Scene #7348: Night of Bonfires-2

Owner	Pose
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Get told. About fortunes. Alright, alright. Arthur gives his birthdate: April 12th. TGhen he approaches the fire and sets the stone down, marking it with a surge of his magic -- and blindly powering any divination machinery there, just for kicks. "Ain't no SEER, but I can FOLLOW SOME FATES, sure yo." He shoots a frown to Strange while setting his stone just a bit painfully close. "Hey, I PLAY FOR THOSE WINS, yo. Got them SKILLS to pay BILLS, y'know." He insists. Despite his previous objections about marriage or whatever, he's going along. >Arthur: What's that drumbeat? Arthur blinks a few times and stands up a bit more straight as it looks like the dynamics of the gathering shift. Where's everyone collecting now? He also frowns a bit at Strawberry. "GUISE, not COSTUME. Look, I just set the GOD HOOD to GUISE MODE, y'know? Get that OBFUSCATION up in. Like these MASKS around here." As for finding out on accident? "NO WAY. I got too much SMARTS about this."
Tamamo	Tamamo seems not to have noticed her own, momentary lapse of seeming. It was only a flicker. "Was there more 'life' in the house, then?" she asks, at Katrina mention of 'it was different when.' "Ah, of those long-ago times, I might say, it was rather more common to have as many children as might be fed... or is this still well-known? In some ways, to divine that which is against that which is not 'common sense' presents me some difficulty, more so than peering through mist-laden futures." Tamamo looks, on the last word, toward the fire, ash and stones, checking along the way for any thrown apple peels. "And of those futures, for some, it may yet be better to discover them solely through experience. Might you call that a contradiction, for a seer? And yet, it is as I said, just before." She'd said something, before, about the unknown. "The path walked is chosen, yet some do stray far from the hearth, and some remain close. There are distances and there are distances, only some of space. To concern oneself with many lands, and not only the fields of forebears, stretches one's reach, and so, one's vulnerability. Do you see? Or have you yet concerned yourself with few lands, though one speaks of 'the world'? The latter is yet the abstract image, as the horizon, without considering all that exists between here and there." And after that verbal convolution, something appears to be happening.
Strawberry Princess	"Being smart feels like... like it'd be more of a hazard," Strawberry opines, slipping her arm out from under the ghost costume and taking Arthur's hand in a distinctly escort-the-insolent-child fashion to lead him towards the new gathering. "I'm not that smart. I don't learn things on accident. Sometimes- sometimes I can't even learn things on purpose," she adds with a little hoarse laugh. "I think it's better to be dumb about this. ... Or maybe you're already so dumb you think you're smart about it? Wow, you're good." Her blindfolded gaze drifts over, idly, to the gathering of heady young warriors that's now slowly dispersing. A thought briefly enters her head to compete- but look at those noodle-arms. She'd get clowned.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Clarify you're not smart, you know in a nerd way. "Nah, nah, not the NERD kinda SMART. I mean STREET-SMART about seein' this thing when it's ON ITS WAY." Arthur insists, sort of blandly letting himself be drawn forward. "So if some ROMANCE DANGER comes barreling at me, I can GET AHEAD OF IT and GET OUTTA THE WAY, y'know? For real." That sounds right, doesn't it? Yeah, that sounds correct. "I could smell a ROMANCE DANGER from a MILE OFF."
Doctor Strange	The Sorcerer Supreme knows the vibe that this kid is going for, and plays along, acting 'natural' and giving him one single nod. He pats his pocket. Good stuff. He turns towards the bonfire, with a little frown that seems to say, 'why not?' He approaches, procuring the stone. Depending on the angle one observes him from, Strange's lips appear to form a different date, as he whispers his birthday to the stone pulled from his pocket. It's also quite hard to make out over the din of all the socializing, games and music--but whatever needs to hear it, will. He drops it near the fire, and otherwise follows the instructions to the T. It's not so much the change in drumbeat that draws his emerald eyes away from the little group assembled, as it is the ripple of murmurs and turned heads all around, in response to the former. Yeah, he knows how to read a room. He follows behind Strawberry and Arthur. "It's more fun to be dumb," opines Strange. "At least, it's fun for people that don't use the phrase 'romance danger.'"
Lilian Rook	The change in tempo from the apparently inexhaustible band of enthusiastic players is universally recognized. Though there has been no significant pause in the sound for all the early night, the shift in tone and cadence is instantly recognizable even for those brand new. The purpose of it is fairly clear, as there's been sufficient time for people to eat and then work up a sweat after, as well as all the stones to be placed close to the roaring flames. Arthur's even shines faintly when he puts it down, the engraved contours smouldering as if they'd caught fine coals drifting from the flames, sealing his fate to in powering terrible teen predictions. Strange hovering over his river rock, as instructed, has the means to foresee his stone being just a piece of stone from a particular stream, with no intrinsic significance, but by the time he's placed it, it has been ordained, itself, to have become important in deciding a future. 'Predicting' in that sense is slightly backwards. The same subject is enthusiastically discussed with Tamamo amongst other things, including "Well we had plenty more to visit back then at the least! Dreadful and shameful that all those rooms be unused. It's not like it's a memorial or something you know? You'd think a thousand brave young soldiers gave their lives for each of the guest rooms! Not so much in the family though. Every child is an obligation to pass down everything you can; the temptation to wait for the right time to draw the strongest hand is far too much when it comes to committing to that much you know. Ten dull children brings a house to ruin and all that." Katrina gets away with a cheeky elbow while nobody is looking, including Tamamo, being fixated on apple peels for a moment. "Personally, I think you're the type best at 'remaining close'. Being vulnerable makes you tougher, so long as you live through the getting hurt." The burning question that plenty of people had been asking for most of the night is brought to a head by the well-remembered signal. Gawain's honest admissions are once again mistaken for polite refusal as a last round of ambitious young ladies crowd him at once to push their luck. Arthur and Strawberry are put in the extremely dangerous situation of a couple of 'middle aged' women assuming they came together and somewhat pushily trying to pair them off. Strange has drawn the attentions of the lady who'd been fussing over Strawberry's burnt and peeling hands, albeit in a nature that could be construed as either more innocent or slightly pitying, depending on one's feelings, as he's invited with the general tone of a friend addressing a widow. Tamamo is (un)fortunately stranded for a certain amount of public knowledge, though Katrina sticks to her like glue. How anyone knows the time without so much as a watch allowed must come down solely to incremental positions of the unnaturally large moon, at least especially memorized by whoever is playing the drums, because after rising in intensity, the beat suddenly stops dead. The group in closely drawn black outfits arrives at the fire, now cleared of space from the older traditions, while tables are being cleared of most everything that isn't alcohol. All assembled around the outermost rings of stones, there are exactly enough of them to link hands for a sequence of synchronized lines that aren't so much chanted as enthusiastically yelled, the ninth of which causes the fire to briefly and explosively double in height and double in brightness, and then the music correspondingly doubles in pace, again without accompaniment of drums.
