PARTY PARTY PARTY

[decommission]

CHARACTERS: Everyone!
WHERE: The streets of Concordia
WHEN: Dusk til just before dawn on DAY 040
SUMMARY: IT'S A PARADE
WARNINGS: Add them to your top levels as necessary etc etc


As from the calendar:

Confetti! It's a parade! The annual Arista Parade, to be precise. Nominally a part of Aristana, the celebration of the ribbons of life, it's a holiday who's origins are nearly forgotten. Nowadays it's a big, raucous celebration pretty dedicated much entirely to drinking and partying. Almost all those in attendance will be wearing ribbons tied around their hair, their wrists, off of their belts and the edges of their sleeves. Pull one off, and you will be rewarded with a kiss - on the cheek, usually. The parade itself showcases a number of performers, costumes, and moving art pieces. It's route covers a number of the main streets of town (which will be closed, sorry traffic), and it lasts from dusk till nearly dawn on DAY :040. Have fun, if it's your kind of scene.

From the mods:

No notable NPCs are present at the parade - at least not in any official capacity. However if anyone wants to interact with a Concordian native, feel free to make up/interact with any randos you feel like!

Feel free to use this log for all of your parade day activities!


*moving art piece not included, original characters do not steal

Comments

[unfavoured]

open.

[ Parker doesn't like crowds. Or, more so, Parker doesn't care for crowds, but she really does not like parties. Whatever Mardi Gras bullshit is going on, she doesn't like it at all. But she has grown tired of the Bearings and she needed to stretch her legs and now that she is outside, she might as well continue her walk. She has made her stubborn statement of not giving a rat's ass about any of the mission anymore. The Hive can go to hell and whatever conspiracy going on in this planet can go with it. She doesn't care. This isn't her fight and she will not make it hers. Considering absolutely everything has come back to no knowledge of what is going on (not the mission, but the aliens somewhere up above in space that snatched her up), her interest in helping is completely gone. As such, she has taken to doing nothing. Only the routine things that take her as far away as possible from everyone. Running, parkour. She doesn't even care to discover a completely new world. For someone as curious as her it should be unthinkable, but there she is - not caring to know. She finds that there is no will in her to take interest on anything. Just mind-numbing routine of free running, exercise, reading. Anything to take her mind away from thoughts. Anything at all.

It was a struggle, this evening. Which is why she decided to go out. She picked the wrong day to go out.

In the crowded streets, Parker tries to squeeze and dodge everyone, a difficult deat but if anyone can do it, she ought to be the person for the job. Someone tries to grab her wrist to wrap a ribbon on and Parker immediately leaps away like a cat that doesn't want to be touched (like, ever). She glares at them, tells them to leave her alone, and pushes on through. The only thing good from this mess is that at least there is street food. Someone resembling hot dogs, like back in New York. She decides to get one, and move away from the crowd to a quieter one (impossible to move away from people). She perches herself up on a railing, feet dangling as she watches the billboard lighting the district up ahead without any interest. Moves her eyes to the not-really-hot-dog and finds herself not wanting to try it, after all. What is she trying to do anyway? Kill the nostalgia? It won't work. Nothing does. It's an abyss of a hole in her chest if she lets her mind wander. New York. Her friends. Her fight. It's all far away.

Parker sets her jaw and pushes the food to her side, bringing her knees up to set her chin on them. Not really watching but her eyes on the city anyway. Confined to this, apparently. What a stupid waste of time. Waste of a life. She's not doing anything here. It's pointless. Christ. She lowers her face to hide it behind her knees, closing her eyes. It takes her a minute as she hears the footsteps. The buzz is fainter now, she has spent her time learning how to block everyone out. It'll get to silence, one day. Not yet.

Which is why she mutters. ]

Fuck off.

[ She doesn't curse much. Usually not foul-mouthed, which is incredible for a Yankee, but sometimes it's necessary to make her point across. ]

for angel.

