lt_safe_house | (no subject)

Current Location: the ballroom

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Date: April 20, 2003
Status: Public
Setting: The ballroom
Summary: Happy Easter, everyone!

Easter/Spring Equinox Party
Manor Ballroom
Refreshments Provided
Meet your housemates+

Aziraphale had posted the sign in the main entrance, right by Ms. Hodges' desk.

And now he was incredibly nervous. Would anyone show up? Would anyone who showed up actually enjoy themselves? He had spent all night cooking and was confident that if nothing else the food was good - deviled eggs, ham, cheese potatoes, pineapple casserole, vegetable mix - but the decorations were awfully... bright...

He crossed his fingers and chose to occupy himself by staring at the ballroom's music system, pondering what sort of music he ought to be playing.

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Michael had spent the morning in deep meditation, communing with the Presence, tapping into the sense of Joy that permeated it on this of all days.

After he reassumed his human guise, his stomach rumbled before he could even register the delicious smell of... something floating by.

He, grinning, followed his nose to the location. Oh, a party. A bright pastel party. With food.

He waved at his fellow angels before sneaking to the food, taking a piece of ham and a bit of potatoes. "Heeeey! Who made this stuff?"

Aziraphael looked a bit nervous as he waved at him.

"Wow, Nerd, you're a really good cook!" Michael exclaimed, taking a lot more and piling his plate. "I mean, really really! This is all awesome!"

Aziraphale blushed and glowed (literally). "The Second of the Lord likes my cooking," he said bashfully. "Six thousand years of practise, I suppose."

"I'm Joe Dawson, your local bartender," Joe told Aziraphale with a grin. "You'd know me if you dropped by sometime in the evening.

Duncan looked at Michael and made a face. "Oh look, Master Craven is here, too. Aren't you afraid you might break a fingernail or something?"

He filled a plate of his own and tried the cooking. "Though I must say," he added when he had swallowed, "I need to second his decree regarding the cooking."

"Yeah yeah, Jerkass, I know," Michael said with a sigh. "'Blah blah blah, you're awesome blah, blah blah blah, I suck blah.' Happy Easter." Michael continued walking on, perusing the food.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Joe," Aziraphale said fondly, deliberately ignoring Duncan provoking Michael. "I assure you I'll visit the bar at some point, as the last time I was there, there wasn't a bartender and I ended up drinking too much." He then muttered under his breath, "And if those two keep bickering, I'm going to be drinking too much again tonight."

"I think I'd much rather have singing rabbits than a reenactment."

Gabriel paused, biting his lip, when Michael arrived. He turned away, apparently absorbed in a rabbit drowning in foliage and hanging from the ceiling.

Edited 2010-04-06 06:16 (UTC)

Loki watched the exchange with slight amusement and a cocked eyebrow.

"What's the matter with those two?" he asked Aziraphale, slightly annoyed. Soldiers on the same army were supposed to cooperate, not fight among themselves.

But of course, they weren't really on the same army right now. Certainly not his army. Yet.

Edited 2010-04-07 08:18 (UTC)

"Who, Michael and Duncan? Differences of opinion regarding training exercises. It's all quite silly but, from what I've heard, Duncan won't let it be until he gets to fight with Michael, and Michael won't accept the challenge for that very reason." Aziraphale sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I suppose nothing will be resolved until they have a drinking contest and then compete to see who can urinate the furthest."

"Let's get to making them nice and drunk then," Loki suggested. "And sell tickets for the contest."

Gabriel poked at his cheese potato with a fork. He glanced at Aziraphael. "Trust me, Michael being drunk is not a desirable circumstance. You might hear things you would rather not know. By the way, the food is delicious."

"I heard that," Michael said, pouting fondly. "And while I don't know what Gabe's talking about with me saying things, I don't want to get drunk because I got sick to my stomach the next day morning, and alcohol tastes weird. Besides, I don't need to pee."

Gabriel didn't even bother correcting Michael this time. He simply forced a small smile before turning away under the pretense of getting a cup of punch, and walked to one of the windows.

