Thanksgiving 2013

[lucreceknife]

While she'd said the meal would take place at one of her cottages, the building seemed to be anything but. Guests were directed to an office building, up to Suite 613. The door was locked when they arrived, but a sign taped to it read "Knock exactly three times" in Medea's neat handwriting

Comments

[marbleincarnate]

Simon had come in a timely manner, as he wasn't likely to miss out on the occasion. After all, it promised to be both interesting and rewarding, if Medea's cooking was to be offered. He was particularly impressed by the manner in which the seemingly mundane office building location became so much more. But that was neither here nor there now.

He helped himself to a drink-- sticking to the soda, as the chiming wine spoke of too much magic for his taste-- and situated himself at the table after a moment's inspection of the chairs. He wasn't dressed any differently than usual, though he did deign to remove his hat and set it politely on the table beside his place after seeing Medea's outfit. Manners and all.

For now, he was content to watch and see who came along as the evening progressed. Oh, and eat. Eating was always key when it came to the Dame's parties.

[lucreceknife]

She walked over to Simon, skirt swishing slightly with a rustle of petticoat, delighted to see he made it (and more than a little pleased he removed his hat. It's a thing.) "The turkey itself, stuffing and the potatoes are all completely mundane. The cranberry sauce is flavored with a hedgefruit, and anything that looks completely alien probably is."

[marbleincarnate]

The golem chuckled. "I appreciate the heads up."

After a moment's thought, he added. "Mundane or magical, everything looks quite good. You've outdone yourself, Dame." He took a sip of his soda as he glanced once more at the table spread. "I'm sure everyone else will tell you the same."

[lucreceknife]

"Good. I live for admiration. Would you like me to carve you some of the turkey?" She smirked faintly as she reached for her knife.

[vindex_terrae]

"Of course," Koschei murmurs as he finds a seat.

He has come after all, back in civilian clothing that is as casual as he gets - black blazer and slacks, white t-shirt and sans gloves. His body language doesn't quite match the somewhat dressed downed-ness, but he's trying to find a balance between trying to be engaged and relaxed versus flipping on the veneer of showmanship. The Doctor has come with him, seemingly his cheerful energetic self, although someone very observant might catch how he looks a little tired around the eyes when he thinks no one is looking.

[rebutle]

Abigail seems to have gotten the memo from Medea about vintage full-skirted dresses, wearing her hair braided, then coiled in a crown pinned daintily on her head. She approaches Koschei with a warm smile. "Would you mind if I sat near you?"

[vindex_terrae]

"It's difficult for me to imagine circumstances when I would, Abigail." Koschei's smile isn't quite as warm, but there's definitely more light in his eyes than there was a moment ago.

[rebutle]

She reaches out to lightly touch his sleeve, not entirely sure what's cooling his smile, not entirely sure how to be of help. For the moment, she'll simply be here.

"I have a theory, not-so-secretly, that the reason she invited me is as an apology for all the stress to come with Changeover planning about to begin." Her tone indicates that that's mostly a joke, an attempt to make small talk.

[non_permaneo]

"Wow, was he not wrong," the Doctor comments, staring at the impressively extensive spread.

[lucreceknife]

"As you can see, a few scrapes were worth it to put a good meal on the table. You'll appreciate the tart that came out of the trouble, I'm sure." Medea's a bit more cautious toward the Doctor this time, as her fae mien is apparent--she's not sure which 'he' the man means, nor how well-acquainted with changelings he is.

[non_permaneo]

"All the stops out, yes," he says with a nod. "What kind of fruit was that, anyway?"

[lucreceknife]

"We call them Hera Pears. Uncooked, they have remarkable curative properties for physical illness. But there are...effects that come with that. However, those properties all cook out completely. You'll be able to appreciate them for their flavor, tonight."

[notoneline]

River breezes in, late, but not irredeemably so, in a dress-boots-jacket combination topped with a hastily wound burgundy scarf. She has a bottle of last-minute champagne under one arm, and an accordion file tucked under the other.

"Apologies for my tardiness, whatever that may be worth at this point. It smells heavenly in here."

[lucreceknife]

Medea gestures for her to put the champagne on the drink table. "On the contrary. I'm not sure they eat in Heaven, if you're talking the Christian view of it. It smells like Valhalla."

[notoneline]

"I'd like to hope Heaven is a lot of eating, a lot of drinking, and a lot of sex, or else what's the point?"

[lucreceknife]

"Religion." She rolls her eyes, offering River one of the available seats.

[totheskye]

Skye is wandering around the tent, clad in a pinstripe suit and clutching a bunch of lilacs. There's a wry smile on his lips, and he gives the wine a covetous look before heading over instead to greet his host -- it's only polite, after all.

"Medea, sweetheart, this is awesome. Looks like hard work," he compliments brightly, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

[lucreceknife]

She returns the kiss, her lips cool against his skin, almost seeming to sap his heat away (one can be sure she gives very memorable blow jobs). "I'm glad you appreciate it, pumpkin."

[totheskye]

A hand rests on her shoulder, and Skye gazes around the room appreciatively --- and looking for someone in particular.

"Did you cook alla this yourself?" he asks, when he doesn't immediately spot Abi. It is, admittedly, a damn impresive spread. "Glad I came hungry."

[lucreceknife]

"Good, you'll help me ensure there's no leftovers." She follows his gaze and smiles faintly. "She's sitting by the gentleman in the black blazer--Koschei."