entrancelogs | + Now the Jingle Hop has begun [OPEN] +

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Entry tags:

+ Now the Jingle Hop has begun [OPEN] +

Who: Everyone [OPEN]
Where The Ballroom
When: December 18th, 6PM-midnight (oocly however long you want to keep logging)
Rating: Well gosh, that really depends on you folks and how you behave, doesn’t it? I’m going to tentatively guess PG-13 though.
Summary: The mansion's decided to throw you all a party out of the goodness of its heart. You know, if it has one. This is the open log for the Jingle Bell Rock portion of the event!
the Story:

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock
Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring
Snowing and blowing up bushels of fun
Now the jingle hop has begun

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock
Jingle bells chime in jingle bell time
Dancing and prancing in Jingle Bell Square
In the frosty air.

What a bright time, it's the right time
To rock the night away
Jingle bell time is a swell time
To go gliding in a one-horse sleigh
Giddy-up jingle horse, pick up your feet
Jingle around the clock
Mix and a-mingle in the jingling feet
That's the jingle bell,
That's the jingle bell,
That's the jingle bell rock.

The ballroom is decorated extravagantly for the occasion, with all of the same sorts garland and holly and lights covering the rest of the mansion, at the moment. There is another tree at the far side of the room as well, though not nearly the size of the one in the front hall, decorated in a very classy white. From the ceiling, fake snow is falling from somewhere that can’t quite be seen, but it does not seem to gather on the floor more than a flake or two.

There are tables with chairs to one side, near a table filled with delicious food and beverages of all kinds, from wine to wassail to eggnog and more. The rest of the space is reserved for dancing.

We could tell you that the mansion is going to force you to dance forever and ever or something, perhaps until your feet fall off, but we won’t. Gosh, you’re all so suspicious. I mean really. The party-goers may wonder at first, some entering very suspicious of the mansion’s intentions, but it will quickly become apparent that for once…for once, it doesn’t seem to be a trap.

So giddy-up, jingle horse, pick up your feet and jingle around the clock. You can even go mix and mingle in the jingling feet. That’s the Jingle Bell Rock!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This has been the day Kurt has been waiting for since he first arrived - the opportunity to act like the sort of social elite that residing in a mansion allows him to pretend he is on a daily basis. He's thoroughly enjoying himself, and sporting a slimming Raf Simons suit (http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y172/kojiimate/Kurt%20outfits/jinglebellrockoutift_kurt.jpg) worth more than most people's entire wardrobes, with a classic black bowtie. His hair is perfectly cemented in place, and for once an event has placed him entirely in his element.

He looks amazing, he feels amazing, and he's ready to "rock the night away", as the song goes. Not literally rock, of course, as that's for uncultured swine. But, oh well. Nothing could ruin this night, and he flutters about from the refreshments to the dance floor to every little group of people he knows, like the social butterfly he is.

Perhaps he should be a little more depressed, given he has no one to be with when slow slows play, but he'll save that for when the time comes. Besides, there are always people he could attempt to woo, if he ever got the nerve.

...Okay no, he'll be alone for slow songs. Woe. But until then, he's entirely pleased with the situation.

The last time Dean attended a party of this magnitude and sheer size, he was there to steal a priceless museum artifact with a disgustingly talented English thief, using his brother as a front to stay incognito. The atmosphere is stifling. He's in an uncomfortably well-fitted tuxedo (Courtesy of the fashion stylings of one Kurt Hummel, because by God he just had to suggest that Dean would look like James Bond if he dressed up, and Dean loves Bond.), holding what he wishes is a beer. Wine isn't his forte either.

He still can't believe that he was so easily swayed. Wearing a monkey-suit, no matter how good-looking he was, always makes Dean feel constrained and somewhat irritable. Glancing sidelong at the glass of sauvignon blanc in his hand, the hunter grimaces. Free hand casually tucked into one pocket, he cuts quite the figure, but is fairly unwilling to move anyway away from the buffet table.

Dean hums AC/DC's Back in Black and something in him shrivels and dies as he sees a giddy couple swinging across the dance floor.

He's hopelessly lost.

Castiel isn't really sure what he's doing here, to be honest. Mostly he's following Dean, because whether this is their world or not, he still feels it's his duty to watch him. So he follows. He doesn't understand why all these people willingly don garments that make them so obviously uncomfortable, but when he looks at Dean in the unfamiliar clothing... well. There's something oddly compelling about it, though he can't define it to himself.