Lilian Rook	The leaders of this particular ceremony are, it seems, the replacement drums. Better synchronized than one drummer's two hands can be, releasing hands, spreading out slightly, and then beginning to the tune of the music. Most assembled are probably at least passingly familiar with the concept of Irish or Scottish stepdancing, wherein precisely timed and elaborately strung together footfalls create the impression of musical percussion, but the comparison is fundamentally watered down in two essential ways. One is that the traditional image includes a stiff posture and carefully held upper body, all available focus needed elsewhere, but in this case it could hardly be further from the truth. It's as wild as anything bearing the resemblance can be, complex and multifaceted slam-steps instead carrying them in fast circuits around the blaze, hands clapping, hips swinging, complicated arm and body movements winding them between each other, or around each other where the momentum is more valuable. It's hard to imagine pulling any of it off with a whole year to rehearse, never mind in perfect lockstep. The other factor is the fact that nobody involved is wearing the typically necessary hard heels to generate the noise; the sheer force of the frenzied dancing involved is enough to generate a steady thundering bass that completes the other half of the band's work. Thankfully, nobody else appears to be obliged to (or capable of) following that particular performance. It's cause for a lot of cheering, a lot of 'this is the part where we get to drink the good stuff' from the older parts of the audience, and for pairs to largely do their own thing, or whole gatherings of children and teens to be as rambunctious as possible while their parents aren't paying attention. The dark arts of Peer Pressure are in full force, involving some vaguely muttered and waved off claims of 'bad luck' to anyone who wants to hang around the edge nursing a metaphorical shitty plastic cup of punch. Anyone who insists otherwise thus stares down the gun barrel of being press ganged into a second, equally important service: joining some others (typically apprentices of some kind) at those odd little cairns and shrines around the shadowy periphery, where the previous signs of surreptitious motion are not so stealthy anymore; burning will-o'-the-wisps have completely eclipsed the natural gatherings of fireflies, bobbing and twirling to the beat, scarcely illuminating flashes of gossamer dress twirling in the trees behind them, child-sized shadows prancing around the edges of the boundary, and less surreally, the increasing number of pale and translucent faces and silhouette taking form around the stones. They're informed that it's all 'mostly' harmless as long as one doesn't step inside, but the point is to keep 'the neighbours' out, often attracted by the sound of music and revelry to the point of being tempted to enter in disguise. Furthermore, people are also there to look for spirits of departed family members and welcome them in, without falling for the trickery of unrelated dead of potential ill-intent, or 'old gods' looking to join, via persuasion, bribe, and supernatural whammy. That part is a little harder on those involved, and so takes them out of the festivities for a while completely.
Lilian Rook	For hours. Actual hours of people getting extremely carried away. Surprisingly few getting stupendously drunk, but just about all of them working out a year largely spent over desks and libraries, mausoleums and reliquaries, gardens and conference rooms, so they aren't likely to forget the feeling before next year. Bit by bit, the naked presence of scores of ghosts, just barely out of the direct light, fill out the crowd, at first silently drifting about, before old pairs find each other in the penumbra of the fire, and begin imitating the living. The few of the living still staying apart from either function have done so solely for the purpose of locating some ghost in particular, and they can be seen (but not heard) discussing things of importance with dearly departed ancestors in quiet groves off various sides. Gawain's new friends are, of course, all inclined to get hammered, two of them into meeting new ladies, though Anneke Song offers good-naturedly to occupy Gawain's time if he's tired of being harassed by pretty blondes and redheads. The Rook brother has isolated himself with a cloister of three ghosts that aren't visible from the fire, but the sister is insistent about partying, and will push Tamamo into being her metaphorical prom date if the fox looks bored (unlikely to be jealous of a potential Strange slow dance with a woman who wants to know all about where he's from, and, to her credit, can do so without sounding like a filthy colonialist like Allison). Later into the routine, everyone involved is instructed to take a turn passing to the fire, if they can tolerate the heat, and pick up a branch from it, of any size they can handle, and take it away, for themselves or their friends, expected to carry it some ways shortly after.
Gawain	Gawain turns down the girls once more, boldly but politely, and then proceeds to watch the stepdancing as it begins. His reflexes and senses allow him to track it, and he cheers with others brightly. When it becomes time to get drunk and party more, but he's not really interested in picking up ladies - for his own reasons, not because of the ladies. Grabbing a cup of strong booze, he moves to join Anneke, listening intently to how he intends to occupy Gawain's time, though Gawain does ask him about the stepdancing, and if he had thoughts on it. "What a performance, right?"
