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expiationlogs2023-04-21 12:41 pm
electroburst) wrote in expiationlogs2023-04-21 12:41 pm
(OPEN MINGLE) Ain't no party like an Aldrip party
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.
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.
no subject
usually proximity would be enough to bring nanami well within the radius of protection at this point. it used to be unthinking, almost rote authority over space -- but here, every movement has to be calculated, like he's back at school and regressed, years of practice down the drain in an instant. he's pretty sure he's gotten back into the hang of it, but not at the expense of watching nanami's bruised-up fingers to know for sure.
the danger's over. he should be letting go by now. that he hasn't is... slightly concerning, maybe. ]
Nuh-uh, oh no you don't. What'd we say about relaxing?
[ and more concerning: that gojo's still reeling nanami up by the wrist and moving to take the plate of bread from his other hand while he's at it.
then, to completely contradict his entire point: ]
Cursing work with no play is the dull Nanami way.
But routines are so boooring. Live a little!
no subject
That we both do plenty of it.
[ Flat as that one piece of bread that hadn't made it, pasted to the floor by a heavy boot.
But, for Nanami, it's a little less concerning when Gojo hauls, because it gives continued, concrete purpose to his hold. Resulting in an uneven motion, since he'd already been rising in the same direction, putting him faster on his feet than expected and unsteadied by it. Unsteadied, but not so much he can't veer the plate away from Gojo. He'll throw it out himself. ]
It might be pointless to say it, [ and it's annoying that it's still annoying, that it matters, because it doesn't, ] but I don't want to be told that "my way" is all work and no play.
[ His damned Binding Vow had been centered on not having to work overtime.
Though it doesn't matter, Nanami refrains from responding to Live a little! with the very obvious and very black. ]
Instead, my way of living a little is not giving myself a headache by staying. Enjoy the party, Gojo-san, because I won't.
[ He just needs to get his wrist back and throw out the soiled bread. Not necessarily in that order. ]
no subject
The most hard-working, not-wanting-to-work working man I've ever met.
[ okok, cool, at least nanami has his priorities in order.
too bad that gojo's not doing anything to help, keeping his grip firm on nanami's wrist and hoisting him over with it. and maybe he'll dawdle a little near the edge of one of the tables so nanami can at least put that plate of bread down, but if he doesn't...
... well, he's going to bring it along with him towards the floor where there are definitely some rowdy townsfolk and the rowdier chosen spinning along to some clamorous off-tune music. which is a direction that gets kind of concerning when coupled by this next question: ]
You're quick on your feet. You ever learn to dance?
no subject
[ If they're being technical, he thinks "cursing" was a poor choice of words. Sorcerers must be, and so he'd needed to be, meticulous in their consciousness and handling of their own negativity. He'd complained, called it shit, a number of other perjoratives, but never outright cursed it.
Nanami would ordinarily find it tedious to make that sort of technical distinction, and too childish to excuse it with Gojo started it, but he doesn't want to hear Gojo's commentary on his attitude toward work. ]
I've also never worked that hard.
[ Whatever Gojo might think, Nanami says it because he believes it. Said as he's looking for a trash receptacle, because he can't just put a plate of floor bread back on a table's surface, the bread needs to be discarded and the plate left as empty and ready for collection. Otherwise, an unthinking patron might grab a piece and bite. So the edge of the table's no good.
He isn't so preoccupied with that search to be unaware of where Gojo's begun to steer them. It's at this point, his eyes narrowing, that he twists his wrist against the vice of Gojo's fingers. ]
No, and I won't learn tonight. If you want to dance, please do it by yourself or find someone who actually wants to. Such a person isn't in short supply tonight.
no subject
knowingly anyway. and gojo's not in any mood to help him through any sort of existential crisis (that would be delivered flatter than what old astrologers might have thought of the earth back before existential crises were actually invented) in the middle of a bar floor with a bunch of drunks who are just trying to have a good time. because nanami is one of the hardest workers he knows, and maybe that's saying something -- or nothing, depending on who you ask. for all intents and purposes, the argument can be made that he's a slacker, that gojo satoru hasn't worked a day in his life for all that it feels like his brain hasn't shut off in days or weeks or possibly a month or several years because time doesn't move in a vacuum even when he's sent on missions elsewhere, or inside of a box.
it's just nanami's curse, is all gojo's trying to say, that he feels the need to work so hard. even now, it doesn't seem like he can just relax, and that's easy enough to figure. the consideration's not lost on gojo, anyway.
gojo, who's definitely got large hands and an unsurprisingly good grip, who's definitely not letting go -- moving instead to grab a tray of empty bar mugs, and forcibly stealing the plate of bread to place it on said tray just to really draw attention to the fact that there's a big ol' footprint smackdab in the middle of one of the pieces and none of it's meant to be eaten. ]
The quickstep? No, but you're probably boring enough for a waltz -
[ tug tug tug... he goes around the tables, where it would create a maze towards the only viable exit. ]
Disco, maybe. You can line dance as a matter of course, but woe be it to the seventh in a line of ten.
no subject
To his mind, there would be no existential crisis, never has been, because he would never have called it or considered himself in crisis. A man who would work half-heartedly until retiring early (while in fact working regularly late into the night, the office emptied, the sky paling). A man who would advise young sorcerers to work with moderate effort if moderate was enough, and not to try to save everyone, who kept his personal feelings entirely outside of his work (while. well).
