OPEN | the "Lost People" mingle!

[boyhood]

Who: Every lonely person with a story to tell! (Check out the OOC details if you haven't yet!) Oh, and Peter Pan (boyhood), too.
Where: Mingles are out on the mansion grounds.
When: June 4th-6th, night.
Rating: PG-13? We'll see.
Summary: Peter is up to old tricks. Using his influence as the Pied Piper, Peter gathers together everyone in Wonderland he can for a celebration. Are you ready to make some new friends, sad sacks? This doubles as a convenient excuse to see how many vulnerable children there are.
The Story:



So you heard a little tune on the air and you've come to play! The more, the merrier. Night 1 isn't strictly an action event, but if you'd like to have your characters react, or just want to thread something out for that time, go for it. Night 2 and Night 3 are where the action's at. The prompts are general ideas of what's going on!

Anyone who isn't invited is going to find they can't figure out where everyone's disappeared to, exactly, and if they do go to a location, it's going to look like nothing's going on. Strange, huh? For those who are invited, he only rule is this: mingle to your hearts' content! Make new posts, tag into things, do what makes the most fun!

After each night, everyone will be free to disperse before the sun comes up. They'll wake up in their beds feeling refreshed, with the pleasant, surreal sense they've just had a sweet dream.

Except it wasn't really a dream, was it?

Comments

JULY 4TH | ♬

[boyhood]

<sub>[Having a nice fourth of July? For those whose hearts are just a little bit more lost, just a little bit more attuned to loneliness than their happy friends', the night is about to get a bit stranger.

Once the sun goes down, someone out there on the grounds takes the opportunity to play you a spot of music--yes, you. You, who finds comfort in the idea that someone understands your feelings and can play them back to you through a set of pipes. As haunting as the tune might seem, it has an odd way of getting under the skin and burrowing there. It's soothing, isn't it? Like a lullaby played just for you.

The piper will play for a while in the early evening, teasing the ear before letting people continue on with their fourth of July. Maybe your dreams will even be a little more enchanting for it.]</sub>

JULY 5TH | EVERYBODY!

[boyhood]

<sub>[Again, out of the twilight comes the piping, a slow, penetrating siren song that creeps around the corners of the mansion and over the grounds. Listen closely, because this time the music has a message for all of you who are fit to hear it: come out, come out, come out and play.

Peter Pan isn't leading anyone off to drown them in a river--not this time--but instead northeast, toward the forest. Maybe you're alone on your travels. Maybe you bump into another captive listener on your way. Maybe you just came out of the shower and wish Peter had waited ten more minutes for you to blow dry your hair. Either way, man or woman, young or old, here you are. Thanks to the music, you won't really care why.

In a wide half-circle, torches ring the area around the treeline and glint in random locations within the trees. A bonfire sits inside the circle, and with it everything you could possibly want to keep yourself sated. Alcohol? Marshmallows? A banana sandwich? Whatever you hope to find, your host might just give it to you. It's your party, after all. You're here to have fun.

Speaking of the host, Peter himself stands at the mouth of the forest to greet his guests, a young boy holding a set of pan pipes. A face mask that looks vaguely fox-like sits askew on his head, his face unobscured for the time being.]</sub>

You've all been invited to a party. My party. We have a story about the Pied Piper--someone who used his magic pipe to lead people to their doom with the power of a song. _{[He wags a finger.]} That's not all true. I lead people, but only where they want to be.

You see, only special people could have found this place. The people who want... more, more than what you have now. More friends to laugh with. More fun. More reasons to not be alone in this world that took you away from your homes. Wonderland may have brought you here without a reason, but I brought you here for one--one less night spent alone.

Everyone here understands that wish. Enjoy that! We're in a prison together, might as well be together.

<sub>[Peter will be around, encouraging the festive mood that wins out over your daily worries. What could you possibly have to frown about, anyway? You're in good company, and the beat of the piper's music thrums heavily in the air. Why deny yourself some happiness?

