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xp_logsA trio of logs backdated to last night during Amanda's birthday celebrationing.
First, Forge and Marie-Ange chat about Attilani wine, Crystal, Jean-Phillipe, Mark, and zombies. And then they dance.
Forge scooted out of the path of the beleaguered waitress, keeping the drinks in his hands level as he made his way around where Doug and Angelo were sharing some amusing story with each other. Nodding to Jubilee, he slid into a booth and set a glass of wine down in front of the redhead across the table. "I was surprised," he said with a grin as he took a sip of his garishly-colored drink, the pastel-pink umbrella rolling back and forth. "They actually had an Attilani red on the wine list. I'm not much of an oenophile, so you'll have to judge for yourself."
"I did not know they were exporting again..." Marie-Ange picked up the glass and took a slow sip. "Or is this from before the island disappeared and returned?" Her expression grew thoughtful for a moment and then she set the glass down. "It is very good. A little acidic, but not unpleasantly so. Their wines are usually very.. drinkable. Not harsh, not too many tannins."
"It's a 2008. Well, 2008 by Attilan reckoning, post-Vanishing. So... about a two-year-old vintage?" Forge thought briefly to himself. "I know that Lady Ambur - Crystal and Medusa's mother - she'd had a special strain for the royal vineyards, although I don't think they export it." He looked into his glass and frowned slightly. "Although they thankfully don't export the local rum. I think part of me has a permanent hangover from the first night I came back from a fishing run. There'd been this big storm, and so when we got back to port, the crew brought out the rum... I think there was dancing. And shanties. Oh god, the shanties..."
"I think I am going to need more alcohol to try to imagine you singing and dancing." Marie-Ange had, admittedly, never seen Forge in any state of intoxication, and was having quite a difficult time picturing it. And yet, the idea that he would have overindulged was not a surprise at all. "Well, perhaps not dancing. I have danced with you." She took another drink from her wineglass and then gave Forge a mischievous smile. "I do wonder, has Crystal been exposed to your vocal talents?"
"Oh yes," Forge moaned, dropping his head into his hand. "It was Attilan Day - kind of like Fourth of July over there. She actually came down to the docks to mingle with the people. And, yes, there's traditionally a lot of singing. She actually led one or two. They really love her, I never would have thought it until I saw her with her people. Royalty's not all about the posh lifestyle and fancy galas," he said, sipping at his drink thoughtfully. "They're proud of her, of who she is. It's a lot to live up to."
"I cannot imagine it. To live up to that kind of pressure and not... " Marie-Ange barely knew Crystal, except from brief moments on the journals, and what little was talked about here and there. "not turn into someone like Manuel. Entirely separate from how other people live, and disdainful of anyone who was not born into money. And yet, Crystal is neither of those, from what I have seen." She couldn't picture Forge dating anyone who -had- ended up like that, either. "And then to have mutancy on top of that. She and her sister both, they are, ah, out of the genetic closet, as Mark might say?"
"Oh, very much so. Flamingly so. And not in the Angel way," Forge added, then amended, "or in the Jean-Phillipe way, thankfully. Speaking of which - how's that working out for you, having your cousin at the school?"
Marie-Ange rolled her eyes a bit. "I am trying not to think about it. He seems to take offense at everything I say, no matter how I try to phrase it." She had just enough alcohol in her to have the pointedly honest thought that she was half the problem, and not nearly enough to be able to admit it. "But as long as he does not antagonize me, I think we may have somewhat of a truce. He was somewhat upset about the ... incident with Mark."
"Ah yes," Forge said, snickering slightly. "I guessed from some of the comments that they're, ah, close. But," he said, placing his glass down on the table with a solid 'thud', "no shop talk. Because trust me, from my end? Zombies do not make good drinking conversation. No, really, don't ask."
"Zombies?" Marie-Ange couldn't help but question, and took another drink of wine in response to the very idea. "I do not think I want an explanation at all. I saw the journals, that is all I needed to know." The incident hadn't been a threat, neither she nor Doug had brought it up to Remy or Pete and if Wanda had, she didn't want to know about it. "I think they would make a good reason to drink, but not good to talk about over drinks, yes?"
