lucetilogs | so pile your boots up in the corner -- hang your jacket from the door

Who: anyone invited to house seven's thanksgivingstravaganza -- as well as anyone walking by who might be curious about all the brouhaha.
What: giving thanks!
When: forward dated to november 24th due to predicted holiday hiatuses!
Where: house seven!
Summary: friends, food, fondness. family. festivities.
Rating: g for goin' up.

House Seven was decked out in soft oranges and browns. Gentle reds and yellows. The table was shoved up against a wall and dish upon dish of delicious Thanksgiving dinner-bits adorned it. Plates to one side, a pile of cutlery. Feel free to line up and pile your arms high with roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, carrots and green beans, cranberry sauce, sinful gravy. Stuffing. Steamed broccoli. The amount of food would almost be laughable had the guest list not been so long. Chatter abounded.

It was, by all accounts, a fairly casual gathering. No ceremony (Buffy, by this point, was all ceremony'd out after some fiercely dedicated meal-prepping) to stand on and no customs to keep. Just food and friendship. The only thing customary about Buffy Summers would be her delighted, enchanted grin throughout the evening. Very little pleased her more than a social event that was going well.

Mix! Mingle! Make merry!

(ooc; threadjack into oblivion and don't forget to add your character to the entry tags! have fun! note that this is forward-dated. i'll be tagging around myself later this evening. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Oh, yes. Yes, he definitely did."

Buffy took a sip of her own drink; she hid her sly look in the mulled wine. There was something fundamentally feel-good about sharing her conspiracy with Albert Silverberg.

He is reminded of his own cup when he sees Buffy drink, and he gives the mulled cider another glance before taking a sip. It seems to agree with him, as he takes another sip before speaking.

"He is aware of how you feel about the arrangement?"

"...He's a clever guy. Cleverer, definitely, than he plays it. I'm betting he knows. Buffy tapped her fingertips against the glass.

"He knows me, after all. Not that there's no altruism involved. She clearly needed somewhere to stay and where's safer than with the Slayer, right? And we had the room."

He gives her a look as he speaks. "Clearly the best treatment for an acquaintance."

There are things, of course, that she didn't say. Like the part where she knows Miss Swann split-second orchestrated Jack's first death. She kept that nice and tightly locked up in the pit of her heart.

"...I don't like living lonely, anyway. Jilly's nice and all but Seven needs more than just two people living in it. That's why this is so great -- I love seeing the place bustling."

There is always a story left untold in their conversations, even as Albert delved more into Buffy's pool of knowledge. He nods in agreement, his eyes scanning the room.

"Then perhaps you should consider holding more engagements." It's a light suggestion; he himself would not want to deal with this kind of preparation so often.

"What? And claw my way up from social butterfly to socialite?"

She leaned casually against the wall. Comfortable and spectacularly at ease for the amount of people guesting in her home. There was, however, an attentive dart to her gaze. She had a careful, controlled handle on all that was transpiring. So she liked to think.

"Maybe. Maybe I should do a New Years thing. I know the cycles tick over on a different date but there's just something...particular about December 31st."

"Particular in your world. And others that share your calendar." He nodded in acknowledgment. As the creator of the Luceti calendar, he had at least studied up on the usage of the Gregorian calendar before spreading it to the others in the village.

"Celebrating the beginning of the new year as it arrives... Something worth another dinner gathering of this size?"

Edited 2011-11-24 14:04 (UTC)

"Maybe more...appetizers. I mean -- we're pretty mingley here, tonight. But a real traditional Thanksgiving would have us all at the table with the best silverware out. New Years Eve is much more like a picky-food party with music and a countdown when it gets to midnight. You get little horns and funny hats and you sing Auld Lang Syne."

He has to snort at the mention of little horns and funny hats; of course there would have to be something in there that he would not want anywhere near his person. "Auld Lang Syne?" The words meant nothing to him.

"...A song, duh. If there's enough booze flowing on December thirty-first, I'll be sure to sing it for you."

"Drinking and singing into the new year are not uncommon ... traditions." Their own new year could be celebrated in the same way, depending on the region. "But I will keep that in mind -- Auld Lang Syne."

"Maybe we can get drunk enough and sing it together. Maybe. Possibly."

...Buffy wasn't a frequent drinker but perhaps New Years could be an exception.

"That would require knowing the lyrics, getting drunk, and being able to sing." Despite how deliberately he lists each point, Albert is noticeably amused by the idea. He had only watched New Year's festivities from afar, through the form of fireworks, for several years.

"I can teach you the first. We can do the second together. And the last? Eh."

Buffy was not much of a habitual singer -- though she could sing well enough. She simply never managed to find reason enough to sing. Nothing to sing about. Part of that sadness she wrapped up in her bright, still-present smile.

"Talent doesn't matter so much in a group."

"Or when one is suitably drunk," he says agreeably, glancing down at his tumbler once he has noticed it is empty. He couldn't comment on his own ability to sing; while he had been forced to sing because of a mask during the October experiment, he had no wish to attempt singing under his own willpower to form a comparison.

"Speaking of -- would you like a refill, Albert? No skin off my nose."

"Certainly. Thank you, Buffy." He offers the tumbler, even as he continues commenting. "A concoction of yours? I can't say I have had hot cider quite like this."

"Mmhm. My goal in my professional bartendery life, here in Luceti? Come up with as many drinkable, non-vomit-inducing boozey drinks as possible for those of us -- like me -- who can't barely stand the taste."

She tapped the empty class against her palm. "It'll just be a sec."

so pile your boots up in the corner -- hang your jacket from the door

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