[Mardi Gras] Laissez les bons temps rouler!

[broken_brushes]

The island had done it again. Whether it was pure chance or benevolence none of them would ever know, but somehow, someway, the place had seen fit to give them all booze again

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[cibosity]

Mardi Gras or no Mardi Gras, Sawyer didn't usually mind a party. If it wasn't his sort of thing, the island was chill enough that they'd let him cut out, no harm, no foul. But if there was good food, decent music, and a lotta cool, crisp beers, why the hell not? That was how Sawyer felt that day, already a few glasses into the night, just lingering and watching people dance around each other in circles, watching them slowly drink themselves under the table, and perfectly content to collect all of the stories he needed for potential teasing or blackmail later on

[burnwithus]

"Why are you doing that?" her feet shuffle in loosely-laced boots, a far cry from the dainty heels sported by the majority of the girls here. Katniss moves forward, arms crossed against her chest as she watches him. "You'll ruin the taste," if there's one thing she has to be grateful for, it's that at least this time he isn't seeing her vulnerable in some way like he normally is. Even if she is wearing a dress (and that almost counted in itself).

[cibosity]

"Clearly, you ain't ever had beer-braised pork, or beer-roasted pork, or ever learned all the amazin' things that beer does for meat, like tenderizing it," Sawyer calls out loudly, with absolutely not intention of his good deed going completely unnoticed. There isn't even a reason for people to yell at him for what he's doing, because it's true that alcohol makes meat softer, juicier, all the things that people should be wanting from their pigs on this island. Even if most, right now, are preoccupied with all the fancy-schmancy processed crap coming in. He turns around after the bottle of beer is gone, then immediately does a double-take, whistling.

"Hoo boy, someone took the Catnip to town and made her a girl," he nods appraisingly. "I like it."

[burnwithus]

She scowls at him and probably ruins the effect of whatever miracle Sookie had managed to perform, getting her in this dress and letting her hair down for once. His words are offensive to her if only because they imply that she isn't a girl the rest of the time, although Katniss isn't quite sure why they make her flare up so. It isn't like she's cared about any of this, before.

"I am a girl, if you haven't noticed," Katniss huffs, stepping closer to the him (and the spit) and silently admitting that the meat does smell good now. "And don't get used to it. I hate dresses."

[cibosity]

To Sawyer, the scowl is just the detail that ties everything together, making this the picture-perfect moment that he's definitely storing in the back of his head. This is the Katniss he knows, doesn't matter who's taken her and given her that mini-makeover. It's still the girl who's as bristly as a chestnut, and that fact alone makes him smile.

"I did notice, think it was back when I first put that ribbon in your hair," he reminds her, before taking up another beer (the fact that they're Dharma beers doesn't even bug him right now) and popping the top, taking a long gulp. "But I didn't say a girl, I said a giiirl."

Emphasizes the r's, just for show, laying on the drunkenness a bit thick. (He's not really so far gone. Actual tipsiness is never as fun as playing it up.)

"Think you should take to the dresses more often, though. You'll be turnin' heads 'fore you realize it."

[burnwithus]

He's drunk, but that's nothing Katniss isn't used to. She's had far too much experience in putting Haymitch to bed, reluctantly cleaning up his various messes because like it or not, she owes him. Actually, the accent and his words also remind her of Haymitch, in a way, and Katniss is struck by how much she misses him, even though she'd never admit it. Just like she won't admit that a washed-up drunk ex-murderer is the person who understands her best.

Maybe because they're so alike.

"What's the point? They're useless," she shrugs, watching him pop the top off of his beer with crossed arms. It crosses her mind to take it away from him, but it isn't her business (and that only makes her wonder why she cares, which leads to thoughts of her owing him in a way that she can't pay back). "Most pretty things are, anyways."

She watches him levelly, but Sawyer should really count himself lucky that there isn't hostility in her gaze. "And you're only saying that because you're very drunk."

[cibosity]

Even with her face looking as dark and sullen as it always does, Sawyer can't bring himself to be too upset right then, finds that the alcohol cheers him up well enough today. That's not always the case, and he's not sure why it holds right now, but he's loath toe question it. Some people say that he's the type of guy who's a glutton for punishment, but the truth of the matter is that being miserable hits Sawyer in the gut just as much as it does the next person. He'd much rather be off playing golf than sitting among the bamboo stalks of the jungle, getting tortured by a former member of the Republican Guard. Enjoying something and wanting something, they're completely different concepts. That's what it boils down to

[blondieburke]

Juliet figures there's nothing like a good island party, so she shows up and blends into the crowd, a cup of beer in her hand. She's in a tank top because that box still won't give her anything else, paired with a pair of white capris and flip flops. When she sees James, sees him smiling even, it makes her smile, and she can't help but wonder why it seems like he's missing a lei. This is Mardi Gras after all, not a luau.

What she wonders next is if she'll have to tread lightly around him, if Kate's said any thing to him about where she really came from before landing on this island. There's only one way to find out, and she grabs another full cup of beer before making her way to him.

"I guess you need a refill now," she says with a little bit of a smile tugging at her lips.

[cibosity]

He eyes the meat approvingly and gives it a firm nod, pleased by the sizzling sound of the pig as it rolls around on the spit (and when he takes a closer look at it, it really does look like an actual pig, not an island-hardened wild boar like the ones that still annoy the piss out of Sawyer on Tabula Rasa). It's like admiring handiwork, something that he's sure Juliet won't hold against him. Maybe it's just him, but it always seems like Juliet tolerates his chest-thumping behavior, the way that Sawyer talks big and puts on a show. Some people get annoyed.

