(OPEN MINGLE) Ain't no party like an Aldrip party

[electroburst]

Who: The Chosen
Where: Aldrip inn
What: Open mingle log (with mod approval)!
Warnings: Nothing major anticipated, other than light (underaged) drinking and comic mischief, but PM me if any warn-worthy things happen and I can update this space.

Feel free to use this log as a completely open mingle for all characters new and old! There will be a few prompts below the cut, but you're free mess around with them or come up with your own ideas for toplevels, and tag around as you please.



Nestled in the heart of the quaint town of Aldrip, the inn, formally known as The Inn, has housed the Chosen of Expiation since their initial arrival. In spite of the occasional influx of new Chosen, they've dedicatedly provided rooms, food and drink, and basic amenities without buckling—even during the food shortages and other issues that have plagued the town. Of course, the Chosen have been no slouches themselves, repaying the hospitality with mercenary work, hunting and fishing, cooking, completing odd jobs, and much more to help bolster the economy. Even those, er, less magnanimous sorts have benefitted from this give-and-take, although there are those that prefer their living space to be a bit more solitary (or perhaps cave-ier) that might not have noticed as much.


In the days to follow, most won't be able to recount exactly how The Party started. The true story is that one particular new arrival, after having spent a day or two scouting the area out and, deciding it's chill enough, opted to do what he does best: be a public menace. What is known is that rounds of drinks start getting ordered and handed out, and soon platters of cheese, fresh bread, and other victuals make the rounds as well, appearing on tables that quickly begin filling with people. Somehow, someway, local musicians are pulled in to play and given a striking, energetic setlist to set the tone. The word gets out—party at the inn!

And boom: just like that, it's a party, and everyone's invited.


Early on, the offerings are relatively meager. The inn's food stores aren't completely bottomless after the shortages, to say the least, and there are a sight more Chosen (and local residents who also join in on the fun) than there is free food to toss at them. The drinks range from milk, water and juice to scuzzy, pisswater beer, which is a bit more plentiful. As the tavern portion of the inn fills with people, the music relatively ambient so that you can still hear the people at the table next to you talking, others bring their own food and drink, adding to the options on offer.

Others bring things like cards to play with, or dice and coins to gamble with, and set up spaces at tables toward the back. There's even an amateur fortune teller, heavy emphasis on amateur. Maybe you've got some party games of your own in mind, or you're a natural-born performer and want to hit the stage. Maybe you'd rather just grab a pint and lurk in the corner doing some people-watching. Or maybe you're just hungry and want to stuff a bunch of cheese in your pockets for later. Either way, there's something here for everyone.


As evening wears on, the peaceful inn party blossoms into a proper block bash. Even if you're not the partygoing sort, it'd be a little difficult to ignore the sheer ruckus going on downstairs while you attempt to read quietly in your room. The music, chatter and laughter carries on down the street, attracting even more people. By this point, it seems as if the food and drinks have multiplied, thanks mostly in part to others showing up with their own offerings, Chosen and local alike. It's getting rowdy in a few places—the music's louder and livelier, people are dancing and singing, and the gambling/party games' stakes seem to just keep climbing higher and higher. It's a good time all around. If you're not the quiet, loner type, anyway.

Thinking of sitting this one out? Think again: somebody starts going around to all the rooms and knocking on the doors, calling out to come join the fun. By the time you get to the door, though, whoever's up here disturbing the peace is gone, but maybe you can track them down by their voice at some point and wring their neck later.

In addition to the escalating merriment, all this imbibing also has the added benefit of loosening a few lips. Now's your chance to pick up the latest Aldrip gossip! You might even hear tell of a few pesky monsters that need slaying, so if you want to jump on that bounty before anyone else gets to it, you better act quickly. (But maybe don't run out into the woods in the middle of the night to fight monsters while inebriated... or do, nobody's stopping you.)


Late into the night, the festivities are still going, and they're... messy. Fortunately the drinks and provisions seem to have run to the bottom of the barrel, so those that've been partying hard for hours are getting cut off whether they like it or not. The band's getting tired, the tempo of the music fluctuating. Some people might like to go to bed sometime soon, so maybe now it's time for the voices of reason to tell those still dancing on top of the tables to get down. And why is there a chicken in here? ...And oh no, somebody tell those guys to take that swordfight outside!! Yeeaaahh, maybe it's about time to shut this production down.

Or maybe not. Let the good times roll until the sun comes up! That's up to you.

