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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Cooking was not Rey's forte; she had spent the majority of her life cooking simple portions powders in a small pot of boiling water. She knew well what textures she liked and what flavors she enjoyed, but she lacked the culinary knowledge to bring the dishes she loved to life.

But that didn't stop Rey from trying. There were others cooking tonight and whether or not it was true, it felt like she was less experienced than they were. She wasn't about to let that discourage her, though; she was good at following directions, and she had recently discovered a cookbook tucked away behind the back of her bed.

As Rey stirs a large pot of curry with one hand, and holds the book with the other, a pot of water begins to overboil. The burner sizzles and the alarm for the biscuits in the oven goes off all at once.

Rey lets the spoon rest in the pot, sets the book down on the counter, and immediately reaches for an oven mitt. She glances over at the pot of boiling water, then to the person standing nearest to it.

"Can you turn that down a little?" she asks, opening the oven. Smoke billows out as Rey plucks out a tray of blackened biscuits.

There are times where Peter Parker wishes he was wearing his Spidey suit, and this is one of them. With very few exceptions, he hadn't removed his costume from the bag where he kept it ever since he arrived about five months ago. And unfortunately, he had little reason to believe that he might need it tonight.

He was no good at big events like this. At Liz's party, if Bad Guys hadn't intervened, he's sure he would have stood around awkwardly with Ned until they both agreed this was a Very Bad Decision.

But somehow, Peter always felt less awkward with the Spider-Man suit on. He felt more confident. And right now, he felt he needed confidence.

Peter needed to be wearing something, and somehow, as if by magic, the boutique had a suit in his size. He wasn't sure what exactly adults wore to New Year's parties (he and Ned usually got together and had pizza and watched bad movies on New Year's), but he thought that a suit would be appropriate.

Now, looking around at the others, he was beginning to have second thoughts. Looking around the room, he lifts his cup of punch to his mouth and tries to rouse some confidence.

Sunny's last holiday season had honestly been rather shit. She'd known then that she had to start pulling away from Fin and his insanity and then that disastrous date with Faizel... This time last year, she and Chichi had been in her apartment, eating ice cream and taking shots every time Disney's The Princess and the Frog screwed up voodoo.

This year? Well... cooking with Em and Lillith had been fun and therapeutic.

Unable to keep still for very long, Sunny was up and checking on things around the room (and maybe seeing if anyone was actually eating her dishes; she'd toned down the spice a little to avoid scaring all the white people). She fought her albinism as hard as she could, dressed in one of her wrap skirts, purple t-shirt, and huge hoop earrings, and any illusion of whiteness by wearing her hair in an Afro.

She had an easy smile and conversation ready for anybody, so long as it meant she wasn't thinking about where she was supposed to be. She cast a few glances over at the dance floor, but it wasn't time just yet.

Thonk thonk thonk thonkthonkthonkthonk An insistent, erratic pressure tapped repeatedly into Moana's breastbone, stopped by the oar she'd fallen asleep mending.

"Ugh, Heihei, stop it." It wasn't hard to guess what the sensation was. Or what lolo chicken had mistaken it for food. Again. She peeled her eyelids open. The light told her that the sun was setting, but not yet entirely gone. Soon the stars would be out and she could find their position on the waves.

...waves.

The boats always moved, even in the stillest seas, but Moana felt nothing. The wood below her was...not wood. Her hand groped along the hard surface, scattering rocks, then passing over a sharp plant of some kind.

Moana sat up abruptly. Heihei tumbled off with a squawk. This was not her boat. This was not the ocean. This was...she didn't know what this was.

The building not more than the length of a whale from her was enormous, bigger than any building that Moana had ever seen. Noise and lights poured out of it - music, she decided after a few seconds of horrified staring.

It was cold.

That decided her. Moana stood, picked up Heihei and set out on bare feet to the building. Maybe someone could tell her the way to the ocean.

Celebrating the new year ten days after winter solstice was fucking nonsense as far as Corbie was concerned. For her, it has always been on the fall equinox, but really what could you do? Halloween? Candy. Thanksgiving? Food. Christmas? Presents.

And this one... well, seemed to be food again, but more importantly booze and making out.