Besides, it's exactly like that. If they're speaking seriously, should Gojo be the one to say it? Or, would he be the only one? Regardless of what he projects, regardless of his behavior, regardless of his crude and breaching approach, there's no argument. It's impossible to argue that he's really a slacker.
That's why —
No, never mind that, since Gojo's managed to snatch the plate and get rid of it, annoyingly smooth in it, almost a single movement but for the taking of tray (clearly meant for the kitchen) then dumping of plate. With that buffer lost and being unable to turn his wrist much against Gojo's fingers, a sense of inevitability begins to loom. Casting a dark shadow, if not a long one, that kicks a kind of restless energy into his knuckles, his stomach, energy that should be more recalcitrant, even angry, to have his refusal so completely ignored.
Should be, isn't, and because he's 28, not 18, he doesn't try to literally drag his feet as they round the tables.
Not yet resigned, but the taste of it in the back of his throat and there, that's the drag, in his voice — ]
They aren't playing a waltz.
[ As though Gojo would care. In fact, though Nanami's never formally learned or had interest in going out dancing, it's certainly true that contrary to his appearance, he's good on his feet. Quick, balanced, able to follow or lead, to react and adjust. Good on his feet and agile, too, bizarrely flexible for someone so uptight and quintessentially stiff.
In short, whatever it is, he could probably pick it up pretty quick. Rhythm might be a separate question. ]
I don't have to tell you that ratio wouldn't work like that, but more importantly, I don't want to line dance or disco dance or dance at all.
[ And, sighing — inevitably the inevitable — ]
Are you really this determined to embarrass me?
[ At least he's difficult to embarrass. ]
1/2
[ asked to the tune of, really? well, why didn't you say so earlier! but maybe not with the meanness of a you cryin'? alongside the expectation of seeing tears and then laughing a little...
instead, somewhere along that healthy(?) middle ground, because even with the knowledge that nanami's slightly Offended, gojo is definitely still Not Letting Go. ]
You shouldn't be. You put your best foot forward, y'know. If we're talking footwork, I'd say you've got the best form on campus.
You gotta, when your technique's not long distance. If you're always close quarters, you learn to move around what you got, and how to adapt. But you didn't need me telling you that.
[ - a punctuation that he denotes by taking nanami's wrists in his hands, almost ballroom about it, his face unnecessarily serious from this close-up when he's lifting one arm up and the other towards one side, putting nanami in position...
before letting one wrist drop, his hand moving up to nanami's shoulder to push him out to one side.
... where nanami's left to spin outwards. ]
See?
no subject
and maybe gojo's just smiling now, peering into nanami's face, leaned in and still holding on. ]
Must mean you're a natural at it.
no subject
[ Nothing defensive in it. The concepts are distinct, the realities presented, which may or may not merge. The reality in which Gojo is trying to embarrass him and the reality in which Nanami actually is embarrassed. Either could exist independently, neither are conditional. Nanami could be embarrassed without Gojo trying, Gojo could try without embarrassing him.
For example, even if that isn't Gojo's intention, since Nanami would surely make an ass out of himself (rhythm is definitely a separate question), the risk of embarrassment remains. Not yet realized, but Gojo goes on as though Nanami had expressed doubt, hesitation born of self-consciousness. As though his reluctance has everything to do with the prospect of looking like an ass. It's true he doesn't need Gojo to tell him about the byproduct of his technique, the combat style it necessitates. There's no ego in acknowledging that at least at the Tokyo campus, he might have the second best footwork — second best, because without effort, Gojo easily tops. (At Kyoto, he's fairly sure Todo Aoi has already surpassed him.)
Nanami frowns as he listens, not bothering to interject, because it's clear Gojo's building to something. Interrupting might leave him less prepared for it. Still, he's debating it, a firm tug, firmer words, enough temper that Gojo would back off. Gojo could force it, but Nanami believes that he wouldn't if Nanami stopped letting him do it.
Because he is, isn't he? The permissiveness of insufficient resistance. Even as Gojo takes his other wrist. Consternation, more irritated than anxious, creases in his forehead, but he stands there, but his arms move as directed.
And when Gojo looses one just to shove him, hard and targeted, rather than stumble or stagger back, with the help of the hold on his wrist,
Nanami spins.
Of course he does. Quick and easy, maybe too quick, a little brusque, and a measure stilted at the end as he keeps from spinning too close and winding up tucked against Gojo. Back to that starting position, only a few hairs out of place. Even his frown's unchanged, unmoved against the satisfied spread of Gojo's smile.
Though he wants to lean away, maintaining what little distance there is (was), he doesn't. ]
Natural has nothing to do with it. Gojo-san, please stop listening only to the sound of your own voice. Please also stop pretending that you're doing me a favor by having your way.