We'll Deck Your Halls (PARTY! Open)

[Claude Lambert (DELETED 8569)]

The ugly Christmas sweater has become a ubiquitous feature of the holiday season. In fact, it has become so popular that it rivals such pervasive pastimes as grumbling about Black Friday sales, wrestling with Christmas lights, and worrying about whether or not you really did send that greetings card to Aunt Edna – because you forgot last year and she certainly made the point to remind you of its absence in an hour long phone conversation concerning your relative selfishness and how you must hate her. Festive family fallouts aside, these tacky garments are now being re-appropriated from their perpetual shameful spot in the wardrobe and making their way into the spotlight at any and every festive event. But what makes an ugly Christmas sweater? Tell-tale signs are a liberal use of red and green, comically large depictions of snowmen, reindeer, and Christmas trees, and any sort of pom-pom or felt applique. You might even consider the addition of tiny bells, baubles, and fairy lights on a jumper to classify as particularly ugly too. In fact, anything that is garish, obnoxious, loud, or blinkering should classify. So, the world is your oyster when it comes to making trashy attire decisions this season.

While the sweater as a garment has existed in the United States since the late 19th century, hideous holiday versions only began to sprout up in the last several decades. Bill Cosby was a modern-day pioneer of the trend and is revered as an ugly sweater icon for his portrayal as Cliff Huxtable in the 80’s sitcom: The Cosby show. At Christmas time, the family man was synonymous with a woolly pullover featuring questionable colour mixing and patterns. Thanks to Cosby, as well as Chevy Chase in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, these sweaters experienced a resurgence. Sequined-soaked jumpers and tinsel-tethered apparel were popular until the 90’s began, where it hit a bit of a lull. In the past decade, however, the trend has picked up steam once more. According to the Ugly Christmas Sweater Party Book: The Definitive Guide to Getting Your Ugly On, there was a noticeable uptake in ugly sweater parties around 2001, and the tradition snowballed from there. Now the sweater scene is bigger than ever, but in a very hipster-like, and oh-so-ironic way. Vintage stores, the Salvation Army, and Goodwill are reaping the benefits of this craze, but the trend has reached as far as fast-fashion shops, high-end retailers, and even the runway.

Those who unwittingly started the trend are now back in business as people of all ages are feeling the ugly-sweater fever. With the rise of sweater-themed parties, guests young and old are rushing to top each other with the most frills, bows, and gauche decorations yet. Tonight, Lincoln King’s party appeared to be yet another excuse for thrill-seekers to get out and about in their criminally ugly sweaters. Claude had found himself an invite yet again, but, he was perfectly undecided about partaking in Mr King’s little game this time around. He could forgo a mystery prize at the cost of his ego; even if his curiosity was already whetted by the prize’s ambiguousness. Could he fathom a logical explanation to outwit his ego then? Whether or not an ugly Christmas sweater constituted as a fashion faux pas or not, it certainly roused an undeniably warm and fuzzy feeling as it conjured up memories of home and childhood. It’s also quite cosy and practical in chilly winter weather. After all, holidays are often fraught with anxiety about the financial drain of gift-giving and the copious amounts of family interaction… What better way to de-stress than to throw on an obnoxious sweater and have a laugh? And also drink –drink in such copious amounts until the sweater becomes funny even to the wearer.

After having made his case to himself, Claude did the impossible and located an ugly Christmas sweater that didn’t quite revolt him. In fact, it rather appealed to his modest and senselessly mature nature. As these garments go, it wasn’t dreadfully made either. The quality was fairly decent, enough to be put through the wash perhaps… four times before the stitches unravelled and spools of green thread trailed about him like fir needles. With Claude being Claude, however, and being always prepared for the worst, he was prepared for the outfit to fray immediately after having put it on. To stave off being bare-chested at a festive function then, he wore a very casual white shirt beneath; with the collar of said white shirt being folded over the neck of said ugly green jumper. A pair of black pants accompanied his garish ensemble, finished off by a leather belt and silver buckle which disappeared under the ugly jumper anyway. A heavy jet-coloured Chesterfield overcoat complemented his outfit as well, worn not merely because it kept out much of the Canadian winter chill, but also because it hid the offending sweater from the public eye. Surely he could limit his embarrassment to a reasonable degree!