It was in some ways a good time for Corbie personally, though, to be thinking about new beginnings because she had made some changes recently. She'd finally started wearing jeans--her legs were religiously covered, but she was in pants--and she'd worked up the nerve to talk to some of the other wizards here about teaching her. That had been terrifying, but she'd done it, and she'd gained new teachers for it. She possibly could have talked to Sunny, too, but. Well, Sunny was a bit intimidating, so that wasn't an option juuuust yet.

So yeah. She was adjusting. She had friends. She had fuck buddies. She had magic in her life. She was adjusting. She was... almost happy.

In any case, she was excited and chatty, eager and glad of the company. "Is this what New Years is like where you're from?" Hey, she had no way of knowing.

Even Curnen had to admit that she couldn't eat everything, and she didn't know if that was an instinct that wanted to keep her from overdoing it or a sign that maybe she was doing better. Either way, it was an amazing problem to have, and she'd take it. Even if her way around it was to pace herself and go back for more every so often.

She still wasn't wearing any shoes and she imagined that unless under duress she may never do so again, but tonight she had managed (again!) not to eat under the table. And here she was almost in 2018 alive. Even trapped in some sort of pocket of fairy time, it was the best middle finger to the old man she could imagine.

All of this on her mind, Curnen was batting at some mistletoe like a kitten. She knew what it was for and all, but it bugged her. "It's named for shit, y'know," she said when she felt someone approaching, whether or not that person meant to address her or just pass her by.

This adult was in her usual ratty jeans and too-big shirt with no shoes and entirely, shamelessly comfortable doing it. The poor thing looked like he half expected to be eaten alive and like he didn't know who to talk to besides. So she took it upon herself to do something about the latter.

"You doin' all right?" she asked. He looked like he was only a little older than her baby cousin Page, only Page wasn't one for shrinking. If she were here, she'd have her fiddle and have jumped up to play for this crowd in a heartbeat. She grinned at him. "I don't bite. And even if I did, I'm too full to bother."

Sunny hadn't really noticed exactly when they'd gained another girl in the kitchen in the flurry of activity, but neither had she minded. Nobody was getting in anybody's way, and that was what truly mattered.

It was good to be in a busy kitchen again. It made her miss her mother and her aunties--of the blood and of the heart--much less keenly. And she didn't have the time or space to think about that other shitty date where she'd barely been able to get Faizel to humor her and cook with her. God, how blind had she been to how emotionally stunted that man was?

When the question came, her hand was already automatically reaching for the knob to turn the burner down before she returned to slicing plantain.

She winced sympathetically at the smoke and took up a different knife entirely to make sure it didn't get to the nearest fire alarm. "Tough break."

Peter didn't notice when she approached. If he had, he might have adjusted his tie, because it's a little crooked, and a little tight.

"H-Hey," Peter stammers out. Say something, he silently urges himself.

"Y-yeah," he says, and then he manages to steady himself with a second more firm, more confident: "Yeah", before continuing. "I'm fine."

It feels Very Obvious (to Peter, at least) that he isn't in his element... and as much as he hopes that it's not obvious to the pretty woman in front of him, he's pretty sure it is.

He tries to ignore that particular thought and raises his drink to his lips. "C-cool party, huh? Almost everyone living here seems to be here."

Say something else, he urges himself.

"I'm Peter Parker," he says, extending a hand to the mystery woman. "I don't think we met before."

Better, he tells himself. That's a lot better.

Rey sets the tray down on the bit of metal countertop that isn't actually actively being used by someone else. She looks down at the smoldering, charred remains of what were supposed to be cheddar biscuits, but more accurately resembled charcoal briquettes with a look of pure dismay.

She runs a hand over her hair -- pulled back into a braid instead of her trademark style -- and continues to frown down at the biscuits for another half-second before reaching for the cookbook.

"I could have sworn I followed the recipe," Rey tells the other woman. She furiously pages through the book until she finds the earmarked page for the recipe in question. Her eyes scan over the page, and only then did she notice the error.

"The temperature was wrong," Rey declares, snapping the book shut. "I don't know how I missed it." The thought hadn't yet occurred to Rey that she might be doing all too much at once.

She quickly stirs the pot of curry, whose strange spices excite Rey tremendously, sets the book back down, then reaches for the tray of burnt biscuits to properly dispose of them before the charcoal-biscuit scent takes over everything.

"I'm Rey," she says, as she steps down on the trashbin foot. She angles the tray, and two dozen small now-charcoal biscuits join a considerably large pile of vegetable peelings for compost. She glances over at the other woman's handiwork.

