[open event!] The Red, White and Blue
Who: France andouillette, America starspangldhero and EVERYONE.
What: Guess who's impatient for their birthdays. Very impatient and armed with DIY fireworks.
When: July 1st; mid-afternoon.
Where: Lobby and all four Wings; there's a mingle thread for each wing, if you want to join there, or jump into the main thread to come to the lobby.
Warnings: Contains explosions, bright doses of colour, artificial colourings, flavourings, sucrose, dextrose and probably other things on the back of a Jell-O packet.
Before discovering another July ally in the confines of the Sanctuary, France might not have considered imparting the joy of his birthday (he would call it that, despite how late on the date had gained importance) to others. America was one nation he least expected to end up here, if only due to his power-- but he did not know if strength was relevant when Russia was here, too. But what had begun as competitive musing between over the approaching national days, who was doing more for theirs and how many people they could coerce into joining, had suddenly grown into an idea and taken the form of decorations in three very distinct colours, if one knew what they were dealing with-- sadly, not the countries whose national days actually were on the 1st.
It was as if a colossal paintbrush had been put to all the walls of the lobby, any space of wallpaper blocked from view by flowing streamers, paper concertinas and ribbons. You only had to follow the trails of red, white and blue confetti scattered down each wing to reach it. The continuous colourful stripes that were hung high around the room were like shadows of the vapour trails of celebrating aeroplanes outside, above the cities in the week to come.
Any flat surface that wasn't occupied by a vase (the flowers replaced with colour-appropriate ones) was covered in a carpet of more confetti of the sort sprinkled on the Wing floors, or, like the centre table made up of smaller tables pushed together, set up with a garland of flags. Not to mention the food laid out on that table-- an army of pies, slices of cake with icing almost as thick as the sponge, a small cooler of ice-cream in proud national colours (blueberry, with appropriately vivid colouring, was America's idea) and what looked up-close to be a mountain of cookies. Among the rows of cake stands and tubs stood full, steaming cafetieres, as well as mugs and cutlery. The rest of the table was more conservative in its array of food and the odd sleek bottle of champagne, apart from the intricate caramelised Eiffel Tower sharing table-space with a block of white-chocolate-coated fudge (which, with France's taste for the artistic and America's insistence on its design, bore the semblance of the White House). It was very important, after all, that it was known who was celebrating!
All two nations' work, following a short rendez-vous and a much longer preparation period that was only half making things and half dreaming up additions to their party already bursting at the seams, which was not even limited to the lobby alone. One word for it might have been 'claustrophobic'. Or 'extravagant', if one imagined the party was for two people only. France preferred 'festive', and couldn't take the smile from his face as he strung up streamers, arranged candy about and watched America do the heavy lifting with... less grace than he but far more ease.
He breathed out shakily, laced with excitement at their idea brought to life around them, and anticipation. It was almost as if Paris and Washington had tried to squeeze themselves into the same room, and had not left until every inch of the place bore the traces of each great capital's festivities.
There was only one aspect missing from this party which, without it, left the room rather quiet. Not music, that had already been taken care of, with a portable phonograph churning out Parisian melodies in the background. No- the guests. Who, they hoped, would come along quietly-- and as nobody had yet stumbled upon their creation, the only way was to spread invitations by force. And possibly fireworks of the most basic sort, being prepared in each wing. That was the last task, and with a nod, America and France headed away into each wing, bearing matching smiles and the necessary resources to make the famous 4th of July (harmless... probably) explosions. Maybe it was unfair to everybody else who likely weren't expecting the sound, but...
Ah. Well, neither the fourth or the fourteenth of July was complete without fireworks, right?
What: Guess who's impatient for their birthdays. Very impatient and armed with DIY fireworks.
When: July 1st; mid-afternoon.
Where: Lobby and all four Wings; there's a mingle thread for each wing, if you want to join there, or jump into the main thread to come to the lobby.
Warnings: Contains explosions, bright doses of colour, artificial colourings, flavourings, sucrose, dextrose and probably other things on the back of a Jell-O packet.
Before discovering another July ally in the confines of the Sanctuary, France might not have considered imparting the joy of his birthday (he would call it that, despite how late on the date had gained importance) to others. America was one nation he least expected to end up here, if only due to his power-- but he did not know if strength was relevant when Russia was here, too. But what had begun as competitive musing between over the approaching national days, who was doing more for theirs and how many people they could coerce into joining, had suddenly grown into an idea and taken the form of decorations in three very distinct colours, if one knew what they were dealing with-- sadly, not the countries whose national days actually were on the 1st.
It was as if a colossal paintbrush had been put to all the walls of the lobby, any space of wallpaper blocked from view by flowing streamers, paper concertinas and ribbons. You only had to follow the trails of red, white and blue confetti scattered down each wing to reach it. The continuous colourful stripes that were hung high around the room were like shadows of the vapour trails of celebrating aeroplanes outside, above the cities in the week to come.
Any flat surface that wasn't occupied by a vase (the flowers replaced with colour-appropriate ones) was covered in a carpet of more confetti of the sort sprinkled on the Wing floors, or, like the centre table made up of smaller tables pushed together, set up with a garland of flags. Not to mention the food laid out on that table-- an army of pies, slices of cake with icing almost as thick as the sponge, a small cooler of ice-cream in proud national colours (blueberry, with appropriately vivid colouring, was America's idea) and what looked up-close to be a mountain of cookies. Among the rows of cake stands and tubs stood full, steaming cafetieres, as well as mugs and cutlery. The rest of the table was more conservative in its array of food and the odd sleek bottle of champagne, apart from the intricate caramelised Eiffel Tower sharing table-space with a block of white-chocolate-coated fudge (which, with France's taste for the artistic and America's insistence on its design, bore the semblance of the White House). It was very important, after all, that it was known who was celebrating!
All two nations' work, following a short rendez-vous and a much longer preparation period that was only half making things and half dreaming up additions to their party already bursting at the seams, which was not even limited to the lobby alone. One word for it might have been 'claustrophobic'. Or 'extravagant', if one imagined the party was for two people only. France preferred 'festive', and couldn't take the smile from his face as he strung up streamers, arranged candy about and watched America do the heavy lifting with... less grace than he but far more ease.
He breathed out shakily, laced with excitement at their idea brought to life around them, and anticipation. It was almost as if Paris and Washington had tried to squeeze themselves into the same room, and had not left until every inch of the place bore the traces of each great capital's festivities.
There was only one aspect missing from this party which, without it, left the room rather quiet. Not music, that had already been taken care of, with a portable phonograph churning out Parisian melodies in the background. No- the guests. Who, they hoped, would come along quietly-- and as nobody had yet stumbled upon their creation, the only way was to spread invitations by force. And possibly fireworks of the most basic sort, being prepared in each wing. That was the last task, and with a nod, America and France headed away into each wing, bearing matching smiles and the necessary resources to make the famous 4th of July (harmless... probably) explosions. Maybe it was unfair to everybody else who likely weren't expecting the sound, but...
Ah. Well, neither the fourth or the fourteenth of July was complete without fireworks, right?