Winter Wednesday Wonderball

[vitaelamorte]

Who: E V E R Y O N E
Where: The Ballroom, Real Side
When: December 20th
Rating: PG
Summary: The invitation sent for you. Now the festivities begin! Come and join, Mirrors and Reals, and have a wonderful winter time!
The Story:

At last the invitations spell TODAY, and come 7 o'clock sharp the ballroom doors open to a beautiful winter landscape in icy blues and whites. Snow and ice of both the artificial and real variety decorate the ballroom, and white fog floods the dancefloor like an icy winter mist, making the atmosphere complete. Nevertheless the temperature is still pleasantly cool, allowing all to enjoy themselves without hiding their gowns under thick cloaks.

Decorations both standing and hanging are cool, elegant and... made with heart, though various symbols of the cool season, such as snowflakes and luscious winter conifers, have their place in the mix just the same. Chairs and tables of ice line the ballroom for anyone who wishes to rest their tired feet or enjoy the rich buffet of food and drink. It goes without saying that everyone's favourite cookies are still available, looking as delicious as ever. Still, there are alternatives, should anyone prefer to abstain for some odd reason.

For your entertainment piano music of various kinds fills the room at all times. The ball will continue well into the night, with food and drink replenishing as needed, and music playing as long as people will dance to it. Come dawn of the next day the ballroom will go quiet, all delicious goods will disappear, and furniture and decorations both will begin to melt, signalling even the most dedicated party guests that it's time to leave.

So go forth, dance, eat and drink, and be merry, and... perhaps spare just one moment to think of the ones less fortunate than yourself.

Comments

mirror tim | ota | will match!

[pseudological]

[Look, someone has to say it, and if no one else will, he'll just have to make it plain:]

[He looks damn good in a suit.]

[The thing is considerably louder than anything the Tim most people would know could be expected to wear, which might be the dead giveaway: a dark red jacket opened just enough for the vest beneath to peek out, smooth and slightly glossy and glinting beneath the lights. His hair is neatly combed. He showered and shaved for the occasion. He looks fantastic, thank you.]

[He's also smiling, which might be another giveaway in regards to his identity. Not that he's bothering to hide it at this point.]

[Don't be shocked if he draws near with a winning grin and a lift to his eyebrows, one hand extended in greeting.]

Ice party we got going here, huh?

[choosetruth]

[Georgia also looks damn good in a suit.

She eyes the hand, but doesn't take it. She doesn't like physical contact on a good day, and she doesn't feel the need to be polite with Tim's mirror of all people.]

Ice does seem to be the theme.

[Yes, she heard that pun. She's choosing to ignore it.]

[pseudological]

[No? But come on, George; he thought he was a victim.]

Hell of a color scheme, too. My other half's theory holds some water, huh? [Paired with a wink, because this man is actually The Worst, always.]

[choosetruth]

[He can be both a victim and a dick. Amazing, that.]

Which theory, precisely?

[Still ignoring the puns.]

[pseudological]

[Hmm. Sounds fake. He'll have to scientifically examine that one.]

The one where the White Queen is hiding away, waiting to make her big comeback. Gotta say, it's kinda cute to see the guy invested in a mystery for once. Usually that's Jay's job. [He snags a glass from a nearby table and sips at it, nonchalant. The contents are, based on the smell, alcoholic.]

[Someone sure doesn't take the meds his Real does.]

You think he'll start losing what little self-preservation he still has, next?

[choosetruth]

He drove a car into a gasoline-soaked house surrounded by zombies. Self-preservation is not a word I strongly associate with him.

[She will never forget.]

What do you know about the White Queen?

[pseudological]

Wow, I see how it is. “How are you, Timothy?” “Oh, I’m doing great. Thanks for asking.”

[Oh, yes. He’s going to be obstinate.]

Never said he was smart, mind. That’s his Achilles’. The people he thinks he’s gotta right to save.

[screwedontight]

Watching out for his own mirror, Seth is finding that sometimes it isn't that hard to spot other mirrors. Like that face which he knows in the world's oddest expression. Smiling? Tim? Naw.

Seth arches a brow, gaze going from this Tim's hand to his face, honestly considering that before he shakes his hand.

"That's what's you could call it. Sure you're enjoying it."

[pseudological]

"You kidding me? Must be one of those cookies." He knows this guy, doesn't he? Or - no, no, his Real knows him. Big difference. Sometimes the two bleed together. There's a joke hidden in there, he knows, but for now...

For now, he keeps it simple.

"Can't stop smiling. Weird, right?"

[screwedontight]

"Weird is a good word for it," Seth admits, not even trying to hide how positively creepy it is to him. Of course, given the times he's been around Tim it's either been dealing with horrific fucking things, or pretending that horrific fucking things are no longer bothering Seth. So smiles? Definitely high on the weird meter.

"Might want to lay off the cookies. Unless you want to end up four inches tall and singing like a chipmunk."

[pseudological]

Oh, is he putting him off? Being a tad unsettling? Maybe he should be. He’s not what you’d call a safe individual, really, but how’s Seth supposed to gauge that one way or another? Despite the warning signs, here he is. Watching the show.

“I’ll live,” he says, dismissive. “I mean, I’ve kinda been meaning to talk to you for a while now. Guess I just needed some artificial courage to do it.”