[ Tired of a night that brought her nothing new, Parker has probably achieved peak irritability. Not even using rooftops to go back to the Bearings has made a difference. It's quiet when she reaches the place, odd hours. Made an effort to return as late as possible as to make sure when she gets there they're all asleep and when she wakes up much later they're all gone. Or most of them, at least.

The common room has one good thing: kettle and tea. Especially good when there's nobody around. Parker decides it's a good time to boil some water and so she does, sitting down in one of the many empty chairs. There's a book she found in some shop in what she understood it to be some cultural masterpiece of literature. Poetry, but odd-- it doesn't read like it, but it feels like so, which is really the way to go with poetry.

She's waiting for the kettle to click when she hears some shuffling. Her head snaps over the book to the figure coming into the light before frowning with a grimace of-- disgust? It's hard to tell, with her permanent ill temper. Her guard goes up as she looks at Angel, head to toe, before promptly ignoring her in favour of the book. Couldn't the kettle go any faster? ]

[circumspector]

[ She is - definitely drunk by the time she comes back to the bearings. Hanging with ribbons, the flowers in her hair askew and that - drunk high giggle of trying to be quiet, but failing miserably at that. Her skirt is hitched up at her side and exposes the long line of markings down her leg. Her feet are bare, shoes abandoned by the door, and ribbons on her ankles too. She's, in short, a tipsy, giggling mess. Falling over herself and enjoying it. All loose-limbed and leaning from object to object - bed, after she gets something in her stomach, is probably the next best course of action.

She doesn't even really see Parker - so much as she thought she had been in coma as well, and now she was awake - and all she really registers is that someone is sitting there on the couch. A question maybe to what she's reading - then wondering if there's a digital copy and - wait, the kettle's boiling. Coffee - good idea. Fairly sure she needs to drink something that isn't rich and makes her light and lightness. ( Feels good - different, to Eridium, not a burning, searing feeling, but a headiness and fullness that settles numb in her. She's relaxed in the same breath she's eager for the things about her ).

Angel trips her way on bare feet to the counter, catching herself on it. Another peel of giggle as she rocks herself to being balanced. Pushing up on her toes, humming thoughtfully - ]

( Whose boiling the kettle? )

[ It's not talking out loud, so that's quieter, isn't it? ( No, Angel, no it's not. ) ]

[unfavoured]

[ Parker doesn't move from her seat. She doesn't even make any motion to check if Angel is not going to fall on her face. Her concern simply is non existent to her at this point. It's one thing to make sure she doesn't die. It's an entirely different one to care if she's going to make an ass out of herself. To be fair, Parker generally finds Angel to make an ass out of herself. Pushes past her sweet demeanor, can only see an annoying falsehood of a person.

So, while she stumbles and drags her sorry self closer, Parker is firmly reading the book. Firmly ignoring her. She excels in that.

Or would, if there wasn't a voice in her head. Thing is, regardless of how hard she tries, there are always some that slip past her walls. The better they are, the better they can do it. It's scrambled, like bad connection, like a hiccup, but Parker feels it. And it riles her up, leaves her tense and tight from the base of her spine to the back of her neck. ]

Shut up.

[ It's the only answer she gets. ]

[circumspector]

[ Her intent is to make herself coffee, really. Drink something that is just warm rather than tingling. Half way through getting that done when the voice cuts and she realises just who is sitting in that cheer and her head snaps - silent, mercifully no doubt, for one second - and then her smiles splits big and cheery. ]

( Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were with us again. )

[unfavoured]

[ Her intent could be jumping off a bridge for all Parker cares. She has done her part and she ended up coming back empty handed. She isn't going to do it again so soon.

Her teeth grit in an alarming strength, squeaking inside her mouth as she does. She has less patience than usual nowadays. Restlessness, maybe. The overwhelming fact that she isn't really doing anything anymore. What's the whole point of her being here? Be with the Hive? No way in hell. Fight against it? Likely, but without any information there is nothing to do and while she tried, she has realized this is much like being held in solitary confinement (an experience she had back home as well and it doesn't feel different at all, regardless of not having bars to stop her from walking around). ]

What's your problem? [ She demands from her place, glaring at her over her poetry. ] Go bother someone that cares.

