It's the most wonderful time of the year [PARTAY THREAD]

[npcyoface]

((OOC: I don't think that's Chicago in that icon. XD But it's a city with a tree! This is slow timed for all eternity. Feel free to post into it at any time/make locked threads! Feel free to comment into it several times with the same character if your character has decorations, present finding, and snow ball fighting to do. :D It can happen

Comments

[gotbottle]

The funny thing about the southern California coast is that there's no real winter to speak of. Sure, the air gets a bit of a chill and there's some rain on and off, but it's not a proper winter like most of the rest of the country gets. It doesn't even get down near freezing, not even at night.

Rachel Conway is from California.

This kind of biting cold? Is some bullshit, as far as she's concerned.

This attitude is conveyed by the fact that she's wrapped in a very large very thick parka from her chin to her knees, with a very fuzzy fake-fur-lined hood circling her face, and a woolen scarf wrapped around her from the hollow of her throat to the bridge of her nose. All you can see is her hazel eyes in the small window between the hem of the scarf and the edges of the fake fur hood.

She's picking her way gingerly through Grant Park, mostly dodging stray snowballs.

(She's been hit twice and doesn't know it. That is how thick this parka is.)

[neverinportland]

Two winters here and Juliet is still not really used to it. That's what happens when you were born and raised in Miami. She's managed to get out of the Tower in just a long ankle-length wool coat, a pair of earmuffs, and a scarf, which makes her vulnerable to snowballs, but she's decent enough at dodging to avoid them.

Which leads her to falling into step with Rachel, "You look like you hate this weather worse than I do," she says, after giving her winter gear a good onceover.

[gotbottle]

There's a reply almost immediately, though Juliet can be forgiven for missing it at first. It's muffled, coming from someplace inside that hood, someplace behind that scarf.

After a few moments, Rachel reaches up with mittened--yes, mittens--hands and tugs the scarf down enough so that she can speak clearly.

"...Sorry. I was saying they didn't have this where I grew up."

[neverinportland]

Juliet raises an eyebrow at the incomprehensible garble and then laughs when Rachel has to lower the scarf down. "You and me both. I grew up in Miami."

She wraps her arms around herself as she recalls what constant year-round warmth was like and shivers.

"Not that I don't appreciate the snow, but I liked it a lot better when it was just on TV."

[defyeternity]

The Rani is in 7-Eleven, purchasing matches and a bottle of lighter fluid.

The reason becomes evident as she steps out onto the sidewalk.

She has one of the floating mistletoes hovering over her.

She is not best pleased.

[invitedthemin]

Things Topher still hasn't found: Dr. Saunders. At this point, he's pretty sure she could be on a plane to Calcutta and he'd be wandering around like an idiot. Cell phones are going to happen when this is over. ... Or the journals, but he's not sure what Saunders' feelings on the journals are.

...And there's a woman with matches and lighter fluid. The mistletoe has not yet earned his interest. Woman. Matches. Lighter fluid. These are the interesting things.

"...Because nothing says the holiday spirit like pyromania," he notes.

[defyeternity]

The Rani arches an eyebrow, bemused contempt written all over its features.

"The holiday has a spirit, does it?" she inquires. "Then bring it forth, that I may light that ablaze as well."

Clearly the Rani does not share in the holiday spirit.

[invitedthemin]

"So they tell me every year," Topher nods slowly, grinning like someone grins at something that might potentially bite their hand off if they make any sudden moves. There are, clearly, no normal people in Chicago... Or if there are, he hasn't met them yet.

He spreads his hands. This is where his hands will start at the beginning of this ramble, only to end up somewhere completely different. Topher's hands are something to be questioned. "Well, it's more of a metaphorical spirit, summoned by the sound of bells and the sacrifice of thousands of dollars in hard-earned cash in honor of that wonderful god we call consumerism... But if you get visited by Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future later tonight, feel free to douse them in lighter fluid and call it a victory."

It occurs to Topher that he might be babbling at someone who has no idea what's going on. It also occurs to him that he... Really doesn't care. He lives to be a smartass.

[weaponof_choice]

Peter Petrelli is climbing a steep hill with a large cardboard box in tow.

Peter? About to do something that could be pretty dumb?

Never.

(The narration coughs.)

[thehighestwing]

Where there is a Peter doing something potentially dumb, a Phoebe invariably follows.

She groans, rubbing her pink cheeks with mitten-clad hands.

