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Who: All troublemakers and part-time ghouls [that means open]

Where: The movie room, then the Quad

When: The very night of Halloween!

What: Get SPOOKY, get SLEEPY, get STUPID, it's a sleepover costume party.

Content Warning: none for the post; byocw (bring your own content warnings)

[It starts a few nights before, with a network post.]

10.27.xx 19:28:16 un:hudie

20:00....Halloween night...the movie room...

You'd better be there. You'd better be in costume.

10.27.xx 19:29:43 un:akapassionista

I can't wait to see everyone's Halloween costumes!! ♪♪(o*゜∇゜)o～♪♪

[You'd better. Because it's a party!

Kaede and Erika have dressed the room up for the spookiest night of the year. It's nothing professional - lights dimmed, music playing, store-bought balloons with jack-o-lantern faces on them, paper cutouts in pumpkin and ghost shapes stuck to the wall. A "bat" is fluttering around, but if you squint, it's actually just Erika's familiar with black paper stuck to her wings. There's some kind of plastic tub in the corner full of water and...apples? Is it supposed to be bobbing for apples? All in all, it has some kind of DIY charm to it all.

Of course, everyone's actually here for the refreshments, and there's plenty of those. Some Bender specials, mostly the non-enchanted fare, but you might find a couple of the milder curses and blessings on the table. Bowls of popcorn and chips and every other genre of snack food you can scrounge up at Fantasy Costco. Candy galore. A modest assortment of Faerunian treats familiar from missions. Paper cups and plates and napkins. Soda bottles and a water pitcher and a few big bowls of punch. (One is labeled "alcoholic". Be ye ware.)

And by the way, costumes really are mandatory. There's a sign out front saying so. If you came unprepared, there's a bin of costume components outside to choose from, capes and headbands and masks and whatnot, but they might not coordinate well. If you think you're getting in without making an effort, Kaede and Erika (themselves dressed in bargain bin warlock and bard kit, respectively) are ready and waiting to chase you down and apply whatever degree of force or Sleep they need to correct the issue, with costume accessories and water-resistant face paint in hand.

About two hours into things, the two get everyone's attention and move the party outside to the Quad. Out there they've got a campfire going, picnic blankets spread out for sitting on, ingredients for s'mores laid out, and...pumpkins! And tools for carving or painting them. A sign out by the campfire announces a contest for the best decorated pumpkins, but nobody ever comes along to apply judging standards, so everyone's just free to show off their creation.

Things wind down a little after midnight. You can head on home...or just sleep out here, between blankets under the stars. It's that cozy kind of night.]

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[She giggles as Mista flops over, peering down at him with fondness. She's got her journal out at the moment and has apparently managed to write something in it, but there is a smear of chocolate on her cheek and crumbs in her lap that indicate some s'mores have already met their melty demise at her hands.] You don't have any extra holes in you, right?

[Referring to his ill-advised knife fight shenanigans, of course.] 'Cause if you do I'll have to put someone in time-out.

[Flopping on Sayori was a good choice. She always smells good, but currently she smells like Good plus a little spiked punch and a lot of chocolate. Grinning at nothing, he pats his stomach, his face, the side of his head—]

Nope. 'M all good. No extras.

[He gives her a thumbs up. Nailed it.]

[She follows the motions of his hands with her eyes, just to verify these claims! And then for another moment, making a comically serious noise of consideration.

Once she's satisfied that this is true, she nods sternly.] Yep, looks like it! [And then kisses the top of his head.] So that means you won, right?

[He hums happily at the head kiss. Nice.]

Well, yeah. Kinda, except . . .

[Another hum, more contemplative this time.]

The Pistols are also me, so I won but I lost, too.

Whoooa.

[She literally already knew that. But it didn't occur to her to think of it that way!] That's super deep!

[Is it? Is it really???

She writes something down anyway, clearly finding this inspiring.]

You think?

[It super isn't, please don't encourage him. That being said, he's too sleepy and lazy to be encouraged right now, so he just curls up a little closer to her and attempts a peek at her notebook.]

Whatcha doin'?

[She shifts a little to accommodate him.] Writing!

[Yes. Clearly. As she does.

After a moment of thought, though, she caps her pen and offers the open journal over to Mista.] Here, you can read it if you want.

[He doesn't really need to take the journal to see it from here, though. The poem is readable as soon as she moves her hand out of the way, along with all the notes that surround it; some of them are nonsensical, like the one she just scrawled in. But some are more illuminating (heh), including the object motifs and themes in the poem, some of which didn't make the cut.]

