sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

[MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

WHERE: Corn field next to the inn
WHEN: 31 October, all day and night
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Please warn as appropriate in your subject lines
NOTES: Please make sure you have read and understand the event details! If you have questions, drop them here. RECOMMENDED BUT NOT REQUIRED: Put your SCRUBS COLOR in your OTA subject line for folks doing bingo. Time your OTA for the harvest feast, the masquerade, or both. Costume matches and details for folks who did not get matched are here.

This morning, our intrepid villagers awoke to a surprise of the nicer kind: A bundle of clothing left at the foot of their bed, tied with a bow. There is also a note: Put on your new outfit and join the festivities in the corn field next to the inn.

You may be thinking, what corn field next to the inn? The one that sprung up fully-mature overnight, of course.

In the middle of the field, villagers will find an autumn feast: Tables piled with harvest time food and drink, warm and rustic decorations, the day's sunshine fending off any chill in the air.

Tuck in and enjoy, villagers, but take note: Things often look different in the dark, and you might be one of them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A sorry state of affairs, definitely, and one Natasha Romanoff witnesses in its entirely. In fact, she's not all that far away, well within reasonable conversational distance, which she takes advantage of, voice amused but not mocking.

"It definitely leapt out of nowhere. I'll vouch for you, you were clearly minding your own business when it attacked."

Oh God, he went full derp and now there were witnesses. Matt's hand freezes mid rubbing his forehead and his shoulders start to rise as he flashes a sheepish smile in her direction.

"Thanks. I'll need that in writing to file the insurance claim," he jokes along. Ordinarily it's hard to find the humour in this situation but he's taking it in his stride.

"Guess I'm in the right place?"

"Always happy to help a stranger," is her reply, and she keeps an admirably straight face for the words. They aren't incorrect, exactly, but don't necessarily mean what they say, either. She's not the help-old-ladies-cross-the-street type.

"Couldn't you tell by the festive decor?" The words are accompanied by a gesture around them at the mostly cleared space, the table spread with food and drink, the buzz of conversation. "I practically feel like I'm back in New York. I mean, upstate instead of the city, but still."

Determined not to make this awkward, Matt chooses not to point out that he's vision-impaired and just roll with the rest of the conversation. She'll figure it out soon enough. He's not drunk enough to get attacked by corn.

"You're from New York?" His eyes would light up if they could. Instead his eyebrows rise and he manages a small smile. He'll take any semblance of familiarity he can get.

"I've never been upstate."

Ah, there it goes. She hadn't had a direct view before, between the sudden onslaught of corn and the hand rubbing at his forehead, but now that he's smiling her direction without that in the way, she can see his eyes and make the necessary leap. It doesn't change anything about her tone, won't change anything about how she talks to him aside from her phrasing, really, but it does speak volumes about their hosts.

"I'm from a lot of places," she answers, and there's a hint of amusement in her voice. "I did a lot of traveling, but I stayed in the city when I stayed anywhere at all. Upstate's nice, if you like cows and way more taxidermy than anyone should ever have. It's nice, I'm just more of a city girl, myself. Are you from the city? Born and raised?"

That's suitably vague and with an air of mystery that isn't offputting.

"Yeah. I've stayed in the same..." he purses his lips and shakes his head. "Hundred blocks or so, on the west side. All my life." Clearly he's not angling to try and win her over pretending he's more than what he is or trying to boast of anything. If anything he probably comes across as a little insular, perhaps even a little sheltered.

"Thinking I should have traveled a bit, now. Makes hostile corn stalks seem less daunting."

Well, a little mystery never hurt anyone. And it's true, more or less.

His last words coax an actual laugh from her, and she shakes her head. "Could always just hop on the Metro North when you get home. Take a ride up, get some fresh air. Careful of those killer tomatoes, though, they're worse than the corn stalks." She's mostly kidding. Although it's tempting to continue spinning that story--she's always had a weakness for doing that, the deadpan story as long as the audience is buying it, and maybe longer--instead, she offers an introduction instead.

"I don't think we've met, yet. I'm Natasha."

He's not even been up the northern parts of Harlem so that's going to be on the to-do list once they get back. If they get back. Matt's not holding his breath, given how quickly everyone seems to have settled in and started toiling away like they're planning on sticking around for the long haul.

"I'll keep that in mind, Natasha. I'm Matthew." He flashes a tight-lipped smile in her direction even though he doesn't offer a hand.

"Have you been here a while?"

They'll get back. If, you know, they came from another place to begin with, and they aren't just lab-grown clones with implanted memories. You know how it goes in these things. Natasha's been turning it over in her mind, along with several other theories, but honestly until something turns up to disprove it, she's going to keep assuming that she is a. her own self, b. not dreaming, and c. alive, and do everything possible to keep that last one true for as long as possible regardless of corollaries a and b. The toiling is just a side effect of that.

"Not all that long," she answers. "A couple of weeks. Long enough to know there's no easy way back home. You know anyone in town?"

"Oh. Me too." Didn't feel that long for him though. Mostly he's spent his time getting reacquainted with the darkness. He also figures with people being here for months on end that if there was a way out they would have found it by now.

"A couple of familiar voices from back home, yes. I didn't know they were- stuck here. Would have helped if I could, you know?"