Arthur Lowell	>==> "That shit is HELLA DANGEROUS, dawg, no FAKIN'." Arthur assures the good Doctor Strange. "I gotta KEEP IT REAL about the RISKS, yo." Arthur lets things just sort of keep going, however they're doing. And he even follows along with the pairing off, simply because he's not entirely sure whyyyyy pairing off is happening in general? So he's just gonna go with it, you know? In that emotionally-weightless, drifting kind of way. He knows this is a Protocol, a Process, a system and set of procedures designed and built with purpose, and so he knows to follow along with it for the most part. When the prodigious display of percussive footwork and merry-making starts in full, he's getting a bit taken in by the swelling mood. He is, after all, someone who often goes with the flow, and the flow here and now is one that's somewhere between the rapids and the waterfall. And the building presence of the purer ghosts, without the interference... actually puts him a bit more at ease, as it slowly starts to become more apparent. It's important to remember: This man spends eight of every twenty four hours dead, in the afterlife, all around the dead. And once it's time, he'll likely even captchalogue a branch right out of the fire, blistered hands be damned. But what goes on with Strawberry Princess is sort of a different matter entirely.
Tamamo	"It is so, that my interests bear a particular focus," Tamamo says, by way of answer to Katrina. She doesn't speak too much more of child-raising, as the mood shifts toward a more exciting atmosphere. In her present guise (herself, but not herself; an outfit and appearance, but not a costume), Tamamo could handle a bit more of the stepdancing style than usual. Her feet are shod in what looks like slippers of gold, whatever they truly are, and certainly not raised on geta. Moreover, she's wearing pants, held tight by clasping bands that shine in the light. Still, allowing her to dance at all, let alone during a supernatural event, could have all kinds of dangerous results. That the ring of dancers at the center is unbroken is, perhaps, for the best. Drinking to excess is relatively harmless, though Tamamo's own preferences are toward experimentation, driven by curiosity and politeness in matching with hosts, in sharing gifts, and will (probably) not reach such a point that she forgets her ability to cure herself of it. There is a little danger, for those who drink may forget the value of sobriety, but surely her hosts will keep to such a pace as humans may survive. Though her current date is by no means unpleasant, Tamamo looks elsewhere during the business of pairing, searching for familiar faces and guises. There's one, and there's another, but where is...? It would, at least, be exciting to find some familiarity in those attempting to crash the party from outside the outer circle, but she has less expectation of finding familiarity in the old gods of this particular land. Still, what a curious night that would be. The memory of a prioress's distress and fury flashes through her mind, but doesn't dull the brightness of flames against the moonlit sky, nor the warmth of drink and laughter.
Strawberry Princess	When she and Arthur get compulsorily paired off, Strawberry is transparently unconvinced that dancing is a thing she can do. She pulls the ghost costume off, stuffing the thin cloth into a pocket, and eyes him through the blindfold with distinct uncertainty. "Aren't you still a little small for this? I mean, it's difficult to..." She tries to hold both his hands, but she'd have to bend down uncomfortably to get a reasonable angle on it. Inspiration strikes her a second later, though. She picks Arthur up with both hands under his arms and holds him at approximately her eye level, his feet a good foot or more off the ground. "Look, I know you can fly. If you can hover at that height, just like so, then..." Assuming that compromise can be reached, she'll prove decent at leading him through simple dance steps from childhood that approximately match the beat, though she falters obviously at whatever points didn't happen to stick in her memory. Eventually she figures out that she can skip over those murky bits, stitching together a Frankenstein waltz that- while disjointed and sometimes off-rhythm- is still serviceable if you don't look too close. She's halfway through giving Arthur a spin when she abruptly locks up without any visible cause. Her hand squeezes his uncomfortably tight; her gaze snaps to a point on the ghostly treeline, turning away from the fire. Strawberry's jaw works like it's going to find words to chew on, but it doesn't. After a moment, she manages in a quiet and strangled voice: "Arthur. I'm going to be a moment." It doesn't explicitly forbid him from following, but she takes off towards the stone barrier with long, loping, impatient strides. Her spidery fingers find their way to the knot of her blindfold, but as soon as it shows resistance to being untied, she rips it off instead.
Strawberry Princess	As she approaches the treeline, Strawberry's spine jerks straight, pulling her into a bolt-upright posture from her usual slouch. (Keep it together. Be brave.) Ordinarily the shadows and the spirit-flames might deter her, but she's too laser-focused to notice them. When she reaches the stone boundary a few moments later, Strawberry Princess halts, then shakily crouches down to look one particular ghost in the face. Even squatting, she's taller. It's the ghost of a girl with short hair, wearing a fancy dress. Its features are indistinct and foggy; its arms hanging by its sides. Here they're a decent distance from the revelers. The warm light of the fire shines on Strawberry's back, but her face is only lit by the cold illumination of the moon and will-o-wisps. A hitching, hoarse, ragged exhalation leaves the ex-mahou's throat. Her voice is hardly recognizable when it comes out. "It's me, Blue. I'm- I'm so sorry. I want you to know that- that I'm okay, I... we made it. Blackberry did too. I-" She halts, makes a choked, indistinct sound. Her shoulders shudder and her eyes squeeze shut. There's a pause of a few seconds as the ghost contemplates her. Then it speaks in a little girl's voice. "Who are you?" Strawberry stands up sharply, staggering back as if struck. Her body tenses like something in it's about to break. Her hands wring the air, nails digging into blistered palms. Then her frame sags again as she lets out an unhealthy-sounding, nervous laugh. "I'm sorry. I thought... never mind." The blindfold goes back on before she can turn to face the revelers and the fire again.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Defend your honor, Grey Manlet "Stretch, ain't NOBODY gonna be TALL ENOUGH for your GROOVE." Arthur says, puffing up both cheeks and trying to force that grin hard while he looks up at Strawberry Princess. He does, though, start drifting. His weightlessness makes it relatively easy to get him on a solid level. He moves to fill in all the flourish and style that Strawberry Princess herself lacks, keeping his flusteredness mostly couped up inside a heavy hood and mask. He can make this style work, and he can work to encourage a bit more looseness from Strawberry Princess too! "C'mon, get some chill in those bones. Don't hop-scotch it, you gotta sweep, let that momentum do some carrying!" He advises, floating in his motions constantly. The sudden sighting catches him off-guard. He remains spinning for a bit, drifting more and more sideways until he slowly stops. There is the gut compulsion to go see what's going on with Strawberry Princess. It is overwhelming and intense. It surges inside and cannot stop. He moves forward weightlessly, considering calling out to her to try to help out, but... What would he say? Probably nothing useful. >Arthur: Open the forbidden bookmark Arthur can't open the FORBIDDEN BOOKMARK because his SYLLADEX doesn't contain his CELL PHONE! Despite that, he can try to remember it to the best of his ability. The food's been cleared away, but maybe he can find some...? There's probably still the bits of ingredients around. If he can just find, what was it? Cheese, grapes, mayo, strawberry jam (preserves, here?), bread... something like that? Gotta make sure to cut those crusts. No substitutes for the rest. Can he get microwave-style heat with a little nuclear fire? That should work. Yes, a Deluxe as best he can muster one in the three minutes Strawberry was gone. Horrible consumption of substances might be the theme here but it's never been as bad as this. He'll try to have one ready for her when she gets back to the revelers and the fire.