[ Leave her be. She is not fit for consumption. ]

[circumspector]

[ It's the alcohol, probably, maybe being Handsome Jack's daughter, for the second, and thirdly - she really, didn't like Parker. Didn't like how she was so - so preachy. ( Didn't like that she couldn't control her, but that's swallowed down ) what stays on her face was the pleasant, oh butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. ]

( Am I bothering you? I didn't mean to. I'd -hate- to think I was getting in your way and making things more difficult for you? )

[unfavoured]

[ She's still doing it. Pushing through the barrier she has been nursing, creating, fortifying. And it sounds like she's pushing, doing her best to tear them down. Angel is better than Parker, there's no doubt. The walls she puts up are weaker than the words that push through them. And that annoys her more than the fact she's using what she specifically asked her not to. The fact she's clearly not sober is not an excuse at all.

Shoving the book down, Parker springs up to her feet in a smooth transaction. She gives her another glare, set jaw, and stands in front of her, dangerously close. Not that much taller than her, but that never was a problem. ]

You don't want to play games with me. I'm not going to tell you again to stop it.

[ A threatening tone, but still carried abundantly neutral. She pushes past her, to the kettle that's slowly rattling with the boiling water inside.]

[circumspector]

[ There's a flicker, like she might back down, letting Parker walk around her to get to the kettle. Watching her walk past her, head turned to follow the motions. Watch her steps. Like - she knows what she's doing ( she doesn't ).

Then, there is one, glorious, second where she might just actually shut her mouth. And then: ]

( Why, you don't care what other people are doing? )

[unfavoured]

[ Parker is reactive. She isn't necessarily violent, but she is not a passive woman. She knows when to be quiet and knows how to wait, but it doesn't mean she doesn't react. To certain things, the better reaction is to not to do anything at all. To others, you need to impose. But violence is not something she generally resorts to.

Generally.

It tips her over. She doesn't even realize how much until the surge of anger explodes in her chest. A drop away of overflowing the very full bottled up things inside her chest. Unfortunately for Angel, she ended up being that drop. It's everything that comes bubbling up to her throat. The notion of defeat and being so completely helpless and with no direction and nothing to hang on to. It happens before she can even put her thoughts together.

Parker gives her a shove, square on the chest. A distraction to throw her off balance. As soon as her hand leaves her chest, the other comes around, closed in a fist, and connects hard and unforgiven with her jaw. It makes her knuckles pulse in pain with the amount of stregth she puts there. There's immediately a twinge of regret for it, but a bigger part, the vengeful, awful, twisted part of her overpowers in her self-righteousness. She doesn't even say anything else. Just stares at her in challenge. ]

[spideys]

[ It's true that this parade is kind of insane. The crowds can be likened to the kind he sees in Time Square during the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. Except ... weirder. Definitely otherworldly.

But it does make him want to wander around a little, just to take it all in, to feel something that resembles familiarity.

At some point he can feel his stomach grumbling, a sign of his body in need of a little fuel, but with people this way and that, blocking every entrance to ... well, anything, he's at a loss for what to do. He doesn't even know how he'd pay for it either. Money? What is that even.

It's the scent of processed meat in a bun (yeah, he can smell it - spider senses, sure) that leads him to where Parker is clearly neglecting her hotdog. ]

Whoa, whoa - sorry, I don't - [ He shrugs. ] Hey, I didn't mean to bug you. Just wanted to know where you managed to find an actual hot dog around here.

[unfavoured]

[ Parker lifts her chin from her legs to look at him, clearly not appreciating the intrusion. What is it about her that says "talk to me"? Nothing. And yet, she ends up always having to deal with a stray trying to strike up a conversation. Either to pull a ribbon around her wrist or talk about street food that you can find in any place.

