ArchivedLogs:Party Games

Party Games
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Hive, Isra, Jackson, Jim, Melinda, Micah, Parley, Tag, Clarice, Daiki, Flicker, Joshua, Rachel, Taylor	13 August 2013 It's Dusk's birthday. And Game Night. And time to deliver supplies to Harlem.
Location <NYC> 403 {Geekhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
There's kind of a college-dorm feel to this place, though some of its occupants have left college behind. Entering the apartment finds visitors greeted by the perpetually messy living room, a mismatched assortment of couches and chairs (and milk crates) surrounding the wide table in the center. The wall holds a range of posters; some political, some sporty, some from video games, and a string of white lights strung over the kitchen doorway might be a holdover from Christmas. The kitchen adjacent is just as cluttered, its table unfit for eating due to its perpetual covering of books, papers, cereal boxes, projects; the fridge is usually sparsely populated. Ketchup. Beer. Not a lot of food. There are two bedrooms here, split between the four people; the fold-out couch in the living room (often folded out!) suggests that at least one of them does not actually claim a room as their own. Geekhaus is, at the moment, considerably noisier than its usual. Though fairly par for the course on a Tuesday night, really, even if it's a /bit/ more packed than usual. There are /many/ games taking place, far too many people for any /one/; in the kitchen the table is occupied with a group playing Innovation; there's a game of Forbidden Island taking place on Dusk's bedroom floor; in Hive's bedroom a small group has a Last Night on Earth game; on the large table in the living room, Flicker is currently looking /just/ slightly smug as they tally up Smallworld points. /Just/ slightly. Hive isn't looking much of anything, really; he hasn't been participating in any of the games, thus far. There's a distinctly glassy /vacancy/ to his expression, and though he has been tucked up onto the couch beside Flicker he hasn't been paying much attention to the game, until it ends. Flicker nudges him in the ribs with an elbow. "Hey. Hey. There's like seventeen /tons/ of dinner, how about you grab some?" "Mmm?" is Hive's answer to this; his eyes slowly refocus on Flicker. "/Oh/! Yeah. Shit. It smells good." "Jax cooked it," Flicker answers easily, "of /course/ it's good." "Good game!" Tag manages between mouthfuls of food. "I shoulda sent those Flying Dwarves into decline one round sooner." His hair is a full rainbow, parted off-center between red and violet. He wears a gray t-shirt entirely covered with a single floor plan (centered around a spiral staircase and the word 'House' in blue letters), black cargo shorts, and no shoes. With bowl in one hand and chopsticks in the other, he is polishing off his food and searching for a new game already. Jim is arriving late, shouldering into the apartment around whoever has answered the door for him (unless he lets HIMSELF in). In his mind is a sense of deep roots gripping into soil; a steady dark fastening that's dominated since his rescue. It doesn't ease or worsen to land eyes on Flicker and Hive on the couch, but that is where his attention first goes, before he's scanning, for Dusk. Grunting, "So where's this fucker at." He needs to HANDshake with him. Dinner tonight is Indian! An immense pot of dal, a dish of mustard-seedy okra, a large pot of saffron-laced basmati rice, cauliflower. A pot of rice pudding or chai cupcakes, for dessert. There are, as well, numerous extras supplied by /other/ people; chips and dip there, a takeout tray of tandoori chicken wings here, a Happy Cakes box of (dairy-free!) cookies, a bowl of guacamole, a fruit salad. Jackson claps Flicker on the shoulder as he gets up from the Smallworld game. He doesn't even really /bother/ to count his points; it is unlikely he has done much except /fail miserably/. But he's /grinning/ happily about his abject failure anyway because he has his own victory condition met: "-- I kept my opening forests the whole way through!" He is dressed cheerfully, peacocky blue-green-purple pants, glittering blue eyeshadow and nails, an orange eyepatch with an apple embroidered into it, a