sixthiterationlogs | [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

"Me too," He returns flatly, calmly relieving her of her vodka and taking a drink himself. Part amused, part concerned, part wondering whether she means as the grim reaper or as a zombie but too polite to ask about it in the middle of a soiree. He sits, pressing the stethoscope to his chest to keep it from banging the table as he goes. People keep calling him House (which he gets) or McDreamy (which he does not get) but he's tempted to snatch up a permanent marker and write Kevorkian on the breast of his lab coat. He only refrains because he's holding out hope it'll change back to that hoodie he was wearing before this happened, and it'd be a damn shame to ruin it.

More important matters at hand, though.

Ravi.

Pressing his lips into a tight line, he searches her face to gauge just what level of drunk she is. Glassy eyed, but otherwise hard to say. Might as well ask, "How you holdin' up, sweetheart?"

I was holding up that glass before he took it away from me, that's how I was holding up, and my brow pinches with a frown as I watch it go. "That—" I arc a finger in the general direction of the glass and pull in a deep breath. "Was mine. And you are a dirty thief. But also painfully attractive." I sit back in my chair with an abrupt, imperious wave of one arm. "I will allow it."

This, despite the fact that holding up is the opposite of what I'm looking to do, here. I would like, for once in my life, to not hold up. I would like to fall apart, please and thank you. Just a little, because life can be shitty.

"You know what's funny?" I ask, leaning my cheek on an upturned palm. "I'll tell you what's funny. I'm me," I say, and point to my chest, and then to his. "And you're also me. We're both me."

She points closely enough in the direction of the glass that he figures she isn't about to keel over any time soon, but she's not quite on the mark. Getting called painfully attractive out of nowhere also isn't really that unusual, but her precarious relationship with sitting upright might be. He's pegging her at maybe a six or seven out of ten, not dangerous but definitely not a candidate for the rest of a glass of vodka.

He does what any good boyfriend would do and downs it for her, then sets it off to the side.

At this juncture he's still more amused than concerned, and he curls his palm around her free cheek to hold her in place while he ducks in to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Funny you say that, I'm pretty sure we traded places." Because if anyone in this town is the god damn grim reaper... "You want something to eat? I could get you something."

To soak up some of that booze.

Narrowing my eyes, I lean slowly forward and point a vaguely-wavering finger Bucky's way. "If I was you, I would be a lumberjack and you know it," I imperiously reply, and then flop back into my chair.

"I know what you're doing. Oh yeah. I got your number." My nod turns into a disbelieving shake of my head. "You're a cruel master, Dr. Barnes. I know what you're doing." A wag of my finger. "First!" I pause, pull in a deep breath. "Do no harm. I took that oath, I know it."

He snorts honest to god he does, because he can't even argue with her. He's chopped too much wood, his reputation is quite literally stacked too high. He shifts forward as she flops, he can't help it. She's god damn adorable, she's hilarious, and he reaches up to card a hand through her hair. To push it back from where it fell too closely to obscuring her face. He continues the motion until he's sweeping behind her ear and under her chin, where fingers curl and brush along her jawline.

"They've got cupcakes?" he offers, rather than admitting she's got him pegged accurately.

"Are they...... ghost pepper cupcakes?" I ask with a very pointed look that's probably negated somewhat by the way I tip my cheek over against his hand. "Because if they're not burning your face off, Bucky Beaver, that's just a mean, mean thing to say. Mean." I jab a finger toward his chest, face still cradled in his palm. "You're gonna be in the doghouse, Dr. Dreamboat. Better watch yourself."

[MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

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