Doctor Strange	Strange's disguise works so well that it brings an amused smirk to his face--and given his usual dry deadpan, you could easily be forgiven for concluding that he finds that fact quite funny. But there's nothing untoward in that amusement--this has been a pretty good time for him, so far. "Sure," he says with a nod. He finishes his beer, but only goes for one more when things kick off. Don't Sling Ring drunk. Buzzed is okay, though. "Oh, hey, neat," says Strange, gesturing with his beer towards the treeline. He is apparently pretty social, when he has a mind to be. Maybe it's his way of cutting loose--just like all of those people who'd been cloistered away in some library somewhere for most of the year. It's a fluid kind of shuffle that he does, from place to place, crowd to crowd. He even chats with any ghosts that bother to stop him, though he doesn't expect that to be the case, given they're primarily family. Eventually, he manages to meet someone who seems interested to know him--and in his current state, just cutting loose... yeah, he can open up, every now and then. "Well, from offworld. Upstate New York, originally, but these days I'm kinda between dimensions. You know how it is." He shows just as much interest in her. "Lilian over there," he says, nodding vaguely towards her in the event that his dance partner happens to be an offworlder, too, "Is a friend from work, so... that's who to blame." He's... a pretty good dancer, and he's willing to do more than just the one--even in the more up-tempo stuff, he'll likely show that he's quite comfortable on the dance floor, especially in the context of a big party. He does, however, eventually make a request. There's someone he... could bring, from the Other Side. But... "So, uh... there's someone I think I need to talk to. But we didn't leave on good terms. At all." He smiles weakly. "And if I don't do it now, I'm not gonna. I... would like to be back."
Lilian Rook	Anneke, after staring at Gawain for just long enough to give the knight the impression that he missed something, decides that the two ways they're going to prevent being bored are, a) drinking contest, b) then trying to play one of the more complicated strategy-piece games in the middle of it, now left abandoned by their previous patrons. It is something he expects neither of them to be good at. His opinion solicited is short and supremely confident. "Ah, that sort of thing isn't something you learn to perform. It's the sort you have to be able to perfect before you're allowed to touch a spear." Tamamo's perusing of aforementioned drink-related items finds a surprisingly wide spread, though, since this isn't an event personally overseen and managed by Lilian, none of it is very familiar. There's a full range from light to full-bodied, honeyed to spiced, and fruity to herbal, though the common feature is that none of it is aged. Nothing has spent any amount of time in a cellar earning a 'vintage' label, period. It's all, also, fairly strong, and her interest is met with Katrina trying to show her absolutely every single one of them. She indicates that one of them is hers, and insists that Tamamo try to figure out which one, despite having nothing remotely useful to go on. It culminates in, reaching the end of the table, a 'Hm? Don't remember seeing this.' and perplexedly holding up and shaking a bottle of Tamamo's favourite import. Surprise. The shaped and shadows and eerie lights beyond the bounds of the fire and the circle of stones and swords is almost without end in its variance, being something that would be easy to watch for hours if it didn't become increasingly unsettling to do so, radiating the impression of 'probably being cursed or something for looking too long' even at its most benign. Frequent reapplications of salted lines, re-lighting of incense, and casual review of runes, keeps it well within bounds, as a couple of elderly women of the nebulously 'storyteller' or 'record keeper' persuasion essentially interview ghosts in sequence, occasionally chasing one off by splashing them with something from a bowl. It takes a specially discerning eye to spot the tall, angular, mystery terrain feature that shrouded in the foggy distance, when its peak inclines slightly and slowly, causing massive antlers to shift in the dark. One of the old women comes up to pat Strawberry on the back, saying "Pay you no mind. Sometimes all strange sorts find their way to thinner veils they have no business with. Sometimes they aren't there at all. The stuff that they're made of can be shaped by the feelings of the living just as much as the dead, on some nights. What a ghost is, is a wish." The crew of three cleaning up the tables are both fascinated and appalled by Arthur's insistence on making this unholy abomination of sandwiches. One of them finds the appropriate jars to try it himself, then immediately gives up after one bite. Strange has the wonderful experience of puzzling out what a very fond-sounding "Ahh, I remember New York!" means, given the equal chance of two different things he wasn't there for. He receives a not-insignificant amount of interest on how he got where he is so fast in such a 'modern' setting, with some of that vague 'don't look a day over thirty' unsaid praise. She's a local, but also apparently knows the names of probably everyone here, and recognizes who he means instantly. "Are you sure?" she asks, somehow managing to be cryptic. "I don't think mere colleagues would be here. Else we'd need a larger grounds by far." She seems slightly reluctant to let him go, but more from an almost embarrassingly (for him) sympathetic stare. "I'd be careful. Unless you know who or what precisely you're speaking to, it's best to let these things lie. He won't be going anywhere, and you're much to young to be worrying about that yet."