Venture into the forest and you'll find more fires burning merrily to gather around, if you so choose, but that's not all there is to find. The torchlight helps to illuminate the masks strewn about the area. They're of every shape and size, some resembling animals like Peter's, some that are plain and simply obscure the eyes. They've been left like forgotten fruit all over the place, tucked against rocks, or hanging from tree branches. Perhaps you'll find one that calls to you in a way you can't really explain.

By the late evening, anyone caught wearing one of the masks will be pulled into a group bonfire dance by yours truly. Just in case there's any stubborn non-dancers in the group.]

(OOC: Go on and mingle away! Peter won't have an open post specifically for himself, but you can handwave him making the rounds if you want to meet him. If you want a thread, just make it clear somewhere that you're flagging him down!)</sub>

[thneedifestdestiny]

[The Once-ler's really not sure what to make of all this. He'd heard the pipes and followed their haunting, beautiful song. Once he arrived he felt a little unsettled though - a tiny bit disturbed by the thought that he'd just mindlessly followed a tune to an unknown place. That's a great way to get yourself killed in Wonderland.

But, the longer he's there, the more he eases. It's a nice night and it's a nice party, he supposes - he doesn't consider himself much of a party person though. He had been once, but like he was during most of that part of his life, he'd been a huge jerk then and he wasn't really looking forward to repeating it. But this doesn't feel like those parties. Those were always about him or about networking or showing off. And if Peter's right, they're all like-minded people. It's different. There's a sense of belonging that he can't shake away.

It doesn't really sink in until he spies his mask though. It's not an animal - it's just a simple green eye mask, but he knows it's his. He can't even rightly call it instinct. He knows it has to be his because it's dangling from a tree branch that only he would be able to reach. It couldn't have been meant for anyone but him.

During the party he can be found in various places. He doesn't try to call much attention to himself, but he is having fun on the edges. At some point he can be found right by the fire, with his long gloves off and slung over his shoulder so he can roast marshmallows (it's just too hot to do so with them on). Later in the evening he'll be nursing a drink and of course, since he put on his mask, he'll be dragged out to dance later, but he'll put off that part as long as possible. But mostly there's something in the air that just...makes it easier to talk to people without dissolving into a puddle of guilt.

It's kind of nice.]

[humanities_strongest]

[Merry making and party going has never been Levi's thing. Even back when things were considered 'normal' for the Survey Corps he had only gone to parties when it was needed or Erwin forced him too. This was no different, only now magic had done it and not his superior officer. Even if he didn't exactly know it was magic, he knew it was somehow this place's doing. He had no other reason to go out into the woods at night, following some strange music like a lunatic.

He had better things to do then sit here and watch the flames of bonfires and the masked people dancing around them. Yet, here he was. He was dressed in his casual clothing; black slacks, loafers, a white button up and a black blazer that sat on his shoulders, along with his signature cravat. His left arm was tied into sling that hung close to his chest. Armin had been right about his broken collar bone. After sneaking around the network, getting some information, and speaking with the workers at the clinic he found out he had a couple of options: one potion that heals him instantly (with side effects) and another that would just speed up the process (with no side effects). Knowing his luck was utter shit the side effects would be worse than what he had now: he took the safe route.

So here he was now, one arm in a sling and the other busy holding a strong drink. He needs the alcohol after this whole experience. Even more so after hearing this weird masked kid speak.]

Shit here just gets weirder and weirder.

[He tips his his head back as he takes a swing of his drink and enjoys the slight burning in his throat. He was starting to understand now why Commander Pixis drank.]

[camebefore]

[If asked when last he laughed and meant it, Hannibal Lecter would have been hard pressed to say. It doesn't even occur to him why he's here instead of catching up on the reading he wanted to do tonight. Not when there's light and laughter that he's part of instead of on the edges of.]

[Around his neck is a black wolf's mask, hanging by matching ribbons for now as he tries to match the steps of his dance partner's. By the end, he has to stop and catch his breath. Why that mask? It reminded him in equal part of long ago fear and nostalgia for his homeland. Black wolves of massive size hunted in and around his father's castle, something he had watched more than once. The sort he had encountered the night he had tried to save his parents, friends and servants bodies from their jaws. When he wears it, his eyes look all the more red among the smoothed back jet fur.]

