It's the most wonderful time of the year :) [Party Post]
[OOC: We did this post last year, and it became our highest comment count post ever. 2,267 comments. It doesn't matter if we get up to that number again, but it has become tradition! This is open for all of December through January for any holiday/winter shenanigans. :> Tag in with the same character multiple times, make multiple new threads, think
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Not properly, mind. Oh no, no sitting primly on the seat like most would. No, she's got her Target-knockoff-Ugg-shod feet planted on the seat of the bench and she's sitting up on the back, her eyes lifted heavenward.
But this is no pious display of faith, nor even a wonder-filled tracking of the odd snowflake flurrying its way down from the sky. Hell no. She's scowling in a way that clearly conveys, I want to cut a bitch.
Where by bitch she means the sprig of mistletoe just out of reach above her head, that's resisted all attempts at evasion, argument, and injury so far. Oh, and in the meantime she's been kissed by three men (one of whom also groped her and got a Target-knockoff-Ugg-clad foot to his testicles for his troubles) and one woman and she has about had it with this mistletoe right here, okay ( ... )
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Unfortunately, this might not have been the best plan, as a particularly stubborn piece of mistletoe decided to detach itself from the local foliage, and begin circling her head, near-mockingly.
She's only been kissed once-- the park's a nice open space, and she found solace by sticking to the trees-- but she's already mad at this thing. She keeps jumping up and trying to grab it, but it always bobs just out of reach. She's tried the snowball method too, but to a similar lack of avail.
But then she sees the other girl sitting on the bench, dealing with her own mistletoe-- and doesn't know whether to approach or avoid. On the one hand, finally, someone ( ... )
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"Me too," she agrees. "Sucks, doesn't it? Like this city isn't difficult enough to navigate on any given day, now this." She gestures at the greenery floating above her.
"Sorry. You got people acting like it's their God-given right to put their lips on you just because you've got some misbehaving plant up over you? 'Cause I sure have, and I'm about done with it."
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"What have you tried?" She jumps up at the plant over Rachel's head, just to see if she can get at anyone else's more easily than her own. It doesn't work; the mistletoe just swoops out of reach. "...I could get a bomb," she adds, half to herself. "No, that'd be too dangerous. --Maybe if we work together, we could think of a solution."
She glances at Rachel, and thinks to add, "I-- have some experience in, um, resisting magical compulsion, and stuff." Her tongue dances slightly over her lips, to wet them. They suddenly feel very dry, in this winter chill. "I'll be fine, don't worry."
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She purses her lips, letting out another sigh as her eyes lift up to take in the offending greenery. This may be an extreme suggestion, but these are extreme times, are they not? This simply won't do, the two of them harassed like this.
"I haven't tried firearms yet."
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Guns are for killing people.
"Heh, I don't have anything like that, I'm afraid," she says, a little sheepish. She plops herself down on the bench resignedly-- careful not to brush shoulders too closely with Rachel, lest the urge to kiss her is rekindled-- and thinks on the situation for a moment.
Then her eyes light up with sudden realisation, and she cautiously extends a hand into the air, making gentle coaxing noises of the kind one might employ to attract an animal. Slowly but surely, the piece of mistletoe drifts lazily down into her palm, and begins to crawl up the length of her arm, as if inquisitive.
"Hah!" She snatches at it-- but it darts away before she can grab it. If mistletoe could look ( ... )
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She looks over at the girl at her suggestion of just hiding until the affliction passes. She can understand where it came from, and why it might be suggested, but--
"No. I refuse." Rachel shakes her head, determined. She may not have much of a life here, but she'd like to go on rebuilding it despite this curse. She won't let a bit of shrubbery derail her attempts to get things back together.
"I'm not gonna hide. It's not an issue unless people decide to try to kiss me against my will. And I can even deal with that, with a well-timed fist."
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"You shouldn't really... punch them," she says, gently as she can. "I'm not sure they can, like... help it. Not very well, anyway."
Iris can help it, but it's taking some effort. She wishes the thought would go away. She doesn't want this, and it's making her feel uncomfortable, and slightly sick. It's nothing personal against Rachel, of course. She just doesn't like the feeling of being forced into this against her will.
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Here, Rachel. Have Wes Gannon scowl indignantly at the smug holiday garnish.
Wes has his beard back. It isn't that he stopped shaving. He just woke up with his beard slapped back on his face. Maybe that's the way the Rift's playing with him today.
He honestly prefers it to mistletoe following him around. Not to mention, he kind of missed having his beard.
"Sorry, darlin'," he says by way of greeting, hands stuck in his pockets. "Looks like our roles are reversed this year."
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"Your beard's back. I approve." She glances up at the mistletoe. "Only thing I might approve of more right now is a gun. We could take turns trying to shoot the damn thing. What do you think?"
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After a pause, he adds, "I approve, too."
Pardon Wesley for looking amused, Rachel. But he is so very amused. "I think I'd be a little terrified of handing you over a gun, darlin'."
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She notes his amusement. In anyone else, oh, God, would she be annoyed right now. They'd be getting as much of her scowl as the miscreant mistletoe hanging out over her head right now. But this is Wes... he gets away with so much more than mere mortals.
"That's 'cause you're a pretty sensible man, when you want to be," she shoots back, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I wouldn't give me a gun, and I gotta live with me 24/7."
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"Darlin', take it from someone who tried absolutely everything possible to get rid of that darned thing last year. Nothing's gonna work until the clock strikes midnight."
Wes eyes her suspiciously. "No one's tried anything funny on ya, have they?"
... He might not be her guardian anymore officially, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel the same.
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Not that she doubted him before. Had you asked her, before, she would have told you her faith in and love for him were absolute. How surprising and humbling now to find the bar raised even further, and met. How breathtaking, sometimes, like looking at him as he stands there, to find she loves him without limit.
"One guy, yeah," she says with a smirk. "He'll be walking funny for a few days. You taught me well, you know."
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"You were a fast learner," he says, not without fondness in his tone. Warmth floods his chest, and he glances upward, attempting to catch the offending shrubbery in his big, calloused hand.
"Plus, you taught me a thing or two as well, shit."
The last bit is said in emulation of her, yes. He does it with a lot of affection, Rachel.
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But he always could do that, couldn't he? Make her forget about everything that was going wrong, or not working, or simply not just her and him. She took so much comfort in that before; having it back now quietly humbles her, the feeling of being surrounded by that warmth and grace.
She reaches down with a gloved hand and sweeps away some snow accumulated on the bench top, clearing a spot for Wes to sit beside her. "C'mere."
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