october: free for all | ❝ lurking in the shadows ❞

[quickfingers]

WHO: EVERYONE? Anyone. (And Peter.)
WHERE: X-Fam House, Nonah.
WHEN: Friday the 13th!
WHAT: Giant ass Halloween party. On Friday the 13th. YOU ARE ALL INVITED.
WARNINGS: tbd, probably some disaster.
NOTES: So this party's invites are pretty scattered so if you have CR with Peter, you can feel free to assume you've been invited (if he hasn't literally ic inboxed you) or found an invite/ heard about the party from anyone else and are still welcome to have fun! Feel free to plurk me (valleyheart) if you have questions but aside from Peter's top level, it's free game to do what you want!



The Invitations

[If you're a friend of Peter you might've been invited personally, but even so you might find one of these bad boys slipped your way, in your mail or taped to the inside of your next pizza order leading up to the 13th. On the back of the invitation is a hand scrawled address in Nonah, the home of Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr - if you're familiar, you're familiar. If not, doesn't matter, 'cause it's Peter's disastrous party about to go down and you're still welcome.]

The House

[The party takes place at the "X-Fam" house in Nonah, which some of you may remember hosted a bbq not too long ago. Yeah, the place where Erik and Charles live - not that this party's sponsored by them in any shape, way or form. In fact it's more of a "while the cat's away, the mice will play" type scenario because asking permission to hold a killer party is not something Peter did.

He was responsible enough however to use caution tape to cross off the doors of the bedrooms in the house, preserving the privacy of his housemates to a degree. The other rooms aren't off limits and neither is the backyard, all of which are decorated festively for the occasion. Cobwebs litter corners and hallways, weaving through the banister rails complete with fake spiders nestled in them. The curtains are somber, as a variety of stick on decals are covering windows and mirrors alike. Decorations sit on mantles and door frames, with each window sill featuring a lit candle or something equally spooky.

The backyard is lit by dim orange lights, featuring seating and open night air for those who wish to get out of a hot, loud house and admire the stars. Just mind the witch legs and don't litter cigarette butts everywhere, alright?

The door's open and a variety of tunes are playing, audible from the street.]

The Party

[So you were invited (or not,) and you found your way to the right house. The lights are dimmed and the music's loud, so come in and get a drink from the fridge or the creative yet nerdy 'keg'. Peter's no Martha Stewart nor is Wanda really in a mood to make a lot of cute treats so you'll have to put up with standard party fair: potato chips, pretzels, a huge stack of pizzas and a few large bowls of candy corn. That shit is everywhere, there's no escaping it. You need ice? Just don't choke on the critters.

Rooms not cordoned off are yours to wander and get wasted in, same with the stretch of grass in the back yard. Wander with your goblets of definitely spiked punch and a handful of candy corn. Because if you're not eating it then you suck.

At some point there will be a cake pulled out because Peter's drowning in sisters and Lorna's birthday is this month. Clearly the thing to do is to (monster) mash it in to the Halloween celebrations with a creepy cake. Say a spooky happy birthday to the girl with green hair when you get the chance.]

Comments

BACKYARD, sort of A, sort of E

[gentrify]

[ mickey isn't asking jesse to dance - there likely won't ever be a level of drunkness mickey could get to that he'd want to pull someone onto a dance floor. that would require enjoying dancing in the first place. at least, dancing in any way that isn't headbanging in his boxers while he and ian goofy around in his room.

but he is a good level of blitz as Sweet Child O' Mine comes to an end and he spots Jesse across the yard, smoking and singing to himself. just as axl rose finishes his last trilling miiiine, mickey's tattooed hands smack down on jesse's shoulders from behind the bench he's sitting on, a jolt as his voice rips into another Guns N' Roses song, imitation of Axl's riffing singing and all. ]

Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty—

[ if jesse looks back at him, he'll see mickey didn't bother with a costume either - also not an activity he'd be caught dead in. instead, he has a somewhat fitting shirt, faded jeans, and a jacket tied around his waist, lettering displayed outward. he probably smells like cigarette smoke and whiskey, looks like he might've taken a pill or two as well. it's a party, okay, he's just doing what you're supposed to do at parties. and maybe trying to forget that he's miserable here without ian, you know, whatever. THE USUAL. ]

[heisenbitch]

Jesus—! [ Every fucking muscle in Jesse's body jumps with tension, seizing up startled at those hands slapping down onto his shoulders. He snatches his cigarette from his mouth and whips around, exasperated with irritation - and sees that it's Mickey. It's not that he hadn't heard Mickey's awful singing, but he sure wasn't expecting to have hands slapping onto his shoulders like that. Startle reflex can be strong with this one. Internalised PTSD and all that.

In any case, however, irritation dissolves into a resigned dry look up at Mickey while Jesse inwardly tries to calm his racing pulse. ]

Screw you, asshole. [ Despite that insult, does he sound all that annoyed, seeing Mickey is just cutting loose like a dumbass teenager, who's kind of reminding Jesse a lot of himself during his days of wasted youth? Nah. Might be a faint exasperated smile tugging on Jesse's lips now, actually. He goes on to taunt Mickey with a lighthearted jab: ] You're fired as lead singer from every band ever, by the way.

[gentrify]

Good thing I got that whole criminal lifestyle thing to fall back on.