Tamamo	There are only so many tastes that can be tried before they run together--is what an amateur would think. Tamamo only requires frequent palate-cleansing so as to continue her run through a surprising quantity of alcohol, making many polite sounds in the process of keeping up with Katrina's encouragement of this usually-destructive hobby, and far fewer of genuinely surprised enjoyment, though some are there. She reveals, in the process, both a fondness for sweets and a near-encyclopedic knowledge of herbs and spices, both culinary and medicinal. It may eventually become clear that her constitution is far beyond what her stature should allow, though the 'why' of that has at least three plausible causes. As she refrains from using any tricks to divine the answer, she is almost certain to, apologetically, guess Katrina's own concoction wrongly. The final drink, poured, she then nurses with more subtle enjoyment.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Defend your honor "Ain't a SANDWICH FOR ME. It's got PAST-WEIGHT, yo. Got that MEANING. Some kinda FAMILY THING." He makes the dismissive gestures as best he can, before moving towards Strawberry Princess. >Arthur: Give forbidden sandwich to Strawberry Princess He plasters that big goddamn stupid grin over his face before offering the sandwich in the most strained possible posture of cool apathy. "You get tired after the dancin'? Grab a snack, yo." He says, as if he'd just found it (and the plate of pseudo-microwaved cheesy grapes?) somewhere, with no effort. Internally, obviously, he's agonizing over figuring out a way to blunt the viciously sharp impact of this, which he only approximately understands. But hey! Can't let 'em see you sweat, you know?
Strawberry Princess	The comforting old woman catches Strawberry halfway through putting the blindfold back on. She doesn't tense up with the back-pat- rather, she slouches further, letting the hand slide off of her like water off a duck's back. "'Pay it no mind'," she reiterates as she turns around to face her benefactor, though there's no heart in it. "You- you must be very brave. To be able to do that." Now that her face is illuminated by the firelight, her cheekbones are glistening with moisture. She licks her dry lips and speaks again, her voice becoming infintesimally less hoarse with each syllable: "I don't... know, really, what I was wishing for. Something I wasn't ready for, I guess." Then she smiles a little fake smile at the crone, and departs back towards the fire. Strawberry walks slowly on purpose. By the time Arthur spots her her face is dried, and her black blindfold only subtly darkened over the eyes. When Arthur comes into view, she's already laughing and wiping at her face with the back of her sleeve. "Oh... oh my god. You really made it. Cheesy grapes, and the... the Deluxe Princesswich. You remembered." She doesn't accept them at first. Instead, she kneels down and wraps both her arms around Arthur- with his hands full with the plates, he's defenseless. "Thank you, Arthur. I mean it. You're- so kind." Then, and only then, does she straighten up and finally take them, sitting down against a nearby tree to settle the plates in her lap and start munching on the abominable treats. "I love how the cheese even bubbled and crisped a little on top," she says in quiet contemplation, holding one up to examine. "Where'd you find a microwave out here, anyway?"
Doctor Strange	"Oh, we're friends. Work is just how we met, that's all." The words of warning are received quite warmly, though the Sorcerer Supreme is resolute, if convivial in his own dryly humorous way. "Trust me," says Strange. "While I do technically have all the time in the world, I'm older than I look. By how much... ehhh. Nah, this... this is something I really should have done, like... week three, and... well." Here we are. "It's also... not my first rodeo. Which..." he grimaces slightly. "Is also not a point in my favor, having put this off as long as I have." He shakes his head. "Anyway..." After another sincere apology, and a promise to be back once he's able, Strange leaves and makes a call--metaphorically speaking. He gets an answer almost immediatedly. "Stephen?" "Hey, Vic," he says hoarsely. Victor always took more after Dad--red hair, kind of a flat nose, blocky jaw. Unlike Dad, he'd grown it out, about to the shoulders. He and Strange couldn't look more different, the younger Strange brother a man frozen in his early twenties, wearing a hand-me-down flannel over a black tee with the logo of a prominent rock band (from twenty some-odd years ago). Strange looks old enough to be his dad. "Christ, you got old," says Victor flatly, crossing his arms. It takes him a moment to respond. But he has to. This is about cutting loose. So... tear that band-aid off. "Victor, it was selfish and cruel of me to make you go through that alone. I... couldn't accept what was right in front of me, and what happened to you was--" "Not your fault. Look, man..." Victor steps closer, as the elder Strange has been stopped in his tracks. Tearfully, it would seem, as the faint dancing lights in the forest beyond the boundary are reflected, ever so slightly, in a tear that escapes him. "You're not the only one that's had a long time to think about this, y'know, and... yeah." The ghost scratches his head. "It... it was selfish of you. But you cast a pretty big shadow these days." "You've been keeping an eye on me? Creepy." "Bite me," Victor has ready almost reflexively. There is a shade, in that moment, of what was, once. It's nice. "Dude. Are you seriously going to interrupt someone about to compliment you? Maybe you really have changed." He pauses, frowning slightly, looking over his shoulder at the forest. "But, you know... you know should do this with Dad here too." "I know. I called him. ...no answer." He did. "Is he... 'out there?'" Victor sighs. "Yeah. He is. He's in a bad place, has been for years. Can't bear to look at me." "Vic..." he shakes his head. He's at a loss for words. "I'll talk to him," says Victor firmly, in that way that family members do: Talk has an implied capital T. "I'll... I'll get him to listen. And, I dunno, maybe one day I'll get him out... where is 'here,' actually?" "*We'll get him to listen," says Stephen, wiping his eyes with his sleeve once more and nodding. It will have to be a team effort, when it happens. "As for where here is, well... it's a kinda once a year party. Kind of thing." The elder Strange sniffs, rocking on his heels briefly. "I thought I heard music. So there's a party with a live band and you're talking to your dead brother? Now who's creepy?" Strange rolls his eyes. "That's part of the point, idiot." "It's a dead person party?" "It's a mixer, actually," says Stephen, because... well, it is. "I think I saw a keg, too." "Your ass," says Victor, scoffing doubtfully. He is undoubtedly the person that Strange got all of his kicks telling outrageous lies with a straight face, as a kid--but after some convincing, Stephen manages not only to sell him on the idea, but... "Tell you what, if you wanna head back up there, there's some people I want you to meet..." "You have friends now? Damn."