[He picks up a glass of wine and grins, caught up in the song and high atmosphere.]

[first_demon]

[She's not here because she's lonely. No, she would never debase herself with such a human emotion. She is here because something called to her. That at least will allow her to keep her pride in tact and not admit the truth to herself.

Lindsey was gone and whatever companionship she had disappeared along with him. She couldn't admit it to herself, but she was lonely. There was a reason that she only had one lover in the course of her time in Hell. Despite her chaotic nature, she could have some sort of loyalty and need for something.

But that wasn't why Lilith was here now. No, that would be ridiculous. She continued to remind that to herself as she wandered through the group, eying the various refreshments. There was nothing human about her and she would not behave as one...]

[halfwinchester]

<sub>[You know who hadn't believed in stories when he'd been a regular guy? Adam. Before angels, secret families, and destiny had taken over his life, if you'd told him the Pied Piper was a real person and that he'd be hanging out in Wonderland with him and a bunch of other characters straight out off the pages, he wouldn't have given bullshit like that a second thought. But nowadays life has a funny way of surprising him. Usually in the worst ways.

Adam doesn't know what he expects when he finds himself... hallucinating? Dreaming? Hypnotized? They all feel remarkably like one another, and he's more than little familiar with the sense of being out of control. He's blacked out in one place and woken up in another more than once, but not like this. Hallucinations usually means bloody, grim visions, and dreams are usually nightmares. So this is... He stares into a torch from a safe distance, wondering why he's not afraid of the fire as he is most sources of heat on his skin. It takes Adam awhile to place the feeling in his gut, and then it finally hits him after a long time searching for something that isn't there. He's not afraid. The longer he sticks around and watches, the more he relaxes, and that's what the odd feeling is.

Since when has he ever felt relaxed in the presence of strangers since Hell? Adam realizes that he hasn't, ever.

His body almost aches, like he's finally unclenching ghost muscles after months.

Adam steers clear of the bonfires, but not so far away that he can't take advantage of the food situation, like hot dogs roasted by the fire. Something so simple reminds him of a long-ago childhood, of weekends with friends, of camping with family, but the blow those happy memories lands on him doesn't hit as hard.]</sub>

[irrelevance]

[ Matt doesn't know anything else but isolation. it's a self-induced separation from society, from his classmates, and he should be used to it, but there's a hole inside of him that never fills up. there's a leaky faucet in his subconscious, positioned over it and it only makes him want to crawl out, do anything to get away from it. right now, that's attending a party in the forest. bonfires are typically set up in the middle of nowhere, so he doesn't think anything of it. sure, there's no formal invitation, or verbal one to speak of but it seems natural to follow the sound of those pipes. he likes the atmosphere of parties. the mindless nature in which people communicate or thrash together when they're dancing. names don't matter. reputations don't. only music, and having a good time.

once he gets past their host, he wanders down a path littered with masks. the fire pits call to him. the draw in the promise of being thawed out and dry, in the lure of being warm, being human again. being normal.

he kneels down in the path ( heart in his throat ) and reaches for the reptilian face of a snake, but for once instead of being alarmed by scales, he's comforted by it. why should he be afraid? what's there to fear? he's not going to tremble because of a little power. he has it under control. he clutches his side thoughtfully with one hand, the side that matches the mask under his shirt and smiles, before slipping it onto his face and securing it with a strap.

let the games begin. ]

[braiding]

[ for once, finnick hadn't been on the beach when he had heard the alluring music. the only music he'd ever heard in his life had either been that crafted from his own fingers or from those of his father's — or the games anthem, booming throughout panem, shaking the entire country with doom and grief. unsure of what to expect, finnick, at first, is wary, until that feeling dissipates, sliding from his skin like water, into something new and almost foreign. he feels himself relaxing, smiling without the peacock tint to his mouth, as he ventures throughout the forest, following the fires burning and leading the way around the party sight. ]