purple t-shirt that reads 'let's switch gender roles!' "Hi Jim!" He glances over Jim quickly enough that it doesn't look /too/ much like he is ASSESSING with a dose of *fret*. (But he's probably assessing. It's reflex.) Dusk is in the kitchen, at the moment, pouring himself a glass of apple cider. He is casual as ever, fraying denim shorts, no shoes, no shirt. He looks /healthy/, these days, far moreso than in months past, a lean-strong sheathe of muscle built up over his previously emaciated frame. Even if he's kind of sinking back into /death/-pale again. He glances over the half-wall when Jim arrives, offering the newcomer a bright fangy smile. "Hey! You made it! -- Hey. Flick. Y'want food?" He makes this offer because Flicker is kind of TRAPPED on the couch. Well -- not /very/ trapped but inconveniently broken-legged. /Little/ trapped. "Jim there's like. More food than we could ever eat in ten years." "Mother fucker," Melinda curses - albeit jovially - when she is eliminated from the game of 'Last Night On Earth.' The others seem intent on a rematch, but she politely withdraws. "Nah, I'm in the mood for something more Eldritch Horror. Going to see if there's a Elder Sign box out there and then rustle up some players - after I eat." She dusts off the skirt of the purple party dress she is wearing, and gets to her feet, scooting through the crowd toward the kitchen. Then she pauses, eyes wide, smile more plastered on her face than based on anything emotional. She falters a step and then she pauses, eyes Jim for a moment, then turns toward the stack of games and starts rooting through them. Here, boxy, boxy, boxy, boxy. Micah is sitting at the Smallworld table, back to the bottom of the couch, but hasn't exactly been paying the game enough attention to have done well at it. His attention has been split getting distracted between people and food and, presently, licking icing off of a chai cupcake. Chai. And /cupcake/. Nom. He is in typical after-work attire: chocolate brown T-shirt with a stegosaurus cursing a T-rex's 'sudden but inevitable betrayal', well-worn jeans. "I think we could definitely finish it in less than ten years. If we put our minds to it," he says of the food between icing licks. He's certainly helping, if very /slowly/. A hand lifts lazily to wave in Jim's general direction as he enters. "Hey, Jim!" Seated in a chair near enough that he can watch the games, Parley has brought up his legs to cross them on his chair of choice. He hasn't joined in any games, but seems genuinely content to be watching. And /eating/. Kind of glassy-eyed as the crowded sentiments of warms in his mind. Shh. He's just lurking. Eyes flicking around occasionally to wherever louder noises might come from. << There's totally Elder Sign. Should be on the third shelf down. >> Hive seems to have forgotten his impulse to get food almost as soon as it began. His attention shifts, when Jim enters -- it's not readily /apparent/, though, really, to anyone but Jim. He doesn't move, he doesn't look over. His /mind/ curls, though, a little bit more tightly packed in around those deep roots. "Kitchen," he unhelpfully informs Jim, /after/ Dusk's already greeted him. "We can manage it. Taylor'll eat << the leftovers. Kid's like a fucking garbage disposal. >> Which earns him a /thwap/ of tentacle on the back of his head. Taylor's reach is long enough to bap him /even/ from the bedroom. "Yo, Mickey. Jacky." Jim is gruffing at Micah and Jackson as he passes, "Don't tell me that's the fucking -- apple of your god damn eye... socket." The eye patch. Has an embroidered apple on it. How is /anyone/ dealing with this like adults. Dusk gets a hard clap on the arm and a sort of awkward shake. By it. Fucking. What. "Dude. You're bad as Jax, don't fucking... wait on people, you're too busy /dying/" Of AGE. He wrestles together food for Flicker and Hive HIMSELF - his eyes slipped Melinda-ward. And gazing at her for a long moment. Then -- AHERM HERM. He blusters off to shove a messy plate of dal and... nachos. And a cupcake. All just kind of piled together and TOUCHING onto Hive's lap. Maybe he thinks Flicker will enjoy gleaning off Hive's plate. And he just kind of stations himself behind the couch, with his arms braced on the couch back. Looming over