[Sodium_noir] Hell is Other People

[Liz Oleksyn]

Sinclair Party
1 - 3 am

Jack, Christine
Mortals +

[Jack]
He’s smiling a wide, crooked, silly grin.

“Hi sweetie.  I really missed you...” Jack realizes
his faux pas in mid-sentence, the stupid presumption
of it, and tries to cover by stretching his long arms
and casually scanning the room. “....really missed
you... in this crowd. Lots of people. Lots and lots.”

[Christine]
Christine stares at Jack owlishly, the stricken look
in her eyes fading as she processes herself back into
the wider Universe. The one that includes Jack. He is
blissfully wasted, drunk on freedom. Well, that and
enough booze to drown an elephant. She likes Jack.
Likes him a lot. She'd like to catch his mood. 
 
[Jack]
“Soooo...” Still embarrassed by his bold declaration,
Jack avoids Christine’s gaze. “I...well, me and
Aurora... so, we...actually...are thinking it’s time
to hit the road.  Move on to the next watering hole. 
A guy named...” He screws up his face, struggling for
the name. “John, I think...he wanted to come along.  I
said okay. More the merrier.  Maybe all these stiffs
should join us, d’ya think?”

The goofy grin returns, and Jack looks all of ten
years old as he beams at her.

[Christine]
Christine finds a ghost grin of her own, an echo in
the cave of broken glass. 

"Sounds like a plan. Stan," she says. "Anyplace but
here. Anyplace we can drink and not think too hard." 

Christine is aware of a wobbly twinge in her stomach
at the thought of more alcohol and grimaces. She badly
wants to go carousing with Jack and Aurora, blocking
everything but the here and now right out of her head
and her heart. But she's already at the rough and
jagged edge of tonight's binge. Fuck it. Her frown
lifts suddenly. 

"Raindogs," she says abruptly, stabbing a decisive
finger at Jack. "It does great coffee. Chases away the
grims, settles your guts, puts hair on your chest! I
*need* some of Jaywick's coffee!" Her grin amps up,
closer to its normal wattage. "'Cos y'know, a girl can
never have too much hair on her chest." 

She cocks her head and squints up at Jack. 

"You, me, Aurora, this John guy . . . " She thinks
fleetingly of Sandra, " . . . who else d'you think
wants out of this Morgue?"

“Dunno..” Jack winks mischievously. “...but let’s find
out.”

He sidles up to a nearby table - abandoned, for the
moment - and assesses its proximity to the throng of
party-goers, noting its central location. Frowning,
Jack also notices the luxurious fabric of the
tablecloth and, not wanting to damage it, carefully
folds it back. The next part is more challenging, as
Jack attempts to stand on one of the chairs.  Even
sober, this might prove tricky, and it takes several
tries before he manages to stand upright on it
(sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth
seems to aid significantly with general equilibrium).
In a miraculous and exceedingly lucky move, Jack then
gingerly steps from the chair to the table top. He
seems not at all surprised at this accomplishment
(such is the fearlessness of a drunkard).

Jack also seems blissfully unaware of anyone’s
reaction to this display of extreme dexterity, but is
intent on making his purpose for doing so known to
all.  Taking a cursory glance about the room, he then
sticks both pinkies into the corners of his mouth. 
This gesture is immediately followed by a shrill and
very loud whistle.

When he senses that most, if not all, of the occupants
in the ballroom are now fixated on him, Jack Emerson -
wobbling, swaying, thoroughly shit-faced drunk -
addresses his audience.

“I would like to announce that myself and my extremely
lovely companions - for they are, undoubtedly, the
most gorgeous women in this swanky joint - are off to
what promises to be a superlative night of
pub-crawling and, if we feel up to it, indulging in
that most auspicious and respected of fine arts -
karaoke.  If you would like to join us - and I do mean
any or all of you - then please join do join us at the
first of many destinations - Raindogs.  Subsequent
destinations are, for the moment, TBA. This is not to
say that this soiree has been a bust and I mean no
insult to the lovely and gracious hostess of this bash
- not that I’ve met her - but I’m sure she is.  In
fact, let’s give her a round of applause, shall we?”

Jack starts applauding loudly, oblivious as to whether
anyone is joining in. After a minute or so, he
carefully steps down to the chair and, finally, to the
safety of the floor.  Once again, the gods are smiling
on him, as no bones or furniture are broken in the
process.

He grins at Christine. 

“That aughta do it.”

tag

(OOC:  Spikey, I have no idea how or if the crowd will
react, so I leave that to you.  Apologies for any
liberties taken here.)


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