[ following the torchlight, finnick snags himself a mask of a peacock — fitting, almost; despite feeling he has shed himself of those feathers, plucking them from the muscles of his skin, he still desires to hide behind the mask for an odd reason that's blurred and lingering in his peripheral — but doesn't place it on his face just yet. he continues to venture down this pathway, trying to find a mask that reminds him of annie, johanna, katniss, haymitch — and mags, the thought no longer bringing him grief, but almost peace. ]

[ late evening, he wears his mask, and finds himself pulled out toward the group bonfire dance by the pale kid with the pipe. and it's not so bad, losing a few of those stiff feathers and letting himself actually fly, rather than be grounded by the chains of president snow's poisonous fingertips. ]

[justguidelines]

[Well, one thing is painfully for certain after that little explanation. Hector Barbossa is not. In any way. Lonely. The idea is laughable. If asked to explain why, he would, and gladly so, and that's simply because pirates such as himself don't form attachments. There's no need. Crewmates come and go, and when you're a captain with a crew of fifty and above, you might learn everyone's name, and something of them, but you certainly aren't going to be making friends with any of them.

And there is, of course, the fact that pirates make the worst kind of friend. Cheaters and thieves and cutthroats all, including Hector himself, who has more blood on his hands than outward appearances and conversation would ever give away. Known as being cold, cruel, calculating, and ruthless, back home, and he is. Every inch of it.

But he's here. Whether he likes it or not, he's here, with this lot, simply because he could hear things others, obviously, could not. He's more willing to think it's tied into the fact that he's been beyond the shroud of death and returned, actually, than any need for human contact. Especially from this lot. So he greets the whole scene with narrow-eyed suspicion, one hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword.

What, surely no one expected him to throw himself into some nonsense with abandon. He's a troll, but he's a troll on his terms, and at the slightest hint of something going sideways, he won't be afraid to cut his way out.]

Oh, aye, clearly this be more important than things a body needs like sleepin'. [It's said to no one in particular, and with a touch of faint amusement despite the annoyance stamped all over his face. He's had enough sleepless nights, thank you, anyway.] I'm sure all the patsy friend-makin' could be made at decent hours.

[disassembles]

[ When Bucky finally passed out sometime early that morning, the sound of fireworks (only fireworks - stupid, harmless fireworks) had echoed into uneasy, half-remembered dreams. Nightmares weren't all that unusual. Thoughtlessly wandering out of the mansion, still in sleep-rumpled slacks and an undershirt, on the other hand -- that's new.

When he gets to the clearing, he hangs around to hear the whole thing out. He can't say he's impressed with the kid's reasons for dragging him, and apparently everyone else, out here. Sure, he wants more. He can admit that to himself. Wouldn't anyone, if they were a corpse at the bottom of cliff? Doesn't mean he wants to be at a pity party about it, and it doesn't look like anyone else does, either.

What bothers him right now is how he got here. It's more than a little disturbing, being controlled that easily. Yet, just as easily as they come, he finds his concerns melting away as the night wears on. He's happy, at home among people he doesn't know, like it's just another night in Brooklyn and the war is far away. He'll seek out and approach strangers hanging around on their own, to try teasing them into dancing or sharing a drink. He's a good dancer, and happy to teach his partner a little swing or learn something new from them, all in the name of having a good time.

The mask he finds later on is strange, not something he's ever seen before. It's sturdy and black, and covers only the lower half of his face, like a muzzle. It fits close to his skin and he knows, somehow, that it's his. When he tries to speak, he's surprised at how clearly his voice comes through, thought the feel of it on his face discourages speech. He doesn't mind. He hangs back for a while to watch the party, lingering in the shadows where the light from the bonfire gives way to night.

He's back in the mix by the time the last dance comes up. He flits between partners, new and old, even once finding himself in the company of their host. ]

[luckynumberthree]

[Simon's usually a bit of a night owl anyway, but he certainly hadn't expected to be lured out of his room by the sound of pipes, only to find a teenager wielding a set of pipes as if they were magic. Or the speech that followed. He's not sure what to make of it but he's hardly opposed either.

