lucetilogs | (no subject)

(no subject)

Who: Anyone who wants to come!
What: Autumn (Equinox) Celebration
When: Today, at 9PM to Midnight (and maybe even after)
Where: Around the Rec Center
Summary: Brigade party! There's food! There's lights! There's music! There's fireworks!
Rating: A for Abacus

There were lights! Autumn-appropriate decorations! There were tables of food (though very little of it is vegetarian friendly)! There was even a stage for music and entertainment! Still waiting was the fireworks to take place at midnight, but otherwise things were set up to more or less respectable Brigade standards. Maybe Haruhi hadn't done it herself, but it was done well enough, thanks to the efforts of being coordinated by Mikage.

The stage was left open for anyone to perform that wanted to. The karaoke machine had been dragged outside for people to sing along to, regardless of talent, or otherwise just to play music when no one was on stage. Naturally inside the Rec Center itself is a variety of pool tables, foosball, air hockey, and a TV with some video games. Just enough to keep things a little fun. If only there was a pool.

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[Guy can't help but laugh when Archie knocks one of the balls in.]

I don't shoot billiards often, but certain settings make it a preferable activity. I most often played after meetings at the country home in Chelsea of Sir Thomas Moore, the first Baronet. I once finished a shot by pocketing the ball with my hand right as His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales walked in. I don't believe the prince regent noticed, nor did my fellow player. HRH was busy making incomplete sentences and swinging his chin back and forth while making a roundabout invitation to a friend of mine.

The game wasn't finished, really, so it hardly mattered. But I did get away with it.

[He chuckles at the memory of soon sprinting out of the home, Kim and he making ridiculous impressions of the Prince the rest of the night and many more after.]

Edited 2011-09-28 22:06 (UTC)

The Prince of Wales! [Color Archie impressed.] You cheated at billiards in front of the Prince of Wales. Not something everyone can claim.

For a man who speaks so abruptly I'd wager his game is the same. You should hear him, Lieutenant.

[He puffs up and puts on a bit of a face, his head suddenly serious.]

You, sir. Navy. Officer. Uniform. You've quite a good one I see. Tailor. Savile? I must know. Name. In writing.

[He sniffs and arranges his posture.]

Send it, won't you?

[It's then that he relaxes to his normal state, a far more shrugged posture and all nonchalance.]

It's as though he's broken half the time or his mind can't quite come up with what to say, so it babbles half-fragments until the point can muster itself.

[This gets Archie laughing.]

It's the blue blood, I suspect. Royals rarely have to think for themselves, I suspect. Like admirals, except with one or two scruples to hand--usually gifted to them and only taken out twice a year, but at least they've still got them.

It's what they have all their persons of interest for. P.O.I.'s are a well assembled machine of advisers, bankers, politicians, military officers, and even a bloody surveyor of the pictures.

[He grins wryly.] Though they've a strikingly handsome surveyor of the pictures currently.

[Dear Anthony is good enough at hob knobbing big knobs to become one of the knobs of the lot. Well looked after by the bosom of Windsor, or at least he would have been, had they not found themselves here.]

Not yourself. [Though he indeed expects Guy to be the sort to talk about himself that way, and also expects his suspicion to be confirmed.]

Right you are. [Another draw from his cigarette as he smirks, nearly finished.]

My dear and oldest friend, Anthony.

Ah! [Archie raises his cup.] To dear old friends.

[It's a terrible shame he doesn't have a glass to hold, but he raises his cigarette instead.]

To dear old friends.

[He takes the last puff and flicks it off his fingers instead of a drink.]

There is a toast I would drink to, had I the gin.

Have you been to Good Spirits?

I haven't been very many places, and that is on the list of the many.

It'd satisfy your craving for gin, at least.

Now that is something I must make note of. Honestly, I couldn't say where I've come to. The party was a bit of a lucky stumble. If I may ask?

The wreck center. [One can hear the W when he says it.] The name speaks to the sort of party, I suppose.

Edited 2011-09-29 00:37 (UTC)

It is a rather pathetic circumstance. Now the relation of the gin to here?

[Not that he means to abandon Archie to the party. No, he means to invite Archie out for drinking, if there is the chance for it.]

[He points.] That way. I could show you, if you like.

[Guy grins.]

Absolutely. I'm yours to show. Perhaps we'll stay and have a drink.

It would be preferable to this, certainly. [Archie gestures for Guy to take the lead out of the rec center.]

[He takes the cue and leads the way out, waiting to follow Archie the rest of the way.] Drinking is highly preferable to quite a few things.

Edited 2011-09-29 04:26 (UTC)

[Archie sets a course for Good Spirits.] The Royal Navy agrees with you, sir. Evidently drinking is highly preferable to mutiny.

[Guy quirks an eyebrow at the dash back in history again. There are some moments he forgets.] Apparently it is. Though I do believe there is some goodness to rationing?

[Says the man who does not believe in rationing himself.]

The goodness being that you get to eat and drink every day.

[He hadn't meant it in that context, but now that Archie says it, it does make sense.]

Very important things, I believe. Vital to keeping it all going. As much as I love food, I think I love good drink more, given my choices. The both paired exquisitely, however, is a meal I can't refuse.

[That's what the BBC's dime is for, after all!]

I'm glad any day I don't have to make the choice.

It's not a choice I could make. I know that well enough.

[He is too passionate a man to be regimental. But all who know Guy Burgess know this all too well. He even carries his emotions in the way he walks, and at the moment, his steps are slightly more lumbering through his terribly large clothing, nights of being fraught with imaginative terror, and being so very tired. None of them could sleep still. He hopes liquor will help, for although his friends will never say it, they don't sleep when he can't. They're far too worried they'll catch him in front of the mirror again, trying to scrape away his own skin where the tattoo rested on his neck.]