She doesn't want to deal with people. She doesn't want to talk. She doesn't want to be here. But getting what she wants is about as impossible as her becoming completely okay with the Hive. Which is never going to happen, so there you go.

And yeah, it's an innocent question. It's nothing at all really. But Parker can find offense in the smallest of things. ]

Where do you think?

[ thanks, parker, ur a pal. ]

as a yankee i take major fucking offense!!

[decommission]

[ In both hands is a large paper bag, his outfit entirely ribbonless and he's got the look of someone that's got at least a few beers under his belt - but his eyes narrow, and he sobers a bit at the sight of his friend Conchita sitting by her prickly lonesome.

The language isn't a deterrent.

He stops just in front of her, peering up. ]

You look like you could use one of these - [ tilting his paper bag to reveal a couple of eight packs of something-like beer. ] You not eating that? [ and inclining his head toward the hot dog, brows furrowed slightly before letting his gaze fall on Parker again. Been over a week since they last took that stab at investigating, a failed attempt. Can't say that he knows what she's been up to since then, and though he wasn't surprised that she's been back to ignoring him again, he's a little sorry for it. ]

do u tho

[unfavoured]

[ It's no wonder he hasn't seen her around; she is making sure nobody does. The more invisible she can be to others, the better it is to her. Keeping careful distance. Like a game of hide and seek, but nobody is really seeking (she is not that important, she has no illusions about it, regardless of the growing weight on her chest - that she can't make a difference and she doesn't want to because there is nothing, nothing, that she wants to fight for in this group, other than the group itself).

He doesn't do as told, he stands there instead, showing her what she assumes is beer or its alien equivalent. ]

No. [ She answers to his head tilt to the not-really-hot-dog. She glances away from him to a loud group of teenagers walking past behind them, shouting something and waving their ribbons at Parker and Steve. She makes a face that says no. It's a constant expression. She looks back to him and his paper bag. ] I don't drink.

[decommission]

[ A frown to her disregard of the hot dog (who wastes a good hot dog?) and a shrug to the part about drinking. The teenagers get waved off for their efforts, and Steve sets his bag to the side, pressed up against the fence. He doesn't notice when one of the kids glances over his shoulder, eyeing the parcel and whispering to one of his buddies.

Reaching up to the rail, Steve pulls himself up with a light grin. Easier than it used to be, but he's had plenty of practice climbing around fire escapes.

Of course, the little bit of extra strength (the little bit of extra inebriation) has him miscalculating things a bit - and he goes tumbling over the other side, straight into the fancy flower bushes. Face first. ]

[unfavoured]

[ It's not even a hot dog. Maybe it just tastes like hot dog. Like a literal dog that is hot. It doesn't smell like wet dog, at least.

While Steve doesn't take notice of the teenagers (or whatever) behind him, Parker still has her eyes on them because they aren't moving and they're staring. Not that she plans to swoop in and valiantly rescue Steve's booze, but it's all about making a point isn't it? She almost doesn't blink, doesn't break eye contact--

Well, she wouldn't, if the sudden commotion didn't distract her. She jerks a little as Steve falls into the bed of flowers, but it's more of a natural sidestep than any motion to help him. Don't drag him down with your half-drunkness, Steve. She stares at him for a second, wondering if he passed out, until he moves. Again, no initiative to help him at all. ]

Wow. [ That's all she says, in a way that could rival Neo's. It's so flat she ought to win a Razzie. ]

[decommission]

[ The bushes rustle with the sound of Steve pulling himself around so that he's on his ass instead of his face, bracing his weight on his elbows. Twigs stick out from his hair, expression dazed.

He spits out a leaf.

While Parker's looking at him, one of the teenagers makes a dash for the bag, trainers pounding on the cement. Grab and go. His friends start running in the other direction, shrieking and giggling. ]

[unfavoured]

[ She has her eyes on him and his pathetic self as he rolls over. Slightly judging him and wondering how exactly drunk he is (she supposes anyone could make sure, only having to open the connection, but she is building concrete walls around them and the foundations are there, she is not going to break them for a second, especially not for something like that).