And there's a point to the boy's words. Even though he hides it behind a constant grin and easygoing manner, there's always been something in Simon craving more, for as long as he can remember.

But that's easier to forget, here and now, when the forest is lit with the flicking flames of the bonfire and there are others gathered here like him. And when he's drawn to one of the masks strung up from the branches of a tree, decorated in the form of a trickster-looking fox, he plucks it down without hesitation.

So he moves among the others who were drawn out like him, happy to stop for a chat, a flirt, a drink or a dance - whatever mood takes any of them. A night of secretive festivities is right up his alley.]

[voiceinthedark]

[He's not sure why that music is so appealing, but once he'd heard them, he couldn't do anything but follow. Oh yeah, because wandering out into who knew where because you heard music was such a smart choice. Back home he'd be just begging to be eaten. But it was safer here and he just... couldn't stop himself.

It's a nice night out. The music is relaxing and he starts to enjoy himself. And that speech... heh. He knows what it's like, being alone. He's lost so much, everyone has, seen his friends die. Sent them to die.

It's easy to focus on other things though when there's the fire and dancing and music.]

JULY 6TH | ADULT-FREE ZONE

[boyhood]

<sub>[On the third night, the pipe music is at its most compelling, but this time it calls out to the fewest number of people yet. This time, just the youngest amongst Wonderland's residents will hear the music.

The people closest to his age make the best friends, after all, so for them and them alone, Peter saves the best for last. If you had fun the night before, you're sure to have double the amount this time! If you failed to meet the Pied Piper before, he'll definitely make a point to learn your face tonight. You're the youngest, and therefore the brightest. And that means there might just be a Lost Boy in you.

He picks a new location, a spot between the ocean and the hedge maze, the forest close beside. The torches are brighter, the bonfire is bigger, and the urge to frolic is stronger.

The most important thing Peter Pan has to say to his attendees is this:]</sub>

Let's play!

<sub>[There's no masks to prompt people to lose their inhibitions tonight, just Peter, encouraging at every turn. You want to jump from the trees into the water below? Then jump! You want to run on the beach like wild children? Then run! You want to see how many cupcakes you can stuff into your mouth for whatever bizarre reason, or sit up all night recounting your victories in World of Warcraft? You can do that, too.

You can do whatever you want, as along as you don't stop.]

(OOC: Same deal, sans a mountain of text! Feel free to mingle around and make up your own scenarios. :'D)</sub>

Yours truly is open for business right here!

[boyhood]

<sub>[Peter is here, there, and everywhere, sometimes with pipes in hand and sometimes without.

He never seems to tire, not even a bit, and where he'd been a little more content to let the action run itself last night, this time he incites it, often with a smile and a boastful challenge, gathering groups for whatever sport crosses his mind, including at one point a game to see if anyone can defeat his feisty tree-killer in wrestling matches. He can be found on the sidelines shouting encouragement for anyone brave enough to challenge her.

Losers have to choose between two penalties: firewalking along a stretch of the beach, or a late night polar bear dip in the ocean. (Don't worry, if you listen to Peter's instructions, no children will be harmed in the making of this production. Peter may even hold scaredy cats' hands if he feels like it.)

It's all in good fun, and a few nerves beforehand make the thrill of the final plunge even better. You'll probably hear him chuckling a lot this night.

Let's be real, everything is better with good company.

When not taking people by the hand and pulling them into dances around the fireside or in the thick of things, you might find him sitting, partaking in his own spoils: ciders, apples hollowed out and baked by the fire with butter and sweet cheese, even a s'more or two (foreign, but pleasantly messy). This is a new world, he's not adverse to trying new things with new people.]</sub>

Re: JULY 6TH | ADULT-FREE ZONE

[camebefore]

[Hannibal had been sitting down to some tea when he heard the music. Had anyone been there, it would have been an odd sight to them. The cup slipped carelessly from his hand, left to break on the tabletop. Warm tea spread out in a puddle. The book he had been so intent on reading, a dry volume about surgical addiction in the late twenty-fist century, fell beside it. Tea soaked into the pages. The lights were left burning and his door wide open as Hannibal left. Even his shoes were still by the door.]

