[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
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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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Plus there was the PDA. Because who didn't love THAT? In front of a mirror in the bathroom.
As it was, Anya had no vengeance gigs here although she was sure that if she really looked closely they were all idiots deserving of her intelligent and yet oh so witty wrath.
She wore a shiny lilac halter top dress that dipped low down her back to bare the line of her spine. The hem fell neatly just above her knees. And of course she had on matching heels because they made her legs look pretty.
"Martini please!" Because what other drink was there? "Because where there's a martini there's an overtly happy vengeance demon." Yes, happy vengeance demons do exist thankyouverymuch.
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He held up his beer glass. "To us!" he says to her. "But mostly you, because you look stunning." He eyed here up and down appreciatively. "Positively edible."
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"To us, the most attractive people in the universes." She nodded enthusiastically and lifted her glass before sipping at the martini.
Oh what the hell.
She drank half of the martini down and squeezed her eyes tightly closed as it went down her throat. "Perfection. A demon had to invent this nectar of the gods."
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"Hello!"
and kisses him quite thoroughly.
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He goes up to the bar, thinking JP would probably be there and possibly Doug, or else they would be soon enough.
He orders a (non-alcoholic) Dr. Pepper, and sits up on the stool, looking out at the crowd, eyes searching for a familiar face and someone to talk to. But, hey, waiting works too.
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Peter probably won't notice until they get to the third one, anyway.
She spots John after getting a drink (eggnog, because it's that time of year), and is only a little disappointed to see that he's alone. She can fix that, and he can tell her that she looks pretty in her green dress. Someone should before Peter gets to it. If she could find Jean-Paul, he would.
"Look at you, all by your lonesome," Sasha says, walking up to John and immediately putting down her glass and pulling him into a hug. "How is it that you have two dates and end up sitting by yourself?"
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He smirks. "It's not like I'm not going to hook up with them later, yeah?"
The smirk fades into a genuine smile. "Hey," he says. "Nice dress." Okay, so he's not really the most fashion-aware person ever - that was JP's thing, and John was happy to leave it to him - but he could appreciate it. Or was learning too, anyway. "You look good," he says. "So, where are your boys? Left them behind for some bonding time?"
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"My boys are watching Superman," she explains. There's not a party in the world that Peter would prefer to a marathon of Superman movies, except maybe their reception...if they ever have one. "It's not like I'm not going to hook up with Peter later," she adds. "Henry would have wanted to come if he had known his Uncle John was going to be here, but this is grown up time. You'll get at least twenty minutes of toddler babble when we exchange gifts, I promise. He has an explanation for every decoration we have in the apartment."
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Wanda Maximoff knows STUFF.
And the stuff she knows is this interdimensional tavern is SHIFTY. Just because it's DC and she's Marvel doesn't mean she doesn't know! She is THE SCARLET WITCH, people. Okay?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
Anyway.)
Mike promised her GIFTS. So. She's here. In RED --
( ... )
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Oh, here's JUST what people should want: unstable teenage witches drinking rum and eggnog.
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"ZOMG!!! Illyana!!!"
Yes, Wanda is completely capable of saying ZOMG out loud. And not in IM (eye-em) in proper English.
"I haven't seen you in AAAAAAAAAGGGGGEEEEEESSSSSSSS!!! ZOMG --"
(Zoh-MAH-GAH)
"--how ARE you?"
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"Busy."
Yeah, you could say that.
"You look so pretty! How are you?!"
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