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Resist hug!! Arthur can't resist the hug because both hands are currently occupied with FORBIDDEN MATERIALS! >==> He tries his hardest to maintain that posture of apathy instead, which is brittle, fragile, and impossible to maintain during a sudden and rather unexpected outpouring of emotion. "Huh? Oh, uh, oh! Hahaha, nhhh, not a problem, dawg, ain't nothin'. Easy stuff, ain't no big." He laughs in a forced way. He does settle down a moment by leaning against the tree she's at, having grabbed a bottle of something to soothe his anxiousness which he nurses to relieve it. "Huh? Ohhhh, uh, ehhh, it just comes out like that with the nuclear stuff, y'know? Just how it is." It took a few tries to get right, and he did put a lot of effort into it. "I mean, it ain't-- It's not irradiated or nothin'. I just, y'knoqw, I can do microwaves 'cause of..." He trails off, coughing a bit and taking a few more sips. "Figured you could do with a happy past-bit. That ought'a fit the mood around here better than just the traditions, y'know?" He mutters into the bottom of the bottle a little.
Strawberry Princess	"Oh, yeah. That makes sense for a space guy, I guess. Stars are nuclear too, right?" She sits in companionable silence with Arthur for a few moments, staring up at the sky. "I- I really did need it. ... Some comfort. So, thank you. You're a good kid." Slowly, her blindfolded gaze drifts over to Arthur's beverage. She grabs the bottle out of his hand and gives him a stern, withering look... but it softens after a second into a kind of pained sympathy. "Look," she says. "I know it's... it's really hard, being a hero like you are. I know. There's so much that's scary and so much that hurts, and nobody... nobody made you ready for it. But please, don't- I know you shouldn't be drinking, at your age. Okay? I did too. And I wish I hadn't. When you're older, it's... it's different then." Then she slowly hands the bottle back to him, still giving him that heartrendingly sincere look. "You- I know... you have a lot on your shoulders, Arthur. A lot of hurt too, sometimes. So it's not- not my place, to say how you should or shouldn't carry it. But I can tell you what I regret." And she smiles a smile that isn't very real at all, and eats a cheesy grape. The grape gives it a smidgen more realness.
Lilian Rook	Strange's partner obligingly, perhaps even understandingly, lets him take his phone call. Though she certainly stays at a perfectly respectful distance, and in fact strikes up some conversation with a man who might be her husband before he moves off again, it's hard to shake the feeling that she's somehow been aware of everything going on, if not the particular verbal content. Maybe a certain amount of age and proximity to men like Strange makes for eerily accurate guesswork. The merest glance out of the corner of his eye wins him a sympathetic smile that hurts just a tiny bit, and an old lady-esque 'take all the time you need' handwaving shoo. For Arthur, the cheesy grapes are a sin too far, and he is now prohibited from accessing any more of the leftovers, short of a dare to eat one without making a face and prove he isn't pranking someone. With his business with Strawberry Princess resolved, he has enough time to glance, not far from the two of them, a pair of less-translucent figures out at the border, seated atop an ancient and petrified mossy stump, leaned on each other's shoulders and arms around one another's waists, their clothes dating them to centuries before the invention of microwaves, but seemingly distantly enjoying the sight of the two youths getting along, speaking to each other in complete silence. He gets the feeling of an old couple (albeit they both look maybe twenty five) reminiscing at seeing youthful romance at a park. There is also something considerably less wholesome in its vague and shadowy appearance, crouched low enough for only the top half of a large head and cold blue eyes to show over a fallen, overgrown log, especially interested in Strawberry in a way that seems somewhat like a dog betrayed by being kept at bay from its owner's food, but she doesn't get the feeling it wants her sandwich. Frantic little bird-necked glances at the familiar glossy black sword planted in the stones too close for comfort indicate why it won't approach, and it seems to lose interest and disappear into the brush the moment she begins feeling better. Wordlessly, the two are approached by someone who has to semi-politely cough so as not to have come up on them in total silence. A tall, clean-shaven man betwixt the ages of 'graduated' and 'looking to start family', with the look of someone who never styles the dark hair even on formal occasions, despite also looking like someone who wears a three piece suit too often. He is holding, and indeed implicitly offering, a pair of replacement drinks from the half-emptied table which smell mild and sweet, and probably don't have significant alcoholic content. Probably ciders. No doubt having seen Strawberry fuss over Arthur's bottle. It isn't really clear why he's bothering at first. It takes removing the upper half of a lightly antlered mask to show the family resemblance to Katrina still by the table with Tamamo. It's then only barely any more clear why he's bothering. "The first year always has that temptation. Don't think anything of it." Bryce says, setting them down on a nearby stone. "Everyone who's lost someone 'like that' does it, whether they swear they won't. Better to get it out of your system so you can move on with it." Despite never talking in the past, there's something still distantly, fadedly raw in that, before he looks to awkwardly excuse himself, saying "It helps to know that they aren't going anywhere. There's no need to rush". The trio of spectres he'd been with before have moved on somewhere from the liminal twilight of the bonfire.