[Never, ever would he do such a thing. When it came to his things, Hannibal always kept things locked and hidden. None of the went through his mind as he followed the music.]

Here you go.

[The toasted marshmallow on the stick is handed to the little girl who had asked, something Hannibal did without a second thought. Standing back up, he couldn't help but laugh as another request came and a second stick put into his hand.]

Very well, hold on.

[Hannibal did take a look around himself, a remote part of his mind noting that he was among the oldest here. There was perhaps one or two a year older than him at the most. A small hand tugging at his sleeve brought him away from that thought and it was lost in the music.]

There, this one was yours. [What had he been thinking about again?]

[thehobbsgirl]

[ After the strange chaos of last night, Abigail is ready for a night in, on her own. She was introverted even before everything that happened with her father. Now, well, she isn't exactly the partying type.

All the same, when she hears the sound of the pipes, she finds herself drawn to it. She doesn't bother closing the book she was reading, doesn't bother taking down her hair from its loose braid or donning a scarf to hide the scar on her neck. Her bare feet seem to know the way all on their own; the number of people around the bonfire is much smaller than the night before. She comes within the firelight and crosses her arms, only just aware of a something in her mind, compelling her, changing her. She might not be able to fight it, but she doesn't like it. She's not going to frolic if she can avoid it. ]

[monopolies]

[ "Young" is relative for this one. Young among nations, of course. Young in body in heart, sure. But he's been "young" for centuries, long enough to have marks on his soul many adults don't know, and sometimes those bits of him surface and he feels the full weight of his true age.

Then he's back to making silly Vines and ruining World Meetings with his antics, recruiting equally immature countries in his stupidity, and everyone wonders what cruel God gave a powerful nation the mind of a college-age white boy.

Decades of neglect by his imperialist guardians, centuries of mortal friends leaving or dying, and the recent clusterfuck of his relationship going down in flames so disastrously that the ruins of Pompeii think "wow that's some fucked up shit" culminate into the perfect recipe for a Lost Boy. As if he needed more prompting to act like a childish lunatic.

His mood isn't even ruined the presence of his ex-boyfriend/skinny Brit he's slowly attempting to rebuild a friendship with/newest object of abandonment issues. There's too much fun be had, too many people to have fun with, and America's feeling drunk on his own giddiness.

The flask containing Fireball strapped to his hip might also have something to do with it.

So while he's flitting around offering body shots, challenging people to eating contests, daring people to open the book he brought along (a normal cookbook at first glance, but the first chapter details the dangers of Wheat and Wheat Byproducts, such as their ability to turn into highly venomous snakes and malevolent spirits), and trying to show off how strong he is, America wears a huge grin that doesn't look like it'll fade any time soon. Eventually he starts setting up whatever empty bottles or cups are in the area against a table and yells, ]

Anyone up for some quick draw?!

[ Because obviously what this situation needs is reckless people playing with firearms. ]

[climbed]

[ to be truly "lost" could have a thousand definitions, but surely, a young man who hides his identity and longs to roam with the wolves, who finds his greatest enjoyment in dreams and in the touch of a weirwood tree would count as one of them.

bran stark cannot run wild, simply because he cannot run; were he summer, surely, he would be frolicking as only a wild wolf could. instead, he is confined to his chaircart, and though he is grateful for the device to allow his movement, it is only to a point. still, it's enough to get him to the sound of the pipes, and the stark prince finds his chair parked just outside the fire, close enough to follow the movement of the other children (or manchildren, in alfred's case) but far back where he cannot be involved. there is no bad feeling in his gut that worries him, no notion that any of this could be bad; there is only a little bit of jealousy, a pining need to be joining the rest of the boys. he could have bested them all in tree climbing, could have outran them all on footraces, and now?

now he sits, silently, watching the festivities go about with a look of longing in his blue eyes. ]

[resent]

