Friendsgiving

[mnemosyne]

Tuesday or Wednesday, Dan includes a number of mages (essentially, anyone for whom Sera or Dan has a direct cell number) in a mass text inviting them to Thanksgiving at Sera's house on Corona Street:

We've got turkey, nouveau beaujolais, and Scotch. Pumpkin pie for days. Just need guests. RSVP appreciated but show up regardless, anytime Thursday afternoon.

Oh, yeah. Bring friends.

Then a bit later:

719 Corona Street if you can't remember how to get here when you're sober.

--

Thanksgiving day itself, there is indeed a dinner party at Sera's house. A dinner party? A party. With plenty to eat, plenty to drink, plenty to smoke. In short: all kinds of plenty.

[Sera's not there, but you know - still, plenty.]

[UKrose]

(11-27-2014, 08:04 AM)mnemosyne Wrote: Tuesday or Wednesday, Dan includes a number of mages (essentially, anyone for whom Sera or Dan has a direct cell number) in a mass text inviting them to Thanksgiving at Sera's house on Corona Street:

We've got turkey, nouveau beaujolais, and Scotch. Pumpkin pie for days. Just need guests. RSVP appreciated but show up regardless, anytime Thursday afternoon.

Oh, yeah. Bring friends.

Then a bit later:

719 Corona Street if you can't remember how to get here when you're sober.

--

Thanksgiving day itself, there is indeed a dinner party at Sera's house. A dinner party? A party. With plenty to eat, plenty to drink, plenty to smoke. In short: all kinds of plenty.

[Sera's not there, but you know - still, plenty.]

I'll be there, but I'll be a bit later, okay?

[Jacqui]

Kiara comes - she brings friends, too, per request. Three of them, Sleepers from New York, in town to see her.

She doesn't come so much for the holiday (our version of all this happened back in September, but celebrating people I can do) but because she was asked. The four pagans spend time with Dan, though, chatting.

There's every likelihood they share common interests, common people. Dijon with her dark eyes and dreads, Blake, whose hair was buzzed close; nothing but white blond fuzz that showed off the shape of his scalp and tattoos - plenty of those - in contrast with Kiara's other companion, a mild mannered boy called Deacon with warm, olive skin and long hair who stayed close to her; talking in quiet conversational tones with anyone nearby.

Not part of whatever Kiara's [real] world had been, but acquaintances through college; through experimentation; through clubs and city nights. People she hadn't quite cut ties with.

They bring easy conversation for the evening, engaging and quick witted and Kiara let's them do much of the talking, butting in only every now and then to defend herself against random recollections of wild behavior in her youth.

[UKrose]

He wore his hair down, it was sleek and polished like silk with glints of silver in there from the hoops and chain he wore in his left ear, there were even silvered feathers hidden in his hair that would probably be noticed some time. The dark penny glasses he had on couldn’t hide the mischief that glinted there in those mahogany rich eyes. He grinned, that grin that meant someone was going to have some fun tonight and he wasn’t shamed to admit that if he didn’t end up completely fucked by the end of the night it was going to be a poor night indeed. He wore a black silk shirt, half done up and around his tanned throat was a bone choker that ran down his chest. The shirt was untucked, and the sleeves partially rolled up. He had in his hand a guitar case and over his shoulder a cable along with a small amp. His jeans were his best jeans, they were his favorite jeans, he wore them belted up with a simple leather belt, the buckle had the Batman logo on it, but that was it for style. The jeans themselves were faded, they were old, they were so faded they were nearly white, once they were blue but well, he could still fit into them and they’d been everywhere with him. The bottoms of them were tucked, as usual, yes you’ve guessed it… those shabby old combat boots. From one hip belt strap there was red hander-kerchief. He had his rings on, he had a few wrist ornaments as well on his left wrist.

He walked in, was happy and cheerful, playing music when asked to, generally having fun.

[kai]

Hawksley is there.

Of course Hawksley is there. He's showing up in that gleaming vintage Jaguar of his, the festive one. He's there smoking a clove on the porch in the cold with Dan, arm around the skinny musician, waxing philosophic about the turkey as a bird, as a potential symbol of the country, as a food, as an aesthetic principle. He's there letting Dee instruct him on how to make something as pedestrian as sweet potato pie, topped with marshmallows.

