hadriel_logs | Event log: How Delightful

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Event log: How Delightful

Who: Anyone and everyone!
What: Delight's resurrection.
Where: Throughout the city, starting in the bar.
When: March 23rd-April 3rd
Warnings: Partying too hard, poor life choices, underage drinking, the worst hangovers of all time.

On the morning of March 23rd, bright and early, Delight is resurrected. Her temple is restored, and her bar appears in the city. What does that mean? Well, obviously it's time to celebrate. We hope everyone brought their party shoes! From March 23rd to March 27th, the party will be mostly contained in and around Delight's bar, with an invitation from the goddess herself. But it won't be long before she decides that's just not good enough - gotta bring the party to the people! From March 28th to April 3rd, the natural light is dimmed and replaced with flashing colored lights, fireworks, and even a few disco balls. Loud music blares through the city, making it hard to sleep, and a wide variety of trouble is available to be gotten into.

Wanna drink away the pain of being trapped in a hellcave? There's unlimited amounts of alcohol of all kinds, and Delight will be happy to supply anything that might be missing. More interested in karaoke-ing your heart out? Hit up one of the jukeboxes. Enjoy gleeful displays of your own mortality? Here's a skateboard and a ramp, have fun. There's just about anything you could desire, as long as what you desire is to party hard and make bad decisions. And hey, if you find yourself getting tired, grab one (or five) of Delight's special energy shots. They'll eliminate your need for sleep, food, water, cure an oncoming hangover and immediately relax any sore muscles you've got for 24 hours per shot! There's no down side! (Except for all the effects coming back to hit you at once when the shot wears off, but whatever.)

After about a week and a half of tequila shots, keg stands, roman candle battles, tagging the city with free spraypaint, inappropriate party games, and balloon hats made to look like rocket ships (wait... that's not a rocket ship), Delight realizes everyone's partied out and starts to wind things down. On April 3rd, she'll clean up the city, removing everything except for a few remaining fireworks and disco balls, stored in her temple. Her bar will still be around, if you can stand to even look at liquor after all the poor choices you made. Otherwise, lay in bed and try to recover from your hangover while the city goes back to normal.

► This log covers March 23rd-April 3rd.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► Did you party too hard? Please report any character deaths right here!

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[She's pretty when she smiles, he realizes. Makes her eyes light up. She should do it more often, without all the booze helping. Of course, maybe that's why she's so smiley. And touchy. So, so touchy, and now her hands are exploring his chest, and he should really back away, except instead he's just talking again.]

Well yeah, but how's anyone gonna know who I am or what the hell I'm thinking if I don't talk? I've got a lotta ideas, you know! Lots of plans to make and a team to put together, if we're gonna climb out of this hole!

[Maybe if he talks long enough she'll stop acting so goddamn weird and hit him or something.]

[She's barely following what he says anymore, but that last part, about getting out - that part she can follow. Nick looks up at him wearing an expression she doesn't usually let anyone see, a complicated mix of wonder and sorrow and pain that creases over her face as she stares at him straight on. They're not going to get out, not until these gods have had their fill of torturing everyone here, and who knows how long it will take for them to get bored enough to send them all back. She has no hope within her, not even a small spark, that she will ever see her world again. She'll never get a chance to tell Andy and Kennedy exactly what she thinks of them and how they each hurt her in unique and devastating ways. She'll never see the Chicago skyline again, never hear the sound of the El rattling on the tracks overhead, never watch the sun rise over a cigarette between bar and coffeeshop shifts. Maybe it's the alcohol, but Nick thinks she has never in her life felt more alone, more hopeless, more like a living embodiment of despair.]

We're never gonna get outta here.

[She hears her own voice, and it sounds so small, like a child's. She hates it, and she hates this place. It's not fucking fair that they're both stuck here, and it's not fair that he's already dead, and it's not fair that she's going to live for basically ever.

Nothing is fair. Nothing is right. She's drunk, and she doesn't want to be alone, and he's still holding her close, so maybe, maybe she's not alone.