[ Mickey grins at him over the rim of a bottle he'd set aside earlier, taking a chug as he rounds the bench to flop down next to his employer. just going to invite himself into whatever jesse's up to, because he's shit-faced, though he likely would've done something similar sober as well. mickey's respect for others' privacy has never been high on the scale. ]

'Sup with you, Jumpy? [ he's asking as he tugs a cigarette out from a pack in a pocket of his jeans, a little wrinkled and bent but still good to smoke, no breaks in the paper. after patting at his pockets in search of the lighter he might've had earlier and might've set down and forgotten later, he frowns at jesse's still smoldering cigarette, making to pluck it from his fingers. ]

Party's not supposed to be a spectator sport. [ should mickey get the half gone cigarette from him, he'll be using that as a lighter instead, sucking in smoke with jesse's pressed to the end of his. a practice some know as 'butt fucking' :D ]

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse lets Mickey pluck the cigarette from his fingers. Not much of a display of leadership there, allowing what is supposed to be his low-level employee to insinuate himself on Jesse's level. Hard to give a shit about that, however, when apathy is the only thing Jesse can muster towards anything. ]

That's 'cause I got no choice but to be a spectator. [ Eyeing the way Mickey is lighting the end of his own cigarette with Jesse's. ] Coulda just asked me for a lighter, by the way.

[gentrify]

The fuck's that mean? [ mickey eyes him sidelong, as he takes a swig from his bottle, talking louder to be heard over the music when he continues. ] You don't know how to dance? Neither do any of these shits here, that's what the booze's for.

[ mickey's not saying if he does or doesn't, but he knows what actual dancing looks like at the preteens ain't doing it. a shrug for the latter bit, holding jesse's cigarette back out to him. ]

Easier. [ ruder, but easier. ]

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse takes back his smoke. He only wishes he could be even half as drunk as Mickey is right now. ]

Booze only works if you can actually get drunk, yo.

[gentrify]

That's your super power? Being immune to booze?

[ Mickey's brows arch, like he's certain jesse is fucking with him. after a moment or so, well, maybe not. ]

Shit, man. Sucks to be you.

[heisenbitch]

Yeah. Sucks.

[ Stated with a frankness bordering on glum. Tapping ash from his cigarette before bringing it back up to his lips. He takes a quick drag and exhales, glancing over to Mickey. ]

Not just booze, either. Everything. [ A gesture to his smoke with an ironic smile. ] Including cigarettes.

[gentrify]

Ain't cigarettes supposed to be half mental anyway?

[ psychological addiction, he's meaning. not that he's sure how that would work when you're also aware the nicotine isn't doing anything for you either. ]

There's still non-chemical shit, right? Fighting, fucking, jumping out of planes and crap.

[heisenbitch]

[ Totally half mental. The familiar taste, the sensation of smoke going down his throat, the habitual action of smoking, is the only comfort Jesse can ply out of smoking anything these days. ]

Yeah. Still all the non-chemical shit. [ Another drag of his cigarette, which does nothing chemically for him. ] Be nice to kick back and chill once in a while, though, know what I'm sayin'?

[gentrify]

Yeah. [ mickey muses, smoking in silent camaraderie (or something like it) for a passing moment or so. ] Life's too much of a bitch to take sober. Here or anywhere else.

[ he watches kids dance, floats in the buzz in his head, tries to think of the last week he went totally without chemical assistance. not since ian's been gone, at least. even then, they at least drank a little often enough. ]

So why be here? Ain't it just gonna make you miserable?

[heisenbitch]

[ Can Jesse be made any more miserable than he already is? Not likely. ]

'Cause there's a lotta drunk teenagers here, and someone needs to keep an eye out, while all the other adults get completely tanked. Might as well be me. Also save people a trip to the ER if anyone gets too drunk or winds up in a fight or whatever.

[gentrify]

Seriously? [ jesse pinkman is not the kind of person mickey would expect running an operation like this. maybe that's part of the success, but somehow he doubts being a carebear is good for the drug business. then again, it was built by the other jesse, so maybe he'd spent enough time here to get to that point.

who knows, but he's finding himself both a little worried for jesse, and amused. ]

That's very sweet of you, Jesse. [ mickey snickers around his beer, leaning over to bump shoulders with him, so he can talk under the music and still be heard. ] Our friendly, neighborhood drug lord. On next week's episode, Pinkman helps Nana cross the street, and gives her a nice discount on ice after.

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse rolls his eyes at that shoulder bump, because he knows what Mickey is thinking. That he's some drug lord with a heart of gold, or some shit. And though he doesn't approve of Mickey bringing up the neighbourhood drug lord thing, even quietly under his breath, there's something a little sinisterly thrilling about knowing he's got that kind of power without anyone other than Mickey knowing. And so, for that, Jesse affords Mickey a brief, quietly amused snort while taking another drag of his smoke.

He exhales and turns his head to look at Mickey. He, too, leans close, so as to keep his voice low enough for only Mickey to hear. ]

You know who people suspect the least? The guy who helps Nana cross the street. The guy everyone thinks of as the friendly neighbourhood dude just tryna help the community out. Nobody thinks to suspect the guy hiding in plain sight of ever being a drug lord. Ever think of that?

[gentrify]

[ mickey snorts, but doesn't lean out of range when jesse moves in close, something about giving ground just not a thing he's willing to do, ever. means he wins a lot of gay chicken. but what jesse says makes sense, and mickey smirks, giving a shrug, before looking back out to the dancing crowd of teenagers. ]

Ain't wrong about that.

[ he'd offer jesse a hit of what he has, but apparently there's no point, so he's quiet for a second, frowning as he thinks over jesse's problem while pretending not to. eventually - ] So how 'bout the other shit. Wanna fight? I'll give you first hit.