Deck the Halls (does not mean punch them)

[touchofrogue]

Who: Rogue, Remy, those invited who decided to attend, and they’re probably not rude enough to turn down any passerbys who happen to come by and wish to attend
Broadcast: Nope
Action: In an out of the way room with a few smallish windows on the Iskaulit
When: December 23rd, 5ish-8ish


It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas, or it would have been if they were on an Earth calendar. For their celebration and memory-making, Rogue had selected a middle sized room on the edge with two small windows by which an occasional view of the ice planet below could be seen. There would be very few who would be tempted to steal such a familiar view, however, since Rogue had enlisted Loki’s aid in making Christmas decorations and he provided illusions with alacrity and skill.

Lights are strung about the room, housed in brightly colored glass balls. While at first they simply seem to be glowing ornaments, there is something odd about the flames. A close look will reveal they do not dance formlessly, but rather have the shape of tiny dragons. There are bright, evergreen wreaths with red bows, hung strategically about the place which are actually eternal knots, impossible to solve. In the corner immediately spotted upon entering is an illusion of a gorgeous Christmas tree, with decorations all in gold and sparkling lights at the end of each branch - even the smell of evergreen is mimicked flawlessly. Flanking the tree are two tables, one laden in all kinds of food that Rogue and Remy have cooked up, the other with the label ‘White Elephant presents here.’ Loki has also helped Rogue hook up her music to some sort of an audible projection, and she is initially going to be streaming traditional Christmas Carols done by such greats as Ella Fitzgerald, Norah Jones, and the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

There are a few comfortable chairs set up along the opposite side of the room as the Christmas tree (just a few, as comfortable chairs are not that easy to find), by an illusion of falling silver leaves that provide a glow of soft light in the area.

The center of the room is free for dancing, or games, or standing about and talking. Remy and Rogue have done their best to make delicious finger foods, appetizers and heartier party fare. There’s delicacies that can be found sourced from the planet, various salted fruits, a small platter of apple slices with a caramel dip, and heartier fare in the way of stews and pastas, the sort of thing that could be put in a cup and eaten standing up. There are desserts as well, spice cookies and peppermint bark and a far too tiny chocolate cake. There is punch - ice strawberry - and Natasha’s gift of vodka, kept carefully separate from the punch, and there’s some leftover wine Loki had magically made more potent for the solstice that Rogue stole in case any of those with suped up metabolisms wanted the pleasure of getting buzzed.

Notably, there is no depiction of mistletoe.

Comments

peggy carter | brackets also welcome!

[mucked]

Peggy arrived fashionably late and wearing a dress bought with own hard-earned credits. Soft velvet, with a fur stole sourced from the planet below. She pitched her appearance somewhere towards elegantly assembled, but stopped just short of glitzed. After all, she remained a product of a more austere time. Conspicuous glamour still made her itch when it wasn't for professional purposes.

But wartime had also made her keen to celebrate and appreciate what gentle moments were granted to those in dark circumstances. Although she possessed plenty of reasons to frown, she did her best to keep her quiet smile from faltering. It was a season for gentleness and peace, and she would reinforce those sentiments as much as possible as she circulated 'round the party.

DRINKS TABLE: Vodka wasn't her first choice of drink. And neither, frankly, was wine. Peggy could be caught ladling punch into a glass and murmuring, conspiratorially: "If we had some gin, you and I could have spiked it by now." Or else, "don't you think you've quite had enough?" if she spotted someone coming back for one too many cups. She samples a little bit of every food on offer -- especially the spice cookies.

MINGLING: Tonight, she was conversational. Any recognizable face was greeted with warm holiday cheer and an offer to step aside and chat one-to-one over a swell of music. And as for dancing...? Well, she didn't go out of her way to ask just anyone to partner her; however, she was certainly obliging whenever someone else asked her. Especially if the current song boasted a peppy beat.

WILDCARD: Bring your own bash!

[stickupherforehead]

[Pearl...is still in her sleeveless turtleneck and shorts. Somebody doesn't seem to be affected by the wintry atmosphere at all. Or getting into any sort of holiday spirit.

Either way, she's at the drinks table, holding up the bottle of vodka to the light.]

This...isn't water? [it sure looks like water.]