"Precisely," Forge agreed, tilting his head as he heard a somewhat familiar blare of horns from the vicinity of the dance floor. "Zombies lead to drinking, drinking leads to dancing. Want to?" he asked, with a motion of his head towards the floor.
Marie-Ange nodded, and stood up, glancing briefly at Doug, who was still in animated conversation with Angelo, and who gave her an expression of "Don't be silly, of course, it's fine, you didn't even have to ask." as only Doug could, with only a brief hand gesture and nod of his head. "I would love to." she said, following Forge out to the floor.
Later, Doug and Forge chat later about their staggering good luck with women, Forge's use of the Churchill Method, World of Warcraft, and Star Wars.
Quite a few people had turned up for Amanda's party, and Doug smiled at the expression on her face, happy that she was enjoying herself. He nursed a beer, then spotted a familiar face that he hadn't entirely expected until he'd chimed into the thread on the journals. "I should get you one of those 'Blood Alcohol Experiment In Progress' shirts," he joked to Forge as he walked over to join the other man.
"Hey, I can outdrink anyone with an equivalent body mass," Forge insisted, raising his bright blue drink to Doug. "Mostly because they are all twelve years old and hopped up on Yoo-hoo. To tell you the truth, I've been using the Churchill Method."
The mental image of Forge engaged in a serious drinking contest with Artie or one of the other younger mansion residents caused Doug to snort and take another drink. "Okay, this needs to be explained," he decided with a raised eyebrow.
"Winston Churchill, the British guy?" Forge said as he took a sip of his drink. "Way back in like... World War Zero or something. Always had a drink in his hand so people would think he was a total lush. But half the time at the parties, he just kept having it topped up with soda water. People see what they expect to see."
Doug nodded. "Ah." And Forge had a very valid point. The human brain, even one without Doug's particular ability, was designed to find patterns in things. As a result, you could often trick people into wildly erroneous conclusions because they saw patterns where none existed. "Also, Onyxia deep breaths more this patch," he murmured jokingly.
"You are such a geek," Forge summed up. "But then again, pot and kettle. Here's to being geeks. With unfairly hot girlfriends."
"I'll drink to that," Doug noted, and suited action to word. "Speaking of geek references, how are things with you and Her Worshipfulness, you scruffy-looking nerf herder?"
"Can't complain," Forge admitted with a goofy grin. "It doesn't make any sense to me, but I'm fine with that."
Doug's face split in an answering grin. "I know the feeling. I don't know that it ever completely goes away. I mean, I'm not that mopey teenager waiting for the other shoe to drop anymore, but there are mornings I still wake up amazed at how lucky I am." He smiled across the room at where Marie-Ange sat, chatting animatedly with Amanda.
"Oh, believe me, I know exactly how lucky you are," Forge mocked. "Marie-Ange is an amazing woman. Smart, complex, hell of a dancer. We are lucky men, my friend," he proclaimed, while downing the rest of his drink and wiggling the empty glass at the bartender. "And now, continuing on with good old Winston's method. I have only to endure to conquer," he announced as he headed towards the bar.
Towards the end of the evening, Doug and Marie-Ange talk about limoncello, Attilani wine, the Globe of Doom, Marie-Ange's sessions with Sofia, Forge dating Crystal, and Doug's bender and one-night stand with Amanda.
Marie-Ange stabbed at the garnish in her drink with the tiny plastic sword. More then a few bars already, and she was increasingly glad for alcohol tolerance. And that she'd worn comfortable trainers instead of her usual pumps or heels for work.
She'd already bought Amanda a drink - the English witch very likely wasn't paying for a single drink herself, except maybe the one at Harry's. Which Marie-Ange had skipped in order to avoid even the hint of being thrown out for being under-age.
She scooted over in the booth they had appropriated to make room for Doug as he returned from the bar with his drink. "I always thought limoncello should be very sour, but it is not at all. I have never had it before..." She said, raising the glass at him. "No reason to drink anything made in Italy before.."
Doug didn't recall hitting Italy during the Grand Globe Bender that he and Amanda had been on, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Parts of the night were extremely fuzzy and difficult to remember. Other parts, on the other hand, still occasionally plagued him with all-too-clear detail. "How many have you had?" he asked curiously. Marie-Ange was a philosophical drunk, really, even more philosophical than she was normally.
Marie-Ange's expression went distant for a moment. "... I lost count at Greece." Ouzo, she'd decided wasn't all that bad, no matter what kind of faces other people had been making. She took another sip of her drink, not quite recalling what else was in it besides limoncello but enjoying it nonetheless. "How many of these places did you go when you went globe drinking with Amanda?" She'd half figured it out already, but sometimes putting Doug on the spot was just necessary.
Every so often, the universe liked to remind Doug that he was not nearly so clever as he liked to think he was. Usually via some manner of non sequitur-ish metaphorical slap to the side of the head. Like his girlfriend putting him on the spot about his staggering bender and one-night stand with their very good friend whose birthday it was. "Too many to count. And then when we got tired of walking, we just spun the globe and kept ordering different drinks." He leaned back and stared intently at the stucco ceiling. If you concentrated enough, you could almost see things in the random placement of the tiny nubs of paint. "There was karaoke at some point, also."
"Oh my." Marie-Ange giggled a little, trying to imagine poor Amanda having to sing. "So that is why you are so hateful of the poor globe for ordering drinks? What did it do to you that was so mean?" She knew quite well - it had somehow found it's way to The Dreaded Tequila, and Doug hated tequila. "We should not do karaoke tonight. It is Amanda's birthday, that would be quite mean of us..."
A giggling Angie was definitely a tipsy Angie. And apparently a tipsy Angie with Ideas. Doug leaned his head just slightly to the side so that he could open one eye and fix it assessingly on his girlfriend. "It would be very mean, yes."
"And so we will not do it. Until -after- her birthday." Marie-Ange said, nodding firmly. "Because it would be mean on her birthday, yes?" She prodded the piece of fruit with her plastic sword again. "So you had the globe and drank and lot and that was when you and Amanda slept together?" She thought she might as well cut to the direct question. "That still seems very mean to hate the globe just for that."
Doug blinked. In a peculiar bit of role reversal, he was the one completely mortified, and Angie was the one blithely discussing sexual topics. His cheeks reddened slightly, and he glanced away. Definitely not even close to as clever as he thought he was. He floundered for quite a while, completely unsure as to how to respond to Marie-Ange's question.
In lieu of further questioning, Marie-Ange stabbed her piece of fruit and popped it in her mouth. With the tiny plastic sword now entirely orange slice and maraschino cherry free, she used it to poke Doug's arm gently while chewing, and then for a few more moments before using it to remove a now-knotted cherry stem from between her teeth. "I will take your silence as assent... " She said, twirling the stem between two fingers.
"What in the world has gotten into you?" Doug spluttered finally, staring intently at Marie-Ange as she twirled the stem. The knot in it immediately drew his attention to the obvious nimbleness of her tongue, which he suspected was by design.
"A great many more drinks then I can count?" Marie-Ange said questioningly. "And a few rather pointed conversations with Sofia about my... withdrawal from my 'natural social group', I think that is what she called it. Or what one of the books called it. I cannot remember. I think I am tired of being ... so withdrawn." The conversation she and Forge had earlier in the night had the subject on her mind as well. "But I think it is mostly the drinks. Did you know that Attilan has started exporting wine again?"
"Um, no, I didn't." Marie-Ange's introspection and self-analysis did not have a tone of recrimination, and her resolve to change things sounded like it would be good to her. Doug reached over and squeezed her hand to show he was proud of her even while he remained somewhat confused by the sudden change of subject.
"Forge appealed to my sense of oenophilia and had me try some. It is good, but the labeling is confusing. They are exporting some of what was bottled while the island was missing." Confusing in that the timing was very much off, and that she'd had too many drinks to remember Forge's explanation of how they'd come to a decision about dating systems since the return. But not too many drinks to stop using worse like oenophilia. "Did you know he and Crystal are dating?"
Suddenly this conversation reminded Doug of nothing so much as a multi-disc CD player set on shuffle. He wasn't as inebriated as Marie-Ange, but he was tipsy enough that he was having difficulty keeping track of the wild conversational leaps she was taking. "Um, yes," he replied. "I think." He slid over to the edge of the booth. "This requires more alcohol."
Marie-Ange was already making little pushing motions, edging along in the seat as Doug moved to get up. "Yes! I will help you!" And then she could make sure he did not try to hurt the very nice globe. Which she still did not see any reason to hate.
First, Forge and Marie-Ange chat about Attilani wine, Crystal, Jean-Phillipe, Mark, and zombies. And then they dance.
Forge scooted out of the path of the beleaguered waitress, keeping the drinks in his hands level as he made his way around where Doug and Angelo were sharing some amusing story with each other. Nodding to Jubilee, he slid into a booth and set a glass of wine down in front of the redhead across the table. "I was surprised," he said with a grin as he took a sip of his garishly-colored drink, the pastel-pink umbrella rolling back and forth. "They actually had an Attilani red on the wine list. I'm not much of an oenophile, so you'll have to judge for yourself."
"I did not know they were exporting again..." Marie-Ange picked up the glass and took a slow sip. "Or is this from before the island disappeared and returned?" Her expression grew thoughtful for a moment and then she set the glass down. "It is very good. A little acidic, but not unpleasantly so. Their wines are usually very.. drinkable. Not harsh, not too many tannins."
"It's a 2008. Well, 2008 by Attilan reckoning, post-Vanishing. So... about a two-year-old vintage?" Forge thought briefly to himself. "I know that Lady Ambur - Crystal and Medusa's mother - she'd had a special strain for the royal vineyards, although I don't think they export it." He looked into his glass and frowned slightly. "Although they thankfully don't export the local rum. I think part of me has a permanent hangover from the first night I came back from a fishing run. There'd been this big storm, and so when we got back to port, the crew brought out the rum... I think there was dancing. And shanties. Oh god, the shanties..."
"I think I am going to need more alcohol to try to imagine you singing and dancing." Marie-Ange had, admittedly, never seen Forge in any state of intoxication, and was having quite a difficult time picturing it. And yet, the idea that he would have overindulged was not a surprise at all. "Well, perhaps not dancing. I have danced with you." She took another drink from her wineglass and then gave Forge a mischievous smile. "I do wonder, has Crystal been exposed to your vocal talents?"
"Oh yes," Forge moaned, dropping his head into his hand. "It was Attilan Day - kind of like Fourth of July over there. She actually came down to the docks to mingle with the people. And, yes, there's traditionally a lot of singing. She actually led one or two. They really love her, I never would have thought it until I saw her with her people. Royalty's not all about the posh lifestyle and fancy galas," he said, sipping at his drink thoughtfully. "They're proud of her, of who she is. It's a lot to live up to."
"I cannot imagine it. To live up to that kind of pressure and not... " Marie-Ange barely knew Crystal, except from brief moments on the journals, and what little was talked about here and there. "not turn into someone like Manuel. Entirely separate from how other people live, and disdainful of anyone who was not born into money. And yet, Crystal is neither of those, from what I have seen." She couldn't picture Forge dating anyone who -had- ended up like that, either. "And then to have mutancy on top of that. She and her sister both, they are, ah, out of the genetic closet, as Mark might say?"
"Oh, very much so. Flamingly so. And not in the Angel way," Forge added, then amended, "or in the Jean-Phillipe way, thankfully. Speaking of which - how's that working out for you, having your cousin at the school?"
Marie-Ange rolled her eyes a bit. "I am trying not to think about it. He seems to take offense at everything I say, no matter how I try to phrase it." She had just enough alcohol in her to have the pointedly honest thought that she was half the problem, and not nearly enough to be able to admit it. "But as long as he does not antagonize me, I think we may have somewhat of a truce. He was somewhat upset about the ... incident with Mark."
"Ah yes," Forge said, snickering slightly. "I guessed from some of the comments that they're, ah, close. But," he said, placing his glass down on the table with a solid 'thud', "no shop talk. Because trust me, from my end? Zombies do not make good drinking conversation. No, really, don't ask."
"Zombies?" Marie-Ange couldn't help but question, and took another drink of wine in response to the very idea. "I do not think I want an explanation at all. I saw the journals, that is all I needed to know." The incident hadn't been a threat, neither she nor Doug had brought it up to Remy or Pete and if Wanda had, she didn't want to know about it. "I think they would make a good reason to drink, but not good to talk about over drinks, yes?"
"Precisely," Forge agreed, tilting his head as he heard a somewhat familiar blare of horns from the vicinity of the dance floor. "Zombies lead to drinking, drinking leads to dancing. Want to?" he asked, with a motion of his head towards the floor.
Marie-Ange nodded, and stood up, glancing briefly at Doug, who was still in animated conversation with Angelo, and who gave her an expression of "Don't be silly, of course, it's fine, you didn't even have to ask." as only Doug could, with only a brief hand gesture and nod of his head. "I would love to." she said, following Forge out to the floor.
Later, Doug and Forge chat later about their staggering good luck with women, Forge's use of the Churchill Method, World of Warcraft, and Star Wars.
Quite a few people had turned up for Amanda's party, and Doug smiled at the expression on her face, happy that she was enjoying herself. He nursed a beer, then spotted a familiar face that he hadn't entirely expected until he'd chimed into the thread on the journals. "I should get you one of those 'Blood Alcohol Experiment In Progress' shirts," he joked to Forge as he walked over to join the other man.
"Hey, I can outdrink anyone with an equivalent body mass," Forge insisted, raising his bright blue drink to Doug. "Mostly because they are all twelve years old and hopped up on Yoo-hoo. To tell you the truth, I've been using the Churchill Method."
The mental image of Forge engaged in a serious drinking contest with Artie or one of the other younger mansion residents caused Doug to snort and take another drink. "Okay, this needs to be explained," he decided with a raised eyebrow.
"Winston Churchill, the British guy?" Forge said as he took a sip of his drink. "Way back in like... World War Zero or something. Always had a drink in his hand so people would think he was a total lush. But half the time at the parties, he just kept having it topped up with soda water. People see what they expect to see."
Doug nodded. "Ah." And Forge had a very valid point. The human brain, even one without Doug's particular ability, was designed to find patterns in things. As a result, you could often trick people into wildly erroneous conclusions because they saw patterns where none existed. "Also, Onyxia deep breaths more this patch," he murmured jokingly.
"You are such a geek," Forge summed up. "But then again, pot and kettle. Here's to being geeks. With unfairly hot girlfriends."
"I'll drink to that," Doug noted, and suited action to word. "Speaking of geek references, how are things with you and Her Worshipfulness, you scruffy-looking nerf herder?"
"Can't complain," Forge admitted with a goofy grin. "It doesn't make any sense to me, but I'm fine with that."
Doug's face split in an answering grin. "I know the feeling. I don't know that it ever completely goes away. I mean, I'm not that mopey teenager waiting for the other shoe to drop anymore, but there are mornings I still wake up amazed at how lucky I am." He smiled across the room at where Marie-Ange sat, chatting animatedly with Amanda.
"Oh, believe me, I know exactly how lucky you are," Forge mocked. "Marie-Ange is an amazing woman. Smart, complex, hell of a dancer. We are lucky men, my friend," he proclaimed, while downing the rest of his drink and wiggling the empty glass at the bartender. "And now, continuing on with good old Winston's method. I have only to endure to conquer," he announced as he headed towards the bar.
Towards the end of the evening, Doug and Marie-Ange talk about limoncello, Attilani wine, the Globe of Doom, Marie-Ange's sessions with Sofia, Forge dating Crystal, and Doug's bender and one-night stand with Amanda.
Marie-Ange stabbed at the garnish in her drink with the tiny plastic sword. More then a few bars already, and she was increasingly glad for alcohol tolerance. And that she'd worn comfortable trainers instead of her usual pumps or heels for work.
She'd already bought Amanda a drink - the English witch very likely wasn't paying for a single drink herself, except maybe the one at Harry's. Which Marie-Ange had skipped in order to avoid even the hint of being thrown out for being under-age.
She scooted over in the booth they had appropriated to make room for Doug as he returned from the bar with his drink. "I always thought limoncello should be very sour, but it is not at all. I have never had it before..." She said, raising the glass at him. "No reason to drink anything made in Italy before.."
Doug didn't recall hitting Italy during the Grand Globe Bender that he and Amanda had been on, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Parts of the night were extremely fuzzy and difficult to remember. Other parts, on the other hand, still occasionally plagued him with all-too-clear detail. "How many have you had?" he asked curiously. Marie-Ange was a philosophical drunk, really, even more philosophical than she was normally.
Marie-Ange's expression went distant for a moment. "... I lost count at Greece." Ouzo, she'd decided wasn't all that bad, no matter what kind of faces other people had been making. She took another sip of her drink, not quite recalling what else was in it besides limoncello but enjoying it nonetheless. "How many of these places did you go when you went globe drinking with Amanda?" She'd half figured it out already, but sometimes putting Doug on the spot was just necessary.
Every so often, the universe liked to remind Doug that he was not nearly so clever as he liked to think he was. Usually via some manner of non sequitur-ish metaphorical slap to the side of the head. Like his girlfriend putting him on the spot about his staggering bender and one-night stand with their very good friend whose birthday it was. "Too many to count. And then when we got tired of walking, we just spun the globe and kept ordering different drinks." He leaned back and stared intently at the stucco ceiling. If you concentrated enough, you could almost see things in the random placement of the tiny nubs of paint. "There was karaoke at some point, also."
"Oh my." Marie-Ange giggled a little, trying to imagine poor Amanda having to sing. "So that is why you are so hateful of the poor globe for ordering drinks? What did it do to you that was so mean?" She knew quite well - it had somehow found it's way to The Dreaded Tequila, and Doug hated tequila. "We should not do karaoke tonight. It is Amanda's birthday, that would be quite mean of us..."
A giggling Angie was definitely a tipsy Angie. And apparently a tipsy Angie with Ideas. Doug leaned his head just slightly to the side so that he could open one eye and fix it assessingly on his girlfriend. "It would be very mean, yes."
"And so we will not do it. Until -after- her birthday." Marie-Ange said, nodding firmly. "Because it would be mean on her birthday, yes?" She prodded the piece of fruit with her plastic sword again. "So you had the globe and drank and lot and that was when you and Amanda slept together?" She thought she might as well cut to the direct question. "That still seems very mean to hate the globe just for that."
Doug blinked. In a peculiar bit of role reversal, he was the one completely mortified, and Angie was the one blithely discussing sexual topics. His cheeks reddened slightly, and he glanced away. Definitely not even close to as clever as he thought he was. He floundered for quite a while, completely unsure as to how to respond to Marie-Ange's question.
In lieu of further questioning, Marie-Ange stabbed her piece of fruit and popped it in her mouth. With the tiny plastic sword now entirely orange slice and maraschino cherry free, she used it to poke Doug's arm gently while chewing, and then for a few more moments before using it to remove a now-knotted cherry stem from between her teeth. "I will take your silence as assent... " She said, twirling the stem between two fingers.
"What in the world has gotten into you?" Doug spluttered finally, staring intently at Marie-Ange as she twirled the stem. The knot in it immediately drew his attention to the obvious nimbleness of her tongue, which he suspected was by design.
"A great many more drinks then I can count?" Marie-Ange said questioningly. "And a few rather pointed conversations with Sofia about my... withdrawal from my 'natural social group', I think that is what she called it. Or what one of the books called it. I cannot remember. I think I am tired of being ... so withdrawn." The conversation she and Forge had earlier in the night had the subject on her mind as well. "But I think it is mostly the drinks. Did you know that Attilan has started exporting wine again?"
"Um, no, I didn't." Marie-Ange's introspection and self-analysis did not have a tone of recrimination, and her resolve to change things sounded like it would be good to her. Doug reached over and squeezed her hand to show he was proud of her even while he remained somewhat confused by the sudden change of subject.
"Forge appealed to my sense of oenophilia and had me try some. It is good, but the labeling is confusing. They are exporting some of what was bottled while the island was missing." Confusing in that the timing was very much off, and that she'd had too many drinks to remember Forge's explanation of how they'd come to a decision about dating systems since the return. But not too many drinks to stop using worse like oenophilia. "Did you know he and Crystal are dating?"
Suddenly this conversation reminded Doug of nothing so much as a multi-disc CD player set on shuffle. He wasn't as inebriated as Marie-Ange, but he was tipsy enough that he was having difficulty keeping track of the wild conversational leaps she was taking. "Um, yes," he replied. "I think." He slid over to the edge of the booth. "This requires more alcohol."
Marie-Ange was already making little pushing motions, edging along in the seat as Doug moved to get up. "Yes! I will help you!" And then she could make sure he did not try to hurt the very nice globe. Which she still did not see any reason to hate.
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