Lilian Rook	Katrina, of course, isn't paying any attention, being taken up in spending casual time with Tamamo. Though there aren't electronics allowed, she sees her keeping up the duty in spirit by scratching things out on a tiny leather-bound notepad as the whole gamut is sampled through. She declares her own to be one of the few and more impressively complex cordials with a handful of flavours that are beyond Tamamo's experiential knowledge to identify, save some hints of apple and peach of a particular variety she may be slightly familiar with. Seeming satisfied with something, she declares that Tamamo is 'free to drop in' at any time, and, infact, offers her a contact number separate of having to go through Lilian. It may or may not be a number Lilian doesn't have. To speak of which, with the latter half of the event winding down, the inner circle is breaking up, and that person precisely comes back, bearing a torch blazing with an uncanny vigour and fragrance for only amounting to a baton-sized branch from the fire, now in the process of being taken to pieces by the various clans present. Perfectly sweaty from hours of ritual then hours of dancing, but pleased to be there. She links up with Tamamo first, unable to be bothered with a suspicious look at her sister having kept her company most of this time, and instead just exchanging some pleasant, if rather surface-level greetings and compliments about their respective halves of the process. Attempting to lead Tamamo away at this point, as the parties of the Samhain celebration are starting to break up, she takes the brief time alone on the walk to say "I wish I'd invited you here earlier if I knew you were going to dress up like that~ I'm really impressed. But I do have to teach you some of the local dancing. It's been a blind spot since --well you remember." There's a verbally implied wink. "So? What did you get up to~? You look --well, you have the scent-- like you've been busy. And you didn't fall for indulging in . . ." She looks over to where most of the others are. "Well, that makes sense. Nobody familiar in attendance, right? I don't think the one would have any reason to recognize you personally, close as he's been all night." She makes a wide circuit back to Gawain, giving him a bit of an 'Awww, you made friends!', if a rather 'analytical' gaze between him and Anneke, and asks him if he found his time improved by a few other people inviting guests for a change, with some service paid to the fact that these kinds of things tend to have just one person willing to break the local norm for a while. She also says "You've certainly had a time of it though. It seems as if you're a celebrity already --and this isn't exactly an Arthurian house. Really now, fifteen centuries old and still pulling off 'one of the boys'." She gives Strange space for as long as he's on his phone call, at first looking a little sour that he has his phone at all, but swiftly figuring something is up for sheer context, never mind magical senses. It becomes her stern duty to scoop up Strawberry and Arthur by the boundary, awkwardly crossing and halting by her brother on the way, with a stilted, 'never talk much' greeting a piece. "You two were cute out there~" she tells them. "Sorry, sorry. Strawberry, you looked really cute. Arthur, you were very gentlemanly and I applaud you." She looks out into the distance. "See anything in particular you like?" Her eyes automatically drift to where that tremendously massive, cloaked and antlered, inhuman shape had been far away in the moonlit fog to the south, even though it's long gone. She then glances back to the secreted off portion of the hilltop to the north, almost hopefully, then looks away when Katrina arrives, saying "Not tonight. Let's begin heading back, right?"
Lilian Rook	Stopping only to retrieve her weapon, when Lilian brings the torch near the boundary stones, the blazing piece of the magnificent fire, apparently now being left to burn itself out overnight, illuminates a small crowd of shapes straight out of thin air, revealed as if by stage magic, specifically only visible within that specific pool of radiance. Two men in late victorian coats and button-down inner jackets talking to each other animatedly over one of the tables with the invisible remains of invisible dinner being brought away by a barmaid a century their anachronistic elder of placement, signalling them to join the leaving procession. A sharp-featured gentleman Strange's visible slightly-greyed age, still wearing something akin to Elizabethan house robes, snapping shut a heavy half-read tome in his lap and adjusting spectacles. A pair of twin girls around Strawberry's age in ruffled white dresses who have a shorter, blonde younger brother clinging to their coattails, peeking at the group only from behind, giving the sense they'd kept him company all night. A grizzled and bearded man wearing an utterly ancient woodsman's outfit, hands clasped over a silver-headed walking staff, watching the distance from a sentry post he only now turns from. And, at a somewhat ominous distance, the figure of a woman in a long, flowing, green dress and veil, over waist length black hair, obscuring her expression to a vague facsimile of a face, with her fingers laced over the pommel of a translucent sword that is the spitting image of Lilian's. "Not much of a turnout tonight, but I guess that's how it is with so many new faces." Lilian sighs. "Well, I can tell who likes who~" says Katrina. "Especially the great uncles. And greaty-great over there." Bryce grimaces a little. "Still with that title? Have a little more respect." Lilian looks to the two of them and makes a bit of a face. "Oh right, we have something to do, so we'll wait here for him to finish" Katrina says, not specifying the 'him', and elbowing her elder brother. "You lot run along when you're ready~"
Gawain	Gawain shrugs at Anneke giving him a long glance, a sort of 'IDK, what did I miss'. He then moves to immediately grab drinks for a contest. Should they get timw, he'll compete with the other man, really good at the drinking, really bad at Drunk Wizard Chess. When Katrina shows up, Gawain raises his drink and speaks. "Yes! I am of course still one of the boys, I am young and fresh!" Drunk, but merry. Gawain probably loses the game, unless Anneke is somehow worse.
Tamamo	Tamamo secrets away a contact number ahead of Lilian's arrival, her own comments similarly surface-level once the two sisters are together. It's merely a matter of course that she's being whisked away to one company and, in the same motion, away from the other. Surely Katrina could see that coming. "Aha, does it suit me? I suppose it should, for it is a guise of the Sun. I would love to try such dancing, though it seems a bit raucous, yes? I can only imagine your ancestors, those who fought the Romans, quite approve." Glancing off to the edge of the outer circle, she says, "Oh, I might attract some familiar company if I lit a bright enough torch, even here against a distant sea, but the only ones who might come to see its light would not be pleased to see its bearer." The edge of bitterness is like the first specks of rust on weathered joints, unnoticed without due care, yet not without effect. "A fatal argument will not reach a new conclusion." And then the topic is dropped, in favor of of turning her drink in a little spin to attract the eye. "This was your own contribution, I suspect?" Her smile persists as she, with Lilian, makes some rounds. "Oh, yes, have you... quite enjoyed yourselves?" Between Arthur and Strawberry, she is visibly restraining herself from further observations. Visibly. It's enough to shake even archaic Japanese levels of politeness, but not to break it. Maybe that would be different if she hadn't cheated the alcohol. "'Something to do,' is it?"
