[mingle log] from down the length of the long table

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: OTA
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: DAY :040
SUMMARY: A dinner party.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

THE LONG TABLE seems to have grown itself from out of the Station itself at the center of the Circular Gardens. It's made of the same mottled gray and white material as the Station's corridors and light scattered floors and on it has been set a parade of dishes. They are hot and cool, familiar and unfamiliar, alien and nostalgic. The dishware is mismatched -
a slew of fine china, a handful of delicately painted ceramic bowls, brass and glass cups and an assortment of fluted metal champagne stems. Pitchers of sweet teas and spiced juices and thick, syrupy wines dot the long banquet table and strings of small, glittering lights have been stitched through the surrounding greenery.

It's pleasant, or it should be. Certainly some considerable effort has been made in the preparation and execution of the meal. And perhaps parts of this meeting must be sad, but surely some of them are as intended. Certainly Cathaway seems intent on being bright and friendly from her seat toward the middle of the table as she passes dishes and instructs how certain alien foods are to be eaten, with Prince stationed beside her. This is meant to be nice: an excuse to see one another's faces, to make idle conversation, to marvel at little victories. The egg stolen from The Fair Heart is a centerpiece of the table (though swathed in a silvery luminescent fabric and clearly for decoration, not eating). Prince, clothed in something besides his typical uniform, seems occasionally distracted by it.

But there's no denying that this might be a quieter affair than intended - less populated than is ideal. Still, the food is good and surely the company must be somewhat tolerable.

I. A TOAST To your success on Waypoint Shril and to every newly hatched Host. To old friends. To new ones. To the beings we miss and the ones we don't. To what's to come. There's plenty of beverages (alcoholic or non-) available to guzzle.

II. SCINTILLATING CONVERSATION There's enough room for everyone at the table, but absolutely no assigned seating. Hopefully you don't hate the person you're sitting next to.

III. CUISINE FROM A DISTANT LAND How exactly are you supposed to eat that?

IV. A PRIVATE CORNER The nice thing about garden party dinners is it's really easy to slip away, and the garden almost seems to be designed for it. There are, among the plants and trees and shrubs, small clusters of chairs rising from the floor, lit by the twinkling strands of lights.

V. WILDCARD Drink too much. Arm wrestle on the table. Play a nice rowdy game of spoons. Say something nice. Say something mean. Awkwardly chew food that's way, way too squishy.

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((OOC Notes: This is the mingle log for the dinner party on Day :040. The dinner itself lasts a few hours unless the Hosts drag it out deep into what constitutes as evening on the station. Come and go as you please and feel free to get creative with the prompts - they're inspiration more than they are strict guidelines.))

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Comments

A

[wille]

[ There's a certain understanding between the two of them, or at least that's how Misato would describe it. Loss is a common language between them even if it will remain unspoken, and then there is the matter of Petre, which she also hopes will remain unspoken. Unlike the other woman, she eats heartily and quickly, having finished the equivalent of a few grown men's portions by the time she sets her cutlery down. ]

Waiting for something?

[ Cathaway had called her observant, which she denies, but maybe, just maybe, she's beginning to grow into it. Something about Ilde seems expectant. ]

[erbier]

[ She sits back in her chair to give herself room to to turn and look at Misato, feet crossed at the ankle and angled to the side. She says nothing at all for a moment, just continues her observation. It isn't a particularly threatening inspection, just quiet, thoughtful. ]

Curious to see if our group truly can share a meal peaceably.

[wille]

[ Misato lets out a pained expression, an apparent wince, easily taking Ilde's words as a personal slight against her. That's what happens when one is turned so inward, the view in front of her always an unforgiving mirror of herself. ]

Sometimes it's better to fight it out than keep it in. [ That sounded better in her head, less warmongering, and the self-reproach is written so clearly on her face. Let's try another tack: ] You look better.

[erbier]

[ She rests a hand lightly at the edge of the table, slender hands carefully washed of any dirt for this event. She's watching the way Misato ebbs and flows with so little real pressure from her. She wonders if the other woman was always that way and now she had the perspective to see it... or if something has changed. ]

I have little opinion on how those of you remaining behave. [ Is that cold? Yeah, probably. ] But yes, I am doing much better.