"Peter, please don't do something that's gonna make you die in December."

[weaponof_choice]

Peter grins. "I'm not gonna die doing this," he tells her earnestly. "I'm serious. I did this all the time as a kid. Promise it's okay."

He reaches the top of the hill, positions the box for a straight shot down, and climbs half in.

"I should be able to get a couple runs out of it this way before it gets too wet. Then you flatten it and use it that way. It's fine."

[thehighestwing]

His grin is infectious. Especially with that lip of his so she finds herself returning it. But still. Phoebe has legitimate concerns. In the past few months alone Peter has died on her ten times.

Ten times.

"Gwah." Phoebe blows her bangs out of her face and crosses her arms as she stares at him. Closes her eyes and mutters to herself, "I can't watch this."

[be_my_best]

There is a woman in Grant Park, standing out in the snow and a bit underdressed for it, wearing a labcoat in place of a proper winter coat. She has a number of very noticeable scars tracing across her face. She is not Dr. Claire Saunders.

Whiskey's watching a group of people engaged in a snowball fight, expression quietly fascinated, head tilted to one side.

Whiskey doesn't know where she is or how she got here. She doesn't recognize anything or anyone. She's... not particularly bothered by this, but then, Dolls tend not to be.

[please_see_me]

There is snow. So, of course, Dusty is out playing in it.

She's actually found time to embrace her calling and was, until a few minutes ago, romping gleefully with a handful of six- and seven-year-olds while their nannies looked slightly baffled as to who was actually the ringleader.

It was the most fun Dusty's had in months. Maybe in the past year. There was just something... right about it.

But they've been bundled up and hustled off by the nannies, and Dusty's at loose ends again.

Until she notices a dazed-looking woman in a lab coat and no winter things. She trots over. "You okay?" she asks, concerned. She's not sure the woman will be able to see her, but she might as well give it a shot.

[be_my_best]

Oh, Whiskey sees her, and as Dusty actually looks at her, she smiles. It's sort of a... distracted, spacey smile, but that's a wiped Active for you. She's not on drugs, we promise.

"Yes? Should I not be?" She doesn't recognize Dusty either. That's alright, though. She seems nice. (Everyone seems nice to Whiskey.)

[please_see_me]

Yay, someone who can see her! This is always cause for celebration in Dusty's book.

"Well... I just thought you might be cold. Or lost. You don't have a coat or hat or anything." She smiles helpfully. "Are you lost?"

[pplrunincircles]

Long before she headed home, Elizabeth was in Grant Park, participating in the snowball fight.

She will throw a snowball at anyone that passes whether she knows them or not. If they walk toward her yelling, she'll throw another snowball and tell them to be happy! It's almost Christmas time! There may even be singing involved sometimes. Whatever it takes to get them in a Christmas spirit and stop them from yelling.

So far she has managed to charm or piss off most of the people annoyed by her throwing a snowball at them until they left. She's pretty confident in her ability to continue to do that.

[nogettingback]

Aaron's already in the middle of a snowball war. It's a very complicated game that he's playing with a group of middle school students that he decided to befriend with tactics and all the other people in the park acting as civilians and anyone who isn't part of the game who dares attack them while they're running around, hiding behind trees and engaging in tactical warfare should consider themselves recruited.

Aaron gets smacked by one of Elizabeth's stray snowballs while he's scouting. There's a cry of delight from the middle schoolers in his envoy and he immediately trots over to Elizabeth. "Sorry, Liz, but you've been drafted," he grins.

[pplrunincircles]

Elizabeth stands up when he approaches. She's holding a snowball in her gloved hand and smiling at him though she looks like she's considering lobbing this one at his head. Elizabeth doesn't play on teams. She just plays.

"And who says I wanna be on your team, sensei? I could totally take... all of you..." She trails off, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head as she realizes how many kids are following him around. "Okay. Maybe not. What's the game plan? And ma-a-a-an, the army must be desperate if it's recruiting middle schoolers." She lifts her brows and lets out an exaggerated sigh. "What's the world coming to these days?"

[nogettingback]

"It's warfare, Elizabeth!" Aaron says, with slight indignation. His tiny army of middle schoolers tumble over each other in the snow and come up behind Aaron. All of them look like they've been pretty well-beat by the other side, given the amount of snow on their clothes... Or maybe that's just from where they've been ducking and rolling and not really caring if they get wet