Comments

[electroburst]

[ It's true, Reno's traded severity for a couple years' worth of seen some shit, and Cloud... well, is pretty drunk, Reno observes with not just a little bit of amusement. The getup's odd, and there's a certain sort of look to him aside from that that should probably clue him in, but for the time being, he also happens to be pretty drunk, and he's not in the mood to do the observant detective thing. Can't a guy just be head empty/no thoughts for awhile? Damn. He's finally found a friend, or the closest thing to one for the time being, and he's not interested in picking that apart.

That's why, in spite of the so-called blowoff, Reno laughs, one of his little hehehesnrk cackles, and then pushes the glass he'd just sloshed half of over for Cloud to have, instead. ]

Here. Doesn't got my cooties, promise. Just ordered it a minute ago.

[ That's a goddamn lie, he was sipping it before he came over, but what Cloud doesn't know won't kill him. Not more than a little bit before he got here, the guy had a whole lot worse than Reno cooties in his system, after all. More like, uh, Sephiroth cooties.

Oh, ew. Nope. Don't like that thought. Nooooope. Unthinking it as we speak. ]

Anyways, nothing so official. Apparently I'm here for the baby jail party. A criminal, y'know? God damn, if I get convicted, it'll be the 'lectric chair for me for sure. Figured I better party while I can before then.

[ The trouble with giving up his drink is now he doesn't have one, but there's no way he's leaving this table now. Instead, he goes for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, by this stage tragically depleted down to half. So much for conservation. If he can't find a place to get more, that's... gonna suck almost more than being stranded in some strange place without his partner, his boss, or most anyone else he knows. That's a problem for later-Reno, though; he lights up and does Cloud the solid of not blowing the smoke in his face when he exhales. ]

You by yourself here? I mean—no Tifa, the kids... those other guys...?

[ Only one of his alive friends has the distinction of having a name he actually bothers to remember. ]

[mercedis]

[ Honestly, at this point in the party, it's hard to look a gift horse in the mouth--even if it comes from the asshole that thought fun and games involved bombs and electric shock therapy in an old rundown church. With a grim sort of look, he pushes his empty glass in Reno's direction and claims the mostly-full one he's offered, clutching it and bringing it to his lips for a long swallow.

Poisoned or not, at least it's cold. Tastes just about the same as everything else. ]

Baby jail party. [ Yeah, that kind of makes him want to laugh. ] Too bad you actually are a criminal. Pretty sure I can't make a plea for your life or whatever when the proof's all there.

[ It's maybe the first time he doesn't feel particularly bothered by Reno pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up; it's maybe also the first time he's ever considered smoking himself. Something about all the liquor makes it feel like the sort of risky business that's right up his thought avenue.

Still: better not to ask. Better to not even engage more than is necessary, so it's back to his (their) glass for another long gulp. ]

...The kids? [ That at least earns an actual laugh, scoffed under his breath. ] What kids? I haven't even...

[ Whoa, too much information there. He immediately shakes his head, but it makes it ache a little. ] No Tifa. She's not here. Haven't seen Rude or anyone from Shinra, except the one that's supposed to be dead.

[electroburst]

[ If he can get a laugh out of Cloud, he can go willingly and happily to his sentenced electric chair. Even that tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth is enough to get him amped up with encouragement. Not that he spends his days lurking around the Edge bar, pining for the chance to share drinks with Cloud and gaze upon his dour face like some people, but this is kinda how it should be, right? Just a couple of guys in a post-Midgar world, both of them doing their bit to set things straight, having a cold one and shooting the shit. Especially now that all the trouble's been averted—they earned this after all that remnant shit.

He shrugs his shoulders, amicably accepting the assessment. ]

Yeah, and so're you. I'd at least throw a "but he's got some sick moves" out there in your defense before they send you to the firing squad, though. I got your back.

[ And there's the laugh. Not sure how he would've thought he'd react, but what he does is put his chin in his hand and smile like somebody's just started telling him a whimsical bedtime story. So that's how it sounds, huh? Cu—lmao wait hang on. His hand pulls away from his chin so fast he almost falls into the table. ]

Haven't even what? You can't just say two fucking depressing things back to back like that! Three depressing things, actually. That little girl's gonna give you hell when she hears you forgot about her. "Again," if my recollection's right.

[ No Rude, then, definitively. He could've guessed, seeing as he hasn't turned up by now, but it feels like a rock drops into his stomach when Cloud says it so pointedly. It's too early to start feeling some type of way about it, at least. They've been apart before. It's when the time drags on and the total absence—no way to contact, as if he doesn't even exist—that it might start fucking with his head. But hey, at least he's got his good buddy, the virgin Cloud. And—? ]

Wait, you talkin' about the Prez? Rufus? He's here?

[mercedis]

Thought he was… Nevermind.