Maybe she just sees it for what it is. Light. Thin. Intended to be fun.

"And there's the beauty of Mardi Gras on this friggin' island, chere," he snorts in amusement, holding out both arms to gesture to it. All of it. "There's kegs and kegs of the stuff, quality beer at that, just sittin' around and waitin' for someone to guzzle it down. Plenty of good liquor 'round, too, though I ain't aimin' to be that gone just yet."

[blondieburke]

She hands him the cup, smiling enough that it reaches her eyes. "I know I shouldn't ask, but where does it all come from? Over Christmas someone got me a fine selection of rum, no clue where it came from."

Juliet looks at the pig roasting, realizing she's actually hungry and that the smell of the cooking meat is perfect. When Juliet looks back at him she realizes he doesn't know anything yet, and that makes her relax a little.

"I have to say one thing about this place, and that's when it decides there should be a party, there's no holding back. At least there's no mistletoe to get stuck under at this one."

[cibosity]

There's something nice about the way she presses the cup into his hands, although at the moment it's a bit hard to do anything but blink contentedly at the cool feel of it in his hands, before he then raises it almost as though to toast her. It feels nice, cool, refreshing as it slides down his throat and cools him up from the inside, one of the few benefits that beer has compared to most other tolerable drinks in the world.

"Don't ask. You know you shouldn't ask, so don't ask," he instructs, tone still friendly and (relatively) carefree. "Don't look to break somethin' that ain't broke, and just enjoy the booze that the island gives ya. I got a few things in January, myself. Doesn't matter to me where it comes from, s'long as I can use it well. And in your case, that means partyin'."

Sniffing, he nods to himself, refusing to think about the mistletoe. "So, what part of the pig's your favorite?" he asks instead.

[blondieburke]

For just a second, when he talks about not asking, Juliet looks out over what she can see of the party. Maybe that's what she's done too much of, asking questions. Everything has a reason; hell, it's been her career to ask and research, break the code of a mystery. But when she looks back up at him, she decides he's right. She finally raises her cup back at him before taking a sip of her beer and chuckling a little.

His question about the pig strikes her as funny somehow, and she's not sure why, but she looks at the one roasting. "Oh, well, I'm a shoulder fan, myself. Nothing beats a slow smoked pig and pulling the meat apart for a pork sandwich. As long as there's good hot sauce."

Just because she can't cook doesn't mean she doesn't know anything about good food, and she looks back up at him. "I'd never turn down a good plate of ribs, either."

[cibosity]

Every pause of hers makes him nervous, somehow. It isn't necessarily a bad thing. The only way you really know that you care about someone, after all, is to get some kind of drop in the gut when you worry about what they say, worry about what they'll do, worry about what they'll think. Maybe she's not exactly the same woman he remembers, but it's close enough, the potential to be the same is present enough, that he finds himself sometimes wondering what she's thinking, why she's behaving in the way that she is. Then, of course, it has to all go back to talk of pork, pulled or barbecue, and that just throws Sawyer off any train of serious thought altogether.

Food, after all.

"Well, we've got hot sauce today, somewhere over there," Sawyer says, waving in the general direction of the tables. "Plus Dharma beer, plus probably ten kinds of barbecue sauce. Maybe even A1."

[blondieburke]

Juliet has no idea why they're talking about barbecue. She knows what she's supposed to be telling him but there's this pressing memory of being inducted into the Dharma Initiative, beer, food, leis, and dancing, and she likes the thought of that a little more. And what if, she thinks, it's too much? She knows she has no reason to care about whether or not he keeps talking to her on this island but she does.

The music gets louder and she takes a step closer to him, to keep the conversation going uninterrupted. "I guess we're going to have to get used to parties like this. There were photos in the old Dharma rec room, they had new recruit parties every few months. It looks like they were a good time," she says with a little smile. She'd only found the pictures from 1982-1986, but everything was mostly the same - a banner that said 'Namaste!' behind the group of people, everyone with a lei around their neck, and a cup in their hands.

When Tom caught her snooping, she'd never seen the pictures again, though.

[cibosity]

If Sawyer's been feeling any level of unease during this conversation, that slight tension in his stomach certainly isn't going away now. Juliet's made it clear enough that she's been remembering more and more from their time on the island, almost like brushing away layers of a painting, finding the sketch underneath. Problem is, Sawyer's never quite sure what's waiting there. And he's not quite sure how to breach the problem in the same way that he's managed with Hurley, casting aside responsibility by simply letting the other man know that he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to know what's lying in store for him in a life he can't even make the decision to return to

[blondieburke]

For just a second, Juliet looks up at James and there’s no mask. No passive expression, no knowing smirk. And she wants to tell him what happened on Halloween, what Will thinks about it, when she really came from. It’s there in her eyes, this look she’s giving him, but every time she’s talked to him he’s said something that she knows is supposed to be discouragement from telling him anything. So, the easy smile comes back and she takes a sip of her beer, wind making her hair fly out around her head for a moment.

“I was attacked by a wild boar a few weeks ago,” she says, changing the conversation for his sake, not hers. “I hope this is the bastard that ran me down.”