Nick doesn't think - she just acts. One second she's standing here, studying his face, brain spiraling through these awful, drunken thoughts, and the next, she's sliding her hand up up to the side of his neck and leaning in to kiss him.

Maybe they're both alone. Maybe they can both be alone together.]

Edited 2016-05-13 05:26 (UTC)

[That look on her face hurts, surprisingly enough; a little ache in his chest that he didn't expect. No wonder she's so mean all the time. If she's hurting that much being here...but maybe she was hurting just as much back home. He's not usually that intuitive; he's not good at reading people, not the way Yoko is--

--and then there's warm fingers on his neck, and her lips are on his, and just for a moment he kisses her back. It's a little clumsy, but it's warm, and his hands lift to her waist with a mind of their own, and it takes one long, long minute before he finally manages to break it, looking at her with a serious expression that looks almost out of place on his face.]

I can't. You're drunk. I'm drunk. It's not right.

Doesn't matter.

[She presses her teeth lightly around her bottom lip, studying him closely from this short distance away. It should matter; she is drunk, they're both drunk, and distantly, somewhere in the back of alcohol-flooded mind, she knows her judgment is compromised, because it always is when she gets like this. This isn't the first time she's gotten fucked-up drunk and kissed a boy she barely knows, and it usually leads to more, and it usually leaves her with regret and a hangover when she wakes up again in the morning.

If she were at all analytical, if she could ever look past her pain and examine her behavior, she'd realize that this is how she self-destructs a little bit at a time, over and over again. There's always an element of attraction, of course, but the allure is equally found in willfully tearing herself down.]

Nothing's right here.

[Nothing is right except this; this feels right, so it can't be wrong, can it? Nick moves one hand to the top of his shoulder, and the other slides up the back of his neck, fingers searching to weave into his hair. This is how she finds center again - by hitting bottom. Nothing is right, so they may as well be wrong.]

[Her fingers running through his hair are bizarrely distracting. A hand on his shoulder, a hand on his neck, the fact that they're so close in height, almost eye-to-eye...she's pretty tall for a chick, he notes again, and this time it's not surprised, it's almost pleased. Something he can appreciate, not having to bend halfway over like he did for--

Yoko. Like he did for Yoko. He really can't do this. Maybe if he learns for sure that he's dead, that he's not going back, that life is going on without him back home and that Yoko and Simon are safe and happy, but not like this, not now. Especially not with both of them drunk. She feels way too good, touching him like this, and while he's got needs--needs that have not been addressed in a hell of a long time--he's also got willpower and beliefs. He can't do what she wants him to, what his body is telling him he should do, but he can't just leave her sad and upset, either. So he does the only thing he can; wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulls her in for a tight hug, pressing his cheek to her temple. He says it again, more quietly.]

I can't. Maybe you're right, nothing's right here, but that doesn't mean another wrong thing's gonna fix that.

[She should be angry. Nobody ever turns her down, and it should make her angry, because just who the hell does he think he is? And maybe if she were less drunk and better able to think, she would be angry, because she's had too many fucking rejections from people she allowed in close, and her ripped-up heart hasn't yet recovered.

But she's not angry. She's tired, and then he pulls her in close, and she doesn't have the fire left inside of her to fight anymore. Nobody's held her like this in so long she barely remembers what it feels like, and she feels like she might disappear, just fade into thin air if he stops holding her. So she relaxes into the embrace and hold onto him, like he's the only stable thing in a shifting storm of chaos.]

You're such an idiot.

[It's half-muffled into his shoulder, but it doesn't sound like an insult this time - it sounds endearing, appreciative, accepting.]

Yeah, yeah. I know.

[This time, when he laughs, it's a low rumble she can feel vibrate through his chest. Okay, so maybe he's not the best at this stuff. Feelings, comfort, all that. But what he's done can't be that bad, if she sounds like that; it's almost...nice. Almost like she likes him, despite him being an idiot. And so he doesn't let go, just hugs her some more, until he can feel her bones melting into his and he's confused about whether the heartbeat he's feeling is hers or his.]

Here, c'mon. Get some sleep. I promise I'll stay right here, okay?

