strangetrip | [GP] Réveillon & New Year's Eve & Check-In

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[GP] Réveillon & New Year's Eve & Check-In

Emma had said, during Winter's Crest, that she missed a tradition from home called réveillon. She seemed also to miss her cousin, as Lillith missed hers. Since she wished both to learn to cook and to be of comfort to her friend, it had been decided they would make a réveillon dinner for New Year's Eve.

Yet when Emma began to lay out the courses -- oyster soup and potato & leek soup, salad, a gumbo, venison roast, cheeses, and creme brulee, plus several hors d'ouevres not yet decided -- Lillith quailed at the size of the undertaking. Surely she would wish someone to assist who could contribute more than roasted rabbit, wheat or potato flour dumplings, and koláč.

Since Sunny likewise missed her family and would certainly wish a distraction, when she entered the cafe where they were planning, the other two seized upon her almost at once. Sunny could hardly resist their dual entreaty, even had she wished to, and Lillith thought she seemed even more ready for company than previously. Of course Sunny had offerings of her own: jolloff rice, peppered chicken, and fried plantain.

Between they three, the planning and the cooking were very nearly merry, and Lillith kept them liberally supplied with champagne (her personal favorite), too. By late afternoon of the eve of the new year, they had begun lining tables with dishes, and enlisted the help of other friends to make the evening event widely known.

Of course, in addition to the réveillon feast that took over the steakhouse, alcohol flowed freely, lights sparkled brightly, the nightclub had music for dancing. And at some point the Inn or Caroline or Regina hung mistletoe from several of the primary entrances and exits so that unless one wished to or was unaware of the tradition, no one (not even any new arrivals) need greet the new year unkissed.

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"Seen you around," Curnen answered easily, like he wasn't stammering and had put his tie on right. Of course, most men in Needsville would have made a similar mistake. People there, you had only one suit and it was for funerals.

She briefly showed him her hand before she shook his, because he was nervous enough that he'd likely jump if he learned about her extra fingers by feeling them first. "Curnen Overbay. Nice to meet you, Peter." And while it may be obvious to her that he was out of his element, she imagined it was just as obvious to him that she was as well, in different ways. Aside from being poorly dressed, her accent spoke louder than any words could about her backwoods upbringing. The difference was, it didn't bother her.

Peter regards the extra finger with a curious look, though he doesn't hesitate to take it into hand.

"N-Nice to meet you too." Though he started out with another stammer, the rest of the words came out far more smoothly. He relinquishes his hold on her hand, then still looking at it asks.

"Are you human?" He turns his gaze back to Curnen, and then, as if suddenly realizing the potential impoliteness of his question, scrambles to reassure.

"I mean, not that it matters," he says very quickly. "I have lots of friends who aren't human. Well, I don't know if they're really technically friends because we fought against one another -- or," he quickly adds, because he realizes suddenly that the last thing he wants Curnen to think is that he's some sort of guy who wails on non-humans, "Or with one another," he says. "I mean, we didn't really talk much, but everything ended up working out in the end, for the most part."

And then Peter realizes what he said. And then he immediately snaps his mouth shut.

"I... shouldn't have said that."

Curnen blinked at that flood of babble for a moment, not sure what exactly to say. Then she smiled. "Didja know it's actually a dominant trait in humans? Rare, though. And most people don't keep 'em." These were all things she'd learned from Bliss. Bliss always had a fascination with bodies and how they worked.

"Really?" That was one thing Peter hadn't learned in biology class. "What made you decide to keep yours?"

And before Curnen can answer the question, Peter has another: "Does it work just like a normal finger?"

"Mine do." Curnen flexed her fingers in demonstration, and the extra pinkies bent and flexed just as the others did. "Some don't. And I dunno if my momma really decided so much as surgery's always expensive as hell and we couldn't afford that." And besides, those fingers were an advantage among the Tufa. She could play chords no one else could. And it wouldn't matter if she got rid of them, because everyone knew she was Rockhouse's anyway. "Anyway, they never did me no harm." Directly, anyway.

"Yeah, no," Peter says, and though it's unclear what he's trying to communicate, it's at least clear that he means it positively. "I think it's really cool, like a birthmark or something."

Maybe a little less obvious than a birthmark, but it definitely had the potential to be more useful. Though probably a pain when you needed a new set of gloves.

"I don't really have anything like that," Peter admitted, pulling on his tie to try and loosen it, to little effect. "Though sometimes, I think that might not be a bad thing. Flash gave me a hard enough time and I look average." He's pretty sure he does, anyway. "It'd probably be even worse if I gave him extra material to work with."

Sure, he mostly called him Penis Parker and gave him a hard time about not having a lot of friends, but that was bad enough. Peter might be a superhero, but that didn't mean he wasn't human.

"It didn't make me the most popular kid, no," Curnen admitted. "But I have a big sister. She kept the worst of it off." By any standard, Bliss was significantly older than Curnen. But she was a First Daughter, and that was always going to carry some weight in the community, much to Curnen's occasional dismay.

"That's great," Peter says. "I mean, I always wanted a sibling. Older or younger." He nods as he says this. "I was the only kid my parents had, though. They both died when I was pretty young."

There's no real sadness in his voice when Peter says this; it's more like he's stating a fact. But Peter is well aware that sometimes this makes people feel awkward -- even if he doesn't really feel awkward talking about it.

"It's okay, though," he quickly adds. "I've been living with my Aunt May for years now, and she's been taking really good care of me."

"My parents got hit by a train a while back," Curnen said with much the same tone. It wasn't that she didn't miss her parents or love them, but she had long since accepted it. And her momma hadn't been really happy in... well, too long. "It's just me and Bliss now. Well, and a small army of cousins, but it's mostly Bliss who looked after me."