[mucked]

No -- not quite like water at all, I'm afraid. [ peggy smiles. a modicum of warmth for a stranger. ] But if you won't settle for punch, I'm certain some water can be found.

[ she glances 'round for rogue-- ]

[stickupherforehead]

That's alright. [eheh.] I was just curious.

So if it's not like water, what is it? [why is the word 'proof' on it? What is it proving?]

[mucked]

What it is is unbearably Russian, I'm afraid. [ but since the other woman has shown some further curiosity in the bottle, peggy moves as though to relieve her of its burden. if allowed, she'll take the bottle and pour them both meagre fingerfuls of the stuff in two cups. side-by-side. ]

Vile stuff. But it's efficient.

[stickupherforehead]

[Pearl readily hands the bottle over, though she's now peering at the shots with large eyes]

Efficient? What is it efficient at?

[mucked]

Well, that depends.

[ with a crooked smile, she raises one cup. ] A great anesthetic. A passable social lubricant. Or a way to keep warm on a chilly December night. It's no gin, mind you, but it passes muster.

[stickupherforehead]

[social what? Is there undue friction going on somewhere?

Pearl doesn't look entirely convinced, but she mimics your actions and picks up the other one.]

So it's a multipurpose tool. [water doesn't do any of that, certainly]

[mucked]

Something like that, darling.

[ and without much more fanfare, she knocks the shot back in one go. ] Careful -- [ a slight wheeze. ] It's strong stuff.

[stickupherforehead]

[it's too late for the warning. Pearl copies Peggy's action and...then has to cover her mouth so she won't spray it back out.

Her eyes are wide for a long moment before she finally manages to swallow and immediately starts coughing.]

W-why would anybody - [coughcough]

[mucked]

Admittedly, as tools go, it's a bit of a blunt instrument.

[ she settles a friendly hand on pearl's shoulder. ] And an acquired taste.

[stickupherforehead]

[oh heavens, her throat is still numb. It takes her a moment before she responds.]

Humans like this stuff??

[she may have to finally revise her opinion of weak, soft humans. Maybe their strength is in their gastrointestinal tract???]

[mucked]

Some of us. [ peggy shrugs. ] Russians, mostly. Personally? I prefer gin.

[enshields]

[All things considered? He's expecting nerves. He's waiting for them to hit as he shaves, fixes his hair (at Jim's prompting) and does up the buttons of his decently formal navy suit. It's going to hit him at some point, he knows. It may not be the Stork, it may not be 8 PM, but he'd promised her a dance and the reality of it is just overwhelming enough to seem surreal.

Jim does his tie for him, asks him how he's feeling, only-- the only thing dominating his mind right now is a deep, pervasive calm. It's the calm of a combat jump, the one that precedes a firefight or a known ambush. Far from being a bad thing, it's so much like coming home that he's actually grinning a bit by the time he's done, and his steps are light when he docks with the Iskaulit.

Seeing Peggy is a whole other ballgame. She's standing a little off to one side, head turned in profile, her curled hair draped over her shoulder. Only then do his steps falter, does he sort of skitter to an undignified halt.

(His first thought is, thank God she didn't wear blue. Thank God, thank God--)

And then he's straightening his tie and skirting the edge of the dancefloor to her side. He reaches out gently (half expecting her to disappear) and touches her elbow.]

Agent Carter.

[mucked]

[ funny how she isn't nervous -- not at all. peggy has succeeded in excorcizing her nerves earlier in the day: running scenarios; theorizing probable greetings; smiling in the mirror. so, by now, she's rid herself of the urge to play up false smirks and try-too-hard laughter. those were never a habit of hers, regardless, but all regulation disappears in the face of steve rogers.

and what a face! at his touch, she turns and looks him straight in his familiar eyes. her smile spreads into being with a happy sigh. like (perhaps) she'd been holding her breath, worried he might not appear at all. it's not often she sees him outside of uniform or costume -- and she's left marveling at the cut of his suit. she wonders whether he tied his own tie. ask jim about it later, she thinks. ]

Steve. [ she doesn't waste breath on titles and ranks and things that put distance between them. instead, she returns his affection with a light hand on his arm and a swift kiss for his cheek. perfectly cordial, without eliciting too much of a fuss from the room. they've developed a kind of careful, cautious courtship. and peggy doesn't mind, because these little touches and glances are more than she ever imagined she might share with him. ever since the valkyrie went down. ] Fashionably late, I see. I'm -- I'm glad you came.