Perhaps coming here had not been the best idea, but he could hardly ignore an Easter celebration, after all. And he couldn't avoid Michael forever.

Aziraphale bit down on his lower lip.

Great, just great. He had conferred with Uriel and Gabriel, who had both insisted this party be a PARTY for EVERYONE, neither had helped, and Uriel likely had forgotten it was even happening and Gabriel was being rather grumpy. Michael, despite being antagonised within mere moments of showing up, was being the most reasonable one.

Honestly, this was why he didn't go back to Heaven.

"Forget getting Michael drunk," he murmured, grabbing a cup of punch and spiking it with a miracle. He started drinking.

Aziraphale was drinking. And unhappy. Both of these things Crowley registered as he peered warily in at this 'Easter' affair the angel had set up. Normally the Flash Bastard wouldn't be caught dead at such an event--or any event with 'festive decorations' for that matter--but the problem was that Aziraphale very well might be, literally, caught dead at an open gathering, if he didn't have someone sensible, paranoid, and cautious looking after him.

He sauntered in casually, looking suave and collected as always, as if he were WAY too cool to be there but couldn't help but stop by to scoff. "Death wish, angel?" he purred.

Loki raised a glass into Michael's direction. "You're not drinking the right things, stranger," he said. "Or maybe they had gone bad. Try a dup of decent mead. No one has ever gotten sick from that."

Aziraphale gave an internal sigh of relief to see Crowley saunter in; finally, a friendly face he recognized!

"No such thing, my dear," he demured. "Simply coping with what is sure to be a horrid migraine. I'm glad you've decided to come; help yourself to some food."

Barnaby was never quite sure what to do with himself on certain calender dates. Every so often he would spend the day with the kind of disaffected youth that disdained such bourgeois conventions like holidays, but as they tended to bore him to tears within minutes, they didn't work so well to kill the time.

That said, he'd known some kind of festivity would be afoot in the manor, and he'd intended to slip out the door until it was safely over, but curiosity is a terrible affliction.

Peering in the ballroom, he thought he might have made a grave miscalculation somewhere. But now he'd made an appearance, and he'd have to be polite and hang around for a minute before he could flee again.

Barnaby sidled into the room in the opposite direction the other demon had gone, with a look of careful amiability on his face.

Gabriel turned to get more punch, and noticed Baraq. Demon he may be, but he had never shown any inclination to tempt anyone here; indeed, Gabriel didn't think he'd actually seen him do or say anything malicious. He bit his lip before approaching the demon.

"Hello, Barnaby. Would it be bad manners to wish you a Happy Easter?"

"Mead?" Michael replied to the lithe blond man, "Did I drink mead? That sounds familiar. I don't really remember." He grabbed some fruit punch. "I think I'll stick with things that don't make me drunk. I don't like it, really." He grinned. "Not like these cheese potatoes! I like them."

"Not particularly," Barnaby said. The Messenger was... alright, he supposed. At any rate, with him there it was less likely that Michael would realize there was a (very smitable) (and unarmed) demon hanging around.

Probably.

"I assume your lot organized this?" He batted a dangling streamer away from his face. "What do rabbits being hung in effigy have to do with anything, though?"

Gabriel shrugged. "One of the pagan customs we assimilated along the way, I suppose. Eostre's fertility cult, if I recall correctly, though I don't remember them being hung. The food is excellent, though." He gestured towards the buffet table, noting the other demon there.

That must be Crowley.

He'd have to talk to him soon; what motive could a demon have for protecting an angel? Had Aziraphael actually managed to get the demon to care for him, to truly see him as a friend?

Loki stood aside to watch the others interact. In particular, he let his gaze wander back and forth between the blonde stranger and Gabriel, wondern which one of them was in charge.

Edited 2010-04-19 10:05 (UTC)

Aziraphale couldn't help but overhear Barnaby and he, placing a hand on Crowley's shoulder to bid him to wait before responding, shot at the demon, "Pardon me, but the bunnies were on stylish little swings complete with grass, not hung!"

Really, that had been what he was worried about, and he thought he had dodged that issue, but leave it to a demon...

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