[As ever when Sayori shares something personal with him, he wants to pay careful attention, so he sits up a little more. Pushes himself up on his hands, though he stays leaned against her side, shoulder to shoulder, because that's where he wants to be. That's the place that feels the best.]

[Maybe he should have expected it. After all, she told him before that she wrote about him. If he was thinking, if he wasn't so comfortable and loose-limbed with easy fun and junk food and a couple glasses of punch, he would've realized she was writing about him a second ago. So maybe he should've known what he was getting into, reading it, but—]

[Mista doesn't think of himself as the kind of guy poems get written about. That's not who he is. He's the guy who does what needs to be done when it needs done and lets life wash over him as it will the rest of the time. He likes simple things, good food and sunny days and movies that make him feel things. He's not the kind of guy who makes people feel like this.]

[Or maybe he is. Because there's never anything in Sayori when she speaks to him but the truth. And she said — I really felt like writing is how I was meant to express my feelings.]

[So he's the kind of guy who makes Sayori feel warm. That's what this means; not what she's telling him, but what she's written down, her truth on this page. What he is to her is someone who makes sure she doesn't freeze.]

[He thinks, What Sayori is to me is . . . And the words don't come, but the feelings do, an open, aching, bottomless affection, the kind of fondness that doesn't have a beginning or an end but seems like it always has been and always will be. But something simpler, too. It's all of those things and something easy and simple too. Good food and sunny days and movies that make him feel things. And Sayori, warm and safe at his side, with her journal on her knee and a soft smile on her face.]

[The only reason he turns his face from the page is to duck his head, to lean in and kiss her. Soft, sweet, and brief. He smiles against her lips as he kisses her, and he's smiling still when he pulls back, just a little.]

. . . Thank you.

Edited 2019-11-03 06:21 (UTC)

[She should probably be more nervous than she is about Mista reading this poem, but for a variety of reasons it simply doesn't occur to her until after he's been looking at the page for a while and all she's had to listen to is the crackle of the fire and the murmur of the other Reclaimers around them. Even then, it creeps in a subtle way, nothing like the horrible anxiety of letting Wash read everything from Lyrabar to Wonderland. And it's a little more like anticipation anyway, a bit of nervousness but a bit of excitement too, like finally performing something you've rehearsed a hundred times.

The applause, as it were, is better than she could have hoped for. It feels like she could fall into the affection that opens up in him—it's almost too much, surely more than she deserves. Yet, filled with good food and punch and surrounded by friends, she pushes that aside and lets herself fall.

Given all that, maybe she could have guessed what he'd do in response. She realizes, as he turns his head, in the same way she realized when he took her hand to swear his protection to her in Event Square. It's not the way she'd always imagined her first kiss; for the girl next door, the first kiss is meant for her childhood love, her closest friend, the boy she's waited for for years. Maybe in a secret hideaway, or in the woods on an adventure, or in one of the bedrooms they've gotten used to sharing.

But that's not her story. That possibility didn't even exist. The first kiss like that was never meant to be hers.

This, though? Maybe this was.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head, meeting his smile with hers. Warmth blooms in her chest and face, her heart stumbling as it speeds up over this joy. It feels longer than it is, and at the same time seems to end too soon; her expression as he pulls back and she opens her eyes again is bright with poorly-restrained giddiness.] So— so you like it? My head's still a little funny so I might go back and fix parts, but next time I promise I'll read it for you. [A performance she's rehearsed hundreds of times for, but not for an audience of hundreds. Just for him.]

[God damn, but she’s cute. There’s something so gently rewarding about these echoes of her reaction through the Oath. How warm she feels, how tight her heart in her chest. The heat in her cheeks and the slight ache in them, too, from smiling wide. He thinks about kissing her again — wants to, will — but she’s so cute, she’s so beautiful, he just has to look at her. He has to.]

[Absently, he bites his lip. Yeah, he . . . yeah, he just did that. Because she wrote a poem for him. For him. Yeah.]

You kidding? It’s perfect.

[He feels lazily pleased, big-cat-sleeping-in-the-sun pleased. Like nothing bad can happen now. Like everything’s gonna be okay, even the big terrifying things, as long as he can stay by her side.]

[Tipping his head to one side, he considers her. And then breaks out a grin.]

Private reading? Nice. You don’t gotta change anything, though. Not unless you want to.

