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+--- Thread: when skies are grey // o - mass m&g (/showthread.php?tid=1823)
when skies are grey // o - mass m&g - mordecai - 06-05-2018
He had seen a few new faces about and couldn’t care less about any of them but Mordecai knew he had to do something. Merely existing was no longer an option, and besides, despite all the change Griffingate had seen, he found himself...bored?
That was a close enough word for it. He hadn’t loved his wife, but he was used to her, and now that she was dead, Mordecai was forced to realize how empty his home felt and tedious his day-to-day was with no one to snipe with passive aggressive insults and backhanded compliments. So...so maybe hosting something in the big, pristine flat would be good for him.
Most people would receive an ornate, immaculately written invitation. Others might’ve simply heard about it. A casual get together, everyone invited come mingle, recuperate in the wake of all the chaos Griffingate’s suffered, introduce yourself to newcomers and catch up with old friends. Something along those lines, but in neat cursive and more formal wording.
He rubbed his temples. The doors were open and food and refreshments were laid out. Alcohol wasn’t within reach but it was in sight - all you’d have to do was ask.
Re: when skies are grey // o - mass m&g - roman - 06-05-2018
[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"][color=black]When Mare received the invitation to Mordecai's party or whatever it is, her initial reaction was surprise. In all honesty, she simply assumed that no one knew who she was, until the rational part of her brain kicked in and she realized that the guy probably just sent an invite to every flat in the complex. Ah, yes. That makes sense. No longer paranoid that some random creeper suddenly invited her to his murder house, Mare decided that she might as well attend. Like Mordecai, the young woman is bored. She was born and raised in the great plains region of North America and even spent some time on a farm in what used to be Ireland. Which means that she is and outdoorsy farm girl with few social graces. Mare favors physical work, preferably outside. But the city does not offer many opportunities which fit her preferences.
Enough about that boring stuff.
She pulls on a loose-fitting pale pink sweater, tucking the very front behind the buckle of her belt. Lazy, somewhat cute, and very nineties. At least she's not wearing that same green plaid flannel that she wears almost every day. Except she's wearing the same pair of black converse which she also wears almost every day. Oh well. You win some, you lose some. Mare does not exactly pride herself in keeping up with the latest fashion trends. She likes hoard her collection of nineties memorabilia that she inherited from her parents like a dragon hoards gold.
Although the doors are open, Mare still finds herself rapping her knuckles against the wood simply to announce her presence. The last thing she wants is to startle the host. Who knows what the guy could be doing before guests arrive. The woman shudders at the thought, mind immediately racing to the worst and most disgusting possibilities. "Uh, hello?" Her accent is very young, very American. Not even the years she spent with the Celts could ever dilute the purity of it. Okay, so this thing is supposed to be a meet and greet or whatever those are, but it looks like she's the only one present so far. Awkward.
Re: when skies are grey // o - mass m&g - Beatles. - 06-05-2018
Re: when skies are grey // o - mass m&g - roman - 06-05-2018
[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"][color=black]A sudden voice startles the young woman, visibly flinching away from the origin of the sound. Mare likes to think that she's cool and composed, but there is no denying how in tune she is with her flight response. Cursing under her breath, the brown-haired girl twists to face the new arrival. Ah, hot bar guy. He probably doesn't remember her, which is understandable. Unfortunately, his first impression of her is that she's some fashion-impaired girl who is easily frightened. Great. Wonderful. Her unease is caused by a variety of factors. First, she is in an unknown guy's house for some sort of party. Second, she has no friends or relatives to drag with her so she's not alone. Third, the whole rebellion thing really makes a girl jumpy. Just because it's over on paper doesn't mean she's inherently safe. Or maybe Mare's just paranoid. Who knows?
Mare wrinkles her nose at his question. Odd colored eyes flicker up and down his form, taking him in. He doesn't look stupid. Maybe he's nervous and just asking stupid questions? Because she is obviously confused and arguably stupid so why would he ask her if she knows anything about anything? "Hopefully," responds the young woman finally, scrunching up her face into an expression that says "I have no idea what the hell I'm doing but fuck it" and gives a shrug. "I mean, we both showed up here and the door's open and there's decorations so I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that it's the right place." She's babbling. Stop babbling. She's out of her comfort zone and she's talking to a hot guy. Maybe Mare's just doomed to fail at life. The girl laughs nervously and awkwardly strides further into the room. Unable to resist the urge to snack, she sneakily grabs a piece of cheese from a platter and pops it into her mouth while the guy isn't looking.
Wondering when the host will arrive, she looks to her companion once more. "So, uh, my name is Mare Young. What's yours?" The whole party is supposed to be a get-together, right? Which means she should introduce herself, right? Plus, Mare is fairly certain the ghost of her teenage sister will return from the fields of asphodel to punch her in the goddamn face if she fails to even exchange names with this attractive dude.
Re: when skies are grey // o - mass m&g - mordecai - 06-05-2018
Good, guests. He was half expecting to be in the company of an empty house for the rest of the afternoon. Mordecai washed his hands before moving to greet them, dressed in black (one could have surmised it was a grieving thing were it not, in fact, a habit of his to dress darkly established before the wife dying) and with his long hair pinned back as it usually was.