You'll stay with me?

[Because she really doesn't want to be alone right now, and she's caught in between that terror of being left alone and the exhaustion settling deeper into her bones with every passing moment. But if she's not alone, then maybe, maybe she could sleep. So it's less of a question when she says it the second time:]

Stay with me.

I promised. I'm not the kinda man who breaks a promise! [It's said with his usual bravado, but the tone is just a little softer, a little quieter. His arms loosen from the hug, but he leaves an arm around her shoulders as he walks her over to the bed.] Here. Lay down, rest. I'm not going anywhere.

[Promises don't mean much to Nick; she's heard so many that have been broken before, it seems stupid to allow herself to believe them. But she's too tired to argue about it, so she nods, easily led as he walks her toward the bed, crawling toward the far edge and collapsing turned on her side toward him. The bed's small, but they can both fit, probably. She motions for him to join her.]

Only promise I ever kept was'at I wasn't ever gonna end up like my mother.

[It's not a big bed, but it's big enough. There's just enough room for him to stretch out full-length on his back, an arm beneath his head, a thin line of space between their bodies as he looks over at her, his other hand on his stomach with fingers brushing the scar on his torso.]

You're not bad, lady. You might be a weirdo, but, yknow. So am I.

[Nick halfway laughs. She's a weirdo - well, maybe. She's always been a social misfit, and she's accepted that identity with pride. Maybe that does make her weird.]

She's not even my real mom, did y'know that? [Of course he wouldn't. But she's drunk, so logic doesn't have a place in the workings of her mind.] I'm adopted. She never told me about it. I always wondered why she hated me so much.

[Her expression crumples here, just for a moment, under the weight of all the pain and grief she's weathered over the years. Parents should love their children, adopted or otherwise. Nick always knew there was something wrong about the way her mother treated her, but she told herself she didn't care, that it didn't matter, it didn't mean anything to her because then it couldn't hurt her. It was a lie every time.]

Guess I know why now.

[He's silent for a moment, but it isn't because he's fallen asleep, even if his eyes are closed. He's just...thinking. Remembering. The past isn't something he thinks about much, but he does carry it with him. The more they talk, the more he notices it, and he's not sure yet if that's a good thing. But this isn't about him, his experiences, the death of his mother, his father leaving, the constant fights with the village chief. This isn't about him never feeling like he belonged to Jiiha, or him feeling unwanted, or Simon being the only person who ever made him feel like family. This is about her, and the sorrow he can hear in her voice. Rolling over to face her, his eyes open.]

Then screw her. Family doesn't have to mean blood, and sometimes blood ain't family at all, and sometimes the people who raise you are just shitty humans, okay? Clearly your old lady didn't know badass when it was right in front of her face. I think you're a pretty kickass chick, you know. You've got real fighting spirit. I admire that. So don't let her win, okay?

[She smiles at what he says, but it's a sad one. She doesn't believe there's anything good about her; she isn't a badass or kickass or anything else but a monster pretending to be a girl.]

You're just sayin' that 'cause we're drunk.

Maybe 'm sayin it, but I think it the rest of the time, too. So hang in there, and get some sleep. I'm gonna be right here.

[His own smile is more sure, absolutely certain, and as he rolls back over, he lets his fingers brush hers where they rest on the mattress. Not a hold, really, just a reminder that he's there.]

[He thinks there's something good about her, and for once, she's too tired to fight it off. Would it be so bad to allow herself to believe in someone - to at least try again to believe? Nick doesn't know. Flattery doesn't go anywhere with her, typically; boys who try to charm her by saying nice things have one thing on their minds, and that's not what he's after. She offered, and he said no, after all.

So maybe it's real. People are more honest when they're drunk - Nick knows she is, and she's seen enough inebriated confessions from behind the bar to know it's true of other people as well.

Maybe, she thinks, hazily, this is OK. Maybe she can tolerate having someone like him like her. He's loud and obnoxious, but he's nice to her, too. She mumbles something in agreement and closes her eyes, and it's not long before her breathing deepens into a rhythm of sleep.]

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Event log: How Delightful

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