[screwedontight]

That admission, such as it is, causes Seth to shift his weight from one foot to the other. Looking away for a minute, hands sliding into his pocket. A defensive gesture for sure, making a bit of a face as his gaze slides back to Tim.

"What? This where I finally ask how long the nightmare shit goes on? Hearing that buzzing like ringing in your ear bullshit?" Which might be all in his head, but he's never had the balls to ask. It meant bringing up that spindly ass thing he'd seen in the rift.

[pseudological]

Oh, shit. It's been lasting, hasn't it?

The Mirror has to keep from letting his expression split into a grin right then and there. Tim was so worried, and he always had the hope that it might really be nothing - but maybe it's not nothing at all. Maybe it's not nothing at all, if someone still has it lingering.

"You've been thinking about It," he says, trying to infuse the words with some of the Real Tim's surly accusation.

[burntvideocassette]

[Oh god.]

[That's him, isn't it?]

[That is absolutely and without a doubt Tim's Mirror. The face is the same, but the way it moves is all wrong. It's too mobile. His shoulders hang relaxed, his posture open and confident, and he's wearing a suit. There is no way in hell any cookie would do this to Tim.]

[He fumbles for the bracelet around his wrist. Still there. Still securely there.]

[pseudological]

[Likewise, the Real is immediately noticeable and recognizable as the Real; the Mirror wouldn't be hanging around with quite the same air, though he's probably fluttering around here somewhere like a moth, searching out a candleflame to bat his wings at.]

[The Mirror grins, lifting his eyebrows at the bright band of red around the Real's wrist. Not doing a real good job of hiding that pretty little bauble, is he?]

Nice touch. Gift from on high?

[burntvideocassette]

[And he zeroes in on the bracelet immediately. Fantastic.]

[This could conceivably be a chance to learn a little more about what this Tim knows, maybe lend him a hand if it doesn't come at anyone's expense, but given their track record, Jay doesn't have very high hopes.]

[...He should say something, shouldn't he?]

Yeah, guess you could call it that. [He fidgets with the camera. Definitely recording.]

[pseudological]

Pretty little thing. Can't say it's really your color. Or, uh...

[He makes a meaningful gesture, a jab of two fingers at the rough spot where his own liver might be located - a mirror to where Jay felt the last thing he'd ever feel, back in Tuscaloosa, Alabama - and he grins.]

Maybe it is! Who knows, right?

[burntvideocassette]

[...Motherfucker.]

[Jay allows himself a moment to just process, in mute shock, the concept that someone would have the sheer brass balls to make a joke like that. Especially someone wearing Tim's face.]

[It's almost funny.]

[It's almost hilarious.]

Yeah? Maybe it is.

[He knows it can still go downhill from here, but the Mirror went for such a low blow so quickly that it lends Jay a little bit of false confidence. He handled this. He's handled Alex telling him he's worthless. He's handled Tim calling him a psychopath. He can handle words.]

[No he can't. No he absolutely can't. What the hell is he thinking?]

[Jay squares his shoulders.]

How're things on that side of the glass? When you're not trying to ruin me and Tim's lives?

[pseudological]

Wow. Somebody's in a mood, huh?

[He's very pleasant, thank you very much. Completely fine. It was a damn good joke, if he does say so himself, and he is absolutely going to toot his own horn. That's what he does. He's a lovable rogue, this guy. Real killer charisma.]

There are no sides of the glass this holiday season. I thought you were supposed to be the observant one, Jay.

[mypartnerintime]

"Uhh?"

Max gives Tim a look, and a once over because wow that suit. Max, in comparison, is very plainly dressed... but with a longer skirt, of course, because... well, she's Max.

For a moment she seems on the verge of making a joke. But the look fades as she steps back and realization takes over her features. The drink in her hand sloshes a little, almost spilling.

"Uh."

[pseudological]

And a flower for the lady, for figuring it out faster than most. Some people just kind of assume that it's the holiday cheer, cookie-induced and making him a little punch drunk and cheerful. But then there's a subtle sense of horror in the way she's moving away from him, and he thinks: bingo.

"Max." The Mirror smiles, nothing short of unfailing pleasant. "You clean up nice."

[mypartnerintime]

She's starting to realize how weird it is to see Tim smiling so much. It's almost creepy.

She glances around, partly to break eye contact, but also to check who's nearby.

"...Thanks?"

Her fingers twist over her drink, fumbling nervously.

"Do I call you Tim?"

[pseudological]

"Yeah. Yeah, why not?" Okay, okay, he'll admit it - he's charmed. She's the first person to ask in that specific sense, and new experiences are always good. They're always exciting.

And this - this, he knows must be the Real. The Mirror doesn't understand subtlety.

"That is my name."

[mypartnerintime]

She has a few quips she can shoot at him. It's also Tim's name or It's not Timo-two?. But instead she nods as though distracted, and takes a sip of her drink before turning to look him in the eye again.

"It's... Ice to meet you."

[pseudological]

"Nice." He grins back, guileless, and sips down a mouthful of something decidedly alcoholic. The Real, he doesn't drink. He can't drink, thanks to the medication he's so very religious about taking. Missing out, more like. The slick burn at the back of his throat - he wouldn't give that up for anything.

Well, all right. He would give it up for some things. But sure as hell not for some measly pills.

"Snow telling what's gonna come next, right?"