Peter doesn't react strongly to that. There's no hurried apologies, no expressions of remorse. Peter's had a lot of that over the years, and it always makes him uncomfortable. He's not sure if it's the same way for Curnen, but given the casualness of the admission, his gut tells him it probably is.

"I wish I had cousins," Peter admitted. "I've been living with my Aunt May for virtually my whole life. If she and Uncle Ben ever had kids, they'd probably feel more like siblings."

Peter takes a sip of his punch.

"What do you usually do on New Year's Eve?" he asks.

Curnen didn't even have to think about that. But she wanted to, because the memories were sweet. "I'd be at the barn dance," she said with a little smile. "Along with half the town." The other half would be at the moonshiner's cave. Curnen was technically welcome there too, but Rockhouse never wanted to see her. "People bring their instruments and take turns playing on stage while everyone else dances or sings along. Most days things die down around midnight, but for real special occasions it ain't weird for things to go until dawn."

"It's too bad there aren't any instruments here," Peter admits, because he is kind of missing band a lot now. "I'd play something for you now." Peter can be self-conscious about a lot of things, but playing music isn't one of them. Dancing, on the other hand...

"Look, I'm not really good at it," he says, thinking back to the little practice he had with Aunt May before the dance he invited Liz to. "And-- and, I know that I'm still just a kid. But if you really wanted to dance, I could -- I could try."

Grinning, Curnen just barely kept herself from mussing his hair. Peter was finally relaxing, he didn't need her doing that. "Aww, you're sweeter than a peach without a pit."

That still draws a blush from Peter, who looks down, embarrassed. He quickly scrambles for an explanation, hoping that it might take the edge off his embarrassment.

"I mean, there's all sorts of stuff I want to do while I'm here that I can't," he admits. "I mean, some of it's because we just don't have the resources, but I guess if I could do that for someone else... y'know... I'd want to."

He does not succeed.

Curnen went up on her toes and pulled him down a little so she could give him a peck on the cheek. "I'd like that."

Peter goes wide-eyed as Curnen stands up on her toes and gives him a cheek on his face.

"Y-yeah! I mean." Peter looks from Curnen down to her hand, and back to Curnen again, as if engaging in a long, internal deliberation; his hesitation isn't based on the whole finger thing, it's that he's not entirely sure that she wants him holding her hand.

"Can I hold your hand? I mean, unless your dance isn't really a dance where we hold hands, in which case, just ignore that I just said that."

"Most people wouldn't want to." Curnen smiled. "Of course."

"You know, I've only really danced with my Aunt May," Peter prefaces, taking Curnen's hand into his own. He's really nervous, and the fact that there's a lot of people here probably isn't helping. "She tried to teach me how to dance before Homecoming, but I didn't really end up dancing there at all."

As Peter leads her into a less crowded part of the room, he becomes acutely aware of the weight and feel of her hand in his own. How does anyone manage to hold hands with anyone? he wonders. And once they've found a space that's empty enough for them to dance comfortably, Peter relinquishes his hold on her hand, and looks at her, his lips pressed together.

"Yeah," he says, letting the word hang there for awhile. "We should dance."

It's weird how he can take on the Vulture wearing nothing but a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, but is far less courageous about the mundane things, like dancing in a crowded room. He's still sure part of it's the whole 'wearing a mask thing' he has as Spider-Man, but he can't go around wearing a costume every day of his life.

And so, Peter takes a step back and attempts to dance, just like how Aunt May showed him.

The last person Curnen had danced with must have been her husband. But she didn't say this. Not because she was ashamed of Brushy or because she didn't want to remember him right now, but because it was just too heavy a topic for tonight. If she mentioned him, she'd only be forced to talk about how she'd been widowed and that was a conversation she couldn't bear, especially with a child.

She had not been exaggerating when she told him about general aversion to her hands, either. It wasn't a conscious thing sometimes, only the sensation of an extra finger tended to unsettle on some level. Peter went up in her estimation for not being among them.

But his dancing... oh dear.

It was sweet. Curnen wasn't anything special when she danced, but she was entirely un-self-conscious and it showed. And like any Tufa child, she'd been dancing since she was old and coordinated enough to do so. "Loosen up," she told him with a smile. "Don't think about it so much."

"Don't think about it so much?" Peter echoes, uncomprehendingly. How can he not think about it? One wrong step and he'd literally be landing on her toes.

He does make an effort, though, to think about something else that is not dancing. And loosen up a little. He knows he's tense, because he's tense whenever he's nervous.

And he's nervous now.

"How do you dance where you're from?" he asks, trying all of these things, and only managing a partial success. "Was it anything like this?"

"Don't think about it so much," she assured him. She may not have been wearing shoes, but she wasn't concerned. No Yankee boy was stepping on her feet.

"Way they do most places, I expect," Curnen laughed, honestly not laughing at him, it was just so sweet. "'Cept flatfooting, I think that's just us."

Peter lets out a nervous laugh, and tries once again to Relax and Not Think About it So Much. And as time goes by, he really does.

"Why aren't other people dancing?" he asks. "Don't people do stuff like this at New Year's parties?"

By people, he obviously means adults, but his understanding of what adults do at New Year's parties is limited to what he's seen in TV and media. Aunt May wasn't the one to host extravagant New Year's parties, and Peter certainly wasn't popular enough to be invited to one.

Curnen knew better than to comment and draw Peter's attention to it, so when his movements got less choppy she just let it be. She shrugged. "These people're shy of music. Most people here don't sing, it don't surprise me that they don't dance either."

Maybe it's a bit of a leap here, but--

"...does that mean you sing?" Peter asks.

Curnen grinned bright at that question. "All the time."

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