[MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

[sixthiteration]

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.

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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.

Comments

[nonstopnarcissist]

Closer he shuffles anyway, sitting, leaning, tucking his tail out of the way and knocking the alien head on top of his own aside so he can focus on Liv in all her drunken glory. Like a friend.

"Cross my mechanical heart, he'll never hear it from me. But- It might not bother him? It might be something to have in common. He thinks the world of you, he can't condemn in himself what's a part of you." Or maybe he could. Barnes does, in fact, surprise him now and then. "So- Bucky's a lateral move."

[living_proof]

For a long moment I stare back at Tony, occasionally blinking as I process this. It's moving a little slowly at present, my brain. Probably been a little too pickled.

"You—" I begin, flinging a finger Tony's way. "That is a good point and I had not thought of it. He'll probably still cry, though," I conclude with a wave of the same hand. "Inside. Like a man. Because the world blows."

[nonstopnarcissist]

"I'm sure if you wanted him to cry on the outside he'd find a way to do it, Olive Oyle." Tony reaches out to catch and squeeze her hand (carefully, the fake claws are a thing). "And sometimes crying on the inside or outside is healthy. Catharsis, you know?"

[living_proof]

"Excuse you," I interject, holding up a hand palm-first. "Olive Oyle was tall and had no butt. I have a butt and a killer rack and I reject this label, sir." I slap my hand down on the table, clanking the bottles and glasses.

"And he doesn't cry out the outside. He holds it in," I add with a shrug. "It's a thing. Worried if he starts he won't stop."

[nonstopnarcissist]

"Newton-John?" He tries. "Look, Olive doesn't give me a lot of options. Miss Martini? Liv a Little?"

Give him time, he'll find something better eventually.

"What is with men of his era repressing the fuck out of their emotions. At least when I do it I know it's fucked up." Not that it makes it better but- he's got his outlets.

[living_proof]

"It's a scary thing," I insist. "It's like when you pull the thing, the uh— the yarn, and the whole sweater goes. You gotta like... work up to that, Tony. You gotta find a place to lay on the floor and cry for a week where people aren't coming up all are you okay, are you okay twenty-four-freaking-seven. It requires preparation. You can't just open your bags and fling your underwear everywhere."

Does that make sense? My brow creases. Yeah, I think it makes sense. Enough.