"Mm, there's still some debate about whether or not they actually are," she admits. Maybe a party isn't the best place for these kind of existential quandaries, but at least here you can drink away whatever anxiety attacks they cause, if you're feeling the need. "At least, depending on your point in the timeline. There's also a running theory that we're all clones. Clones with all of our memories and scars, but, you know. Clones." A faint smile tinges the words. "It makes about as much sense as anything else does, here, honestly."

"You... believe that?" Despite lawyering for a living, Matt's not the best liar especially when he isn't in his Daredevil outfit or doesn't have his suit, tie and shades on going on the attack. Matt doesn't seem swayed by the idea and if he could side-eye her he probably would be right now. He wants to keep an open mind, and he has no doubt the technology would be available a few years down the line, or already available 'somewhere out there'. But, clones?

"Mmmn." She makes a noise that indicates a wobbling, a see-sawing sound to accompany the motion of her hand, not helpful to him but the sound is clear enough anyway. "Let's put it this way, I don't have any way to prove I'm not, but I really don't feel like having an existential crisis this week. I'm just keeping an open mind." She takes a sip of the drink in her hand before continuing.

"I've lived through weirder, honestly, and this place isn't the worst I've ever been. Food's halfway decent, and there's something that actually tastes almost like wine on the table."

"Just this week?" he asks with a small laugh. He'll take not having an existential crisis from here on out, thanks. She sounds like she has fairly low standards in terms of a decent place to stay, but at least she's adapted and seems as comfortable as she can be given how displaced they all are. That's the best anyone could hope for, really.

"Don't suppose you have any of that almost-wine to share?"

"Well, you know, I don't want to box myself in. Maybe next week I'll end up bored enough that an existential crisis sounds fun and exciting." There's a thread of humor in her voice to go along with the smile that's audible as well. Honestly, this is...manageable. For now. She's adaptable. You have to be, to survive places like this.

"Think I could find some to share. You want an arm, or would you rather wait here with the corn?"

It looks like he has to actually muster up some courage to move, but after grasping at air he latches onto her arm and steps in a little closer, giving her a small smile. He can't expect to get through his place with everyone bringing things to him.

"I feel safer with you than with the corn," he admits, trying to lighten the tone.

She hasn't done this before, exactly, but Natasha's a quick learner, with a natural grace and awareness of her surroundings that makes this less awkward than it could be. Her arm under his hand is steady, and she's close enough that it's easy to direct them, much like one might lead a dance as she takes her time leading them towards the table.

"You know, believe it or not, that's actually the first time I've heard that," she answers, amused. "But hey, I don't blame you. That stuff's pretty vicious."

It's a little clumsy at first while they find their footing. He bumps into her a couple times. She has to yank him the other direction once. But then they sort of fall in step with each other and it just works as they weave between obstacles.

"There's a pickup line joke in there somewhere, but I'd hate for you to get the wrong idea."

She laughs at that again, a bright sound as they finally reach the table with the drinks. "I'd be flattered, but my dance card's actually pretty full," she tells him, amusement still glimmering in her voice. "How about we just leave it at jokes about killer vegetation and an improving evening?" She takes the hand on her arm carefully, lays it on the table so he can feel where he's standing, then reaches for a cup and one of the bottles she'd poured from, pouring him a drink as well before just as carefully placing it in his hand. It's not a big deal, he's not an invalid, he just needs an extra bit of help until he gets used to this space.

"See? Almost like wine."

"Sounds safer to me," he admits with a warm smile. Feeling a little more relaxed holding a cup of wine probably makes him sound like an alcoholic, but honestly he's just a bit relieved having some guidance and company, and trying not to knock the whole thing back in one go.

"Thanks."

Hey, she won't judge. Honestly, even by the circumstances of the last eight years of her life, this last week and a half have been weird on top of weird. A few drinks that she's reasonably sure won't kill anyone aren't anything to be ashamed of.

"Any time," she answers, and the sentiment is genuine. "Can't believe they pulled you through and didn't think to give you a cane or anything to help. I know someone who might be able to put something together for you, if you need it."

"Oh, um. I met someone." Something, actually, but he doesn't want to come across like he's crazy. "He gave me a. Stick. I just have to attune to my inner divine carpenter and whittle it down a bit." He'd apologise for subjecting her to B-grade Catholic jokes but she seems to be humouring him so far.

Hey, honestly, are there any other kind? She doesn't seem to mind, giving a quiet laugh. "Well, that's something, at least. From the looks of things we won't exactly have a ton to do during the winter here, so whittling's as good a hobby as any, probably. I'm thinking of learning to knit. It sounds nice and domestic."

"Oh. Knitting?" He can't help but laugh. It's probably far more useful than 'whittling', but it does seem like something incredibly domestic that the majority of working people their age probably aren't too familiar with.

"You'll have to let me know how easy it is to do blindfolded."

"Sure, why not? Seems about as useful as anything else, once it starts to snow. If it starts to snow. I'm not sure what to expect from the weather here, yet." And there's no hiding the amusement in her voice as she considers the rest of his words. "If you think I won't do just that, then you definitely don't know me yet. Blindfolded sounds like an interesting challenge. If I can manage it, you wanna learn?"

(no subject)

blindninja - 2018-12-11 04:49 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

tothefly - 2018-12-14 04:38 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only