[ Is it the liquor that’s confusing him? Or is it something else? Nevermind Reno talking about kids like he’s got some kind of responsibility to someone other than himself, but now conflating Rufus’ position with something else…It makes his head tilt a little, eyes narrowed, his thoughts all colliding together in a way that’s less like a headache and more like total annihilation. It’s bad enough having to play nice with Mister Electric Stick, but all this too?

With a frown, he stares into his borrowed glass like it might help him make more sense of it all. ] Whatever. Not Rufus. S…

[ If he says it out loud, will it summon him? Nose scrunching, he continues anyway, because fuck that guy—-says his drunken head. ]

Sephiroth. He’s here. Think that takes the cake on depressing things I could’ve told you.

[ The memory of Aerith, talking about how people are pulled here from different places, how they have different memories, more, or less: it doesn’t quite register, not yet, but it feels like there’s something strangely familiar about this situation.

—-which means avoidance is best. ] You planning on sharing those cigarettes?

[electroburst]

[ Look, he could've asked which person from Shinra that's supposed to be dead, but he just got done chastising Cloud for being depressing, and that joke felt a little too on the nose, considering. Of all the guesses he could've made, Rufus seemed like the most obvious, especially considering that he's pretty sure Cloud said exactly as much to the prez's face when they met that first time, back in Healen.

If he'd gotten that answer, it would've been a... something. Relief, he guesses. Back to work, back to work. But this? That? Ah, fuck, he's not ready for that one. The cigarette stops en route back to his lips, and Reno allots himself about three seconds to wait for Cloud to give him a much-needed psyche, which doesn't ever come. ]

Mother fucker.

[ I mean, if you want to be really crass about it— ]

Didn't you just—yeah, alright. That's probably the most depressing thing I've ever heard, thanks for that.

[ For many reasons. Finally, Reno jams the cigarette back between his lips, realizes it's gone out, and relights it. Concern looks kind of strange on his face, where mischief and machinations are typically front and center: the little furrow between his brows, the odd, steely glint in his eye as he stares at the table, then darts a glance at Cloud's arm (for reasons he doesn't explain), then up at his face. The, well? You gonna do something about it? is poised and ready to come out of his big mouth, but is (thankfully, maybe) intercepted by a pause and a raw laugh. ]

You smoke? Since when? Look, I only got half a pack left. You gonna buy me more?

[ Because of course what he dangles in front of Cloud isn't a fresh one from the box in his breast pocket, but the one he's already had his mouth on. ]

[mercedis]

[ Honestly, he never thought he'd be drinking with Reno, of all people, and feeling relief over their mutual commiseration, but here they are. At least the mention of Sephiroth doesn't earn some high pitched laugh or an admission that somehow Shinra is behind all of this, or like he's glad to be in his company: they both seem miserable enough by it, and that, unfortunately, makes them a littler closer than enemies. He won't go so far as to say comrades.

Sephiroth isn't really what he wants to be thinking of, anyway, but he's glad he told Reno, at least. That's the one thing that won't get him into any trouble: he's not about to mention Aerith, and he wonders if he should consider asking Reno about the other First Class SOLDIER, but decides the answer will likely just confuse him more.

So, then, to the cigarette: which is offered from Reno's lips, not the pack. His own mouth parts in a breath of disgust. ]

Haven't seen any of the marketplace stalls selling them. Doesn't mean they aren't here, though.

[ Now it feels more like a show of his own pride--or whatever--so he clunks his elbow on the table and takes the cigarette from Reno with firm, unrelenting fingers. His eyes dart from it, to Reno, and then back to it, as if he can fashion some way to smoke from it without touching it.

--and then, with another sigh. ]

...What do I do? Suck on it?

[electroburst]

[ A trade, then, if he has to give it up: Cloud takes the cig and Reno reaches for what's left of the beer. Don't sulk, he'll get them another one in a minute. Maybe even two, fun as it is to drink out of the same cup like two kids at recess. As it turns out, he's going to have to, because this is a mistake.

He expects Cloud to hork on it and cough. What he doesn't expect is—to be mid-sip and suddenly choke himself, sputtering beer straight up into his face, back into the cup, onto the table, and a little down the side of his neck. There's something really visceral about half-drowning on a sip of shitty beer, attempting to hack it back out of your lungs while also helplessly laughing your ass off at the same time, and frankly, even if he's just made a ginormous mess he'll be incredibly grateful for the experience later.

Nothing has been this funny for a long time. ]

Fuc—k.

