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WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: #43 - The Vincennes
WHEN: December 27th - Evening
OPEN TO: All!
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Open (Gathering Style)

When the gifts had arrived, Peggy had treated them at first with the same suspicion as anything else here. Things simply weren't that good to be true, but these gifts had people's names on them this time. With the exception of several that she couldn't begin to understand (such as that one from a man named Ivan, that she barely recalled interacting with), the rest were so kind and thoughtful that she soon found herself with a wealth of possessions she hadn't hoped to possess here.

The party had been borne of one single thought: I have nowhere to wear such lovely things and when she'd found the wine and liquor from others (including Tony, which didn't surprise her in the very least), she knew that she could change that. She'd posted a quick notice at the inn using some of the cardboard of a box and the lovely fountain pen Helen had given her, then did the same at many of the public buildings, inviting people to her home and inviting them to bring any food or drink they might like to provide, as well as suggesting this as an opportunity to wear their fanciest.

She set out her drinks (the ones she was willing to share) and made sure to tidy the home so that it was presentable. In her youth, back during her first engagement, she might have imagined entertaining like this on a regular basis, but that had been swept away by the war. Instead, Peggy was left hoping that such a gala would be acceptable and that she wouldn't simply be here alone tonight.

Setting her new record player (and her single record) down, she cranked it to begin playing the record that had come with it (a pressing of the Glenn Miller Band), and then she began to convince herself that there was nothing more that she could do.

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The dress had been the impetus for this whole thing. Silvers and golds with such lovely material that she longed to wear it instantly. When she'd found the stockings and the boots, Peggy knew that she wanted to wear it somewhere, but a strange isolated village didn't boast much of a social scene. It was why she had decided to create one. The boots were heavier than she wanted for indoors, but were at least more fashionable than those given by the village and as she wandered by the phonograph to give it a new crank and set it up for another play, she decided it hardly mattered.

It was close enough. She had her nails painted red to match the crimson shape of it on her lips and had pressed perfume to the pulse points of her neck after she had done her hair. In the mirror, Peggy Carter looked all the world like a woman who wasn't stuck in a strange village and was rather back in New York or Los Angeles or London; places with thriving culture and the option for dancing and living without feeling pressed under a microscope.

Once she was through cranking the phonograph, she made her way to the small wet bar she had established for herself, pouring a glass of sherry to sip on as she smoothed a hand over the chiffon of the skirt to tame it slightly, grateful for the high neck each time the door opened.

This time, she glanced over with her hand still on the bar, and met eyes with the person who had just entered. "Can I pour you something?" she offered.

It's a rather lucky thing that Helen had been as good as she was to give Ravi a decent shirt that was perfect for an event like this. Unfortunately, the black scrubs trousers would have to do, but if you didn't squint too hard, it wasn't the most undignified thing in the world. He's also brought a bottle of absinthe with him because apparently Tony Stark wants to make him lose his vision and Ravi is more than happy to share that sort of trip with his nearest and dearest, because nothing says friends like taking an alcohol or drug trip together down a path of which no one wants to remember.

He'd already polished off the In n Out burger the moment he'd seen it, felt sick, and then had been immensely grateful for the herbs. It's like he's being given the message that he needs to be more careful about these gifts, which is why he's so ready to give some away. Placing his coat in one of the spare bedrooms, Ravi heads back inside and feels a little out of time -- more so than usual -- because the music is old, the scenery is even older, but the clothes are so modern and anachronistic that it's throwing him off, slightly.

And he hasn't even had any of the absinthe yet. Speaking of, he searches around and finds himself a glass to pour the slightest bit of liquid possible, stomach already turning. "All right, you can do this," he says to himself, beginning the long process of psyching himself up, "you've done utopium well knowing the potential risks, in the name of science, you can do this too."

The note makes her think of all those elaborate, extravagant, ridiculous parties in Panem, but it's not like Johanna is going to show up at someone's house and be set upon by the President and Gamemakers, Capitol flunkies all trying to get her to be something she's not. She doesn't dress in anything other than her red scrubs when she goes, mainly to sate her curiosity, and doesn't for a second feel bad for it. She's been dressed up like a doll so often in her life that allowing herself to be casual and far from refined feels like a treat in itself.

She acknowledges her status as a guest by not bringing any weapons to the woman's home, but that doesn't mean Johanna isn't still completely on guard and keeping an eye on things. Just because she's not armed doesn't mean she's not ready for a fight and it's the first step over the door that she takes that makes her wonder what the hell she's walked into.

It's definitely not a Capitol party, it's far too sad for that, but at least it's got a small bar going for it. Heading straight to it, Johanna starts mining through the bottles, trying to figure out which one would make Haymitch the most proud if she drank, settling on something that smells very old and very expensive.

She feels out of place, but hey, doesn't that just mean Johanna's doing what she does best? Drinking a shot back of the clear liquor, she grimaces and starts to pour another for herself, thinking that being halfway drunk now and all the way drunk later is the best thing she can do to ignore the fact that she's stuck here.