But she doesn't look anymore as the teenager runs by, grabbing the bag. Ought ot be expected. They were looking way too hard. She was somewhat waiting for it, but it still takes half a second to react. And it's more automatic than anything. She doesn't have to. It's not hers and she isn't going to do anyone any favours.

But it's just a natural reaction. Parker springs over quickly, catching up to him easily - he has to run around obstacles like street benches and whatever, Parker simply leaps over. She grabs the back of his sweater and tugs, hard, pulling him back harshly and throwing him off balance. ]

[decommission]

[ The kids yelps when Parker forcibly puts the breaks on, his sweater collar choking him and feet skittering uselessly against the pavement, letting the bag fall from his grip as his hands wave around - trying regain his balance and/or throw a wild backward swing in Parker's direction. ]

Fuck - leggo! Bitch!

[ Behind them, Steve is pulling himself up the fence again, taking care not to land on his head this time.

Consider him useless for the next minute. ]

[adamance]

[Lexa hadn't intended to come here.

Here specifically, this place where Parker finds herself sitting. But she's hungry, and the smell of food wafting through the crowd has drawn her in this direction. It's only when she hears the two words that she forces herself to focus to her right, toward the woman with short hair and her head pressed against her knees. Having already tried to reason with her (once, twice—with Lexa, that's more than enough times for her, having tried both angles to attempt to appeal to reason that clearly doesn't exist), she sees no point in trying again.]

If you wish to be left alone, there are better places to try.

[Like ... say, the Bearings. She knows Parker is nothing more than a hub of antipathy and uselessness. But it feels to Lexa like someone like he can only be here because she wants something to complain about.]

[unfavoured]

[ See, the thing with reason is that one is always under the impression they have it. Reason is not that at all. Reason, like logic, like any thinking human function, is not universal. Reason is the conclusion drawn fro a situation - but the way you see it will not be the same as others do. The way one reasons a situation will differ from individual to individual. So while Lexa might think she has tried to reason - she hasn't. Not to say Parker has. But she has made no attempts to reason with anyone. She does not care to. The only thing she has tried to put through everyone that tries to "talk some sense" into her is that she wants to be far, far away from anything any of these people consider "sense".

Everyone else seems to not understand that simple fact.

Lexa might like to see herself as a leader. But where Lexa is a leader to her people, in here, she is nothing more than an annoyance. A grain of sand in the fucking Sahara. A leader is the farthest perception Parker has of her: preconceived ideas from one to another; Parker finds her grating and forceful. She thinks only of her own arrogant reason.

Parker doesn't care to share any interest with her.

She would also like to not share the same space. ]

Jesus Christ. [ She groans, emphasis on the tone of "fuck my life". Sets herself up straight, staring at her in mock surprise. ] You again. [ There's an almost exasperated tone to her, but it falls too flat to carry any nuance. ] Are you trying out for annoying asshole of the year or something? There's a whole freaking street in front of you. Leave me alone.

[ Whatever she might think of her, however, Parker isn't interested. She never did care much of what people find of her winning personality and charming words. Both her personality and her words are neither of those things. ]

[adamance]

[Agitation rips through the line between them, the very same line that's present in all of the Hosts. Lexa does nothing to curb the emotions that she passes on to Parker, believing that she has nothing to gain here. If she wanted to hide, she would hide. As far as Lexa is concerned, she's sitting where she is due to the inevitability of someone eventually coming along. If it wasn't Lexa, it would be someone else.

Of course, this is where reason comes into play. Parker feels as if she's a victim of these circumstances, and believes that her deductive reasoning is what's most important. She has decided that everyone wants to skip in fields full of flowers together, and the entire time she's been dragged into that. What if she were able to see beyond herself? Then again, that level of self-centered arrogance is often absent of reason.]

