(Untitled)
WHO: Everybody! Everybody, and Patricia.
WHAT: The first annual Europe Day Party, aka EU New Years, aka Europegate, aka The French Revolution. Decadent decay, imperialism, wine-drinking, scone-waving, Manet/Monet slurring, nouveau bossa nova, big maps, Eurocentricism, themed booze.
WHEN: Friday evening; party starts around nine, starts around ( Read more... )
WHAT: The first annual Europe Day Party, aka EU New Years, aka Europegate, aka The French Revolution. Decadent decay, imperialism, wine-drinking, scone-waving, Manet/Monet slurring, nouveau bossa nova, big maps, Eurocentricism, themed booze.
WHEN: Friday evening; party starts around nine, starts around ( Read more... )
Hale's entry to the kitchen was less a matter of wanting to be in a kitchen and more a matter of wanting some breathing space. Once he'd determined who the lone mixer was, Hale immediately forfeited said breathing space in favor of physical contact of a more welcome sort. He had hours to go, yet, but none of the drinks were caffeinated, and he was starting to feel warm and sleepy; less of a buzz, more of a happy drone. "What are you making?" Hale asked, though by sliding his arms around Watts' waist, he ensured that whatever it was, was made more slowly; one of the dances on the missing dance card had been his, and though he had not been excited about dance cards initially, he was keenly feeling the loss now.
Resting his hands on the edge of the sink, he dropped his chin so he could angle his eyes towards the mixture, but got distracted pressing a warm kiss to the side of his fellow swindler's neck. His primary interest was still the drink, but his methods of inquiry were roundabout at best.
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He liked the way retribution sounded in a brogue, and also liked the thought of stealing something, so the smug hat-tipping had a secondary effect: Hale was compelled to slip his thumb beneath the brim, pull it off, and then position it upon his own head. Not only did this make him seem guiltier, it made him look guiltier, pleasantly so. He could accept that. It was not the first time in his life that he'd be blamed for transgressions he had not himself performed, though it was kind of nice to be returning to the type of life where he was performing transgressions occasionally.
"Your vengeance will be terrible and fitting, I'm sure," he said. He did not look particularly good in Fedoras. He did look particularly good when he was grinning, and since one of those things was much brighter than the other, the overall impression was not too shabby at all.
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"I think I can be convinced to enlist." His lips were already smug, and grew no humbler when pressed against another pair, or tilted or warmly indulged. A tug on the tie, the press of a hat-brim on his forehead--they loosened him, pulled his hands further onto the counter an everything else to follow it. He usually thought that the easy conduction of sound through the studio apartment was a tragic flaw, but right now it meant he could still hear the music, and that was pretty nice. It was always absurd to hear the thrum of bass in their small, peaceful kitchen, even when it swelled with liquor and the weight their frequent parties. This was the first party where kissing him, in the kitchen or elsewhere, was a real option; it was a thorough improvement on an already winning recipe.
He pulled back, but the hand that wasn't on Watts' back had not been idle. Hale had brought the champagne glass with him, bitter lemons and all. By the time he'd lifted it to neck-level, certain parallels of odor and color had begun to assault him: turpentine, most strikingly. This was curiosity. This was daring. Hale had reached that point in the bell curve where he was more likely to drink more than taper off, because all the drinks that had come before it made him think it was a good idea. Peering down in a look of almost comical disbelief, he smirked, "What did you put in this?"
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