As she nodded at a sexy vampire boy who’d asked her for a round of six tequila shots set up, she spun to grab the tequila off the shelf then turned back to the pirate as she lined up the glasses.

“Do you always hit on girls by insinuating they’re sluts?” she chuckled. “What the hell kind of Southern charm is this?”

Her body continuing to move to the beat as it had been most of the evening, she poured the shots in time to the bass, then dropped six wedges of lime in a glass before passing them and a salt shaker to the fey vampire, who blew her a kiss. Her would-be guest, on the other hand, pointedly ignored him.

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ladyofaralu
2011-11-07 04:09 am UTC (link)

“The only kind I think you’d be interested in,” he said. “I said you were probably better than them. If you heard ‘slut’, well.” One shoulder rolled in a languid shrug. Laughter danced at the corners of his voice, ever just at the edge of her hearing. “That says more about you than me.” He leaned farther over the bar, his eyes solidly on hers in spite of the ample distraction the catsuit provided. For an instant he might have looked contrite, if not for the impish gleam in his eye. “It certainly wasn’t my intent to insult you.”

Again, Fee laughed, this time as she started to put together a couple of Dark and Stormies, pouring dark rum over ice. “I heard you telling me if I weren’t working, you’d be in my pants -- or catsuit -- in two drinks, and that you’d think I’d be better in bed than girls who’d make you wait three or four dates to get in their pants, I guess because I’d let a stranger in a pirate costume get in my pants after two drinks.” She grinned at him as she gently poured the ginger ale over the rum, floating it so the colors of the two liquids remained distinct, one above the other. As she passed them to the waiting customer, she tossed over her shoulder,

“I’m interested, though, in finding out how even though I’ve probably got the most skin covered out of any chick in here, I’m the one who’d bang you in the bathroom after a couple of cocktails.”

“Is that what you heard?” he pulled back, clicking his tongue in mock chastisement. “Maybe I meant playing chess. It’s the glasses that do it, I think.” Laughing, Fee shook her head at that explanation. He propped an elbow on the bar, resting his chin in one cupped palm. “Either way. There’s a lot to be said for a woman smart enough to know the difference between just showing skin and being really, honestly sexy. Seems to me most of California doesn’t know the difference, if you want the truth. It’s like a breath of fresh air.”

Giving him a half-smile that hinted at a smirk as she popped the tops off a couple of bottles of Harp and passed them to the waiting storm troopers.

“You’re good, Westley. I’ll give you that,” she said, flashing a smile at another customer, who asked her for a couple of Manhattans. As she started to prepare the drink, she said,

“If I weren’t working right now, I might let you buy me a couple of drinks so we could test your theory. About chess, of course.” As she shook the double order of liquor, she watched him. “But I am working, and you don’t look like the type to wait around for the end of a girl’s shift, regardless of her chess skills.” While she shook the Manhattans, she slipped the tips from the previous drinks into the kitty.

“I’d ask what that is supposed to mean,” he quipped, “but I’m not sure I’d like the answer.”

At last he pushed off from the bar, satisfied, it seemed, with the groundwork he had laid. “But I really should let you get to work,” he said. He reached into his pocket, glancing briefly down to ensure he procured the right bill. Satisfied, he slipped the fifty dollar bill across the bar, his fingers staying firmly atop it as they neared the edge. “No change,” he said. “But that’s not to split with your offensively boring co-workers. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Baroness.”

Looking down at the bill, then back up at the pirate, Fee arched her brow once again, shaking her head as she poured vodka over one rocks in one tumbler and rum over rocks the other, then poured cranberry into the vodka and diet coke into the rum, plunking a lime into each before sliding them to their respective owners. “Keep it,” she said. “I like your costume, so your money’s no good here. Besides, if I didn’t split a tip like that, my ‘offensively boring co-workers’ would shank me with stirring straws, Julius Caesar style.”

“Oh I’m sure you can fight ‘em off,” he purred. With a drumming of his fingertips atop the counter he pulled away, lifting his drink to her as if in toast. “G’nite, darlin’,” he said, and slipped back into the crowd.

Fiona could only shake her head. For a moment, she considered holding it for him, but realized that was dumb as shit. Left with little other choice, she slipped the fifty into the kitty with the rest of the tips, smirking to herself as she took the next order.

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