Edited (wow what a buzzkill) 2019-11-05 07:22 (UTC)

[It's funny. Even after rising to fame in Lyrabar, performing for crowds of a size she never could have imagined, when he looks at her like that she feels like she's back in the club room again. Standing up in front of her four friends to recite a poem in front of an audience for the very first time, and succumbing to nervous but gleeful giggles as they all looked at her.

Which she does again, her hands tugging at the sides of her little red hood like she might be thinking of hiding behind it. She doesn't, but she considers it.] Ehehe~ Yeah, just for you!

[Despite the fluttery feeling like butterfly wings inside of her, she's pretty sure she could curl up for a nap in the cozy weave of safety and security she can feel between them. A nice nap, not a sad one, preferably wrapped up in his arms. Her pull on the hood becomes a little tighter thinking about it.] I just want to make sure it's as good as it can be. You deserve it.

[Well. He's not going to argue about deserving it, although he still thinks he's wildly outclassed by Sayori in every way because she is, objectively, perfect. But that's fine. If she thinks he deserves it, then he guesses he does, or does enough.]

[Bumping her with his shoulder, he grins. The Oath doesn't let him read minds, but he'd be all for the nap idea. He's feeling about the same. Just . . . pleased, safe, perfect. And he can feel it from her, too, so satisfied about the fact that he's made her feel good. That's the best part, he thinks.]

All right. Well, I guess then it'll be like a real recital, right? I'll bring you some flowers and . . . how do these things work. Flowers, anyway.

[And he's going to keep brainstorming this, except the way her hood frames her face reminds him of something that briefly occurred to him before he forgot in the wake of poem. With a soft noise of alarm, he reaches over to wipe the chocolate off her cheek with his thumb.]

You're gonna get your hood dirty.

[And then absently sucks the chocolate off his thumb, because why wouldn't he.]

[Well, she is absolutely all set to answer his question with way too much information about how her shows in Lyrabar usually went. Flowers, mostly, sometimes other gifts which were screened by security, meeting and mingling with the VIPs, signing autographs—

But then.]

[Obviously she was not aware she had something on her face. So it seems to be very suddenly that he reaches over and swipes his thumb across her cheek. Which would be enough to intensify that warm fluttery feeling on its own.]

[That is, of course, not the only thing that happens.

Her eyes are drawn like the needle of a compass to his thumb between his lips, and they go wide as she realizes what just happened.]

[She doesn't make a noise this time, but he'll probably recognise the expression from when he gave her his Oath. It's pretty similar.]

[And she's very warm. Too warm? Yeah, a little too warm.]

[It might be the punch speaking when she blurts out:] You should kiss me again.

[The problem is he doesn't think before he does shit. He just does. Sometimes it works out fine, sometimes it works out awful. Sometimes—]

[Well, sometimes it works out like this. Feeling the echo of warmth, different warmth, before he recognizes where it's coming from; glancing up again when he realizes only to see her staring at his mouth. A couple seconds after that, he figures it out.]

[Oh. Whoops.]

[Except then again, maybe not? It's not mixed with anything bad like before, with the neck thing. This is good, he thinks, tilting his head a bit to regard her with a focused sort of curiosity. This isn't awkward. This he knows how to do.]

You think?

[It's not a real question, though. Obviously. He slides his hand a little closer to hers between them, just in case she wants it, brushes her fingertips with his as he leans in to kiss her again. Because she wants him to. Less careful, more lingering. Not like they have anywhere to be. She can let him know when she wants to stop.]

[Something inside of her catches in an unfamiliar way at the intent look he gives her. A hitch in her chest, in her breath, held tighter than when Mia retied her ribbon. And she couldn't hope to describe it, not now, but it's not bad.

This time, instinctively, she leans in to meet him halfway, her fingers creeping across the soft fibers of the blanket to tangle with his. Maybe she picks up on his confidence through the magic that connects them, or maybe it's her own natural tendency to pour enthusiasm into every new endeavor, but the dovetail press of her lips isn't exactly shy despite her lack of experience with this kind of thing.

Her own pulse thrums loudly in her ears. She catches a trace of his very burnt marshmallow and the stolen chocolate.]

[It's funny. Kissing he's familiar enough with. Kissing's fun, he likes to do it, likes to be close to pretty people and flirt and play the back and forth until they meet in the middle. But.]