[ lost barely begins to describe cora hale, six years stolen from her, a family burned before her own fingers could grasp at them and pull them from the fire, and a brother, whom she had presumed dead, brought back to life by some chance of fate. cora escapes the fire, not out of fear for what had occurred six years before, but from the desire to leap away from the thing that had burned her family and seemed to burn her, too, shattering the walls she had spent the last few years building in a bid to ensure she never was hurt ever again. while that construction had been in the process of the blocks being laid, cora had lost that little girl she used to be along the way. she thinks she spies her in the fire, longing to be released to join with those who laugh and shout and dance to the music a boy she's never seen before plays from his own pipe. ]

[ standing along the beach, she kicks the water absently with her foot, the water coming up to her ankles to retreat away, as if afraid of the short, little wolf, too grumpy for the age of eighteen, and too lost to truly become an adult. she doesn't turn her head when she hears any of the sharp sounds near the fireside, or from anyone along the beach, frolicking in the water or on the sand. she looks out at it, burying down her own desire to simply leap forth and follow the movements of everyone else — it's childish to run through the sand or even muck about in it, acting as though grown adults are five. cora thinks to return to the fire, or even try to leave for her room in the mansion, but something anchors her to the shore, to the notion of simply trying to do something stupid, for once. being carefree isn't a hale trait. it's a taste cora isn't sure if she likes. ]

[alwaysnext]

[Monsters don’t deserve parties. Monsters don’t really deserve anything, but what they especially don’t deserve is pretending to be average human kids who like dancing and fighting and jumping off really high things in ill-advised acts of bravery.

Not that Luke’s doing much of that. Even happy, hazy brainwashing can’t erase all the bits of him that add up to one terribly awkward nerd. Luke might be an unrepentant, though guilt-ridden, murderer, but Luke’s not really cut out for chaotic Bacchanals. He brought a present. A pair of battered black tennis shoes, because it was the first thing he grabbed before his feet led him out to the forest, and because he doesn’t have much experience of going to parties that aren’t birthday parties. It seemed polite, before he realised it was utterly stupid, and now he doesn’t know who to give them to. He doesn’t want to put them down, because there are people here who’d make off with them.

Now he’s that kid holding a pair of extra shoes in a vice grip, performing an uncoordinated, self-conscious shuffle amidst far more hedonistic dancers. At least they’re too caught up in their own urges to mind the occasional shoe to the face. Probably.]

[irrelevance]

[ the only ( sort of but not really ) friend he has is quieter than usual, more reclusive and it leaves Matt vulnerable to the hard tug of Peter's pipes once more. he leaves his photographs soaking and walks out of the dark room without shutting the door behind him to follow the call. for once, he doesn't feel like he's experiencing the world from underwater, with a muffled sense of sound and blurry vision, and a detachment from everything. he can appreciate the stars in the sky, the smell of roasted marshmallows and maybe hot dogs. the rush of laughter as soft as the wind and company that he truly belongs in.

he settles into the sway of things in a matter of seconds, openly trusting a group for a game of blind tag near the hedge maze. he can't see anything out of the blindfold, and he's currently spinning around to lose his direction, believing that whatever happens, he'll be fine. he's with friends. his innocence returns to him and he shuts down whatever part of him wants to argue it. the part that fights it and says this isn't real is silenced and pushed under a rug, because maybe he needs this. he needs to believe that there's good in the world and he can be a part of it. ]

...Nine, ten! [ he announces cheerily, with a laugh in the works as he stumbles, demonstrating that he's dizzy enough. ]

[halfwinchester]

<sub>[Adam is eternally grateful his mind has blocked off a large portion of his time in Hell; that just means he can't remember how long, exactly, he was down there, and can't say how many years it's been since he's had fun at a July party. Too many. It feels like it's been forever.

Adam can't really separate himself from those wounds, but the more time he spends under the music's influence, the more he finds himself realigning with the old him--the one who'd had beers in lawn chairs, and laughed, and had once been a happy person. Hitting the books hadn't stopped him from being a physical person in his past life: track and field in school, camping, the Scouts, hiking in the summer, skiing in the winter... The flex of muscles in his body is different when it's for sport, not running for his life or throwing punches at Jo during training.