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Clarify, but more this time "No, no! It's legit. I'm cleared by an ALCOHOLS EXPERT. Like, legitimately I think she became the GOD OF WINES AND DRINKS and shit like that, it's all," He gestures, a hand flatly waggled around eye level. "ABOVE THE TABLE." He's trying not to get flustered. But, sigh, yes, he does put away the freshly forbidden bottle. "Ain't it more about INTO THE SYSTEM, yo?" Arthur jokes at Bryce, the newcomer in the discussion. "Nawwww, trust me, when it comes to the SYSTEMS, I know what I'm BUYIN'." A few UI windows pop up, lines and bars shifting from the effects of his last sip. He seems to not change much himself, though! He's more affected by Katrina. "Never been CUTE in my LIFE. Hell yeah though, got that CLASS dawg. OLD-SCHOOL-like. Ain't no thing." He leans on the tree as effortlessly as possible, straining every muscle and brain-cell to calculate and execute a Cool Kid Posture. "The GHOSTS? I, uhhh. Nah. I get enough of the ghosts these days." The slurry of past and present merging into a singular moment without distinction or clarity is something he already struggles with on a nightly basis, and he rubs his face for a second, gently juicing the awkwardness out of various regions of it. "Better idea for me to focus on helpin' out the livin', y'know? My Class ain't exactly best for hangin' around the dead, best it can do is some border-shit." That's simply how mages are. "Somethin' comin' up?" Tamamo? Oh dammit. "YEAH, got that GOOD FUN up in this. I PARTY HARD, dawg. In fact I PARTIED SO HARD that I'm basically ALL DONE EARLY. I'm currently doin' AFTER-PARTY MOOD, EARLY. And NOTHIN' HAPPENIN'." He emphasize this with wrung hands.
Doctor Strange	Victor is still a ghost--so there is something that is keeping him that way, for sure. But, on a positive note, he and Stephen appear to have put to rest whatever rancor lied between them. When his attention turns back to his dance partner, he notices the 'take your time' signal and gives a gracious nod. There's even a slight smile there, too. The first stop is Arthur and Strawberry, and, by extension, and not wishing to be rude, Bryce. "Hey guys. This is my little brother, Victor." "Yo." Victor waves a translucent hand, brushing a lock of ethereal ginger hair aside. "Victor, this is--you've gotta be a Rook. Stephen Strange." A quick handshake, offered despite his trembling grasp. "And then, this is Arthur Lowell and Strawberry Princess, couple of my magic friends." A stage whisper to Victor, "This is the first time I've met her, but it's not the first time she's met me. It's complicated." He sniffs. "Everything is complicated with you. Even before the magic." "Ya-huh," says Stephen in the affirmative. "Where's the booze?" "It's on your upper lip," comes Strange's non-answer. "Mingle first, then drink. This is why I was always more fun at parties than you." Victor rolls his eyes, but, after some further small talk with Arthur, Strawbs and, ostensibly Bryce, follows the Sorcerer Supreme and is introduced to all of Strange's fellows; Gawain, Lilian, even, briefly Tamamo and by extension Katrina--though it's mostly a quick and polite hello, so as not to intrude overmuch on their lively chat. Last, but not least, Victor is introduced to Stephen's dance partner, with much thanks for the indulgence and an offer of contact information, if she'd like to keep in touch. Those introductions (and that offer of contact info) are all that there's time for, before things begin to wind down. "It really is a mixer," says Victor as the figures are revealed within the glow of the bonfire. "Sick."
Lilian Rook	At the mention of 'ancestors who fought the Romans', Lilian glances into the far, foggy distance, to the vague shape in green, then smiles a faint, unreadably complex smile, sideways. "You're correct, since that's where I learned. For the old, old warriors, dances were the foundation of martial training. Did you know that? But it's not as if you'd need to learn anything that complicated. Enough to visit a nice high-energy party, right? And that outfit looks a lot better suited to it~" She sticks out the tip of her tongue a little at the swirled drink. "It'd be a little thoughtless to not even do that much, no? Besides, nobody noticed." She then begins visibly repressing secret sniggering at Arthur being caught as he is. Bryce looks mildly perturbed by what Arthur is up to with his bizarre UI windows, and looks sidelong in a kind of 'these are the friends you make?' look at Lilian, who returns a vague 'you're not my mom' shrug, with all the little telltale signs of siblings used to cattily arguing in polite public circumstances through body language. "Few people do." he says to Arthur instead. "It'll be a while, still, before most people begin thinking that way again. Just . . . too many of them now. Ghosts. Literal and metaphorical." Katrina instead insists on giving Arthur something halfway between a hair ruffle and a little brother noogie. "Good! Partying it up while you have the chance is the whole idea! You've got all year to think about other things!" "Huh. You brought a guest?" is Lilian's reply to Strange having successfully summoned his dead brother. "I didn't know you were like that." she adds, without explaining what 'that' means. She then transitions immediately to the whole pleased-to-meet-you introduction routine with her piece of the fire held back and her oddly ghost-tangible hand extended. "The liminal lasts until sunrise, if you intend to stick around. The kids have all gone home by now. Unless you count Gawain; I think he's still playing drunken tamerlane chess. He's fun. I'm sure you'll get along." And then, at last, a slightly apologetic, yet still perfectly happy grin. "I'm afraid how far I can take you stops at the front door. The last part of Samhain is a hearth tradition. But I'm glad to have seen you here tonight. And if any of the Relatives fancy speaking, we have the whole way back."