MINGLE - Post-Op(era) Recovery

[pumpkinhollow]

On this night we drink to the death of Sorrow.

After the Fall of Efrain With the Prince of Sorrow's Song dead and gone, the opera dissipates, spitting its victims out on the summit of Crane's Ridge where the Dance of Celestine was held some months before. It's getting late, and there is no one yet in town to run the train. Some will brave the trip home simply for the sake of collapsing into their own beds and achieving some sense of normalcy. Others will do so with the hope of returning with help. But many others will simply say "fuck it" and camp out on the mountain, still fitted with extra firewood from the festival and the means to build temporary structures in nearby storage sheds. The journey down will be safer in the morning, and there's solidarity to be had in a cool spring night spent under the stars.

Oh, look, there's even some non-perishable food and wine from the Dance. Combined with what can be hunted or foraged, as well as snacks and drinks stolen from the concession stand, there's plenty to go around. This might even be a little bit fun! Anyone up for another game of Never Have I Ever? Maybe a little Truth or Dare? Or perhaps you just want to chat and unwind with your friends. Whatever the case may be, have fun. This is your time. After darkness, there is a dawn. At the death of Sorrow, there is joy.

Comments

[liesdontfindyou]

"What, you mean me standing there looking pretty wouldn't count a helping?" she teases, taking the offered hand and pulling herself to her feet. She still almost trips over the skirts on the way up, but she manages to get them out from under her feet before she tumbles. "Don't worry, I'll do my share. Just don't let me walk too close to the fire or I'll go up like the Hindenburg."

[liesdontfindyou]

"Some entertainment," CT grumbles. God, it feels childish to grumble and groan about something they all went through, something that she damn well understands the logic of—demonic logic, demonic entertainment, demonic everything. "I guess they didn't skimp on the production value, at least."

...sigh. She hates this bitter feeling.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Suits me," he says at once. "You know how to set those up? I can help."

NHIE

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar waves a peace sign back at her, with a grin. "Never had any kind of school."

[incomingchoppers]

"Who the heck is Hatsune Miku?"

And what does Mr. Shen mean, he's being forward? Whatever, he's gonna give him so many braids, then braid the braids together, then get 'em to stick straight up in the air somehow --

Snickering, he pulls an emergency pack of rubber bands out of one pocket. (Of course he has emergency rubber bands on him.) As he gets to work -- and as Pokey joins in to help wreak havoc on Shen Qingqiu's hair -- Radar says, "Okay, your turn! Pick somebody!"

[incomingchoppers]

"Yeah, they don't look too different from the pup tents we gotta set up sometimes."

Okay, sure, Radar hasn't had much cause to set up a pup tent since he got through basic -- the 4077th's tents are way, way bigger -- but you don't forget much of anything a drill sergeant shouts at you at four in the morning. Once he secures a two-person tent from the pile, he and Edgar get to work making their campsite.

[thismaskismybadge]

"Uneducated life!" Okay well she at least got some standard schooling before she became a superhero, but still. Jokes. "Is that a thing we're allowed to high-five over or is that, like, weird?"

[not_the_last]

Her mouth twists. "I suppose."

A long beat.

"I'll understand if you don't want to discuss it," she starts, and pauses to see if CT confirms that no, she doesn't.

[carefulinspekshun]

"Now yew're a mess! How about dat?" Hector teases, releasing him at last and sticking his tongue out. "That'll teach ya!"

[xiaoxiuya]

Shen Qingqiu merely laughs, taking the opportunity to drain his beer before anyone can insist he keeps his head still. Grinning, he surveys the circle with twinkling eyes before alighting on --

"Madam Zivia!" he calls out to her. "Truth or dare?"

[stoneoftherose]

Their silence doesn't bother Pyotr. He merely nods back and starts thinking of ways to phrase his questions so that they can be answered with a simple nod or shake of the head, a yes or a no.

"Did you build it yourself?" he asks first. Shake. "Ah, so someone else built it?" Nod. "They must have been very skilled." Emphatic nod. "So you knew them?"

[tehilim127_1]

"Oh does that take me back." She laughs. "Truth."

[xiaoxiuya]

"Hm!" He thinks for a minute, ignoring the bustle and giggling going on behind his own head. "Ah, I have it! What -- is the weirdest dream you've ever had?"

[xiaoxiuya]

Shen Qingqiu appears startled and uncertain, but keeps singing, reasoning that it would be more embarrassing for everyone if he stopped now. He remains sitting, and thus ends up in the unenviable position of looking up at Neil as the man comes closer, still sawing away at his violin with expertise and grace. It is deeply unfair how attractive he looks in the moonlight, and Shen Qingqiu desperately tries to think about his experiences with Meng Mo, the dream demon, to avoid embarrassing himself by blushing even harder or missing a note or something like that.

[yournewsidekick]

Nimona snorts a loud laugh. "You mean I get free shakes and fries and entertainment? Metal," she says. "Like I'd wanna get a milkshake from somebody boring."

Oh, Nimona. Just you wait.

[liesdontfindyou]

"Well. I doubt any of us really want to discuss it," CT says, rubbing her temple. "But I also think that it's worse to just sit and wonder what people made of... everything."

One of many kinds of unknowns she hates.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar's always been good at taking instructions, when he trusts the person giving them. Between the two of them, it doesn't take too long to get the tent up and ready.

And by that time, Edgar's sniffing at the air. "Someone's cooking something?"

[2onostromo]

Zivia's lap around camp brings her to a far shed, picked nearly-clean in the group's efforts to stay warm and fed for the night. There, she'll find Ripley groping blindly for a moment of quiet. Moonbeams cut out her shape from the midnight curtain behind her. She presses her back against the shed wall. It's perhaps the only thing keeping her upright. That, and an adamance to hold it together.

A hand on her shoulder makes her jump.

"Zivia— sorry, it's... it's been a long night."

[2onostromo]

"I'd call it motivation."

She catches Connie by her forearms, holding her steady while she shakes loose the layers and layers of tulle caught under her. "Well, you'd better watch your step, Inferno."

Hand in hand, for no other reason than she wants to, Ripley leads the way away from the fire and toward the old storage shed. Caught under her breath, a 'we really ought to rip that damn thing'.

[liesdontfindyou]

CT comes dangerously close to making a quip about how 'rip[ping] that damn thing' might push it from motivating to distracting, before deciding to hold her tongue for now. Almost feels like ruining the energy, with her hand still in Ripley's.

Then they've got things to do. Set up their shelter for the night, maybe actually eat something from the leftover supplies up here. Wait the darkness out until morning, where dealing with getting down will become more pressing an issue. They've got time. Time to breathe.

[hate_gettin_older]

By way of answer, he holds up a hand for a high five.

[tehilim127_1]

"Oh, good question. Weirdest ... would probably be the one where I was at a hotel for a wedding except it was also the Olympics, and I was trying to find out whether or not I was supposed to be competing. And also for some reason this bodega I know was there inside the hotel lobby, and its cat kept wandering through to make sarcastic commentary."

A pause. "That last part isn't actually as weird as it sounds, that cat makes sarcastic commentary all the time in real life."

[thismaskismybadge]

Gwen rears up and gives him a very powerful high-five. Like, as much oomph as she can put into it without actively causing pain.

[incomingchoppers]

Radar is, too, and as soon as he catches a proper whiff, he brightens more than he has all night. "Hash browns!"

(Okay, potatoes and onions. Close enough.)

"Gee, I'm starving, c'mon, let's get some -- "

[not_the_last]

"Oh," Cassandra sighs, without quite meaning to, "you may have something there. All right ... shall we trade questions? Until one of us gets tired of either asking or answering?"