[This is different. Not only because it's Sayori, who's fought alongside him, whose weight he's held in his arms in Wonderland and whose fingers are laced through his. This isn't really casual, that much is true. He feels a lot of things about Sayori, and some of them are soft and some are silly, but some are very, very serious. Besides that, though, it's—]

[He feels it. Even before he leans in to meet her, there's a flicker of yes from her, something he's already echoing even before he recognizes it. Part of him's curious about what brought it on, what exactly he did or what exactly she saw that made her sit up and take notice, but then again, does it matter? There's yes in him too, a warm response as he squeezes her fingers lightly, as he smiles faintly against her lips at the way she finds him at the halfway point this time.]

[There is, unfortunately, no universe in which he'd give a shit about kissing her in a loosely-spread cluster of their mutual friends. Better than in the party, and he's happy, and she's happy, and it's dark enough and beautiful out here. She's soft, he thinks, the way she kisses him; but not, also, and all he really needs to do is smooth out the angle where they meet with a minute tilt of his head before he can just focus on committing the shape of her bottom lip to memory.]

[She's not quick on the uptake with a lot of things. Fewer things, since learning and liberally applying Prodigy. But there are still some things that elude her, some things that she really needs to run her code to even hope to comprehend.

This isn't one of those things. This resonates with her very makeup in the same way that reading a poem does. She just—understands, and there's a note of clumsiness in the way she cues off his correction, but it's a motion meant to match. Being able to understand a poem doesn't mean you know how to write one right away, after all, but it does make it easier.

And she writes this poem with her whole heart, focuses blindly on the warm, matching spark inside of him and on the exact curve of his smile as she tries to learn it with the exploratory shift of her lips. She, in contrast, has entirely forgotten what's going on around them, spacing out in the best kind of way. There's only Mista, and his fingers laced with hers, and her intent concentration on his reaction as her lips part—just slightly—so that they can come together again and kiss him from a subtly new angle.]

[Part of it is always — chemistry, right? That's what he thinks, as Sayori picks up the pieces as he holds them out to her. She's good at reading him, he's good at reading her. They're good at taking care of each other. Like this, too.]

[It's the same as dancing, kind of. She danced with him just fine even though she didn't know how. She does this just fine too — perfectly, to him. Maybe whatever the next step beyond perfect is, if the pleased sound he makes at her invitation and shift is any indication: a curious question-mark noise that dips into a hum, low and approving.]

[He'll follow her lead, always, whenever she wants to take it. He likes to. So it's easy, it feels good and right, to part his lips in turn and invite her closer in, to concentrate intently on the next steps she takes so that he can mirror, adjust, and follow. And he wants to touch her more, and he knows it's safe, so he does: his other hand shifting up to cup her cheek, brush her hair behind her ear and trace the shape of the shell of it, memorizing.]

[That feeling again—the catch in her chest, the flicker of yes—flares unmistakably brighter as she hears that sound, feels it against her mouth. Could she make him do that again? Maybe she'll get to find out.

Her fingers curl tighter between his and she gravitates towards his other hand, chasing the trails of impossible warmth where he touches her. The cute red hood is no longer in any danger, at least, because it slips back off her head as he tucks her hair out of the way. Not that she takes any notice of it whatsoever. Her journal has also definitely fallen off her knee, and god knows where the pen is, but her other hand doesn't bother searching for them; it ventures over the blanket too, brushing the side of his leg.

Leaving her in charge may not be the responsible decision here, all things considered. She's perfectly content to accept what he offers, wanting to learn this—wanting in this moment, more than anything, to learn him. So she presses on, all enthusiasm and curiosity, evident in the little curl of a smile she manages and in the very subtle flick of her tongue.]

[Mista grins.]

[Eyes closed, lips parted, he grins like he's just sprung a trap. Except it's the opposite, right? He was hoping to have it sprung on him, but this is all Sayori. God, she's perfect.]

[Maybe she can feel the angle of his eye teeth for half an instant as he shifts against her, as his grin shifts from something smug to something looser and more focused on the moment, on wanting it to continue. There's another noise, just like she wanted, almost the same as before. There's more yes in it, though, a sentiment that's echoed in the touch of his tongue to her bottom lip, quick but not subtle, all things considered.]

the party don't stop til we get our fill of self-indulgent ship content

hxppythxughts - 2019-12-17 10:54 (UTC) - Expand

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boo

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1/fucking...6 i think w/e

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yeah 6. done.

incredible

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breaks in this icon ig

me: this thread is insanely self-indulgent; also me: tags it back very late yolo

the party don't stop til we get our fill of self-indulgent ship content