[MINGLE] EVENT: Birthday Party

[sixthiteration]

WHERE: 6I inn front lawn
WHEN: 4 August, all day
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Some mentions of drug use
NOTES: Full plot details here. List of favors here.

---

The fourth of August dawns pleasantly mild and clear, with hardly a cloud in the sky. Which is good, because it means there's plenty of sunshine to see the riot of color that has errupted on the front lawn of the inn.

The general set-up will be familiar to those who've been in the village long enough — Tables and chairs from inside the inn set up outside for a party by the time everyone wakes. This party, though, seems to have been turned up to about 11, and the theme is definitely new: Balloons, streamers, party favors, and everything in a rainbow of colors that villagers have come to know extremely well.

Each place is set with its own (occasionally large) goody bag and birthday present, each in the color belonging to the owner on the tag. One place, done up all in silver and gray, is set for the lost.

The tables are piled high with the sort of fare you'd find at a children's party: Cake, soda, hamburgers, pizza. Not a beer or cup of coffee in sight. And on the edge of the lawn, beside an area possibly kept clear for dancing, is the most bewildering, magical thing of all, no pocket change needed.

Tuck in and let loose, villagers. If you're lucky, maybe someone will spike the punch.

Comments

[underachievement]

She's not drunk. She's shitfaced, she can tell because the last thing she did at the party was some loner approximation of dancing to a song she selected that she couldn't remember half the lyrics to as it was playing. Now she doesn't remember it ending, or coming to the decision that she needed to go home, but she's walking down a street and trusting that's the direction it's going. She's sweaty and as deeply tired as she is shallowly alert and tempted to stray into the woods, or worse, go back to the party. Like she could get back to that perfect level of inebriation she had for about five minutes and then stupidly had another drink.

Jess has never been this smashed without superpowers and she doubts she's ever had this much trouble walking good. She's mastered the challenge of remaining upright but drifting from one side of the street to the other makes her nauseous before she's halfway home. Nothing around her works as an anchor, including the stars in the sky, whose twinkles smear around in circles that make her ill. With her hand out, groping blindly until it collides with some wood, Jess's vision blurs black and she thinks she's about to pass out. Instead, the poison in her stomach pours violently up her throat, out her mouth and onto the ground.

It hurts but it feels good at the same time, so she leans into it and heaves until there's only the thin saliva lining her mouth to spit out. The apron she forgot she was wearing fell forward and shielded her from the splashback. Oh right, she didn't have anything to eat at the party, or before that. Jess yanks the apron off and drops it to the ground, collecting herself with a deep breath before daring to lift her head.

Oh. The magnification of her beer goggles dialled back from 50x to 5x, it's blatantly obvious to her now that the porch she just threw up in front of and partially on is occupied. And she would have preferred a stranger, no offense, it would just be less awkward to meet someone this way for the first time, not the second-ish. Jess sees her pretty often, after all, looking into the village's history, but she likes to find those answers on her own. She trusts Karen's work but it eats up time her head would spend eating itself instead. Makes her come off like an unfriendly asshole, almost definitely, so uh, this is a short fall from grace, at least.

"Got a bucket?" It's too late for that and Jess has less than no idea how to clean vomit off the dirt than she has of how you get it off the cement stoops she just leaves it on in New York.

[digging]

By the time Karen realizes what's about to happen, it's too late. She spares Jessica, or maybe just herself, the embarrassment of watching it happen, but the sound of retching is honestly bad enough. Dimly, as she focuses on the other end of the porch, Karen wonders if this situation would be made better or worse were she as high as she was about an hour back.

When the heaving stops, she slides a careful glance back and then gets to her feet, wondering vaguely where Claire is. It isn't that Karen is bad at this sort of thing, only that Claire is better, her hands seeming to act almost of their own accord when someone needs tending to.

"Come on," she says, reaching both hands out Jessica's way to help her inside. "I don't have a bucket, but I have a toilet." Whether Jessica will accept is really anyone's guess, Karen thinks; it seems just as likely that she'd veer off into the woods or pass out on the lawn.

[underachievement]

There can't be anything left in her stomach to expel but she's thought that before and been really, really wrong. By the time she's certain she's not going to vomit anymore, right now, she's inside the house. Jess shrugs off the guiding hands and steers her descent towards the nearest chair, collapsing into it like a crumpled over body bag, her head propped on the arm.

"I just need a minute," she stresses, eyes squeezed shut, "until the spinning--" One of the hands strewn across her lap does a few twirls before resuming listlessness. What she could actually use is water or a bagel or her goddamn abilities back. Or a big ol' patch to put over the EMS logo on the bag slung over her shoulder so as to minimize ironic blast damage.

[digging]

"Yeah," Karen replies with a sympathetic sigh, and steps away into the kitchen. When she returns a moment later, she's carrying a glass of water, a damp dish cloth, and a large pitcher hefted up against her hip. The first two she presses into Jessica's hands, and when she feels relatively certain they won't immediately be dropped to the floor, she heads back outside with the pitcher. Rinsing sick off the front stoop is definitely not what she'd hoped for tonight, but she can't just leave it there for Claire to find.

Back inside, she leans against the back of the sofa with her head canted, empty pitcher dangling at her side. "You wanna lay down?" Maybe it's better if she's in the chair, now that Karen considers it. She doesn't know Jessica that well, but thinks she probably deserves better than going out like Janis Joplin, choking on her own vomit.

[underachievement]

She should be so lucky. Her bubble would probably go off and keep people from helping her. Dream come true.