He stands off to one side of the party, hovering near a wall and watching. It's what he does. His own clothing is his usual outfit, but he has taken off the outer trench coat for a change and is wearing just the rumpled suit usually hidden underneath. His shoulders are feeling a bit itchy, and it bothers him. Strange; he doesn't often take notice of his vessel's physical sensations.

It would be incredibly creepy that Castiel is following Dean, but Kurt may or may not have done a little stalking of his own before approaching Dean at the table, so that would be rather hypocritical. It's mostly for awkward teenage reasons, like trying to figure out what he would like to say, and maybe getting some awkward peeks at Dean in his suit while he can watch from afar. He knows Dean looks good; he made sure he looked good. Thankfully at least one typical action hero is reasonably dressed, so it wasn't too difficult to persuade him. But the suit looks incredible good on Dean, and it's fitted to him in all of the most flattering ways. Kurt tries not to think about it too hard, and to will his cheeks to be less red.

He's a little too busy to notice anyone other than Dean though, and eventually he works up his nerve and strolls over. Somehow, it's a lot more difficult under the formal circumstances.

"Why hello there, Dean," he says, sliding up next to him, his own drink in hand. "I'm genuinely surprised. I thought it might be hard to find you, considering I imagined you would spend the night constantly mobbed by potential dance partners with that suit on."

Flawless execution. Kurt mentally gives himself an A+ for not sounding too lame and high-school aged.

Dean is just deciding that he's not even going to try the wine - So help him, he will find a beer - when Kurt practically saunters into view, looking overly smug and wearing something with mismatched sleeves. By this point, Dean has stopped trying to interpret what Kurt wears, since all of it appears to make statements and that's sort of what the kid likes to do, anyway.

"Hm?" He turns, raising an eyebrow before snorting. Dean sets aside his drink and claps his hands together, rubbing them with a wry grin. "I'm stayin' away from the dance, dude. You got me to sing feelings, and you got me in a suit, but you're not getting me to tango."

The only dance Dean was really practiced in was the mattress mambo, anyway.

Looking down at himself, he concedes that he does look rather sharp, and he'd channel Sean Connery as soon as he found the right Bond-girl. There was no such luck thus far.

"Besides," He reaches around behind Kurt to pick at a platter of things that look like cream puffs, and selects one covered in chocolate sauce. Popping the confection into his mouth, Dean licks his fingers around his words, spilling the ugly truth. "I can't dance."

"And here I was hoping for a trifecta." He snaps his fingers in disappointment, with his free hand.

Kurt eyes the crowd of dancers, feeling his hopes deflate when he noticed most of the couples are of the male/female variety. Of course, Kurt is still comfortable. He knows it will going to be like that with almost every formal event he attends, statistically speaking. It would never stop him from slow dancing with someone he loves.

But, this is Dean. And if Dean is too nervous to dance under "normal" circumstances, then he's not going to want to waltz around with a boy, even if he's deep in the closet. So Kurt can't help but feel he should drop that point of conversation, or else he'll end up persuading Dean to go and dance with a girl, and watch them jealously from the side of the room all night.

...It would be weird to stop now though, wouldn't it?

"Our lead in glee club, Finn, can't dance to save his life," Kurt says. "Yet somehow, he manages to lead every time."

Where is Finn anyway? Kurt hasn't seen him for some time. Admittedly, he was caught up ~~chasing Dean~~ with the chaos of the mansion, but he feels a pang of guilt that he's not sure exactly when Finn disappeared. He loses himself in that thought for a second before remembering that oh yeah - he's in a conversation. Oops.

"Anyway, my point is that somehow we managed to win Sectionals, even though he can barely move without tripping over something on a good day," he says. "I'm sure you couldn't be that bad."

Dean isn't exactly sure what a 'trifecta' is, but it sounds painful. Or perhaps nauseating. Then again, it could be another term for a ménage à trois, which is pretty sexy in and of itself, and he'd definitely consider one if he could locate the appropriate, necessary hot chicks to seal the deal.

But Kurt keeps talking and his attention is starting to drag into the cream puffs behind the teenager, and the- Wait one fucking second, was that Cas across the floor? Staring at him? Again? Dean almost didn't catch it - the angel isn't wearing his trench coat, just the rumpled suit beneath it, and his eyes are trained on Dean.