Flicker and Hive like they owe him money. "You're forgetting t'use your /face/ again. How's the cripple." "Dying?" Dusk echoes this, amused. His wing curls around Jim's shoulder absently through the shaking, and with Jim taking care of waiting on his roommates, he just claims his glass of cider and a large plate of rice and okra and dal for himself. "I'm 20, I think I can survive /not/ being a teenager more easily than I survived /being/ one." He slips back out of the kitchen, heading towards the couch -- almost heading towards the couch. He stops, turns -- with a slight frown like there is something /niggling/ at him. And then looks down at Parley. Ah! "-- You like okra?" He is crouching beside Parley's chair, setting his cider on the floor so that he can pluck up a piece of okra for himself and then offer the plate upwards to the other. "I'd give it seven years." Jax reaches over, swiping a finger through Micah's icing despite it being pre-/licked/. He licks it off his fingertip as he heads over to leeeean an elbow on Melinda's shoulder as she searches. "Are you sure you want to play Elder Sign? They have Arkham Horror right there! And if we're going to be stuck here trying to finish food for seven years we might as well." Jim earns a quirk of Micah's eyebrow. He's being extra charming tonight! "20 is /dyin'/ now? What is this, the middle ages? There's no hope for the rest of us. Less worryin' about dyin'. More congratulations on survivin' bein' a teenager," he adds this last mostly in Dusk's direction, accompanied by a bright grin. "Well, this is just gonna have to be a long party. Seven years of amazin' food? Not complainin'. You wanted t'have guests for that long, right?" The question is generally thrown at the Geekhaus's official tenants. Hazel eyes go exaggeratedly wide at the icing theft, as if this is a /horrible/ crime. The punishment for which seems to be...Micah stealing Jax's hand back to gnaw on. Never mind that he still has a whole cupcake in his own hand (albeit one mostly naked of icing). Parley blinks back to the present when he finds a Dusk all gargoyled up by his seat. "I don't think there's really anything I don't like," he admits, accepting the plate - his lap makes a convenient shelf. He then goes about portioning half its contents nearer to Dusk. To kind of... quietly encourage him to keep picking at it. DuskBait. His personal space is a soft and open thing, but private once within it - a little chamber of quiet in which he looks amongst the people assembled. << (it's nice) being (around people)(sometimes.) >> Okra-nibble. << (when they)(like each other). (can you hear)(a change?)(in their heartrates?) >> Melinda gives a little jump when someone touches her, her face flushing red quickly. She smiles up at Jackson sheepishly then draws in a deep breath. "Oh, I don't know. Do we have to stay until we finish? I'll have to make arrangements for people to cover my shifts at work." She winks at him and shrugs. "I'd love to do Arkham Horror, but I don't know if I can stay up quite that late tonight." She's embarrassed /and/ thinking about Jim, but trying ever so hard not to. She pulls out both games and looks up at Jax again. "You want to play with me?" Isra has parked herself next to a window in the living room, leathery gray wings wrapped around her body like a roosting bat that has forgotten which way is up. Her tail twitches rapidly beneath the dip-dyed blue handkerchief hem of her skirt. She is not /panicking/, but is certainly unused to navigating the confines of a crowded house party and feeling overwhelmed. Drink in hand, she divides her attention between the bustle all around her and the city night outside. << Are you eating him? There's plenty of food. >> Hive isn't exactly /watching/ Micah's Jax-hand-theft but he is observing it all the same. << My face has other things to be doing. >> This is to Jim, a little more /prickly/ as he steals a chip and dips it in dal. << Cripple's dying, this is actually his farewell party. Hey. Hey. Dusk. Is your gargoyle alright. >> Nevermind that everyone can hear this just fine, it's /directed/ to Dusk. "What? I /am/, nobody told me! I would've --" Flicker glances around the room uncertainly. "... actually, no, I'd probably be doing it the exact same