"It looks like you're a lot better at this cooking thing than I am."

"Sunny," she offered in turn. "And I've had a lot of practice. I've been cooking since I was barely tall enough to see over these counters." And being experienced, she knows that while she can juggle multiple things, it's really tough for someone who doesn't have that kind of confidence. But she couldn't just come out and say that, now could she? "What are you making?"

"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.

Liz wasn't used to going to parties for New Year's Eve. Usually she spent it with her parents, Maria, and Alex playing board games or watching a movie and then counting down. A sleepover happened after with some sugary treats and that was it. Liz liked it that way too. It made for good memories.

She found herself at the party and wasn't sure if she was underdressed in her jeans and t-shirt. She felt like maybe she should have asked someone, especially when she found herself standing next to a guy around her age - a rare thing it seemed in the Inn - and he was wearing a suit. She offered him a sheepish smile. "I think, um. Maybe I should have tried to find a dress or something."

Pike originally had it in her mind to do some baking in preparation for any new arrivals, but it didn't look like that was going to be an option.

Seeing the hustle and bustle in the kitchen, she nearly turned on her heels to leave but the plea for help caught her attention.

"Of course!" She turned the nob on the stove, "Do you, um, need any help?"

Dean watched Charlie leave the Men of Letters bunker for a few steps before turning back to the building and Sam. Her question rang in his ears, what about him? Was he ready to let go? The answer was the same now as when she'd asked it. No. Dean would never let Sam go while the Trials were screwing with their lives. Would he let Sam go after they won? That was another question all together and not one he was ready to face just yet.

From one breath to the next, Dean's senses went on high alert and in the next instant it clicked as to why. He wasn't in Kansas anymore but a desert. The only times things like that happened it was connected to either angels or demons. "Cas?" The word was said through gritted teeth, then louder. "CAS!" Still nothing. The next word became a growl of anger, "CROWLEY!" The only thing that greeted Dean was silence and it pissed him off even more. He turned to see what he could find, any clues that would help him figure out what was going on. That's when he saw the monstrosity of pink in the distance.

"Shit, I am in Hell. CROWLEY!" Dean walked, or more rightly stomped toward the Inn, his fingers itched to grab the Purgatory Blade that was always strapped to his back under his shirt. He would kill Crowley this time and enjoy every minute of his slow death. The gun strapped to his ankle would do for the demons that he would likely encounter before then. For the King of Hell, he was reserving his blade.

When he pulled open the door to the lobby, Dean was greeted by a sight that he wasn't expecting. Clearly a party was going on and where there was party there was alcohol. He could kill two birds with one stone, get some answers and get some booze.

The bad news, Dean was in a prison of pink. The good news, it wasn't Hell. The Inn and his room might be Dean's version of it, but it didn't have demons or Crowley. So far. What it did have was alcohol and pretty women. He'd find a way to get back to Sam and back to finding Kevin, but in the mean time, he was going to enjoy the party. He grabbed a couple of bottles of beer and a table with a view of all the exits and his back to the wall.

Edited 2018-01-01 17:38 (UTC)

Sunny had made a point of memorizing the faces--and if possible names--of everyone she saw around here and this was one she'd remember if she'd seen it before. And while she wanted to leave the new face to someone who had been here for more than a month... well. She wanted to keep busy for one thing, and she was basically a hostess tonight for another. And part of that was checking in on people.

She strolled over to the new guy, her stride long, easy, and confident. There were few situations she couldn't handle, regardless of who or what it turned out she was dealing with. "Can I help?"

As Alec sat in the car, having been chased by the sector police into terminal city. Whatever was going to happen next was going to change a lot of things in this city and the world as they knew it. As Max got out of the car, Alec closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and came out of the car too ready for anything.

Only he wasn't greeted with flashing lights, scared cops, and a city that had gone to shit. Instead he was in a desert with a building in the distance. "What the hell..." He looked around. Even with his enhanced eyesight he couldn't see Max or anyone else he knew. His first thought was Psy-Ops. Maybe Manticore sent someone to intervene. Either way, he had to get a survey of the land and so he headed to the building still dressed in his swat team closes minus helmet.

As he drew closer, he realized it was an Inn. "Okay..." He slowed his pace. As he got closer he realized there was some sort of party. Of course, he was dressed like he was ready to storm the place and kill everyone. Alec sighed and decided to take a note from Max and just stride in and make it up as he goes along.