“[color=#6E7F80]I almost feared all of Griffingate was too busy to humor me,” He began with a warm grin, moving to shake their hands. “[color=#6E7F80]I am Mordecai Cîrstea, it’s a pleasure. I felt we could all use something to bolster the sense of community around here.” He explained, moving his hands in simple gestures as he spoke.
“[color=#6E7F80]I hope the wasps gave you no trouble. I’ve been meaning to remove the nest.” Mordecai didn’t fear bugs, but he wasn’t a fan of the notoriously sting-y type gluing a hive right outside his doorway. He beckoned for them both to make themselves comfortable. “[color=#6E7F80]Make yourselves at home, and feel free to leave whenever like, I won’t take any prisoners.” He joked, knowing all too well how irritating it was when a host ensnared you.
Re: when skies are grey // o - mass m&g - Beatles. - 06-06-2018
Re: when skies are grey // o - mass m&g - Orion - 06-07-2018
[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify;"]THE FEAR OF FALLING APART
Mass meet and greet? Never heard of such a thing, especially for such a large country... Then again, they were merely a smaller population of what the human population what was. He shouldn't complain. Frederick, despite his pessimistic nature, did eventually show up to the door with the hesitance of any man when encountered by a summertime wasp. No wonder these things strayed so close to Mordecai. They were almost alike. So shady, yet so appealing to the eye when they moved. Scary.
Peering in, he stealthy moved his way into the crowd. A few familiar faces. Elias, Mordecai... Though, Mare was a new one to him and he made it his goal to learn what she was up to. His eyes peered at her physique. Apparently, to him, they always had to have an alternative motive. Little did his paranoia know, she was a normal member of the country. Perhaps he should hush up.
Of course, his eyes found the drinks and food. Though, the actual drinks were behind bars, so with that, he just laid back and took his time to delve into the conversation. "Name's Frederick," he spoke up. 'Though, they probably know that.' Still, it was polite to introduce himself to a new crowd of people, especially at a mass meet and greet. It was implied in the name! "Sovereign, but don't take it harshly." 'Or in a diva type of way...' Lord, if only they knew how social media was these days. Such an annoyance, really.
"Lord, I would hate to become a captive member of Mordecai's horrible basement." He clucked his tongue on the top of his mouth, snorting loudly afterwards. "Heard he's got some skeletons in those closets down there that he's gotta dispose of." If there was even a basement in this damn place...
Re: when skies are grey // o - mass m&g - tinsel - 06-08-2018
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ginny could count on one hand how many parties she'd been to, excluding the very formal events like weddings and engagement parties, as well as birthday parties and work functions — the latter two of which she'd attended plenty of in her brief few years as a teacher. one in high school, two in college (though she'd left one after five minutes), another one in her own apartment by an old roommate, but she'd locked herself in her room for the whole thing. it wasn't that she was antisocial, but that parties weren't really her scene. she was more of the cheap-cineplex-with-popcorn type, or contemplating-genocide-of-children-at-a-bar type. there was something sort of warm and home grown about her, like the kind of girl your brought to meet your mother, the kind of woman you married. she wasn't someone you expected to be at parties.
but, after much debate, ginny figured it probably wasn't a party. and if it was, she could introduce herself, raid the snacks, then make a graceful irish exit. the invitation was lovely, and she wasn't really sure how to match it. eventually, she'd deduced on carefully brushing the grown-out bob of blonde curls, slabbing her best attempt at makeup on (read: mascara and some clear lip gloss), and digging through the half-unpacked boxes of clothes. twenty minutes later, she'd settled on a pair of light-wash mom jeans — the ones she'd bought back in college and still had because they made her butt look fantastic — and a fitted white sweater that hugged her figure in the way that you just might think she was the pope child who could actually attract people. another five minutes was spent on shoes, unsure if sensible flats was the way to go, or the pair of white kitten heels she hadn't broken in yet. she settled on the heels in the end.
if asked, she'd blame traffic as the reason she was late, not her indecisiveness towards her closet. but she wasn't really that late, and she didn't see much of a reason as to why anyone would ask why she was late. but this was ginny, and ginny wasn't always terribly logical when it came to social anxieties. she'd spend the rest of her life with giddy children who spoke their mind over the complicated social rules that came with adults. as she entered the home, she became aware of little things. was her posture stiff? was she walking weird? she knew she was probably fine, she was usually fine, but she hadn't met most of these people yet, and she wanted to make a good impression. that was what her mother always said when she was younger, before the world went to shit and nsync disbanded. first impressions are all that matter, sugar. god, she missed her mother's sweet southern lilt, thick like honey on a hot summer day.
people were gathering about, introducing themselves, and without thinking twice, ginny plastered on the sweetest smile she had slipped on over, and let honey-brown eyes dance from face to face, taking them all in, before offering a hand to shake to— no one. this wasn't formal, she needed to relax. she let her hand drop to her side, a twinge of modest embarrassment flashing on her features. "virginia pope. most people just call me ginny. i mean, some people." she said, to no one in particular, surveying the group, noting who was closer and further from her age, figuring her would be more interested in tolerating the antics of a twenty-nine year old than her elders might. [b]"pleased to meet you all."