fjordicswagger | 74 Godiva Street, AKA Tamsin and Death's Home Of More Alcohol Than Last Year, Saturday Evening

Okay, this party had been born out of actual need (for alcohol and getting laid) last year; this year, those factors weren't as urgent for Tamsin, who figured she could always drop in on Jessica or Mike if the night was a spectacular failure.

But hell, it'd been fun last time. Why the hell not?

There were black sheets hanging in front of the windows again, and pillows and sheets scattered all over the floor to make for little makeshift sitting spaces and nooks. There was an empty bottle (in case someone decided to play Spin the Bottle) sitting somewhere in the middle of the room, and in a fit of generosity Tamsin had thoughtfully supplied a bunch of bags of chips in case people wanted to eat stuff.

The glitter clinging to the sheets and the walls and whatnot: not her fault. Who'd ever heard of impromptu localized glitter storms before? At least the winds had died down well before the party actually started, but there was no way in hell she was vacuuming all that stuff up.

There. Party time.

[[ OPEN! ]]

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"That sounds like a pretty great night, actually," Jessica said, following closely. "Any time you need a break from the party, just let me know."

"I've gotten worse reviews," Fred said. "Thanks for throwing this party."

Fred settled onto a pillow with one of his beers and took a look around so he could rank every person he saw. In fairness, it was a pass-fail ranking. And everyone here passed.

Except Tony Stark. Fuck that guy. Not... not literally. Like, screw that guy. But... You knew what he meant.

Éponine . . . had a lot more alcohol stashed away at home than she tended to drink these days, but hoarding it was a bit of a habit she didn't feel like breaking.

But she might as well do something with it, shouldn't she? And the party had been amusing last year. And giving things to people without asking money for them was supposed to be a decent thing to do.

So she had several bottles of liquor in a bag -- all right, so the Kahlua bottle had been opened and she'd had about a third of it, but were people really going to care?

"Éponine," Tamsin greeted, mostly with a nod of her head. "It's been a while. What have you people been getting up to with the mail?"

"Hey, I haven't seen you since the picnic," Fred noted as a greeting. "You're looking even better tonight."

"Dunno, maybe I will," he replied with a chuckle. "Would you come claim private shows?"

"Oh my God, you brought vodka? You are bad."

Said the guy who'd brought a bagful of various kinds of booze. And was grinning at her.

"I'm not that bad." Lies and slander.

"It's because there's a fuck-ton of pollen in the air," Sarah rasped.

Not that she minded the compliment. She just liked being difficult.

"I am the mayor," Tamsin pointed out.

"He was engaged to the first Black Widow while she was setting up an international strike force against America headed up by Thor's brother Loki," Jessica explained. "He didn't know about any of that until it was too late. But anything shy of that and I think you're doing pretty good, relatively speaking."

"Black Widow? Really? I'll leave that mess to Barton." Sorry not sorry, Hawkeye.

"And I've got a little bit of beer goggles going, but it's still true," Fred said. "I'd be trying to chat you up even without this stuff in the air."

Snort. "Wasn't aware it was a mayorly duty, and I sure as hell am glad the previous mayor didn't try to fulfill it. But sure, I'd make sure you were properly impressed."

"It's a mayorly duty because I say so," Tamsin said. "Isn't that how it works?"

She was joking. Mostly.

"The other Black Widows are better," Jessica said. "The second one was Nick Fury's ex-wife, so you know she's fun."

"Mm, bet you would." Because he gave off kind of a Devlin-type vibe. It was not really a compliment, but she was a lot more likely to forgive that this week. "And yet you didn't even bring me a fuckin' drink. Tsk."

"Are you brooding at a party?"

Look, Sarah was prone to ending up at least visiting the darker parts of the party venue just because she was antisocial by nature.

Also, her on-island bestie was in another corner brooding away, so it wasn't like she was very judgmental.

"Nothing like that, if that's what you're thinking," Éponine said with an amused snort, "or at least I haven't, and I don't care if anyone else has. Good lord, but we've had some interesting deliveries this week! It's silly, there's a perfectly good shop for that right here, but I s'pose some people don't want to be seen going into Dite's."

Mike smirked.

"I don't know, but I will respect your authority."

"Here's where I show off just for fun," Fred said, pulling a boomerang out of his pocket and throwing it at the drink table.

Moments later, it came back with a beer attached to it. "I wouldn't open it right away," he said, handing the can over.

Yes.

"I'm in a dark corner at what is basically a sex party."

"You made it!" exclaimed Éponine, making her way over with a cup of something or other in hand -- mostly Bailey's, by the smell of it. "I heard about yesterday, on the radio. Nost D'you have to stick 'em in the end? Tiny and the DJ. With your sword, I mean."

"It's also not open as much as it used to be," Tamsin muttered. "I'm thinking about bribing someone to open it up every year when this thing hits."

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74 Godiva Street, AKA Tamsin and Death's Home Of More Alcohol Than Last Year, Saturday Evening

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