Mary had managed to fine a simple dress that reminded her of something similar she had back home. It wasn't pink, too, which she had half of her wardrobe now so she was thankful for the change. Maybe this was a gift from whoever ran the Inn.

She stood, back mostly to Dean as she picked up some food from one of the tables, filling a plate. Her beer that she had rested on the table to get the food clearly almost out of liquid.

Pike might be drunk. Probably? A little bit. Not a ton though. Just enough to see nothing wrong with hopping up on the chair opposite the very attractive human in the corner.

"Hi, I'm Pike."

Pike loved tequila. It was, without a doubt, her favorite thing in this world. And with everyone was talking about who they were going to kiss at midnight, well, let's just say she needed it more than ever.

Gesturing to the bartender, she looked at the person next to her and asked, "Want a shot?"

Cooking an entire Réveillon feast with Sunny and Lillith's help was a good way not to think about the people she was missing or how they would be responding to her being gone, or to the more present problem of her existence hurting the sweet pyrokinetic Rom who was supposed to be her roommate and how awkward it was potentially sharing a room with a stranger. But when there was a short lull, dishes bubbling, baking, or resting without the need for constant attention, and prep having gone faster with three sets of hands, Emma had gone outside for a breath of fresh air rather than obsess over what needed to be done next, but that couldn't be rushed.

In some ways, the inn was like the castle, and even though there were still far more people here than she'd broken out of her hermiting and actually taken the time to get to know, she recognized the faces of everyone who'd been stuck here. Which was why, when she saw an unfamiliar girl approaching and no one else around, she took the calm from cooking and her experience dealing with the public to overcome her usual shyness. Showing up here was never easy.

"Hey," Emma said as she walked toward the girl. "I know it's confusing, suddenly being somewhere you weren't. Can I help?"

Nice meatsuit. Dean was good, since he only thought that instead of speaking it outloud. Leave it to a demon to find a pretty woman to inhabit before coming to talk to him. He could appreciate the gesture. For now. "Well, learning where I am would be a nice start and telling Crowley that I'm here would be another one."

Last New Year's Eve, Emma had been at Brazen – her only time visiting the nightclub – for Clarice's co-ed hen night bash, mostly being a wallflower with Sarah while their friends were busy doing body shots. And at midnight, she'd had someone to kiss before going home with him. It had been a celebration of family, friends, and love.

This year, she had... Sunny and Lillith, and a carefully planned out menu to prepare for an inn full of people to distract her from everything she didn't have this year. The three of them together and the flow of champagne made the whole thing easy and lighthearted. Almost like being in the kitchen with Dani and Sabine, except less, well, brazen. It was easy to forget to eat, other than a taste here and there as she cooked, especially since she had had to make an effort to eat without much of an appetite the whole month she'd been here. A month. She couldn't let herself think about that. Luckily she had plenty to do.

While she mostly stayed in the kitchen, she did go check on things in the main part of the restaurant too. See how people were doing, if they liked the various dishes she, Sunny, and Lillith had made, if serving dishes needed to be taken away to be washed. That sort of thing. On her walk-through, she smiled as someone caught her eye. "Did you need anything?" Focused as she was on being something between a good cook and an okay hostess, she completely failed to notice she was standing under a sprig of mistletoe.

Edited 2018-01-01 21:29 (UTC)

Dean took a sip of his beer, and let his gaze slide around the room until it came to rest on a blonde woman. There was something familiar about her back but he couldn't put his finger on it. He did notice that her beer was getting low and always the gentleman, he went to offer his extra bottle. It wasn't until he got close enough to see her profile that Dean halted in his tracks. Was this an illusion to trick him? Was he finally cracking?

"Mom?"

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

NYE Cooking

At the Party

Sunny - OTA

For meeter and greeter

Corbie - OTA

Curnen - OTA

Re: At the Party

Re: NYE Cooking

Re: At the Party

Re: NYE Cooking

Re: NYE Cooking

Re: At the Party

Re: At the Party

Re: NYE Cooking

Assigned Threads

OTA

Re: Assigned Threads

Assigned Threads

Re: OTA

Re: OTA

OTA

Re: For meeter and greeter

Re: Assigned Threads

Emma - OTA

Re: OTA