[ as if there was any question that either of them might not attend. the very party felt heavy with a promise yet to be fulfilled. ]

[enshields]

[In a self-admonishing correction after that chaste kiss,]

Peg. [And, more idly,] I don't really think it's a party unless I'm late for it.

[There were so many political well-to-dos when they were on furlough that he either skipped on principle or rolled up to late (smelling, generally, of gunsmoke and war) that it sort of became a running joke. He didn't like to mingle with the other officers anyway.

His expression softens, and he lets his fingers catch at her wrist, his touch ghosting down to her palm. She's solid and real, and right now the only thing in this room for him.]

Would you like to dance with me?

[mucked]

[ -- the soft sultry sounds of norah jones wraps around the room. peggy doesn't recognize the voice, nor the song. but it's only been playing for thirty or forty seconds, and she already likes it. the piano is slow and evocative.

she laces her fingers with his. it's a different breed of intimacy to what's come before: rushed kisses and stolen moments. she turns on a heel and, walking backwards, prompts him to follow her towards the dance-floor. a clear signal that he needn't ask twice. ]

There is nothing else I'd rather do. [ she spares him her harder edges. tonight is for sweetness, and for taking what refuge they can find. what the atroma have created -- and the methods they've used -- are deplorable. peggy's heart houses a great deal of guilt in how much pleasure she takes in their reunion while others are torn from their loved ones. but tonight? she eschews guilt. by god, she will enjoy herself.

she guides the heel of his palm to her waist. smiling, she invites him to step nearer. ]

[enshields]

[As if he's ever needed an excuse to follow her anywhere. There are maybe four people alive who command that breed of end-of-the-Earth loyalty from him, she was the second in his life. So he keeps his hand curled protectively around hers and falls into obedient step.

Things he's done that may surprise her since he last knew her like this: learned to dance. He'd done it for an old woman with bone-white hair and a smile that half-kills him, but it's only a passing thought. Right now, he's doing his best to focus on the now.

So he lets his hands fall to the right places, tucks her in against him and hums a little with the song he recognizes. And it is surreal, having this moment, having her here. He thinks she's wearing the same perfume she did that night at the bar.]

You look beautiful tonight.

[He'd almost said 'a vision', and shied abruptly away.]

[mucked]

[ his confidence catches her off-guard. not that she ever viewed him as weak, exactly, but...but she'd not anticipated this level of comfort with both the music and the steps. it forces her to acknowledge the time he's spent off ice: learning, growing, and changing. what a miracle it is that there remains parts of him she still recognizes, like the certainty in his eyes. and the slope of his shoulder. she rests her palm firmly in place, thumb sneaking upwards now and again to trace an invisible line against his jaw. he's real, she promises herself. he's here.

he dances closer than she'd expected, but peggy doesn't mind. she welcomes the chance to put a little less distance between them. she smiles -- a rare flush touches her cheeks -- and keeps her head tilted back so she can watch his eyes. ]

And you're far fleeter of foot than your earlier reports gave you credit for. [ now that they're dancing, her voice is softer. almost a whisper, and imbued with joy. ] Here I was, wondering if I'd have needed steel-toe boots...

[ i'd hate to step on your-- his last words. etched, forever, in her memory. ]

[enshields]

[Growth and change and learning all, but she left off the most salient part of his transformative process: grief. It's ripped him open, left him sundered. In many ways, even now, it both rules and ruins him.

It occurs to him, after the fact (he'd been so shyly pleased about being able to surprise her with this, he hadn't thought--) that she might take his knowledge now as something meant for or taught by another partner, and God and country, that one hurts. He breathes past the ache, and resists the urge to pull her in closer just so he can affirm that she's solid to the touch.]

I wanted to keep my promise.

[Soft, simple. Because once upon a time, he had a date.]

