it's my party and I'll cry if I want to

[palfriday]

Who: Gal Friday + YOU
What: Icebreaker party
When: 3/13, evening
Where: Rischie
Warnings: TBA

[the morning announcements alter daily now, by the second week of the month. one week until the party. four days until the party. the party is tomorrow.]

The new cruiser get-together will start at 9PM tonight at Rischie! Remember: The dress code is cruise elegant! Hm? [there is a sound like a crackle and pop of static.] The Captain says he won't be attending, but he'll be paying extra special attention to everybody who does!

[if that's a sufficient enough bribe.

"but we don't have cruise elegant clothing," you cry. but you do! have you not checked the top drawer in your room's dresser, where at most two perfectly suited formal outfits are located? you have? but they weren't there before today? don't ask questions. just get ready for the party.

the house lights in the club are at full brightness, giving everything the sort of uneasy liminal feeling a room gets when used for something opposite its intended purpose. booths line the walls, and small tables and chairs sit between them and the dance floor, which is empty except for one table, holding a series of "HELLO, MY NAME IS..." nametags and sheets of glittery stickers. Friday is there, of course, standing by the table. she's even dressed up! and if your character hasn't corrected her previously, their name tag will have their true name. there are also a few buffet tables with refreshments on them, and trays bearing canapes and flutes of champagne float by. (deftly avoiding minors! excluding Jinx, but only if Venti is within close proximity. welcome to parenthood, barbatos!)

once everyone is settled in, Friday will clear her throat (??) to get everyone's attention and explain the rules of the night. it's an altered version of twenty questions: every person in the room must answer ten questions about themselves, asked by their fellow passengers, collecting stars for every answer considered acceptable. when they have 10 stars, they're allowed to leave!

oh, yeah, the door to the club shut about five minutes ago. it doesn't seem very eager to open back up again.

time to break some ice! breaking ice and cruises always go well together, after all.]

Comments

[lightconductor]

Watson is looking remarkably casual, by his standards. 'Cruise elegant' doesn't even include a waistcoat, for heaven's sake. Still, it's a nice enough suit even if the lines of the tailoring are a little more modern than he's used to.

He opted for a sharp little bow tie in dark blue. His name tag reads "Dr. John H. Watson." He already has his first glass of champagne in hand. And his expression is equal parts annoyed and intrigued.

Let the party commence!

[pineapplesalmon]

César is wearing a green and very shiny vest with a black back and matching tie over the over the usual white dress shirt and black dress pants. He has on a pair of high end brown leather shoes. Per proper American etiquette (yes, he can actually care), his name tag—HELLO, MY NAME IS César Salazar—is stuck on the right side of his vest.

"Hello again, Doctor Watson!" César doesn't seem too perturbed by their current predicament, a glass of champagne in his hand.

[lightconductor]

"Señor Salazar," Watson greets him, with maybe slightly exaggerated formalit, if only because it's an occasion of exaggerated formality. "You seem to have been provided with some very fine clothes indeed."

No jacket. But he'll recognise his standards are not the ones at play here.

[pineapplesalmon]

César bites back a laugh at the title. "Why thank you. You look quite fine yourself. Although I'm sure both of us aren't dressed nearly as formal as you're used to. Things have relaxed by my time."

[lightconductor]

"I've noticed!" Watson says with a laugh. "Quite a lot of people here are very content to walk about in less clothing than I wear to bed, and bandy about Christian names without a care. It's... a bit disconcerting, I won't lie."

[pineapplesalmon]

"You should see our swimwear." César teases, and then his smile turns a bit embarrassed, perhaps a little sad. "... I prefer my given name as well."

[skaikru]

Along with a perpetually sour expression, Clarke Griffin's party attire consists of deep blue dress and rather grimey canvas boat shoes. All together, it may be the fanciest thing she's ever worn — one of two outfits she's ever worn that weren't hastily assembled out of hand-me-downs and scraps. And she hates it, almost as much as the premise of this party, or the lacking results of her attempts to interrogate Friday for ship specifics.

But she's finally accepted that, no, they're not getting out of here (alive) without bending a little. There's plenty of familiar enough faces milling about, but thinly veiled ulterior motives means she's not-so-subtly targeting strangers, trying to parse out who else may have found clues towards the mystery of the Serena Eterna.

So hello, Watson. Nice bow tie, nicer name tag.

"Doctor of what?"

[lightconductor]

He turns to her, smiling, and quickly glancing to her name tag. "Medicine. Former surgeon in Her Majesty's army, now in general practice. A pleasure, Miss Griffin."

He pauses. "I believe this is where you're meant to give me a gold star."

[skaikru]

That answer is succinct and the very definition of satisfactory, so yeah — after a beat, she's obligingly peeling a sticker from the sheet in hand, and offering it to him on the tip of her finger. The pleasantry in his greeting however, is somewhere more along the lines of empty and nauseating. Nothing here is pleasant, Watson, especially not this specific company.

"Right." Sticker exchanged, and the immediate impulse to launch into ground triage techniques and thoughts on tourniquets and the expansive availability of unadulterated penicillin on board this ship curbed — she shows her disconnect from what most would consider the modern world. "What Queen did you serve?"

[lightconductor]

Oh, we are very business-like. That's fine. He'll adjust accordingly.

"Victoria," Watson says. "Or, if you prefer, Her Majesty Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, Empress of India." He rattles that off with the precision of a schoolboy who's memorised it. "And where are you from?"

[skaikru]

The vestiges of Earth's histories had been as full of holes as a moth eaten sweater or swiss cheese. Trying to pass an entire planets story down through oral retellings, a few video diaries, and the limited number of notebooks on board was a big ask — especially when national lines start to dissolve, English becomes the only spoken language, and group focus shifts from preservation to perseverance — of all humanity.

So Clarke has a vague remembrance of a Queen Elizabeth, with some relation to Britain, and absolutely nothing of importance past that. Honestly, thank god he followed up with a polite question in turn, otherwise this entire conversation may have fizzled and died right here.

"Earth." The easiest and most straight forward answer. The shadow of Mount Weather, in a world where traditional borders don't matter in comparison to the territorial lines drawn by warring tribes. Space just opens everything up for too many questions, a rehashing off all the tragedies that brought her people to where they'd ultimately perished.

And almost as an afterthought, as she's learned in the past two weeks it's necessary to expand a tiny bit, Clarke tacks on: "In 2149."

[fonomena]

Well, it seems that this is just going to be the entirety of their collective night now--milling about in a party that few are probably actually enthused about, faced with either playing a quaint party game or being locked in for the foreseeable future. All things considered, the moderate amount of annoyance on Watson's features at least isn't off-putting--quite sensible, even!--and Jade's attention is further piqued by the title attached to this particular man's nametag.

He drifts over at length with a pleasantly polite smile, similarly dressed for the occasion, "Jade Balfour" printed on his own tag. Cutting to the chase, he gestures good-naturedly at Watson's tag with the champagne flute in his own hand.

"I see they've actually titled you appropriately there, hm? I must admit, I'm almost rather envious!"

[lightconductor]

"Did they leave off your own title?" Watson raises an eyebrow. "How inconsiderate. What should it be?"

That's an important part of the name! He didn't go to medical school just to have the "doctor" left off! Still, his manner is warm and friendly; any annoyance he feels shouldn't be directed at his fellow passengers. He has only charming pleasantry for Jade.

[fonomena]

Important for a fact! It seems most people never appreciate just how much work it takes to actually earn that part of the name...!

"So to speak, yes! Admittedly I acquired it under my old family name. But since they've chosen to use that name on my tag here, it occurs to me that the least they could have done was include the title too..."

Jade sighs in a mildly theatric fashion, though there's enough of a smile still at the corners of his mouth to give away that it really doesn't bother him as much as it could. Still, there's certain semantics that ought to be acknowledged here, you know?

"It's 'doctor' as well, incidentally. I still published books as Dr. Balfour, at the very least. Though, contrary to popular belief, two doctors in a room aren't always the same sort--isn't that right?" Here, a slight tilt of his head, in a polite sort of curiosity. "At a risk of being rather bluntly honest, I do hope you're a medical sort of doctor yourself?"

[lightconductor]

"I am," Watson says, his interest piqued. "Former army surgeon, to be specific, now in general practice. Are you a medical doctor as well, then?"

Oh, he hopes so. And he also hopes that maybe this is someone who doesn't predate the invention of most of the drugs in the infirmary, because this is definitely something that is causing him some concern. Yes, he's worked without them, but if the tools are there and he can't use them because he's not clear on which ones are antibiotics, that's just frustrating.

"What year might you be from?" Watson pauses, his thoughts catching up to him. "And what is your name now, if it isn't Balfour? My apologies, this is an awful rush of questions, isn't it. I will owe you several stickers."

[fonomena]

"I'm afraid not," Jade replies, likely promptly and thoroughly dashing Watson's hopes on the matter, though he does apply enough of an apologetic tinge to the words that it's evident he understands where the question might be coming from. "My field of study did afford me thorough familiarity with human anatomy, but...well, how to put this! My scope of focus might have been better applied to a coroner than a doctor, unfortunately."

Not that he isn't actually decently versed in medical chemistry all the same, though...he might be from a different world altogether than the one the drugs in the infirmary parallel, but depending on compounds and instructions listed, uses might be divined all the same? --Some brainstorming they might yet mutually do, at some point, if they ever do end up in the infirmary at the same time anyway. It's a possibility Jade's still considering, about now... "I am versed in basic first aid and triage, at least, should you find yourself in need of a helping hand. You're the first medical doctor I've met on this ship! Which is a bit more assuring, since it appears that the infirmary has no staff to speak of, spectral or otherwise..."

There's the hope, of course, that they won't actually need a doctor's services here at all. But Jade, a bit of a pessimist in these sorts of matters, is more inclined to already assume the worst of the future. Though his mood doesn't seem to have dampened yet even despite the topic of his words, and the apology Watson offers for the bundle of questions being asked earn a mildly warm smile in return.

"Oh, no need to apologize! That is the name of the game in here at the moment, after all. I'm sure you'll be helping quite a few people exit this room in no time at all, at the rate you're currently going! Let's see...to answer out of order..." Jade is offering a hand for a polite handshake, about now, as he opts for a proper introduction. "These days I'm officially recorded as Jade Curtiss, even if it seems this ship's records are outdated on the matter. Colonel Jade Curtiss, Third Division, Malkuth Imperial Forces--from a current military man to a former one, hm?" His smile turns wry. "And it was ND2018, last I recall back home...in the month of Luna-Redecan. If that narrows down anything at all for you?"

[diana_abel]

Normally, Diana loved mixers. Mostly because she loved people. Any excuse to put on a pretty dress and flirt with a stranger was...well, groovy. But she'd never really found herself in the position of doing it on a haunted cruise ship that she still had no memory of boarding. So that put a damper on the evening.

The locked doors didn't help.

Diana was good. She was always careful, always monitored the amount of blood in her system. She was ready for emergencies. All the same, she felt a little spike of fear rise in her chest as she looked at the doors. One (maybe two) vampires locked in a room with a bunch of humans for an extended period of time?

Yeah, she was gonna have to keep a careful eye out for Claudia.

In the meanwhile, she'd play the game. Her lavender eyes scanned the crowd, before she noticed the gentleman in the totally vintage outfit. Tucking her nametag into her bra so it couldn't be seen, she walked over to him, offering a polite smile. "So this is a thing that happened," she said. American accent. Aggressively West Coast.

[lightconductor]

That dress is... well, it's both a very lovely shade of purple that he hasn't quite seen before, the state of artificial dye pigments being what it is in 1892, and it's... extremely revealing, by his standards. It's a bit like someone wearing a swimsuit to a formal dinner. His eyebrows rise minimally, but by this point this isn't entirely unexpected.

