[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.

---

((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

noctis | ota

[somnifacient]

A) SCINTILLATING CONVERSATION… MAYBE

[Making conversation is not a strong suit of his, but he feels awkward sitting and eating in silence, especially while in the company others. It’s a pang of self-consciousness that he tries to keep out of his body language, and instead prevalently felt through the way it mentally ekes outward.

His fork clinks against his plate, and Noctis forces himself to say something interesting to jumpstart the conversation that had begun to lull.]

So—

[So. So what.]

What’s the food like where you’re from?

B) CUISINE FROM A DISTANT LAND

[While it’s difficult not to feel appreciative towards all the effort put into the dinner party as a whole, Noctis is, unfortunately, a picky eater on a normal day. Anything that resembles a vegetable does not make its way to his mouth; it’s a bias that he’s never grown out of, and likely never will.

And so, when something an opaquely green and… viscous ends up on his plate, threatening to ooze off the edges, Noctis screws up his face, looking down at it with some skepticism. It reminds him of a flan monster, and as he’d be apt to say, he’s not a fan of mushy desserts.

He keeps his back straight, his fork questionably hovering over it. Should he be using a spoon instead? A straw? By the Six, this just didn’t seem like a good idea.

Noctis lightly elbows the person next to him, then pointedly glances down at his plate.]

Hey. Try this for me.

[Be the proverbial guinea pig. Please.]

C) BAD DECISIONS

[Someone’s drunk. Someone’s bleeding inebriation through their link. Maybe it’s Noctis, but that's highly unlikely. Either way, it’s affecting him. Take a look at Exhibit A, for instance:

He summons what appears to be an oversized shuriken with his magic, appearing in blue fractals, taking shape in mere seconds before him. The Star of the Rogue glistens in the light, and Noctis slams a point down into the table with a shuddering force. It pierces the surface and sticks, standing still as he releases it from his grip.

He grins, the smallest flicker of a challenge in his eyes.]

Think you can throw it straight? Never mind actually hitting a target.

D) WILDCARD

[Up for anything!]

A

[erbier]

[ She has been quiet at his side herself, but she looks up politely when he speaks to her. Although his question makes her smile ruefully. There was no cuisine where she came from, she had spent her childhood haunted by starvation. She is not shy about such disclosure, but it seems out of place in this moment, with so much food before them. ]

Some of it is before you.

[ She motions to a bowl of berries, another with slices of vegetable. ]

I maintain a private garden here.

[ She can still be found in the Circle Gardens, at times. She wouldn't simply abandon it, but she does have a place that only she and Bellamy can find. Hers. ]

[somnifacient]

[Noctis would feel a sliver of embarrassment if he had known that the person he just asked such a thing to had ample experience with starvation in the past. An innocent questioned turned thoughtless, without even a modicum of effort on his part.

It's a small blessing, then, that he remains oblivious to it. And so he just looks at the bowl of berries (which looks appetizing), then the slices of vegetables (not so much -- no offense, Ilde).]

That's impressive. [And it's not empty flattery. Noctis does appreciate the effort put into gardening, even if he's clueless about the subject in general.] You must have a pretty green thumb. I don't think I'd have the patience for it.

B

[futurewitness]

[ Lucina, on the other hand? Not so picky, as a side effect of living in a time where you're glad just to have something to eat. So she's been quietly sampling her way through the entire array of foods, and while there are some she'd definitely prefer to revisit over others, she's yet to find anything that truly disagrees with her.

So she doesn't even blink at Noctis and his mystery mess. Takes a moment to finish chewing and swallowing her own alien monstrosity (it looks a bit like a cinnamon roll, but it's pink and the texture is closer to okra) as she eyes his plate.

Nope, no problem here. She reaches over, stopping her spoon a few inches away (because it feels really rude, even if he just invited her?). ]

May I?

[somnifacient]

[Her eagerness is surprising, and Noctis blinks once, twice. In the brief pause, he catches glance of what's on her own plate, and he can't decide exactly what he thinks it might taste like. Sweet? Savory? Was it... meat? How could Lucina be eating it so casually?

The spoon hovers in his peripheral, bringing him back to the conversation at hand. He nods at her, almost automatically.]

Yeah, by all means... go crazy.

[He will watch with vague disbelief if she actually eats it unflinchingly.]

guess which (it's c)

[lavelly]

[Lavellan smiles blithely up at Noctis. What do the Orlesians call it? Deja vu? Whatever it is, it's a funny mirror of their first meeting.