Riza was not usually one for parties. Sure the military elite had held their parties, but it was usually less for soldiers and more for the politically minded. Mustang had worked his way into a few and she had attended in kind, but she'd never enjoyed them because she'd gone as his right-hand. Even in Manhattan, when she'd been stuck there for a year and people like Giselle and Miwako had insisted on various events to keep up morale she'd only gone because, well, everyone else was there. It had helped, however, to be in a gathering with others that meant she could try to forget, for just a little while, that she was trapped somewhere she didn't want to be.

So Riza had arrived wearing one of the only pieces of clothing she'd received during the impromptu Christmas, a dress in periwinkle blue. She wasn't even sure who had gotten it for her, but she was going to try and not read TOO much into the fact she'd been given a dress. Unfortunately, she didn't really have any shoes or jeweler to match or accessorize with, but she figured everyone else would have an eclectic style here anyway. She'd elected to wear her hair down, the brush and clips making it less ragged, but she never felt comfortable exposing her back and the dress's lace covered her tattoo but only barely. Her long blond hair did the rest and made up for the fact that she lacked proper jewelry or accessories.

Also, she'd take it to her grave, but she was actually wearing the nice lingerie that had been gifted to her as well. While on the one hand she wanted to smack whoever had thought that was an appropriate gift to give, she also felt this was the one time she felt like she had an excuse to wear it. It felt wrong to wear the everyday stuff she wore with her scrubs when she had this set available.

When she arrived, she was glad to see she wasn't the first. She decided to do what she usually did in this situations: grab a drink to blend in and then find a spot to sit or stand and watch. It wasn't the most exciting, but as mentioned before she wasn't exactly used to the whole 'party scene.' Maybe she'd find someone to talk to once others arrived. It wasn't like there were unfamiliar faces when you lived in a village with a small population and your room was right above the inn.

Benedict is not drunk.

He's close to drunk — tipsy would be a kind word for it — but he is still perfectly steady on his feet and his voice is not slurred when he turns to the center of the room after perhaps an hour of being in attendance and moves to fling out his arm dramatically, abruptly missing home with a fierceness that almost takes his breath away. Gwen would have been aghast at the small, modest little party they've managed to cook up thanks to Miss Carter, but after her initial horror, she would have dived straight into it. There was no one who enjoyed a good party as much as his cousin; Benedict would know, having been forced to attend countless such events with her throughout their lives. She would have made it her solemn mission to make sure that this little gathering, as small and pitiful as it might be compared to the high society balls they're used to, is as successful and diverting as possible.

"Right!" he exclaims, after making sure that he hadn't just tossed his drink on whoever was unlucky enough to be standing behind him and slightly to his left. "It has become quite clear that nobody knows how to dance. This will not stand."

Gwen would never forgive him if he allowed a party to go by without dancing, and she'd tease him endlessly for not at least attempting to dance with his sweetheart. In order to do that, however, it would seem he has to instruct the rest of the village in how to dance. "We will begin with a waltz. I need a partner to help demonstrate."

Edited 2017-01-06 05:06 (UTC)

Kate is tipsy, but this time, not just on alcohol. She's tipsy on merriment, drunk with delight, because this all is fun. Fun to have some music, fun with people dressed up as much as they can (with varying degrees), fun because this is a licence to have fun and so people are. Including herself.

She's dressed in the utterly lovely blue dress Miss Carter has given her. A day dress, yes, but this is the kind of occasion where such distinctions do not matter. It's lovely, and it fits her like a glove, particularly when wearing the fine corset Odair had given her. Her long, thick, dark curling hair is piled on her head, held in place and decorated with hair clips and pins from Jensen's gift. Pink flowers, silvery stars, a charming blue butterfly.

Normally, she'd be in the midst of the dancing, and dance for hours. But, so far, she is paying head to her ankle by sticking to the outskirts and socialising.

So far.

Give her maybe another ten minutes, and she'll forget. Even in these hiking boots - so much more solider than the ones she'd wear at home - she can dance well. There is not much else to do in the country, and she's part of a proudly Irish clan. She can ride horses, and she can dance.

Edited 2017-01-07 00:43 (UTC)

This is not the first time Annie has made an effort with her appearance since arriving here. She's long braided her hair to try and keep it neat, tried washing out the white uniform once she and Finnick came in from the woods. After getting some soap from Helen, that helped, but her clothes were a mess and her hair had been missing the care she normally lavished on it. Then, during the blizzard, she'd dressed up in some of the finery gifted to her. This is, however, the first time she's made a serious effort for socializing, and she actually looks put together.

Her hair is out, washed and combed and hanging in long, red curls around her. Her green eyes are ringed with black, thanks to some soot, turning them dramatic in her pale face. Annie isn't wearing a dress, although she's received two recently, but the white jeans, the sweater from Byerly and the gorgeous coat from Finnick. Grey gloves, which she shoves in her pocket as soon as she walks in the door, and a green scarf with orange fish on it from Riza. She's cold, and she appreciates the warm clothing - just as she appreciates the warmth of Peggy's house.

But looking put together doesn't mean that her behaviour has changed. She's still shy, still inclined to let Finnick take the attention and the focus. There apologies to make, because she's heard whispers of what she gave most people, and that always makes her nervous.

But she's here. As much as she's lingering around the edges of things, she's here, and she's tried to look pretty. She hopes that'll count for something.

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