He misses it, this stuff that gets his heart pumping that isn't about anger or fighting.

That being said, if Clarisse had her way, she'd throw down with every young face that's turned out for this all-nighter, seems like. At any other time, Adam might have walked away, but he hadn't always been so reluctant to put himself out there, afraid of what a non-human can do to him if they look his way.

Tonight, he's fearless. Tonight, he's not scared that he'll give a demi god an inch and she'll take a mile.]</sub>

I'll go. What do you say, fair fight? I got my eye on you this time.

<sub>[He steps out of the ring of people watching her antics once she's laid out a few victims already, a smile on his face. She's hit him, she's baited him into hitting her back... Seems fair to test his budding skills on her when there's no harm, no foul, right?

Then again, the foul is whatever he has to do if he loses...

And he does, to the surprise of no one, not even himself. Sand sneaks under his clothes and into places it doesn't belong, making him groan as much as finding himself flat on his back does. No one can say he hadn't had the balls to try, at least. Paying the loser's due is easy enough, and making the choice between fire and water is even easier.

Polar bear dip, definitely the polar dip. Fire? No, thank you.

He whips his shirt off at Clarisse's face with a laugh and a "watch this for me" before he loses his shoes at the shore to brave the water. It's late in the night, and the ocean is cold and dark, but let it not be said he's a sore loser. A deal's a deal, and compared to wrestling with a divine entity, a little swim is a cake walk. When he can't take any more cold, Adam comes running back onto land to collect his clothes, shaking his head like a wet dog all the way.

For a while after this, Adam can be found crouching on the outskirts of the bonfire to air dry, a little too far away for the heat to reach him. This is actually one of the best nights he's had so far.

Weird, considering he's powwowing with all manner of creatures now. Wonderland is getting under his skin.]

(OOC: You can nab Adam at this point in time, or at any point throughout the night! He'll be hanging around until morning.)</sub>

ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK?

[rues]

[ it's strange that clarisse is actually having this much fun at a thing like this, though she suspects it has something to do with the music and the atmosphere, not that she particularly minds. she's usually only a fan of these kinds of parties when they're celebrating her, but tonight is different. tonight she feels like she's part of something, instead of just being related to something, only a tangent of the circle of friends she won't even admit are actually her friends. she's never felt a close connection with any of them, except maybe annabeth, but even that's a fickle flame, especially with percy around like he is. they're all family, yes, but what does a daughter of ares know about building lasting friendships? all she knows how to do is break them down. the best friend she had is dead, and now she's stuck in wonderland without the only other person she's managed to form a deep and meaningful relationship with. to say she feels lost and lonely is an understatement — after all, all she ever does is push people away because she's too proud to admit she can't take on the world herself.

the campfire reminds her of home, and while normally it might make her heart pang with a homesickness she tries to ignore, tonight it raises her spirits, makes her feel alive — which, honestly, she hasn't really felt since she died. it's surreal, the fact that she's living and breathing instead of kicking it with silena and beckendorf in elysium. she almost wishes she was, just to get away from this place and the fear she still can't shake of falling asleep and never waking up again. and maybe it's that underlying fear of the unknown, or what's in the dark — the things just outside your peripheral or somewhere close behind you, that feeling that creeps under your skin when you feel like you're being watched — that sparks an idea in her head as she crushes a marshmallow in between two graham crackers and a piece of chocolate. ghost stories and s'mores, what more could you want around a campfire? ]

So, who's up for a few ghost stories?

[shadowtravel]

[ Nico di Angelo had never been one for parties, except for on extremely rare occasions, but-

he wakes from a dead sleep to the music, goes toward it without hesitation; stepping into a shadow of his room, following the music through the shadows and back out near the bonfire. his brain is sleep addled, knows that something isn't right, just as it wasn't the night prior.

except this time he's far less inclined to fight against it, doesn't feel the need to push back the way he may have before. while he doesn't jump into the festivities with the others, he wanders the outskirts of the bonfire, watches as others partake in the celebration. Nico is steadily drawn closer to it, though never quite ceases in keeping his distance; he'd much rather enjoy it from afar. ]