Lá Bealtaine [open thread, come one come all]

[Damon]

Sam is pretty sure her leg is getting pulled. There's a tiny smile hiding in the corner of Calden's mouth now. "I neither confirm nor deny that suspicion," he says gravely, and then puts his hand out as well.

"Calden White." His hand is big, his palm work-roughed, his grip solid. "Nice to meet you two. I live up north, but my family and the Careys have some sort of esoteric fifth cousin twice-removed-type connection. That's my father there," he nods at the white-haired man who bears an unmistakable resemblance to him, "and those are my cousins Jim, Ian and Paul."

Jim and Ian have wasted no time at all. They're crowding around a very pretty young woman, barely stopping short of shoving and jostling each other to talk to her. Paul, on the other hand, has produced a harmonica from somewhere and is doing his best to harmonize with a pair of guitarists.

"Actually, I think Ian's actually my nephew. Or maybe my uncle." Calden shrugs and picks up his plate again. He snags a large plastic mug from the end of the table and holds it under the spigot of one of the kegs, glancing at his new friends for help. "Give me a hand here?"