Should I repeat myself? [she asks. Opening with a line like "fuck off" is, in Lexa's opinion, the very act of being antagonistic.]

[unfavoured]

[ Lexa doesn't need to. Parker has been learning how to put up walls and it's getting harder to get through them by each passing day. It still takes some focus, but it's slowly starting to become a second nature. To keep people out. Well, more than usual anyway.

However, Lexa has got it completely wrong. Couldn't be further from what Parker is or feels. To be fair, she doesn't care to explain that to anyone. How she feels, her mind, these are private things that she won't allow anyone to come close. In her world, she had that privilege. In her world, she had her ties. Didn't need voices in her head telling her who to trust or who to like. She had her friends, her family. She had good and bad times. And she wanted to share them with those people, and those people alone. With her crew. Ex-boyfriend and ex-girlfriend and ex-family. Complex relationships that tangled and untangled on a daily basis. But that was fine. Hard, but normal, problems to solve because the people in there mattered, those she still carries so close to her heart sometimes it hurts. Here? Here, she doesn't want to share. Here, she wants nothing but to become a wall flower. She hardly feels like she's a victim.

If anything else, it's the complete opposite.

Parker keeps her eyes on Lexa, lip curled. ]

What's your damage? What are you trying to prove? That you're a big bad warrior? I don't care. You're not that important. How many times do I have to tell you? Go bother someone else.

[ And with that, Parker leans her forehead on her knees again, pulling the hoodie over her head. She looks more akin to a sulking baby cat than a brooding mysterious figure, really. ]

[adamance]

I could ask the same of you. [But she expects no answer. There's the sense there that Lexa doesn't want to know what Parker thinks or feels, believing that she's figured out the puzzle of this woman. Even if Parker were to open up, Lexa would only feel irritated with her. All of those experiences are ones that Lexa herself has; she's had to learn about the other possibilities of her life from other people. None of them are good. But she lives on. She knows of nothing better than surviving.

(Though if she didn't survive here, she would have died. There's a sharp, vicious irony to that.)]

Have you considered just leaving? Leaving without returning. Slipping away in the night and no longer allowing yourself to be burdened by us.

We would all be better off.

[unfavoured]

Could you? [ She asks mockingly immediately after Lexa's words, a little more high pitched than usual as if to prove a point. So far, Parker has been the exact opposite. She has tried to avoid confrontation at every corner. She has tried hard to be left alone. It just seems it's a little impossible. She wonders if it's her incredibly friendly nature that brings people around to bother her.

In a way, it could be her antagonistic nature that does bring others around. Everyone needs a villain. She has always filled that position, more or less. She was held as a terrorist in public opinion, after all. Radical extremist for others. Although to be fair, recent years have seen her less radical, but she still has the thrive of a rebel. A rioter, heartbeat of a revolution. It's part of her nature. Never satisfied, never enough, there is always something to fight for - the truth, especially. And more often, Parker can find it. Or at the very least look for it. Here, that freedom, that drive, has been taken away. And she's in uneven ground. Her whole purpose has been taken away.

What do you do if you can't find purpose, no matter how much you search for it? Left adrift into nothingness. That is what it feels like. And a chest that burns and burns and burns with anger.

Parker keeps her head buried on her knees while Lexa speaks, before rolling her eyes. if she could roll them any harder they might just pop out of their sockets. ]

Sure. Got a map back home? [ ya mook. ]

[adamance]

We all want to return home. [Her words are flat, but there's still that underlying irritation. This is where she believes that Parker is selfish and self-absorbed, as if she feels her struggles are somehow different from everyone else's. But she does pause, giving a slight shake of her head.] I should amend that. Most of us wish we could return. We wish we weren't targets. [Those who think otherwise are people that Lexa feels she can't fully trust. (Angel aside, but Lexa still feels like there's a ticking clock there.)]

I do feel that you can feel free to ask to return. When your presence gets all your people killed, at least you can say you weren't around us. What I don't understand is why it is us or home. [As if there are only two options.]