Appropriately festooned then, Claude entered the evening’s venue and found himself an equally appropriate roost at the bar. Having yet to unbuckle his coat, the repugnant jumper remained but a peeking green head of potential between the folded lapels. He had ducked his head upon entry, amber eyes fixated on the bar which floated like a life-raft out in a night-soaked sea. The delicate lights flickered like stars, glinting off the various textures of silver and gold which had been speckled about in the form of baubles and tinsel. Rich greens and red delighted the eyes of others, but blurred in his peripherals. He didn’t pause to appreciate the treats laid out, nor the sprigs of mistletoe strung up to entice casual dancers into romantic embraces. When his capricious mind was set, the German often failed to notice the instances around him, dismissing them as trivial obstacles against his defined path. But, once he had a drink in his hand – a hearty amber liquor swirling in crystal with the same spicy stirrings present in his eyes – Claude could finally appreciate the décor. Not only that, but he could appreciate that the other guests were also playing along to this ugly sweater game. He thought he recognised a few faces too, faces that needn’t ever hide behind a mask, but had made the best of Lincoln’s request both times. It was better, he thought, to see them bending to outfit themselves in outrageously festive jumpers than to hide their faces. Of course he could admit to being terribly shallow, but, that was not the only reason Claude enjoyed studying a face.

Faces, like paintings, are worth a thousand words. They tell stories. They depict the nature of one man’s life, his heritage, his values, and assign some sort of reliable estimation regarding his personality and potential. Claude was as hasty as he was shallow; he preferred to take the path of least resistance, to make assumptions based on high probabilities, and risk the least he could afford to. His life had been a trial of high-octane judgments and their consequences. You made a decision, you made it quickly, firmly, and decisively. There was no time for second guessing. Time is money. Money is power. Power allows you the luxury of life itself. It was a harsh reality, one shaped like a circle; feeding itself, empowering itself, never allowing itself to end. Claude had not known any other way to live before he had made the conscious effort to step outside of that circle. He was considered free now, and yet, without those restraints he appeared to wander quite aimlessly. The gravity of others occasionally pulled him in, manipulated his orbit, but he only strayed a little; his sights set on moving forward and rarely looking back even if he didn’t know where he was headed.

He remained at the bar for now, an elbow bent backward to rest the very edge of his forearm against the countertop. The other hand meanwhile was far too occupied with the task of presenting an adequate supply of liquor to be sipped every few minutes. Amber eyes intermittently glanced about the room, remembered faces, fascinated over new ones, and dipped into his own glass to measure its contents. If it got too low, he would quickly request another. Being a supernatural being meant that these highs were only more difficult to obtain, not impossible, and so Claude remained determined. He also spotted their host again for the night who was both dauntingly familiar and busy flirting with a butterfly. In place of purple silk this time, the butterfly wore a red monstrosity. Claude supposed it was meant to be a classic Christmas tree, that jagged conical shape reaching toward a single golden star. Around it were caricature red and white stockings, hanging seemingly from mid-air if a story is to be presumed from the image. Not only that, but, these stockings were gigantic in proportion to the tree they surrounded. Claude had to laugh and shake his head, shake free the image of an enormous Santa Claus who terrorized tiny tree decorators with dirty socks…

Shortly, his attention wandered again. It circled another beaming red star, one that was wreathed with green tinsel, snowflakes, and what appeared to be… the Grinch’s hands. If this was a story, it was another questionable one; one that made the German’s brow knot into a curious, bemused frown. Not only did the Grinch make a living at stealing Christmas, but, he apparently moonlighted as a tummy tickler as well. Fortunately, as much as that sweater was striking in its dreadfulness, its wearer was as striking in her beauty. Claude mused much more fondly over the overall picture; admired golden curls, a face of incandescent youth, and eyes that scintillated like aquamarine. Hers was a visage of prosperity, for she had certainly been gifted with the attractiveness of a model. He could imagine her confidently strutting down a runway, the train of an ornate gown fluttering behind her like spun sugar. She would look as fantastic in white, platinum, and gold as she would in a brown burlap sack quite frankly. He moved to approach her right side, deciding against being a wall-flower for the evening, and offered her a friendly smile.

“Please do not take this the wrong way,” he said brazenly. “But, you might just win this ugly sweater competition. Well done.” And he tipped his head to her, his drink too, making the finest Gatsby performance since Leonardo DiCaprio.