[ It only makes it worse that he practically gurgles that word, half muffled into his suitsleeve as he tries to wipe his beer-covered face. God damn, it nearly went up his nose. It's a couple of seconds before he can manage words, festooned with hysterical giggles. ]

Yeah, you suck on it. 'n if you wanna get really fancy, try using your tongue. That'll really get it going.

[ There's beer soaking into his collar, and it's really gonna be a bitch when he finds out there's no dry cleaning here, not when he doesn't have any handy replacements to change into like he does back home (weird how the suits survived but the people didn't). It's fine, because at this point there's beer, like, all over him: his face, running down his chest, puddled on the table, backwashed in the mostly-empty glass. And that's okay, because all that means is now, finally, it's really a party. ]

Jus' take a drag, man. Hold it for a sec, then take a deep breath in and out. It's that easy.

[mercedis]

[ Well, it's fucking disgusting, but that's what he expects from Reno at this point: there's no real reason to control his expression, which contorts with a wrinkle of his nose and a gaping of his mouth, staring aghast at the beer that sloshes out of Reno's choking onto the table, back into the cup, onto his shirt, and then, of course, splattered onto his own arm that he has on the table between them. Immediately, like a disgusted kid, he wipes his arm off bodily on Reno's closest body part--that ends up being his shoulder, smearing his suit with the little flicker of backwash, rubbing and rubbing until he feels satisfied.

Forlornly, he looks at the glass. It's nearly empty, and what's left is probably mostly Reno's spit; with a long sigh, resigned, he looks back at the cigarette. ]

Shut up. [ Reno's laughing at him, he knows it--he hates it, but whatever. Too drunk to pull up the buster sword and cut him in half, so he decides he might as well follow instructions. With a wary eye at Reno, he puts the cigarette between his lips and takes in a deep breath--which, of course, comes out in a coughing rush of smoke.

Annoyed, he immediately flicks the cigarette away...and into the glass of Reno's spit-beer. ]

Ah. [ Is he smiling? He's definitely starting to smile, like he can't quite believe it. ] My bad.

[ He doesn't look like he thinks it's bad: he's pretty smug about it. ]

Get us another round. You're not drinking the rest of that.

[electroburst]

[ The sniggering keeps up (with fervor when Cloud inevitably coughs, because of course he was always going to) right until the remnants of the cigarette wind up doused in the backwash. If he were a little more desperate, Reno might pull it back out and try to save it before it's completely soaked, but luckily he's not at the "would kill someone to get at the nicotine under their fingernails" stage yet. Instead, still a little waterlogged, he affects a deeply offended noise (that might not be completely affected) and gives Cloud's arm a shove. ]

You little shit, I'm never sharing with you again. Next time just give it back!

[ Didn't he just say— whatever, don't try to make it make sense. It's hard to say if it's easier or more difficult to maintain annoyance when Cloud has ghosts of that shithead smirk on his face, but fortunately there doesn't need to be a debate; when he's had this much to drink, the answer is that he's always a lot less easily irritated. With a resounding screech of wooden legs against wooden floor, Reno shoves his chair back and stands up, taking the Cup Of Filth along with him. ]

Thought you country bumpkins were supposed to have good manners. Stay right there.

[ Like where is he going to go. At any rate, it barely takes Reno more than a minute to get across the room, retrieve another couple beers and abandon the old one, and come back, so if Cloud wanted to plot an escape route, he should've thought of that sooner. Both drinks plunk down but, for once, don't spill—one for each of them. No cooties this time. ]

Here. Let's play a game: tell me something that isn't depressing. No downers. You kill the mood, you buy the next round.

[mercedis]

[ The sound of the chair skidding against the floor, for some reason, makes him fidget in his own seat--as though Reno's really going to take his used cup and just leave, as though their strangely calm interaction is going to end again in something unpleasant. It's a weird feeling, to want to be tethered to someone else here, and maybe it's just because he's drunk; maybe it's because he's tired of the way everything's felt, and for once, he feels more like himself, like Reno's already seen every tangled twist of his quilted personality and he doesn't have to fabricate any of it.

Awkward, he drums a hand on the table, eyes watching Reno disappear into the middle of the bar and then, annoyed with himself, he looks back at the table. When Reno plunks down two full glasses, he jerks his chin up at him, almost surprised: so he did come back. ]

A game... [ There's a scoffing sound, but who the hell is he to say it's stupid? He would have just sat and gotten even more drunk in silence. ] Fine. Something that isn't depressing?

[ This takes a long time to compute. He gulps a mouthful of beer like he's used to it, setting the glass back down again firmly. ]

...There are washing machines. [ Look, there's nothing more depressing than hand-washing your underwear, right? ] I've used one.

[ Wow, someone get this fake First Class a medal. ]