"So it is," he says, with a flicker of a smile. What very peculiar eyes she has. "I suppose there are worse things that could have befallen us, but perhaps I shouldn't tempt fate."

[diana_abel]

His mannerisms gave her a moment of hesitation. He had a style of speaking that reminded her just a little too much of Abe. Or maybe it was the facial hair. Either way, she was quick to remind herself that the boat seemed to be pulling in passengers from across time. So it was entirely possible that the vintage outfit...wasn't so vintage.

It was a topic she was still easing herself into. But it kept her from raising her hackles.

Diana wasn't much for hackles, anyway. Which was really a funny word, if you thought about it. And if you repeated it in your head too many times, it just lost all meaning entirely.

"I dunno," she said. "Some people think that icebreakers are the worst thing that could happen to you. 'L'enfer, c'est les autres.'" Hell is other people was a philosophy that her sisters favored.

Diana just liked speaking French.

[lightconductor]

Watson's French is only middling, but he can grasp that, and he gives a little laugh, part amusement, part already charmed by her. He is, perhaps, easily charmed. "Perhaps sometimes that's true," he says, "but certainly not always. Do you feel that way?"

He considers, then adds, "I think, for myself, Hell might be found in the wrong people."

[diana_abel]

"Oh, I agree with you completely," she said, wondering if that counted as answering a question. The rules of the icebreaker were a little fluid. "I can think of a lot of people who would inhabit my own personal Hell. But a lot more that are just heaven."

She was a people person. It was the one damn thing that she could really bring to the table, in the triumvirate that was her family. Arty was smart. Selene could kick butt. Diana...knew how to have an actual conversation like an adult.

Not a high bar. But Malkavians pretty much redefined terms anyway.

"There's that game that people are always playing on Facebook, you know? If you could have dinner with any three people--living or dead--who would you pick? The problem is, I could never really pick."

[decohere]

She's feeling overwhelmed and lacking in stickers required to escape, but Ava's doing her best to keep her nerves together. Sneaking off to a corner would do nothing to help her situation, but she does spot Dr. Watson and waits until he's alone to approach with a friendly curve of her lips.

"I like your bowtie," she comments while reaching out to adjust it (which it doesn't actually need.) Ava's dressed in a silvery gown that isn't the most modest, though her curly hair is draped strategically over her shoulders to help cover.

The question she's used on others, what year they're from, isn't one that she's interested in asking of him. But she politely waits to exchange greetings before jumping right into it.

[lightconductor]

It's been... some time since someone adjusted his tie for him. The last person to do that was Mary, and the memory brings him a sudden pang of grief, which he blinks back as best he can.

"Thank you," he says, gravely. "Your gown is... stunning." He could use any number of words, but it is also very sparkly and becoming, and it's no more shocking than anything else he can see in the room. "How have you been keeping yourself?"

And is that a question that requires a sticker?

[decohere]

She looks rather satisfied with the results of her work, not quite in having improved the state of Watson's perfectly fine bowtie, but mostly in the excuse to make contact. Touching things, without it being such a strain, is still a novelty to Ava.

She brushes her palms down the front of her gown as Watson calls attention to it, a bit of a bashful laugh because she's aware just how revealing it is. "Is it a bit much... or I suppose too little, for your sensibilities?" She's aware of the reputation of Victorians being prudes.

"Oh, I've been behaving myself," Ava claims. "I did wake up one morning to a man sleeping in my room. Gave me quite a fright."

[lightconductor]

"I am attempting to adjust," he says, confidently. "I am, in fact, not nearly so much of a gentleman as I pretend to be, and far more bohemian. This might be a little further than the suffragists on bicycles in divided skirts old men might wring their hands over, but I will somehow refrain from being shocked over this sort of thing over and over."

He winks at her, grinning.

"But a man, truly?" Watson's eyebrows rise. "That must have been a surprise. I didn't realise room assignments were... well, mixed."

Okay, that's a little shocking.