[Elizabeth]

Elizabeth had ventured in and plucked a glass of whatever liquor was being offered, as she 'walked the room,' more or less. Her eyes had landed on Alexandrea who entered a short time after Elizabeth arrived and beamed a wide smile at her as the blonde haired woman recognized the sweater from a couple of Christmas' ago. It was ugly, but perhaps not the ugliest of the sweater wearing participants.

Blue eyes bounced around the room and narrowed slightly as she recognized some familiar faces that she had dealt with in months, or years prior. If anyone glanced in her direction, she smiled at them, but made no movement to speak with them-yet. Instead, the woman just observed the night's festivities and focused on all the sweaters in the room.

She turned to find herself facing the male she recognize from a few months ago, at the event she attended with Cosimo. Elizabeth glanced over her left shoulder, but saw no one that seemed to be looking in the direction of the approaching male. Her lips cracked into a smile as he started speaking to her, Elizabeth's ocean colored irises glancing down at her dress. "Thank you." She said, still listening, as one hand remand on the stem of her glass, the other smoothing down an imaginary crease somewhere upon her dress. Once his name was given, her mind wandered, trying to figure the male out-or at least his most basic of stories. "Mmmm, yes. Alone. By choice this go around." She admitted with a nod of her head, eyes moving around the room, before falling upon Lincoln again. Wasn't he an interesting human? Just full of secrets.

"And sadly, no. We did not, but the night was a complete success, and so it is difficult for the host of an event to make the obligatory rounds when there are so many in attendance." Slowly, the hand that had been smoothing down the crease that wasn't there, was lifted off her gown and offered to the male. "Elizabeth-just Elizabeth." She did not both with giving him a last name, wary of the human that was just so much more than just a human. One could never be too careful. "I apologize for the lack of a sweater, but I seemed to not be in possession of one, ugly sweater." Her hand but fell into his for a quick second, and gave it a gentle squeeze before she pulled it away and nestled it back within the security of the gown's material.

[Doc]

Grace exited the ladies room and almost ran into Doc in the hallway. She beamed at him and twirled so he could get a good look at her outfit. “Cute huh?”

Doc, who was wearing an overcoat over his sweater, thus blocking its view, gave Grace a frank look. “That is not a sweater.”

“Duh!” She rejoined sarcastically. “I am going to be the cute one. Everyone else can be tacky. I am going for adorable chic.” She paused, “Let me see yours.” It was an innocent request.

Doc ignored her, “Time to go.” He would reveal his sweater at the party when he hung up his coat. He didn’t want to have to listen to Grace’s speech about inappropriateness on the way there. Not that he was sure she would dare, but the Ball and Chain would, therefore it stood the test of reason to believe Grace would too.

As they drove to the party, Grace decided to launch into her speech about Doc laying off the staff. “So Doc.. you know as your assistant.. I have become quite intimately aware of certain aspects..”

Doc stifled a yawn. If Grace thought she could blackmail him, she didn’t have the brains he had credited her with. He was thinking through the iterations of her murder. Just drive her to the empty power plant and do her there. Normally he would double his victim, head and chest. But a blackmailer? **** no. That death couldn’t be quick. Just by the sheer audacity of daring to blackmail him, meant pain was called for. Pain and indignity. He could cut her throat, it would take a while for her to bleed out, and she would not be able to talk. That was a double insult. The first to actually kill her, and the second to do it in a manner that left her speechless. However, his train of thought was interrupted when he caught her next sentence.

“... so please, please.. please.. “ she sighed imploringly, “Could you lighten up on the staff? I mean.. You could cut the tension in the lab with a knife. It is the holidays. I know it’s a painful time for you.. But please.. Would it kill you to smile once in awhile?” Grace waited with held breath hoping she hadn’t gone too far; completely unaware he had missed most of what she said, as he was plotting her death.

Doc glanced at her as he adjusted the car’s direction, away from the empty power place, back to the party site. “I was unaware it showed.” He didn’t really care if it showed or not, at least on a personal level. But on a business level. Yes that he did care about. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Grace took a breath and stared at him with an open mouth. That was it? ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention?’ No snorting. No derisive diatribes about it being his business? That was easy! “Oh.. well.. Um. Yes. You’re welcome.” She finally added, as he parked the car. The night was definitely looking up.