[ Those two facts may be related. ]

And you?

[wille]

[ The trouble with change is that so often one realizes it only in hindsight. Misato may be more anxious, more sensitive to the slightest insults and provocations, but she has always been open with her emotions. That says nothing of her warmth, of course. Many tend to make that mistake. She tries a little smile. ]

Just a bit tired. That's all of us though, right? [ Right. ] Anyway, nothing wrong with entertaining them for a bit.

[ The guardians she means, nodding toward the center of the long table, as if talking about their collective parents. ]

[erbier]

I am here for Cathaway's pleasure.

[ Agreement, of a kind. ]

It is what she wanted.

[wille]

To see us getting along? She hardly strikes me as the sentimental type.

[ There's laughter in her voice, something wry. She reaches for dessert, a kind of strangely flavored cupcake, but Misato's tastes are what one might call undiscerning. She chomps it down in two massive bites. ]

[erbier]

She was feeling nostalgic.

[ That's the word Ilde chooses, it isn't entirely correct but it approximates the shape of things, of Joane Cathaway coming home to her body, for a little while, and wanting to spend time for them. Ilde does not deign to clarify, and instead slips backwards to their former topic. ]

You should take care to rest well. When I was young, among the caravans, we spoke of a curse, of a kind. The sleeplessness.

[ A faint smile even though she's talking about something quite gruesome. Whispers of the sleeplessness had always come with tales of whole caravans being slaughtered. This too might have something to do with Ilde's improved moods. ]

[wille]

[ Misato laughs, daring rather than amused, even if Ilde's talking about something quite gruesome. A curse, she says? Watch her take that on and rise above it, too. She pushes her plate away from her and leans back, arms crossed in front of her, an overconfident smile on her face. ]

I can never tell when you're warning me or threatening me.

[ It's probaly both, she thinks. After all, the difference lies in the intention and the human mind is often a contradictory one. ]

But see, I handled your Petre well enough, didn't I?

[erbier]

[ The pinch of a smile, almost reluctant. ]

I have yet to threaten you, Misato.

[ There is a saying in her world, something about breath wasted on threats being your last. An idiom about how quickly death could come for you. The burned world was a brutal place, where only the very quick and the very determined survived the shadows, survived the starvation and dehydration, survived the bandits, their fellow caravan travelers, survived their own madness, and of course... the Godking himself.

If the symbiote did not restrain her, there are a few that Ilde would have slit open already. Perhaps a good thing, Petre has turned out better than her initial fears would have allowed. A lesson slowly learned. ]

[wille]

[ Misato is an unwitting survivor who doesn't understand, even now, why she lived when others didn't, and as such she couples her die-hard mentality with predictable self-flagellation when she emerges from danger unscathed. Her reasons change by the hour and she challenges her own worth at every turn, reckless abandon masquerading as bravery. ]

Hah. Well, consider myself warned then.

[ She leans over the table to pick at some strange fruit, apparently still famished. She chews while talking. ]

He fell asleep, but he's gonna wake up. Don't worry about it.

[erbier]

I am not worried.

[ The blandness of her answer conveys that, and it is sincere. Petre had been through something traumatic, of course he needed to sleep. ]

But, I suppose you are.

[ Why else would she even say such a thing, bring this up at all. ]

[wille]

I'm not.

[ Did her denial come out too hastily for it to be anything but defensive? Misato knows it, and in a poor attempt to distract from her stumble, she pushes her chair back with a loud screech against the floor. She swallows the fruit in her mouth with a gulp then stands, decisive, as if she's about to make some grand gesture for everyone at the table to witness. ]

You shouldn't assume anything about me. It'd be foolish.

[erbier]

[ She takes a drink of the water in front of her. No, she supposes, they can't truly share a meal peaceably. ]

Sit down, Misato.

[ A weary suggestion. ]

[wille]

[ There was a hot minute in her recent memory when she might have attempted the same thing as Cathaway, this pretense of a happy family, harking back to her own childhood. Freud guffaws. But that's past now.

She regards Ilde for a moment, almost as if she's considering obeying. It passes, and her words are tossed aside as she steps away. ]

Thanks for the meal.