[mucked]

[ her breath catches. very few in this world (or any other) can cause her composure to crumple with the exact ratio of delight-to-pain that captain steve rogers can. his quick clarification digs deep into her heart; it suggests, to her, that he'd waited. bless his heart, but he'd waited. ]

Always the idealist. [ she cloaks her feelings beneath a low chuckle. trust him to plan for an opportunity he might never be afforded. after all, peggy doesn't trust that she might even be living in steve's new present, let alone anywhere near him. it's easier to assume a life like hers ends in a hail of bullets. a full life, lived fully.

but hardest of all is the realization that he never gave up. he wanted to keep his promise -- and then there's peggy carter, who (in time) learned to say goodbye. oh, there hadn't been anyone else in the meantime. but... ]

But I hear they don't dance like this in 2015 any longer.

[ he needn't pull her closer because she's quick to nudge him nearer. hardly any room left for the holy ghost between them, and she is at peace with that (once upon a time) impropriety. ]

[enshields]

[Steve grew up watching Buck do the Lindy, if ever there was impropriety in a dance hall, it was done in those high-flung kicks or tosses or the touch of a hand dangerously high on the thigh. It never really clicked for him, that there was some proper ratio of distance one should maintain from a girl. After all, he'd never danced with one.

He'd never begrudge her her goodbyes. She deserves the life she lead, the love of a good man (even if it wasn't him, he's never felt jealous) and the children he's not sure he ever could have given her.

(How can he? When there are people who'd go to the lengths they've demonstrated in spades to get samples of his blood. How the Hell could he justify wishing that on a child?)

Truth is, he was dead. She had no way of knowing he was anything but. He wouldn't wish a lifetime of mourning on his worst enemy. And for his own part-- well. He's not ready to let go, not yet. Being here with her, the touch of her hand and the bergamot strains of her heady perfume, he's not sure he ever will be. Peggy Carter will forever have his heart in escrow.]

You think I care how 'they' dance?

[Seriously. Not one whit.]

[mucked]

[ oh, she laughs. bright and mirthful. no -- she ought to have known better. steve rogers wouldn't care what the world thought. she admires that in him, and believes a part of her soul mirrors that same nonchalance. re-encountering it in the wild (so to speak) gives further life to her smile, and for a time she can forget all about the hard upward climb at the s.s.r. or the barbed whispers behind her back. she'd known her own value, but that couldn't stop the rest of the world from turning parts of her to bitterness. ]

They. [ she repeats. breathes the word, and tucks her chin against his shoulder at such an angle that her whispers reach his ear. ] How pointed.

[ how exclusionary. she doesn't mean to probe the depths of his displacement, or any serious feelings on the subject. instead, her tone can only be taken for teasing. ]

[enshields]

[Her laughter is like the first rays of dawn creeping over a hill. Steve touches at one of her curls and - why not - wonders if it would've been like this all the time. Surely they would've fought. They're both proud, stubborn, stoic-- and stupid, while he's at that end of the alphabet. She's seen him be petty and he's seen her be jealous. They've weathered each other's ugliness. Somehow, in that impossible way of chemical reactions, love has made even her worse traits a wonder.

He knows she isn't fishing, but something about her statement makes every one of those ninety-seven years weigh him down, and his smile goes crooked at one corner. Very gently:]

I don't want to talk about 2015, Peg.

[Speaking of pointed, she's sure to notice the look he gives their surroundings at his statement. Because no, he doesn't want to talk about much of anything that'd give Atroma cause to be pleased by the show. He's breaking his own rules by even reaching for a moment's happiness.]

[mucked]

[ one might expect a moment of pique -- or of disappointment, to be almost-chided. but peggy has no room left for ire after admiration shoulders its way into her heart. since when (she wonders) did he become a subtle sort of man? nothing in his words correlates precisely with his meaning, but peggy reads his expression as easily as she might read a telegram. not for their eyes and ears.

fair enough, she thinks. and marvels how the years between them has taught him far more than how to avoid stepping on her toes. let them lock away their darker words and save them for a day when they can speak outside of the atroma's attention. or (even better) when their attention is precisely what they want. if their captors pay out a bounty on drama, then these two have a proverbial gold-mine in their hearts. ]

So talk to me about something else. Anything else. [ she prompts -- lightly, and sweetly, so he can feel absolved of any conflict for having chided her in the first place. another man might not have gotten off so lightly. ]