While Karen does something outside, Jess gulps down water, wipes her mouth, and gulps down more. Through the lambent blaring of her senses, which had been duller, pleasant sort of strobing less than half an hour ago, she notes that Claire isn't there. All right, tear it up, night nurse. If she gets out of her quick enough, she can avoid bothering her further. Jess owes her more than she could ever repay but a start would be to not vomit all over her house, probably.

"No." She shakes her head redundantly. "Thanks, I'm gonna go." Jess bends in the chair to set the glass on the ground and then attempts to straighten and stand in one move. An expletive slurring out of her mouth, her knees give and she slides her self to the floor using the chair to guide her fall. Stressed creases slice across her eyelids and nose from the nauseous struggle to keep the water in her stomach in her goddamn stomach.

[digging]

There's no time to keep Jessica from crumpling to the floor, but Karen slides in there as quickly as she can, on her knees and holding the pitcher forward as bucket alternative. The opening could stand to be a little bigger, but it's better than the floor or the front of Jessica's shirt.

"You're not going anywhere," she quietly says, and reaches to push dark hair back from the pale, clammy skin of Jessica's forehead. "I've got you, alright?"

[underachievement]

Jess doesn't remember the exact words she used with Trish throughout her withdrawal or while she was still partying. The few occasions that Jess got too drunk, she locked herself up wherever there was a door with a lock and made it no one's problem but hers. And the unlucky owner of the closet she mistook for a bathroom. Since she adopted a lifestyle of drinking alone, it's a policy that's continued to serve her well. Karen won't be talking her out of it, same as Trish never could, but she'll give her the peace of mind until she can sneak away.

Her eyes squint open, then Jess reaches for the pitcher, fingers closing precariously around the rim. Lifting it would be a disaster; she drags it on the floor and into her lap. Her hair tumbles back in front of her face but Jess shoves it behind her ear, upholding Karen's gesture a moment ago. She stares down into the glass bottom of the pitcher, bland surface encircled with water dregs whose gleam shifted with every slight angle. Not so spinny in there.

"I never thought I'd miss my damn superpowers," she slurs. The insides of her hands turn white as she presses them to either side of the pitcher with increasing force, and then relents when nothing happens. Maybe she could shatter it at full strength but the amount she applied would have been more than enough under normal circumstances. On bad nights, half her bar tab was shattered glasses.

[digging]

"I think we're all missing them lately," Karen says as she settles onto the floor herself, back against the end of the sofa, head thunking softly against the upholstered arm. She doesn't mean it as bleakly as it sounds, thinking more of everyday difficulties instead of death, but either way the fact remains. They'd all probably be a lot better off if even a fraction of the people here who had powers back home had them here with any degree of consistency. But then maybe that's the whole, miserable point.

"Did you ever get a place to stay that wasn't a tent?"

[underachievement]

For less selfish reasons than the one consigning Jess to her floor, probably. Big picture shit. Jess feels guilty about that too but she's also sick of looking after people who don't want to be looked after. The descriptions she got of Peeta, he had no business being in that situation. And she was nowhere around and in no fit state to help. But she'll feel like shit about it anyway. Karen just gave her her blessing. Jess ducks her head, lips taut as her hair comes loose again. She leaves it.

"House, out in the sticks," or what passes for them. Hilariously, she thought about claiming one of the vacant houses in the abandoned Seventh village, but decided to stay closer to the community, in case she was needed. Hilarious.

[digging]

Jessica could mean one of the houses at the end of the street, or one of the ones across the river; either way, Karen sincerely doubts her own ability to make sure Jessica gets there and into her own bed. If she had a wheelbarrow, maybe.

"I'll get you a pillow and a blanket," she says, and pushes herself back to her feet even though she's just sat down. She likes Jessica well enough, or thinks she might, anyway, if they knew each other a little better, but blotto bonding is a lot less fun when only one of you is drunk.

[underachievement]

Carefully, she lolls her head to her shoulder and then back onto the couch seat. Just as carefully, she sighs and relents to sagging bonelessly where she landed. The only gesture she can conceive of to make up for crashing Karen's night is dropping off a bottle of liquor -- not moonshine but whatever label of questionably quality next shows up at her own door, courtesy of their kidnappers. Yeah, right. She's shitwrecked but she's not that drunk. It's the right thing to do, inarguably, but she's not a good enough person to do it.

She knows who would be. What a bullshit segue for her thoughts to take, especially as Karen reenters her peripheral vision. "Thanks," Jess mumbles, uninvested in expressing her gratitude as she is in the comforts she's receiving. She's thinking about what she knows about death here, about the ghosts in Reims that shouldn't have risen, but not about Kevin. She won't fall asleep, as physically close to it as she feels; it could endanger Karen and Claire if one of them tried to rouse her from a bad dream. Bubble blasted by good intentions. Nope, she's just waiting out gravity, which is partying on without her.

[digging]

"Sure," Karen replies with a faint smile as she stands, pillow and neatly-folded blanket stacked in her hands, debating the best place to deposit them so that they'll actually get used. Her gaze bounces from the couch to the recently vacated chair to where Jessica is still slumped on the floor. Figuring she'll split the difference, she opts for the chair.

"If I was Claire, I'd probably have some kind of miracle tea to help with the spinning, but I have a feeling she's not going to be home tonight, so you're stuck with my crappy mothering. Sorry," she says, a resigned quirk of her mouth as she drops the items onto the chair.