The weapon, however, is met with a confused frown.]

I don't think I could throw it straight even if... I was sober. I don't even know if I could lift it.

bad decisions!!!!!!!!!!!

[deployed]

[ The whole party reminds Bellamy of the single party at the dropship before everything had gone irreparably sideways. People had been laughing and dancing. Clarke had smiled. He's thinking of that as inebriation seeps through the bonds and amplifies the effects of his own choice in beverages.

There's still a gaping hole in his chest where the Darkling had once been. It feels like a wound. Bandaged and acknowledged, it still pains him every moment he draws breath. Bellamy doesn't know what to do about it other than acclimate to it. The chatter of the others at the table haven't caught his attention, but Noctis driving the sharp point of a weapon into the table does.

It reminds him of grounder weaponry. There's a flash in his mind of blades driven into a skull and a crumpled body on the forest floor before Bellamy's eyes lift to Noctis'. ]

Can you?

[ Nevermind explain how he summoned it. Bellamy isn't even completely sure how he'd go about holding the star in order to throw it, but that doesn't stop him from considering it. ]

c / i live for these bad decisions

[lilies]

[ someone is drunk.

and now noctis is drunk.

and this is not really great because holy shit that's definitely a goddamn shuriken embedded into the table, rattling all the dishes and glasses. he really should not be letting this happen, but also, everything feels abuzz with excitement, weirdly syrupy and thick, bleeding from the back of his mind forward past the common sense and the stubbornness to block it out.

but also.

gladio can't think of a time when sensibility has occurred to him when a challenge is sat right there on the table. like, this is not the time for common sense. at all. no. he lifts a brow, but can't quite keep the grin out of his voice. ]

I think you and I both know the answer to that.

[ game on. gladio shifts forward, bracing both hands against the table and looking at the huge weapon just barely swaying from its place heavily set into the table before reaching out to grip it just slightly and haul it up from the table with as much of sound as it'd made actually coming down on it.

(he is not letting someone else's!! drunkenness!! get in the way!! of showing off!!!!) ]

Tell me where you want it.

adrasteius | ota

[hymnals]

i. pray;

[ Adra's impressed by the spread, even if he can't eat most of it. Still, there's obvious care and effort here, and Adrasteius appreciates a well-cooked meal on principle. Making food for others takes thought, it takes time and preparation. There are many ways to nourish another person, but he respects the direct route.

(Unless it's all poison. Some paranoid hiss slithers around the back of his mind, the remnant of living so long in a dangerous police state, of trying to survive a place where they really were out to get you.)

He takes a seat, and he clasps his hands. Bows his head. A soft halo of Light fringes his cornsilk bangs as he begins to pray. ]

Light bless us and keep us, and make us grateful for these and all other gifts.

ii. eat;

[ He's hoping that everything on his plate is some kind of fruit or vegetable. He's got spinach and pears, at least--his staple basics--and he's pretty sure he's found some skethylberries, too. Or some grape-like thing that has a similar tart, crisp taste.

He's not fully sure about everything in front of him, though, particularly the soup. The broth is a rich caramel color, and it smells of cardamom, of pepper flakes and turmeric. There are small, pearlescent bulbs floating in the soup, like raw onions, as well as bits of something green and sweet. The smell is overall delicious, but it's hard to tell with broth.

He offers a spoonful to the person next to him. ]

Do you think this has meat in it? Do me a favor.

iii. get a little drunk;

[ Despite his own fondness for food and cooking, Adra doesn't eat much. It's not long before he's broken away to spend some time alone, especially because the added layer of so many minds crowding around his own is difficult to tolerate. He's still too new to fend anybody off with much success, which meant that dinner was a rollicking trip through far too many emotional--and gastrointestinal--landscapes.

He's trying to meditate, now, his legs folded appropriately, his palms up. He's floating a few inches off of the ground as he does so, but his posture is wobbly. Truth be told, he's having a difficult time concentrating. Adra likes his wine, but he'd only taken one glass with dinner, though it was thick-bodied and heavy in his blood. Still, he suspects the roil in his stomach isn't solely his own doing. He feels loose-limbed, smeared around the edges, hungry for something beyond the plate.

But no. He sets his jaw. He furrows his brows. He struggles for focus. If he hears footsteps, he mutters. ]

Join me.

iv. wildcard;

[ come at me, bro ]

iii

[greentech]

[ Pidge doesn't really know Adrasteius that well. They just haven't talked and she hasn't seem him around too often. She's been wrapped up in her own projects, but the weird little garden party is a chance to eat and meet people. Or at least see their faces. She's wandered off from the main party and discovered an elf. Floating. She pauses at a distance for a few moments. There's a looseness that floats into her and makes her feel a bit relaxed.

It reminds her of the giant street party she went to with Angel all that time ago. ]

Wait, join you...?

[ She steps forward with a bit of caution. ]

And do what?

2

[lavelly]

[Lavellan raises a confused eyebrow at him but takes the spoon.]

Is there some problem with meat? [It hadn't been a large part of his diet back in Thedas, to be sure, but it was important to have it; when you lived off the land you appreciated what you got. The idea that someone would simply not eat it is boggling to him.

Still, he doesn't actually say any of that. Out loud. The soup is nothing like he's ever had before, but it's edible, and seems to be vegetable. In consistency, at least, if not in taste.]

I don't think there is.

iii

[huntsmachines]

[ Aloy remembers Adrasteius. He had been comforting and friendly when she'd met him after she'd arrived and she follows the strand of his emotion to find him sitting--no, floating--off to the side. Alone. That's really the sort of thing she's looking for (well maybe not the floating). But alone time, separated from the crowd is really what she wants. She seems startled when she's invited to join him, but she moves to do so. She sits cross-legged on the ground next to him and peers at Adrasteius for a moment. ]

How do you do that?

iii

[deployed]

I don't think I can do that.

[ Compared to other members of the Nest (or the alien occupants of Shril) Adra isn't the most outlandish individual Bellamy has met. But he is levitating, and that's not something Bellamy has a lot of frame of reference for. He knows he's staring, and he knows he's bleeding emotion too freely after a few drinks of his own on top of the drunkenness radiating outward from so many of the newly hatched members of the Nest.

He knows Lexa meditates. He's picked up fragments of her technique over time, but never attempted it himself. But he knows levitation is not usually an outcome of meditation. It might be rude to pry any farther, and yet— ]

Have you always been able to do that?

[adamance]

a: a toast (because everyone knows Lexa likes to give speeches)

[If there is one thing to be said about the Station, it's that the lack of "customary" approaches to things like toasts can be appreciated. Though there is an opening set of remarks, there is still obviously room for more. When the time seems appropriate, Lexa is glad to stand up, raise her glass, and draw the attention of others on her. What must be clear is this: while she has been taking sips of her drink, she has kept herself from becoming inebriated so that her words are clear and her intentions shine through.

They are, after all, in each other's heads.]

Many of you know nothing of what came before. If there were a way of preventing the changing of guards, so to speak, I believe we would manage it. If we could, we would. [She's certain of that. But even her conversations with Becca via the chip have yielded her with nothing in this arena.] Still, we find ourselves gathered here today because of our successes. We not only succeeded on a difficult mission like Concordia, we managed to take matters into our own hands, rather than play along with the circumstances before us. That proves how versatile we are.

Moving forward, there is much we have to accomplish. I believe that if we continue to utilize the tools that we had before we became Hosts, we will succeed more than we will fail. It's important to recognize that within ourselves, and use our new strengths accordingly. Who you are now is who you will be no matter the fight ahead. It's easy to fear something different, but I believe we can gather here and show how we are at one point, a group working in unison, but another that also intends to maintain ... ourselves in the process. Otherwise, what would be the point?

We can't fear what comes next. Instead, we must be ready. I believe that isn't a tall order. Thank you all.

[And then the girl who thinks she's still playing politics sits down. It was meant to be motivational, but it's also meant to draw reactions. When she pulls her glass to her lips, it's apparent that she's open for those reactions.]

b: it's not that she wants to be isolated

[Even though Lexa has been a part of the Station for months and months, there is that part of her that still prefers silence after a large gathering like this. Though she feels that she may acquire too many eyes on her for parting early, she still seeks out a private part of the garden for herself. Her mind gets lost, at least for a moment, as she recalls her last few occasions like this, and finds herself missing some of the individuals who might have normally been with her.

Still, should anyone care to see what she's doing, she's not exactly a person who can be crept up on. If she seems like she might be, she'll turn toward them before they get too close, offering an initial nod in greeting.]

c: wildcard

[Lexa will be drinking throughout the evening and therefore more smiley and chattier than normal, but there's the sense that she's a person who's all too in control of herself and her condition to really go too far with that. For those who know her well, she'll be warmer toward them.]

that speech, sort of.

[erbier]

[ Ilde rises as she finishes, gathering up some emptied plates with polite inquires to those around her, offering to refill glasses, or fetch more food, or simply take the plate away. Before she goes about those requests given, she glances up at Lexa and says flatly, full of ice and hate, ]

Thank you for that, Lexa.

[ Then turns away and busies herself with anything less tedious than the Commander. Politics indeed. ]

Ilde | Ota

[erbier]

A.) General
[ The table they have set can do nothing but bring Ilde back to the day Camille died. The tang of gore lingers subtly beneath the surface of her calm. But she is that, calm, smiling to herself softly as she lays out settings and dishes for the dinner. This get together was not her idea, nor is she the one who summoned them, she merely did as a friend requested, and little more.

She will sit at a far corner of the table, drinking only water, eating what is on her plate, but she is watching the others more than anything else. Observing who agrees with Cathaway, and tries to make this pleasant. Observing who sulks and glowers, uses this moment to try to unfurl their elder before the others. Notes who doesn't come at all.

She is certain, in her stubborn way, that this theater will never be the familial meal Cathaway was hoping for, and she is happy in her easy certainty. There is little that will rile her visibly today, but she supposes there are always those who may feel the need to try. ]

B.) Reaction
[ She does hate some people though. ]

C.) Wildcard
[ Do whatever ]

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. ]

C

[miscreant]

[It is likely no surprise that Seviilia has chosen not to show herself in physical form. That said, she's been wafting around certain mental presences, whomever has their defenses down enough to let her in, or those who let her in willingly.

After all, her headache has been forcefully tamed, and there is little cause for danger, so long as no one does anything stupid.

She hovers in the back of Ilde's mindspace for the longest time (it is the most familiar, and most comfortable) before speaking.]

( It could be worse. )

[For the amount of hosts in the room, the affair hadn't gone as south as she might have imagined.]

OTA

[shiro2hero]

1) GENERAL
[He's... not sure he wanted to show up here. Something about it just feels... odd. Like it's some kind of forced venture -- some kind of production they're all supposed to put on. Still, still... he's the Leader. He should at least try and make an appearance.]

[Even if the sight of a table, of people seated around it, just rings hollow. Brings up thoughts of the Castle, of multicolored armor and people laughing. Flinging green goo everywhere.]

[He'll sit, eventually, toward an unoccupied end. In an effort to keep some distance between himself and potential intoxicated minds.]


2) FOOD
[What he wouldn't give for cafeteria macaroni again.]

[There's little more than a glass of water and what looks like tiny watermelons in front of him. Except when he pokes them open, their interior is blue. And looks more like a 7-11 slurpee than watermelon.]

[At least he's had worse.]

... and at least it's not green goo.


3) WILDCARD
[Hit him with anything, or try to make him unwind a little whoops]

WILDCARD

[sociopathicwolf]

[ This dinner idea is bullshit as far as Derek's concerned. As if any of them were there because they wanted to be, because they were all one big happy family. As if any of them would have come here if they had any other choice.

It reminds him of the Lyle House and its false, sunny pretense trying to cover up the corpses in its basement. He's going to treat it the same way.

Which means showing up to this thing to grab as much food as he can, and leave as soon as no one will notice. There's more people here, which is only good because it means most of them are distracted with each other. Except one who seems to be keeping distance of his own, who's blocking the dish that Derek's got his eyes on.

Derek's already got a plate loaded with food, but he looms over where the guy is standing anyway, glaring at him like he expects him to know why he's there. ]

Aloy | ota

[huntsmachines]

➳ Cuisine from a distant land

[ The sheer amount and variety of food is breathtaking. Aloy has quite possibly never seen this food in one place in her life. She and Rost had eaten what they could hunt and gather. Her brief stay with the Nora hadn't involved much eating on her part and Meridian's marketplace just wasn't the same as this! Aloy stares and stares before she finally starts picking things. New things. Strange things. She wants to try everything.

Her plate gets stacked with food and then she adds a second. Bread baked from new grains, shellfish (shellfish!), meats, vegetables, some sort of strange gelatinous thing that wobbles when she spoons out a portion and keeps wobbling for the rest of the evening until she eats it. Eventually though she's struggling a little with something that looks rather like some sort of strange alien crustacean. The shell is proving stubborn. Holding the fork in a fist (she's been eating mostly with her fingers, utensils ignored) she whacks it against the shell to little avail. ]

Oh, come on--why would you make something this hard to eat?

[ Her annoyance radiates a little before she clamps down on it and glances nervously from side to side at her neighbors. Was she bothering them with that kind of emotion? ]

Er, Sorry.

➳ A private corner

[ Eventually when she's stuffed herself to her content, she slips away from the table. It's too noisy and too overwhelming without food to focus on. Even though she's been to Meridian being around so many people at once still unnerves her. Once away from the party, she finds herself calming a little and settles in a chair beneath a tree that hangs low overhead, it's willowy branches blooming with tiny pale purple and red flowers.

She sighs and leans her head back, eyes half-closed to try and let herself relax. She wills herself to let go--to let her mind drift away from her concerns of the moment. It's hard to do. She's always been focused and driven and letting go of the moment has never been easy for her but this is one of those times where it's warranted, she feels. Her mind does manage to drift and she almost feels like she could fall asleep her in this garden when a footfall interrupts her reverie. She jerks upright and look around, her calm mind shifting immediately into an alert mode. ]

Who's there?

➳ Wild Card

[ Got something else in mind? Let's do it! ]

a private corner.

[deployed]

[ The Garden itself feels like Cathaway's domain as much as it does Ilde's. It's too neatly tended to remind Bellamy of the lush greenery of Earth, and he finds no reminders of home by treading it's pathways. But the respite offered is still welcome in the face of celebration. Bellamy isn't good company just now, and those he would wish to see are not in attendance. (The Darkling may never attend any gathering aboard the Station again.) He's looking for solitude, but it isn't all that surprising to stumble upon another person. Bellamy's instincts have been tugging him towards other members of the Nest. It's almost an accident, coming upon Aloy, and he holds up his hands placatingly. ]

I'm Bellamy.

[ There's no explanation beyond that. His mind nudges her compulsively, establishing a split second of contact before he recovers himself. ]

It's alright.

[ He couldn't hurt her, even if he wanted to. (That's not entirely true, considering the fights that have broken out among nestmates, and yet.) He didn't come here with an intention of instigating anything. ]

closed to shepard, closed to seviilia

[lavelly]

[ for shepard ]

[It took him a long time to sort out his thoughts after the incident. It took even longer for him to decide to approach her about it. Because it was something that deserved an explanation.

The problem is he has no idea what he wants to say. It's not like he's trying to accuse her of anything. Just trying to suss out her intentions, perhaps; he'd absolutely be lying if he said he wasn't interested, despite their less than favorable first impressions. But ?he's also not going to put up with being toyed with.

Either she means it, or she doesn't touch him again.

He finds Shepard in the library and settles in a chair across from her, casually as you please. He's in a good mood, despite everything, and he's not here for a fight unless she wants to pick one, so he keeps his tone light.]

Feel like explaining yourself yet?

[ for seviilia ]

[He checks out of the dinner early. He'd never been antisocial before, but spending time around these people with their loud thoughts makes him antsy. It'll be a very long time before he gets used to the sensation, and even his current state of drunkenness stopped helping after a while.

Seviilia is the last person he expects to see outside, and it's a pleasant surprise, because he finds he rather likes her. She's more different than anyone else he's ever met, and she has fascinating experiences that he'd like to hear more of. And he's also buzzed, so any warning bells that could be going off are effectively muted.]

What are you doing out here?

[You know. Alone. Secluded from other people. Like he is now, also. Nothing sketchy there.]

[miscreant]

[She is slightly less guarded than the last time Lavellan had seen her, particularly thanks to the absense of her armor. It has been replaced with her usual beaten down attire -- a white swashbuckling shirt, torn in the sleeves, and easy slacks. Seviilia, like most others, was soaking up the spoils of the dinner party. But she didn't need to tell him that.

Instead, her eyes slide to him thoughtfully, one ear flicking upward. The grim she passes him is slightly mischievous.]

Ilde would be rather cross with me had I wilted anything in the garden. It is better that I wait out here.

[She pushes herself from the wall to close the distance, curious as to why he's chosen to leave early.]

Besides -- typically, I have no use for food.

[earthborn]

[Shepard considers Lavellan over the edge of her book-- paper books, she still not over that. He's acting casual, emphasis 'acting'. Or maybe he really is in a good mood today, who can tell? Well, technically Shepard could. Any one of the hosts could. But there's a difference between having separate changing rooms and needing them. She can mind her own business; don't laugh.]

I don't see what there is to explain.

[She really doesn't, is the thing. Shepard feels she was pretty straightforward.]

You wanna ask me something more specific?