[NT] - Revel
[Open to everyone!]
Turn the right way down any street, glance down an unexpected alley, maybe you'll see it out of the corner of your eye. Maybe you'll catch a hint of the music drifting out of the invitingly open wooden doors. There's always something. It wants to be found, this in, this bar, this club, this pub, this restaurant. It has many ( Read more... )
Turn the right way down any street, glance down an unexpected alley, maybe you'll see it out of the corner of your eye. Maybe you'll catch a hint of the music drifting out of the invitingly open wooden doors. There's always something. It wants to be found, this in, this bar, this club, this pub, this restaurant. It has many ( Read more... )
Mike has promised that this place doesn't involve portals (promised!) and so Kara has agreed to go. Tis the season to go to a gazillion parties until your feet want to drop off and your face is going to crack from smiling after all.
She's solo tonight - Harry has been doing the bare minimum socialising required this season, tis the season for rejections to hit even harder than other times, and Ads is home with Daddy screaming about something and making a menace of herself. Kara herself would have probably stayed home, she's not been too social herself either, and since the Norman Osborn disaster (not disaster, miracle, she reminds herself - but she keeps that thought to herself) you can't go out without someone sticking a camera in your face and commenting on how the stress has made you lose weight, gain weight, look pale, resort to cosmetic surgery, get a pimple or just dress totally wrong.
So, even though she looks casual (jeans and a cashmere wrap sweater, red, it is Christmas) the outfit took a ridiculous amount of time to co- ( ... )
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(In a dark burgundy shirt and charcoal-grey jeans, smart-casual and stylish in a way that tells you he did not pick them out himself.)
"Hi! Hello!" Huge smile. "I'm so glad you came. You look great! Can I get you -- there's champagne, or fruit juices, or Diet Coke, or whatever."
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"Merry Christmas,"
She replies - tries not to make it perfunctory. Not that she doesn't mean it but there comes a point after you've been to a few of these things where you start to feel like a bot spewing out well programmed cheer.
"Oh, sure - Champange - why not?"
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"Oh, yeah! Merry Christmas!"
He waves a hand at the nearest waiter.
"How are you? That whole Norman thing -- yeesh!" He shudders, then the grin bursts back again. "OH! Wanna see something cool? Well, I think they're cool. You might not. Um. But wanna see anyway?"
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Kara imagines, briefly, how funny it would be if the waiter waved back. She smiles at the thought. But he doesn't, he comes over with champange.
Some friend of Harry's - friend in the looser sense of the word - told her that the smaller the bubbles the better the champange. She stares at the glass and realises she wouldn't know the difference between a small, medium and large bubble anyway.
When Mike mentions Norman she just smiles, a tight smile, maybe she's becoming a pod person after all. Learning the rules, learning how to play their way.
"Yeah, sure. Show me."
She says.
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He stops at the end table and opens a large black box, pulling out a palm-sized sphere that could be crystal, or glass, or plastic. It very, very, very faintly shimmers, like it wants to be a pearl but is too lazy to try.
"--da-dah! Happy Memory Balls!"
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"I think --- "
She starts to say, but she stops herself. It doesn't matter, she doesn't need to say it.
"Thank you."
And she kisses him on either cheek.
"So, Mikey - these wards you set up... just how much of my fun do they spoil tonight? Can I still yell at people if I feel like it? Can I throw champange in their faces but not the glass? Or have you been a TOTAL kill joy about it?"
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He absently tosses the ball from hand to hand thinking about it.
And then, because he is Mike and spends most of his time not even in the same country as sensible, he says, "I dunno; you could chuck your champagne at me and we could see what happens!"
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"I don't think it would be violence because you're a willing participant in the whole champange throwing process... it would be more like... pretend?"
Champange is finished anyway.
"Don't worry. I'm not planning on throwing champange - it's just more a general interest question - like for trivial pursuit."
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"Contemplating the possibility of creating a scene. How're you? Doing your festive duty?"
Do wizards even do Christmas or is that strictly Muggle only? It's so hard to keep up with these cross cultural boundaries!
ooc: Hee! That's a cool surprise!
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[ooc: messaged you loads of times over the last 6 months and sent emails - no replies.]
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"Why can't it be both?"
Of course he never said it could be.
"Anyway, isn't that what I do. Arrive, create a scene, leave in disgrace? There's worse things to be, things to do, I guess."
ooc: That's extremely weird. I've just emailed you at your email with my contact details to check them out but they haven't changed AT ALL!
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[ooc: o.O just replied to your email, it isn't ending up in your spam or trash filter, is it?]
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She takes two glasses of champange from a tray and hands one to Draco. He probably knows what's a small and what's a medium bubble. He seems the type.
"So. Your hair smells nice."
Why is small talk so hard?
ooc: Yay! Got it. But replies tend to go in regardless of spam folder anyway whereas first emails can get caught I've found.
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[ooc: Well about bloody time. Stupid technology.]
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