way. /I'll/ play Elder Sign with you if you play it /here/." Because he's not moving anywhere. "We'll have guests for forever, sure! It'll not really be that much different than usual." "You have to finish it if you start it, or who knows what horrors you'll unleash on the world." Dusk continues to pick at the food that is now on Parley's lap, using fingertips to make a little ball of rice-and dal to pop in his mouth. He glances up at Hive's mental poke, and one wing stretches baaaack -- cutting off Daiki's current path to the kitchen, oops! -- to brush up against Isra's arm. "Y'want to learn how to play Elder Sign? There's all kinds of Lovecraftian horrors in it." Parley's query takes him a moment of thought, kind of /slow/ as he turns this over. He draws in a slow breath that is tinged none too lightly with hunger. << (Yes.) >> And another breath; he takes another mouthful of rice and dal to distract himself. << More relaxed. Everyone's been so -- (on edge.) Nice to have a break. >> << Only thing your happy ass should be focusing on right now is fucking eating, hero. >> Jim is fully on prickle-mode back at Hive; his roots bristled in small dark thorns. It's all doom and gloom and - a sunlamp? - in here. Pressing back. << Christ. You're worse than a teenage girl. >> Speaking of /girls/? He can practically FEEL Melinda over there NOT thinking about him. In a way that has nothing to do with telepathy. Because he's side-eye glancing at her and then /away/ again. And instead hey - he has a Flicker right here to /inquire/, "So how long's Nurse Joshua givin' you before you're back on your feet?" And FLITTING about again. Tag emerges from the kitchen with seconds--or /thirds/, it's hard to tell. "Ooh ooh did someone say Elder Sign? I'm in! No wait, I was gonna play Last Night on Earth." He weaves his way back to the main table and, holding chopsticks in his teeth like a pirate on the rigging, picks up the Smallworld box and returns it to its place before ducking into Hive's room for some zombie-slaying. "Plenty of food, yeah, but now he tastes like /frosting/," Micah has to release Jax's hand from his mouth for a second to reply to Hive. He holds the hand up as if the visual helps his explanation in some way. "Nobody's dyin'. Stop that." Somehow, he manages to one-handed peel a bit of wrapper off of his cupcake, balling it up to serve as a tiny projectile to aim at Hive. Probably bouncing it off the telepath's knee unless he bothers to swat it away. Everyone is going for the mature responses tonight, clearly. "Hrm. Required game-finishin'. Not sure I'm up for joinin' that one, then. But I'll observe if it's happenin' /here/." His head nods forward to indicate the table in front of him. "Because Lovecraftian horrors!" Yay? Micah's eyes dart a moment between Jax's hand and his cupcake before he finally decides to tear a large bite out of the cupcake. "Definitely." Jackson is /split/ between Melinda's shoulder and having his other hand /chewed/ on. Ohno! He makes a halfhearted wiggle of hand that doesn't /really/ attempt to dislodge it from this punishment. "OK, yeah, I have work tomorrow /too/ I don't think we can really stay here for a year or seven for Arkham Horror. Plus Dusk always laughs at me because I always just want to be the nun. But I'll play this one. It's shorter than Arkham Horror, right?" Not that that's a high bar to /cross/. His fingers make small pinchy motions towards Micah's cupcake, although with his hand /commandeered/ it's difficult to continue his theft. "I'm actually just going to leave him like that forever," Joshua answers Jim, deadpan, from behind his hand of Innovation cards in the kitchen. "Can't get himself killed if he can't leave the house." "Yep. Much shorter," Mel replies to Jax, then looks around at players popping out of the woodwork. "Okay, well, I guess we're playing in here then, at Flicker's request." She turns around, leaving the Arkham Horror behind for the time being and starting to investigate a clear spot to lay out the cards for Elder Sign. She fans out the player cards and draws in a deep breath before handing them over to Flicker quickly. "Here. You pick first. I'll be right back. I'm starving and could use some tea." She grins (half glance toward Jim) then scampers off for food. << (your)(birthday timing) is (convenient)(that way.) >> Like Dusk decided to be born on this day purely for the sake of giving the Lofts a good party. Parley's tease is feather-faint, and thick with residual mind-scents of the others in the room as they pour in. It's a complicated bouquet. Not without it's pains, it's darkness, it's anxiety and concern. But there is love as well. Through his filters, it's all sort of clinical, but that doesn't make it any less present. Or soothing for being there. << (she's...)