Grace doesn't like parties and she thinks the crowd is full of extroverts: like Sera. People who pull all their energy from being around others. She's wrong. Sure: extroverts are probably slightly over-represented in the group of friends and lovers and acquaintances coming together over turkey-and-stuffing-and-pie at 719 Corona Street, but they aren't the only ones.
It's a meal, shared with whoever comes, and then: it's a party, sure, with the carcass of the meal still laid out for whomsoever wants a hot-turkey-sandwich or slice of pumpkin pie to go with their vodka tonic. People who couldn't get home for Thanksgiving, because of work or money-problems. People who couldn't get home for Thanksgiving, because home doesn't exist any more. Because they were kicked out, or disowned, because something went wrong that never should've. People who're saving up for the plane ticket at Christmas, and folks who cannot stand to hear Uncle Earl's ranting endorsement of Donald Trump one-more-time. Some come over before or after Thanksgiving-day shifts, and others pop in on the way to grandmother's house, or maybe on the way home from some family feast, to de-stress and de-compress in a place where they needn't listen to Aunt Edna boast about Cousin Michael's seventeenth superlative - just this year.
And if there was anything going on with Sera: well, there's no indication of it here. The guests seem to be under the impression that she just got back in town after a long trip somewhere, but the creature herself seems absolutely fine. She is wearing a costume that seems schoolgirlish and may be an absurdist stab at 'sexy' pilgrim, though one would be hard-pressed to see in it anything different from a get-up she might've chosen on her own, sexy or no.
She ruffles Grace's hair quite the same as ever, greets Kiara with a flickering glance and a smile and accepts and then hands off the pie, just as one might expect. Grace can stay as long or as briefly as she'd like. Hell, there are little Gladware containers by the buffet spread so that guests can pack leftovers for lunch tomorrow, or just take a plate home with them.
Does shots until her blood has been turned to fumes, to vapor, until her head is swimming beautifully, beatifically, makes out with a stranger who isn't a stranger, disappears upstairs with him. Reappears later, sneaks outside to get high, shivering in the bright and bitter chill - and on, and on, and on.
Does shots until her blood has been turned to fumes, to vapor, until her head is swimming beautifully, beatifically, makes out with a stranger who isn't a stranger, disappears upstairs with him. Reappears later, sneaks outside to get high, shivering in the bright and bitter chill - and on, and on, and on.
It's a meal, shared with whoever comes, and then: it's a party, sure, with the carcass of the meal still laid out for whomsoever wants a hot-turkey-sandwich or slice of pumpkin pie to go with their vodka tonic. People who couldn't get home for Thanksgiving, because of work or money-problems. People who couldn't get home for Thanksgiving, because home doesn't exist any more. Because they were kicked out, or disowned, because something went wrong that never should've. People who're saving up for the plane ticket at Christmas, and folks who cannot stand to hear Uncle Earl's ranting endorsement of Donald Trump one-more-time. Some come over before or after Thanksgiving-day shifts, and others pop in on the way to grandmother's house, or maybe on the way home from some family feast, to de-stress and de-compress in a place where they needn't listen to Aunt Edna boast about Cousin Michael's seventeenth superlative - just this year.
And if there was anything going on with Sera: well, there's no indication of it here. The guests seem to be under the impression that she just got back in town after a long trip somewhere, but the creature herself seems absolutely fine. She is wearing a costume that seems schoolgirlish and may be an absurdist stab at 'sexy' pilgrim, though one would be hard-pressed to see in it anything different from a get-up she might've chosen on her own, sexy or no.
She ruffles Grace's hair quite the same as ever, greets Kiara with a flickering glance and a smile and accepts and then hands off the pie, just as one might expect. Grace can stay as long or as briefly as she'd like. Hell, there are little Gladware containers by the buffet spread so that guests can pack leftovers for lunch tomorrow, or just take a plate home with them.
Does shots until her blood has been turned to fumes, to vapor, until her head is swimming beautifully, beatifically, makes out with a stranger who isn't a stranger, disappears upstairs with him. Reappears later, sneaks outside to get high, shivering in the bright and bitter chill - and on, and on, and on.
Does shots until her blood has been turned to fumes, to vapor, until her head is swimming beautifully, beatifically, makes out with a stranger who isn't a stranger, disappears upstairs with him. Reappears later, sneaks outside to get high, shivering in the bright and bitter chill - and on, and on, and on.
But my heart is wild and my bones are steel
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula