xp_logs | New Year Eve Jamboree -- Backdated to December 31/Jan 1

WARREN AND CECILIA - hitting on gone wrong

Cecilia wasn't sure she belonged in the '20s.

It wasn't the fashion. She'd settled on a midnight blue velvet dress, one that showed off her body without being too ostentatious, and one that allowed her to accessorize. She liked the dress. She liked the fashion.

It was the spirit. The devil-may-care, party-until-we're-dead attitude. She was making a good show of enjoying the party, truly. She'd been drinking, she'd been eating, and she'd been dancing. And dancing. And dancing and dancing and dancing.

But the reckless abandon wasn't there. 2015 had been a rough year. It had started with a disastrous bang, and it had ended with — well, it ended terribly too. She was at this party to forget herself, and being in a studio full of mirrored walls made that awfully hard.

So she'd grabbed a drink and slipped away, into one of the smaller studios. There was a window here, and she'd moved toward it, looking outside at a night that was much calmer and stiller than either she or the party.

Warren had only stepped away from the window to look for food, and he had to admit -- he was a little perturbed to see someone else there. Even if said person had one amazing ass. ‎ "This is the perfect brooding spot, don't you think?"

"Brooding?" Cecilia turned, flashing him a smile. "Were you brooding? That seems out-of-character."

Warren gave her a quizzical look. "Is it? I mean, I'm tall, rich and handsome -- shouldn't I always be brooding?" He paused. "And I'm sure there's a bird joke there but I am suddenly overcome with ennui. Want to kiss and make it better?"

"Wow," Cecilia snorted, giving him a look of disapproval. "Really?" She took a sip of the glass of wine in her hand. "No."

"The offer always stands," Warren replied with ease. "You should be flattered. It's not often I go for seconds. I'm a man of the world after all, and there's just so much to enjoy but you.... you're special. One of a kind. Flexible." the last word was drawn out, accompanied by an eyebrow waggle. "In fact, the only thing I can remember repeating these last few months is that delicious chocolate cake Jennie has here. My god is it ever fantastic. The ganache...the creme.... the little bursts of chocolate pieces..." He gave a groan. "My only regret is I ate all of it."

"Warren," Cecilia spoke quietly, a slight look of disbelief on her face. "Did you just compare me," she gestured to herself, making a point of using her hand to highlight her exposed dark skin, "to chocolate cake? While hitting on me?"

That was a good question. Was he so out of touch after his medically imposed vacation that he was actually saying the wrong things? Could he play this off as a momentary lapse of judgement brought on by excessive drug use? So a regular Friday for him, really. "It really was a delicious cake," he admitted. "Perfection comes in many forms. You should be flattered."

"Warren." Cecilia's eyebrows were raised as she took another sip of wine. "No. I'm not — flattered or not, no."

"C'mon Cece," he said, trying one last time. " you have a death grip on that wine glass. You need to loosen up, and i'm excellent at loosening people up. Last hurrah of 2015...."

Cecilia stiffened. She wasn't sure why, but something about his words and his attitude just... made her skin crawl. He was so insistent, and she thought the way he was just leering at her was so...

"Back off, Warren," she said somewhat quietly, taking a step away from him. "No means no. Go find another cake to devour."

Warren took a step back as well, surprised at the animosity in her voice. If he could remember before (and that was a good year ago), she had been much more willing and confident. "Sure, Cecilia," he said with a nod. "Cake is delicious. You are amazing. That is all."

Cecilia's face grew hot — he was looking at her like she was a freak now, and she just couldn't. "Well," she said rather hurriedly. "I — excuse me." Before he could say anything, she turned on her heel and walked off, back to the party and its people, where she could blend in and get lost.

---

FELICIA AND WARREN - mid evening, being their awful selves

"I didn't realize that being poor meant you had no fashion sense," Warren commented quietly to Felicia. He'd moved from his brooding window to the drinks table, and he had been appalled at the outfits that people were calling 'period'. It was like watching a train wreck, except he'd paid for it to happen, and part of him appreciated it. The only thing that would make the situation even better would be to share it with someone.

And by someone, he of course meant Felicia.

"I mean, really, is that honestly what passes for a zoot suit these days?"

"Don't get me started," Felicia replied, eyes tracking a woman crossing in front of them with barely concealed annoyance. "There were no zippers in women's clothing in the 1920s!" she hissed, leaning into Warren. "Why don't they just write "EASY" on their forehead in marker, it would be simpler. I suppose it was too difficult to write backwards in the mirror."

Gently tapping her champagne flute against his tumbler she toasted them. "Thank God for us, basically."

Warren gave her a solemn look. "Which is what I pointed out in my Christmas card that no one appreciated except for you." He took a sip of his drink, silently rueing the fact that he trusted the bartender's judgement. "I think what is bothering me the most is that this is supposed to be a fundraiser and yet not a single interesting, different person is here. Next year, I demand you wrangle New Year's Eve duties from whoever decides to do it. Then it'll be a gala worth going to."

Making a small noise of appreciation to the compliment in there somewhere, Felicia shrugged. "Sweetie. This is what it looks like when people fundraise and actually need the money, as opposed to it going in their pocket to support their side piece. Not a lot of trust fund babies willing to associate with any class under them when there isn't a photo op. It's noble or something," she said, enjoying the warmth of him against her arm. "I don't know, I don't have any integrity, but I've been watching a lot of Christmas specials which is pretty much the same thing."

Warren shuddered. "Did you know they only have cable in the med lab? If it wasn't for Jubilee and her never ending supply of terrible movies, I would have never survived. Why is Christmas such a thing? It's nothing more than an excuse to spend money pretending to be altruistic but let's be honest: a gift is only given when one is expected back."

"Aww, cheer up, boo. I know you just had a week with your parents, but it's over. You're safe now. You can have optimism and not be a giant dick again, knowing that you don't have to seen them for at least a month if you schedule things right," Felicia replied, giving him an absent pat on the arm. "I know you give me things because you love me."

"You make me sound like a good person," Warren commented with a chuckle. "I feel that will come back to haunt you." His somber mood was coming back. This New Year's simply didn't feel the same as others. "A toast then," he announced suddenly. "Here's to always having each other's backs, no matter how expensive the shoes are. I promise if your mother gets on your case about marriage and children, I'll buy you a family you never have to see."

"Even if we're a dick and then we get what we probably deserve, we'll always be there to pick the other one back up anyway," Felicia continued, her red mouth curving into a genuinely fond smile. "Including that horrible strip club that thinks it's up class by pretending to a geisha establishment but now with more crack. I promise to even wrangle it into a controllable social media scandal of your own design later."

She didn't have to stretch much, given the height of her heels, and gently placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Happy New Year's, Warren."

He threw an arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer. "You too, my dearest. Now," he said, grinning. "Let's get out there and show them what social royalty really looks like."

---

GABRIEL AND JEAN-PAUL -- at the end of the night, after the ball drops.
The jacket had barely stayed on. It took one drink for Gabriel to leave it somewhere. He barely wanted to wear it in the first place but it seemed like a concession to the party.

The bow-tie was gone too, a casualty of the intense sweating that came from intense drinking and more intense dancing. He was still sweating even after a cigarette break outside

Now he was just a pair of suspenders, a white shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and striped pants. A surprisingly casual look. An unexpectedly casual look. He pulled it off.

(Clint hadn't worn a tie. He'd noticed. He'd spotted it as soon as he came in and he wanted to make a joke about it but he and Clint didn't make jokes not really not anymore and not about ties so instead he grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it in warp-speed before grabbing another because the champagne was now and all that was then)

He didn't feel like dancing any more, so he was standing by the food, eyeing it all a little warily. 2015 was a terrible year. A poisonous year. If trends held, the food was probably poisoned.

He fiddled with the button at the top of shirt, then grabbed a piece of cheese.

"You do not want that one," Jean-Paul said, taking the cheese from Gabriel's hands and throwing it in the vague direction of a trash can. He didn't actually care if he got it in the trash can. "You want this one," he continued, supplying a plate of superior cheese to the other man. He gave him a mildly critical once-over, then stole two glasses of wine. "And one of these."

Gabriel frowned. "What was that face?" He took the wine in one hand and snagged a piece of cheese in the other. "Totally uncalled for. Also," he looked around the room, "where did you come from?"

"I believe," Jean-Paul replied, "That there was sex involved? And then a very long wait. Possibly, it was a uterus. Also, you are scowling at the food. There are better ways to spend the evening."

"I'm taking a break," Gabriel said after a sip of the wine, "from all the fun. And besides," he looked at groups of dancing Xavier-ites on the floor of the studio. "I can't spend all night dancing, or everyone will be intimidated." He took a bite of the cheese, wiggling his eyebrows at Jean-Paul. "By all my moves."

Jean-Paul's tie was loose around his throat, still tucked beneath his collar but untied. He sipped at his own wine as he considered this. "Your moves," he finally said, nodding. "They are adequate."

"Adequate?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow, but a small smile was on his face. "I'm the son of poor immigrants from Mexico. They don't teach you how to Charleston in El Paso, like nice white people do."

"Pfft," Jean-Paul scoffed. Then he reached for a piece of cheese from Gabriel's plate. "Adequate. Very good rhythm."

"Hmph." Gabriel took a healthy glug of wine. "Never heard you complain before."

Grinning, Jean-Paul said, "Complaining? This is not complaining. Constructive, yes? But more evidence is needed, if you want to impress me with your moves."

"Jean-Paul!" Gabriel gasped in fake outrage. "Here?" He leaned forward, placing his hand on the other man's shoulder. "I don't think we can do that in front of children."

Two fingers hooking into the space between two of Gabriel's still-buttoned buttons, Jean-Paul quirked an eyebrow and tugged the other man closer. "Then let us go somewhere else."

"I don't know..." Gabriel drummed his fingers on Jean-Paul's pec. "Might be bad luck to start the year with adequate sex. Seems pretty risky of you."

"I trust you would work very hard to make sure it was not only adequate," Jean-Paul said, amused.

"Me? Well..." Gabriel shrugged, pulling back slightly so he could drain the rest of his glass of wine. "They do say to start the new year off with a bang, so..."

Laughing, Jean-Paul finished his own glass. "And so, oui."

~*~*~
Warren and Jean -- Right after dunking

Well. That was strange. One minute he was enjoying the view from the window, the next he was in a lake and then he blinked and was back to the party.

If it wasn't for the fact that he was drenched, he'd wonder if he'd imagined it all. As it stood,he was wet and although he was sure he deserved it, he wasn't too pleased.

"Every single party," he grumbled to himself, taking his suit jacket off.

A hand reached out, offering him a towel. Being a ballet studio people tended to sweat, so they kept towels on hand.

"Every single one?" a voice said with amusement. Jean was leaning against the wall, arms folded.

"Well you did take the last piece of cake. There was likely to be some mutiny."

"The entire cake," he corrected her, happily accepting the towel. "It was easily the most delicious cake I'd ever had. I regret nothing." Warren slipped out of his jacket and frowned. "My tux begs to differ though. My drycleaner will be so displeased."

"I'm sure you have enough money to buy another suit....and an entire cake," Jean mused.
‎
"Or does it taste better when you steal it?"

Warren glared. "I stole nothing. A cake is on a buffet table.‎ That clearly implies it's available for consumption."

Resting her chin in her hand, Jean smirked. "But this is a party, not a buffet. The implied rule is to leave enough for people to at least have one serving. In this case, one slice of cake. Obviously judging by the reaction, you MIGHT have violated that rule just a smidge."

He shrugged her comment off. "C'est la vie. Now, I get to brood in style -- dripping, cold, and apathetic. I think this calls for champagne. You in?"

Pausing a moment in contemplation, Jean finally shrugged. "Sure, why not?" she said with a smile. It was a party.

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "Excellent. Now, if we can manage to get through the drink without griping at one another, I'll call tonight a rousing success." Warren suddenly hesitated, as if he was mulling something over, before finally blurting out "I always say the wrong things around you and I think it's because I actually care what you think."

Jean blinked at him, caught off guard.

"I---" she began, but stopped, not sure what to say.

She hadn't expected this conversation, not since the time in his apartment after Crossfire's attack.

And because Warren had suddenly decided he was tired of living, he leaned in and gave Jean a kiss on the cheek. "Happy New Year, Jean," he said, grinning, handing her some cash. "I've changed my mind on the drink but you should enjoy yourself. Thank you for the towel." And then he was off.

Standing there for a few moments, Jean shook her head with a faint smirk, then slipped the money into a charity donation box that was sitting on a counter near the front and headed back to mingling.

~*~*~
Warren and Miles -- After the night ends

‎Even though cleaners were doing their thing, Warren was in no rush to leave. Besides, after spilling gallons and gallons on water on the floors, it was probably appropriate that he help clean up.