(overwhelmed.) >> He offers silently, glancing to Isra beneath his lashes. And, after a moment of hesitation, he holds a bit of okra out towards Dusk's FANGLY face. Eat it, kitty. He *pokes* at that swell of hunger. << (you do plan)(to /really/ eat)(on your day)(yes?) >> And, regardless of whether it gets nommed or not, he washes to his feet. Drifts towards Isra, presence barely tangible, and crouches down alongside her. And comments to her, quietly, with his eyes on the rest of the room, "...it can feel a bit much at first, can't it." "Oh, I'm in no rush. It's a nice break. I just sit here and everyone waits on me." Flicker's smile is bright, easy-warm. Beneath it though there's /distinct/ agitation in his mind; sitting /still/ is not a particularly easy feat for him, even if he's been doing it a /lot/ this year in his persistent /recuperation/ cycle. He picks up the cards, absently just shuffling them and drawing one. The nun! He smiles at it a bit crookedly, and slides it across the table to Jax before random-drawing for himself again. Photographer. << Josh'll let him up when the semester starts again. >> Hive picks up another chip off the plate, but this one he /throws/ at Jim's head. It's kind of aimed about the same as the time Micah's cupcake-wrapper bounces off /him/. They are definitely a mature bunch. Pointed ears shifting to pick Dusk's words out of the merry din, Isra tilts her head and watches Melinda set out Elder Sign. "Perhaps? If it can accommodate so many players." She barely notices Parley's approach, but does not look very startled, either, when he speaks--though it takes her a moment to discern that he is addressing her at all. "This? Yes." A subtle brand of happiness emanates from her, though: she is glad to see Dusk at ease. "It /is/ a lovely gathering, though." She cants her head in the other direction, studying Parley. Her memory is coming up uncharacteristically blank. "I am sure I know you from somewhere." Jim's eyes jump to Melinda when she scampers off, like a sighthound. It leaves him wide open for a chip to bounce off the side of his face. He FROWNS. "Y'know I'm gonna make you fucking /eat/ that." And he stoops down to pick it up off the ground. He's probably supposed to be laughing or... something, with Joshua and Flicker's comments. But all his roots radiate with is grim cursing. << Almost fucking died. Getting me out. >> Chip is shoved at Hive's face. Prod. Prod-poke, at his stupid Hive-mouth. Micah doesn't relinquish Jax's hand, but rather holds the cupcake close to the other man's /face/. Incoming cupcake! For biting. Since this is obviously the correct way to share cupcake. "Ohgosh, Joshua, don't go all /Misery/ on us. I'm sure Flicker could be encouraged t'hang around more with simple /bribery/. Seven years of delicious foods is prob'ly a good start." He chuckles at Flicker's agreement to sit about if he is waited upon. "See? Just have t'keep bringin' 'im tasty things." His gaze slides up to Isra as she speaks. "I'm just watchin', so that's one less hand in the pot. Y'should join in." Again, rather than letting go of Jax's hand, he uses it to wave Isra over to the table. See? That's where the game is! Jax grins, bright, when Flicker sends him the card. "Oh -- oh, I think you can play this with /eight/, we're not even near limit, we have --" He looks around uncertainly, to Melinda, to Flicker, to Dusk. "-- Four? Five, with you." He leans his head forward, chomping a piece off the cupcake. "Oh, don't worry, we're /so/ good at waitin' on people. 'tween me an' Micah an' Mel I think we got fussing /covered/." He leans forward to start setting up the /rest/ of the game, opening the rule book to make sure he is actually doing it right as he shuffles the cards to lay them out. He glances back to Isra again, "-- Parley's been at Fight Club?" he fills in in uncertain suggestion. "Might coulda bumped into each other there." "Fight club?" Melinda's loading up a bowl with rice and covering it mostly with okra, but also with some dal. She grabs a mug of chai and pauses in the kitchen, surveying the rooms in front of her with a quiet glance. "Oh, I guess I shouldn't talk of such things, if the movie's any sort of clue." Her eyes move evenly, counting heads quietly with Jax, giving herself a chance to look Jim over before moving on to the next person, a small smile on her lips - that is until she sips some more tea. "Someone pick a card for me. I'm always the investigator lady if I pick for myself. Got a thing for intellectual girls." Dusk leans forward to /nip/ that bit of okra out of Parley's fingers, a quick swipe of tongue cleaning residual oil and spices off his fingertip. His eyes skim the room, dancing -- between Parley, Micah, Jax. Clarice over at Joshua's table, Isra by the window. A dark-haired woman with large feathery black wings in the other bedroom. << (I will.) >> is the first answer he gives. << ... maybe after people have cleared out. >> "Here. Take Amanda." He takes the cards from Flicker, and sets the student apart for Melinda. "Dude, Hive, throw food somewhere /away/ from the games." People are just getting fed food left and right! Even if Hive's feeding is a little more /aggressive/. He /chomps/ forward, biting -- not at the chip. Just at Jim's /hand/. << Yeah. >> There's -- a distinct undertone of /guilt/ wrapped up in this that Hive is trying to shove aside, thinking back to this raid (and the last, and the last, and the last); of just /shoving/ Flicker puppet-style back into danger long after his own body has /tried/ giving out on him. << And they're already trying to plan more. >> "Not that kind of Fight Club," Flicker answers Melinda with a small smile. "We talk about this one a lot." "--I've been to," Parley lifts a finger, gestures... loosely across the room with it, towards Jax. There. That place. The illusionist is given a brief, appreciative look. "Though only twice. I'm practically a remedial combatant. I didn't even fight until the second time and even then..." He probably waited until the end, when most people had already left. Maybe went up against Mirror. His eyes have a brief something... sharp and awake as he looks to Isra's face, "I've watched you, though. It's - sort of poetry, in a way." Only those with psionic awareness would feel the spiral-whirl of colors and intentions that had been two minds in the midst of dueling. A soundless symphony that blends off into all the minds in the room; it's the curious way adding colors together will find /white/, because it fades back out of perception. He nods towards the games, a forested smile half-forming. "You should play." Micah sighs, pretending to be put out when Jax reclaims his hand for game-setting purposes. Ah-well, he will console himself with finishing the last few bites of cupcake. He deliberately stays away from Fight Club discussions. “Speakin' of fussin', did you need anything else?” he checks in, resting a hand on Flicker's shoulder--one of the few largely uninjured areas the teleporter has. “I'm goin' to the kitchen t'throw this out,” the empty wrapper sits on his palm and is lofted illustratively, “an' /prob'ly/ end up with more food, anyhow.” There does seem to be little likelihood of going into the food-laden kitchen without coming out with more. "You're gettin' better. Maybe not /in/ the ring yet but out of it. Practice is good. -- You want in, Parley?" Jax's eyebrows raise, questioning. "S'room for a few more." He checks his laid-out cards against the instructions in the book. Then checks them again, for good measure, nodding to himself when he is satisfied that the game is ready for /playing/. He settles down, leaning against the base of the couch beside the spot Micah just vacated. "Ohoh! I totally need a cookie." Not that Micah was asking /him/ but he's shamelessly piggybacking on the helpfulness anyway. He might not have a broken leg but he just got /comfortable/. And ready for gaming. Isra nods, green eyes alight with comprehension as the recollections click into place so perfectly that she wondered how she did not recognize Parley from the outset. "I started out rather remedial myself," she admits. "So I encourage you to keep at it. I have benefited greatly from the instruction and guidance of the other club members, but I don't know that it would occur to me to call it /poetry/. Thank you, though." With another appraising look at the table, she answers Parley's gesture the barest nod of agreement. "Having re-read some Lovecraft lately, I do not feel /particularly/ sanguine about his legacy, but I ought to judge it on its own merits. Will you join, as well?" She straightens up--gaining almost a foot in height from the idle crouch she had maintained before--and approaches the table, her gait awkward from the effort to take up less space than her body would like. Unwrapping her wings from her body, she reaches one out to touch one of Dusk's. "Guide me, O Fates, an I shall play my part." Auugh, /bitten/. Jim gives his hand micro-shakes in Hive's teeth like it's a tug of war, clapping his free palm against the (motherfucking) telepath's forehead to moosh-push-shove. As though Hive's bite were as secure as a /snapping/ turtle. Maybe there's hairpulling. General abuse. Because inwardly, there's far far less that one can fight. He's thinking of Joshua, in and out of labs twice now. Of leaving behind bodies to rescue strangers. Just << -yeah. I'd just bet. >> Is all he answers. And in it, it's all too clear. If they're going, he probably is, too. If only to keep these pinheads alive for a little longer. He'll probably eventually join in the fun and games but - he'll also probably also utterly fail at understanding the rules. And will fuck everything up blundering around. So... Jim-Fun. "OH. Well, good. I didn't want to have to fight someone because I heard about a club, you know." Melinda grins and brings her bowl back to the table, picking up the student card and reading it over. "I should probably be eating real food first, but maybe cookies later? Definitely cookies, but I'm sure I can get them myself." She glances around at Parley and Isra, her brows lifted, then gets a large spoonful of food and plops it into her mouth. Cheeewwww. Nom. "I think I'd just like to watch-." Parley demurs partway, watching the game being set up. Then raises appraisal from the hands on the cards to the faces above them, slowly dragging his upper teeth over his lower lip. Then sighs, the side of his mouth twitching. "-...I'd need someone to explain the rules to me." Obviously. He finds his way nearer, creeping into a seat with a foot tucked under the opposite leg's knee. And joins the FUN AND GAMES. Just this once. Dusk's wing unfurls, brushing back up against Isra's. "S'okay," he says lightly to Parley, "Isra's going to need to learn, too. And Jax," he teases lightly, "needs to /re/-learn every time." His wing settles lightly against Isra's, and he scoots slightly to one side to make room for the newcomers. "You should try the eggplant, it's /the/ most delicious eggplant. Jax made about seventeen million times too much," he confides to Isra, "because we needed the extra for --" He glances over Isra thoughtfully for a moment. "... are you busy after this?" "Oh -- /oh/, cookies. Would be awesome." Micah receives a wide quick smile from Flicker. He settles into a comfortable nestle at Hive's side, and /he/ moves over slightly, too. To make room for Jim to FAILplay. "You only fight if you want to," he adds to Melinda. Hive closes his eyes. He rests his cheek against Flicker's shoulder, expression scrunching up at Jim's /abuse/. He cracks an eye open, though, to look over at Joshua; his hand drops to rest on Flicker's knee. His mind /brushes/ gently against Jax and then withdraws as he tries to clamp down on the sudden cold-sick /knot/ swelling inside it. Instead, he focuses on the minds around him, the warmth, the happy. "Jim's going to lose the game for all of you," he informs them. CHEERFULLY. And eats his chips. “Yessir, cookies!” Micah acknowledges Jax's order with a sharpish mock salute. He shakes his head as he ambles into the kitchen, chuckling at Hive and Jim's slapstick antics. “An' Mel an' Flicker an'...maybe I should just bring the /box/ in /there/. Cookies for everybody!” He does stop to spoon just a little more okra in a bowl. It is impossible to turn down okra; let's not count how many helpings he's had of the stuff. Cookie box in one hand, bowl in the other, he returns to flop into his spot by Jax, leaning against the couch. He does open the box to retrieve cookies for those who asked for them, one going to Flicker, Jax, and Mel in turn before the remainder of the box is tucked under the table for ease of access (without blocking gameplay). "I had some--it was quite excellent. I was under the impression," Isra says, arching one eyebrow ridge, "that Jax /always/ makes significantly more food than is required. But no, I have not made any plans. I do intend to stay in the City tonight." She examines the characters and slides Kate Winthrop's card free from the others with the pad of one long finger. "At the risk of seeming single-dimensional, may I play the Scientist? Being immune to /terror/ seems like a good trait in the Lovecraft mythos." "Immune to terror does sound nice." Melinda admits, her gaze casting back and forth amongst the group, her eyes lowering to her food at length, making a more concentrated effort to finish off the dish before game play begins, but - alas - her mouth is only so big. She takes two cookies from Micah, giving him a puffy cheeked smile, then sets them down next to her bowl. When she finishes chewing and smiling, she turns to Isra. "Be whoever you want to be. I'm Melinda, by the way. Most call me Mel, though." "Thanks, honey-honey." Jax trades Micah a kiss on the cheek for his cookie. He glances over towards Isra, his smile fading, slightly. "I do kinda always make a lotta food," he admits with a quiet laugh. "But this time it's -- y'seen the news lately?" He shrugs a shoulder, reaching to take his starting cards. "S'just some folks up north what could /probably/ use a bit'a food. An' cake. I mean, who /doesn't/ want cupcakes?" "Jax always makes food enough for a horde of famine-faced teenagers, but this is above'n beyond. Immune to terror is definitely good for your /sanity/. Also, burnin' books," Micah observes, though his nose crinkles at his own comment. "Only in Lovecraft. Otherwise, burnin' books is /sad/." Mel's chipmunk-face sparks a brief fit of giggles from Micah, which is interrupted only when she introduces herself to Isra. "Ohgosh! I don't think I introduced m'self, either. Super distractible an' you were /way/ over by the window... Micah. You can call me Micah 'cause that's pretty much the only thing people call me." A bright smile blooms at Jax's kiss. "Oh, kisses for cookies! I approve of this trade. Y'know, I /did/ bring a whole /box/," he teases, slumping down against the backrest of the couch and nuzzling his head against Jax's shoulder. His playfulness is jarred somewhat by the reminder of the mess in Harlem, however, his teeth meeting with his lower lip and worrying at it. "Immune to terror is pretty useful," Dusk agrees. His mouth curls upwards, his smile a little lopsided. "-- In real life, too. I'm, uh --" His wing lifts in a shrug. He drops his eyes down to the table. "Flying up there tonight. I don't know if they even --" His head shakes. "I think they might be able to use some support. I'd be glad for an extra pair of --" His smile quirks a little wider, eyes slanting to Isra's hands. "Wings. If you, uh, don't mind -- potentially -- you know. Getting shot down by police snipers or arrested or being on some terrorist watchlist somewhere." "Call me Isra." She nods at Mel and Jax. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I work with Jax, though we have ironically seen more of each other in the City." Then, to Jax. "If you mean Harlem, then yes; at least, I have seen as much as mainstream media will--or is permitted to--relay. The rest I have extrapolated." She fixes Dusk with a steady gaze and replies, quite plainly, "Count me in." /Sprinting/ through a crowded party is neither easy nor prudent, but this is how Tag chooses to emerge from Hive's room. "Oh frak, oh frak, everything is /on fire/..." comes out Doppler-shifted and less alarmed than expected as he passes right by the Elder Sign table and heads into the kitchen. He re-emerges only a moment later with cupcakes. ".../and/ full of zombies!" he adds as he rabbits back to his game.