Eyes Kiara and her friends, the other one with the amp. Wonders about them, but there are people and things and he never really gets properly introduced. Or he does, after he's had the equivalent of half of four bottles of wine. Which means he might forget he ever met them.

Hell. Someone like Hawksley could be sober and forget he ever met them.

[FadedNoel]

Grace doesn't like parties. They're too people-y.

A person is great. People are a crowd. It always makes her assume that something bad is going to happen, when people gather. You can hide a lot in the social grease of etiquette, and the game's rules never made sense to her.

But she makes an appearance anyway, because Dan is cool. Dan, whom she marches straight up to with her white bakery box in hand as soon as she spots him.

"I brought some cupcakes. You want me to put them somewhere?"

Cupcakes may not be traditional Thanksgiving fare, but to Grace, store-bought cupcakes are about as traditional as it comes.

Sera's absence disappoints. Some of the mini-cakes are chocolate, because of Sera. But other people also like chocolate. Not like they're going to waste.

She'll obtain the prerequisite feast-food, and go off to find a quiet spot to consume it. Oh, sure, she'll wave to the people she knows, awkward as anything. She's not in her element here, to put it lightly.

There is one saving grace about parties. It's easy for everyone to ignore her. For those who don't know her, who can't sense her, she might as well be a couch cushion for all she stands out.

[mnemosyne]

Thanksgiving is a low-key affair for 719 Corona Street. Compared to the usual sort of parties that go on there. That require, sometimes, a fucking sound barrier to keep the revelry in and the cops out.

A few dozen people cycle in and cycle out. Some stay for dinner, some spend the night. Everyone gets welcomed. There is turkey, brined in ale and sea salt someone brought back from somewhere, and these heirloom purple potatoes mashed with a ridiculous amount of milk and butter, yams whipped together with parsnips and an asparagus, potato, and goat cheese galette for the vegetarians. Stuffing both in and out of the bird, made with stale whole grain bread from Dee's deli, and sweet potato pie, and sweet potato casserole, and pumpkin pie, and pecan pie, and apple pie without any added sugar because the Granny Smith's were just that sweet, and there are bottles of red wine and bottles of white wine and bottles of pink wine and bottles of champagne. Stranahan's yes but also three kinds of Scotch for people who want to savor that, and Dan is an adventurous bartender and he makes a mean martini and so everyone drinks whatever they want and maybe a little too much of it and the folks who drink too much spend the night, or at least get cab fare home.

Dan greets everyone. Kiara and her friends. Danny. Hawksley, Grace. Hawksley knows everyone, half the derby team is here, including Emily Honey Bunches of Chokes. More people in this house know Grace than she realizes, and so she's not especially noticeable, right? but that doesn't make her invisible and more than once she gets an "Oh hey! I didn't see you there - it's been a while - " sort of thing from someone Grace herself might consider a complete stranger.

But she's partied here more than she herself might admit, and these folks aren't complete strangers so much as passing acquaintances by now.

Okay, Hawksley probably does get introduced, perhaps by Dan but it could be by Dee, to Kiara, and he gets introduced as Davie and by then he has had so much to drink that he's not going to remember or, yeah, he just doesn't care to and Kiara may not piece Hawksley together with the Hawksley about whom Sera enthused because that's not the name she's given but then look at him. Look at his profile, the way he fills a room.

Whom else could he be?

Kiara and Danny, Kiara and Grace, Grace and Danny - somehow Dan finds ways to maneuver them all together to ensure that they can shake hands, if they want, exchange names, if they want. Just be aware of each other, too, if that's all they want.

He manages that with a certain subtle aplomb that never feels forced. Laughter, warmth, conviviality. An actual up and coming glam rock star playing his guitar in the living room. Pie pie pie pie pie and enough alcohol to flood the city, or at least Cap Hill.

What more could one want from a holiday?

[UKrose]

He stuck around drinking, he talked to people and he played whatever anyone challenged him to play. He even played his trademark riff with lightening speed, he laughed, spent time with Dan; he even let other people play his guitar, but then it wasn't the lava flow one that he used for gigs, instead he'd brought the N4 to use.

He loved the meal, quite happy to just arrive at the table, grab stuff and a beer then continue to socialise and play. Kiara he'd not really been introduced to, Grace he knew so he chatted with her and Dan for a while. Then at the end of the party he makes sure Dan has a little something to help mellow out when everyone's gone and promises to come by again some time soon.