It's almost flattering, since he knows how damn good he looks, save for the fact that the angel's been staring at him continually for the past five days or so.

"Finn?" Dean mumbles around a full mouth, chewing and swallowing the rest of his food before speaking again. He gives Kurt a dubious look. "...really, dude, the only things I'm good at are hunting, cheating bikers out of their money at pool, and imitating federal agents." And sex, His mind supplies unhelpfully, reminding him once again that he hasn't gotten laid in months.

"I don't think I could dance to save my friggin' life."

And he's not being modest. Really.

Edited 2010-12-20 03:36 (UTC)

Castiel notices that he's been noticed. Hard not to, really, what with watching Dean so closely as he is, even if his attention is occasionally diverted by observing the crowd as a whole. Humanity is strange and beautiful, and confusing. Ostensibly this is a Christmas celebration, but it appears to be a mating ritual as well.

He decides that he may as well watch from a closer vantage point, and moves toward Dean. He is also curious to more closely observe this younger man - boy, really - whose company Dean doesn't seem to mind.

As he nears the two, he brushes against a serving table, bedecked with food and decorations. A small brass bell attached to it rings with a clear high note.

With no more warning than that sound, suddenly Castiel pitches forward a couple feet as two wings spring (no other word for it) in the opposite direction from his back. The abrupt weight stops him in his tracks, and he peers as best he can behind him, calmly craning his neck. They're medium warm gray, and very fluffy. This is new, he reflects; they've never been corporeal before.

He's caught up in the watching, green eyes slightly glazed over and taking in the surrounding 'party guests' - Santana is...Jesus, she looks good, and he recalls his mantra to chant at the back of his mind, Not yet legal, not yet legal, not yet legal-

So instead, Dean looks to Cas, who has started making his way towards them with something akin to purpose. He's being awfully obvious about it, too. Any remaining subtlety at all is completely destroyed when Castiel bumps into a table and big wings grow from his back.

"...hooooly shit," Dean swears under his breath, eyes as wide as dinner plates. They're...they're really real. Really fuckin' real. And big, and slightly gray-ish, and they look soft and suddenly he wants to touch them. Dean nudges Kurt none-too-gently, still staring.

"Dude. Dude, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Oh, Kurt is absolutely seeing it. In fact, he's been eying Castiel again out of the corner of his eye ever since he caught Dean peeking over at him. Dean was staring back at the attractive stranger who had been staring at him.

Kurt's mental attempts to will Castiel to go away forever failed spectacularly though, and he finds himself wanting to curse as Cas approaches them. That annoyance is quickly disrupted by the ringing of a bell and the appearance of giant wings, and Kurt jumps back a little at the sudden movement.

"It was a little hard not to," Kurt admits. Then he turns to Dean, keeping his voice even and calm, even though he wants to either panic or scream on the inside. He's not quite sure which yet. "...Dean? Is this someone you know?"

Please say no. Please say no.

Admittedly, he's a little distracted by the fact that a dude with wings is standing maybe twenty feet way from them. Even more distracted in the fact that said dude is someone he knows personally, now, and had a brief stint for the past two nights trying to keep him in their shared room. Dean tells himself that it's loneliness and not attraction that drove him to resort to making up pathetic excuses and reasons why Cas should stay, that way he could at at least avoid tying him to a chair.

Eyes trained on the angel in awe - Holy fuck he wants to touch those wings - Dean leans close to Kurt as the he addresses him. "Yeah, he's-" Dean narrows his eyes a little at Castiel, wondering exactly what those feathers would feel like beneath his fingers. Everything would be fine as long as Cas didn't leave. Or, at the very least, they left together. Not separately. Dean doesn't think he can handle that. Not right now.

"He's from my reality. His name's Cas. He's an angel." The hunter cocks his head to one side and runkles his brow in confusion. How did those wings appear? The logistics of this didn't make much sense, but who was he to question the mansion? "He's sharing my room with me," Dean adds absently, then huffs a laugh. "He stares like a statue, doesn't he? It's weird."

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because we can never have enough threads, clearly!

CLEARLY!

sob all my edits whhhy

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LET'S TAG KURT FOR THE FIRST TIME, YEAH

YEAH, WOO, I APPROVE.

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