2016 hadn't really started how he wanted but he'd learned a valuable lesson: ‎never come between a latina and her desserts.

A garbage bag in hand,he started with some of the side tables, picking up plates and discarded food. He'd get to the empty glasses later...and there did seem to be more empties than half full. Free booze certainly inspired people.

One of the few half-full glasses, set on a table a few feet away from Warren, seemed to vanish into thin air for just a moment. But when it reappeared, it was empty. Hushed laughter could be heard from near the table, which wobbled as if someone had walked into it. That just elicited more laughter from the ether.

Warren stopped what he was doing and checked the room. No one seemed to be around, which was good, but just to be on the safe side, he walked over to the door and closed it.

"It's a sad day when I have more sense than you," he said to the thin air. He had an idea of who was invisible, but not sure exactly. "You know that there's others here who don't know us, right?"

"Nobody here but us chickens," a disembodied voice responded, followed by the sound of alarmed clucking that quickly degenerated into giggles. "What does that even mean, anyway? Why did Bugs Bunny always say it when Elmer Fudd was hunting for him?"

Miles. Of course. Warren crossed his arms and smirked. "Because Bugs Bunny is a cartoon character and by de facto, makes no sense. Now off with the camo, and stop playing minesweeper. If you promise not to tell your mother, I'll give you quality alcohol when we get home, not the dredges that are leftover."‎

"The jig is up!" the voice called out in alarm, this time from right above Warren. The air shimmered, revealing Miles in his cobbled-together zoot suit (really just an oversized wool suit he'd bought from the thrift store for thirty bucks) clinging to the ceiling. "Can't catch me, though!"

Warren gave an exasperated sigh. God save him from teenagers. "No, but I can film this and anonymously post it to your school's facebook page."

That threat seemed to get through. Normally, Miles could launch himself from the ceiling and flip in midair so he'd land daintily on his feet. Tonight, though, he just plummeted to the ground, taking a table down with him. Thank goodness for superhuman durability and that he was so light, else he might have left a Miles-shaped hole in the floor.

"You can't out me!" he protested from where he lied. "Anyone knows I'm a mutant and the whole mansion's in danger and it'd be all your fault!"‎

"Just one more thing to add to the list,". Warren said calmly. He walked over and helped prop the teenager up on a chair, surprised at how heavy Miles actually was. "If I leave you here for a few minutes while I get my coat, will you choke and die?"

"Choke on this." Miles farted, a high-pitched toot rather than the loud bellow he'd been hoping for, but it was a fart so it was still funny enough to send him into a fit of laughter. He swayed in his seat and nearly fell but stopped himself by slapping a hand on the nearby wall and adhering to it, so he kept his balance. "Wait, where're you going?"

Warren glared and waved a hand in front of his face. ‎ Miles was far drunker than Warren had initially thought. "I'm calling my driver. If you let off any more of those, they'll have to condemn this building, and as much as I like Jennie, I'm not about to buy her business because you destroyed it with your ass."

"Did you know that real spiders spin their webs out of their asses and not through their wrists like I do? Thwap!" But Miles stayed still, patiently waiting for Warren to retrieve his belongings and call the car.

Within a few minutes, Warren was back, herding Miles ‎towards the limo. "The things I do for you," he announced, reaching into the mini fridge for a bottle of water. "Now drink this."

Miles accepted the bottle and chugged its contents like he would die if he didn't hydrate soon. He handed it back to Warren when he finished and patted around his seat, looking for the seatbelt. "You do these things for me porque deep down under that haughty, self-centered, flippant exterior, you actually do care about people and y te sientes bien a ayudarles con cosas estupidas como stealing all the leftover drinks at the New Year party." Miles smiled broadly and, abandoning his search for the seatbelt, decided to instead just slide closer to Warren and lay his head on the other man's arm as if it were a pillow. "You're like the weird but fun uncle who's weird but also fun. I wish you were my real tío."

Warren had never quite understood the love for Dr. Seuss. The man was nonsensical, the pictures were stupid, and the stories even dumber. Still. With those words from Miles, he understood fully, completely, 100% exactly how the Grinch felt when his heart grew three times bigger. This kid, who really was nothing more than a kid, had wormed his way in, and would never leave. Awkwardly patting Miles on the back, Warren simply smiled. “Me too, sobrino. Just for that, you’re in the will.”