Doc exited the car and went around to open the door for Grace, but she already had the door open and almost completely out of the car. “You should let me get that for you..”

Grace who was now in a great mood, “I can get it myself.. I don’t need you to do it for me.” She said full of female empowerment.

Doc counted and then said evenly, as he shut the door for her, “It isn’t that I do not think you capable. It is a matter of respect, to do this as a courtesy. To ensure the area is safe. The crime rate in this city is rather high. Should anything unsavory occur, you would have still been safe inside the vehicle, able to lock yourself in, and my attention would not be divided between you and the criminal.” He stepped backward and motioned her toward the door of The Chrononaut. “Would you like to open it by yourself?”

Grace flushed slightly. “No.. you may open it for me.”

Doc gave her a long-suffering look and stepped forward to open the door for her. After they were both inside, Doc moved to the coat rack and shed his over coat and hung it up. Turning back around toward the group already inside, people had a clear view of his sweater, while he looked for and then headed straight for the bar.

[Maddison (DELETED 8452)]

When Maddison had been told about a Christmas party, she had been excited. Of course she wanted to go to a Christmas party, it was her favorite time of the year. Robin had not told her who was hosting it, but she had found out on her own. The blonde was not pleased. She didn't like Lincoln, and that much was obvious, which is why Robin hadn't told her she assumed. However, she was definitely not going to let Robin go alone. She'd just have to fake it to make it.

It was an ugly Christmas sweater party and Maddison was just not that type of girl. She didn't own any and she didn't particularly want to buy one. She didn't seem to care about some prize either. However, Robin had gotten into it and was wearing some sweater that did not have Christmas color on it at all. The blonde stuck to her normal attire. She found a dress, slid it on and dressed it up with some jewelry. The only Christmas thing about her was the red shoes and she had found a Santa hat to place upon her loose blonde curls.

It wasn't long before they were arriving upon their destination, however Robin seemed to be terribly slow at finding a parking spot or fate was against them that night. She almost made the comment that if they couldn't find a spot, they should just go home. However, before she could he had found a spot and they were parked. Maddison fluffed up her hair, fixed her lipstick and then plastered a big smile on her face. It was how she was going to get though her night. She wanted to enjoy it with Robin, she just hoped Lincoln was be busy with other people.

As soon as they stepped in, however, Lincoln found them and her smile faded quickly. Luck was not on her side tonight. "Merry Christmas, Lincoln." The blonde let out as sweetly as she could, though her eyes rolled when he decided to place his lips all over her boyfriend's face. The blonde was more than happy to see him go and then she turned to Robin. "Drinks?"

WEARING

SHOES

HAT

[Vexen]

Winter in London was a magical experience. The city seemed to come alive with a festive cheer that was sorely missed throughout the year. The snow alone was enough to enchant even the grouchiest of residents, but it was the festivities that brought the city together. From shopping in Hyde Park’s Winter Wonderland to touring the parks with a mug of hot chocolate and a loved one, there was never a lull in cheer. However, the one thing she found herself missing above everything else was the tree lighting ceremony. As she found her gaze wandering across the faces of the guests, she couldn’t shake the feeling of melancholy as she thought of her friends. By now, they would have already bought out the stores and drank their weight in ale - so soon, they’d be heading to Trafalgar Park to admire the twenty metre tree that would light up the night sky in shades of blue.

Having realized that she was spoiled on the beauty of England, she found herself trying to find the same beauty now. The club itself wasn’t as unique as she would have liked, but the decorations were… different. The host of the party had managed to pull together a decent event, and though it lacked the joyful Christmas music - after all, who could resist singing along horribly out of tune to Grandma got Run Over by a Reindeer? - it worked. The brush of sadness and disappointment faded, and she smiled as her eyes caught sight of a flash of blue. Though the woman was no christmas tree, her elegant dress screamed of beauty and dedication. It was something that she could never pull off, but somehow, the decorated gown seemed to fit the blonde as if it was apart of her.

In this town, it probably is, she thought with a quirk of her lips as she adjusted the weight of her book. One was hardpressed to find her in any situation without some sort of novel in her hand, and this night was no different. Despite her reckless personality, she often found herself fading into the background when the crowds became too loud - and what better what to spend the night then lost in a world of fairytale? It was far too early for her to tell if she would lose herself in the wonderful world of Westeros or not, and so she pressed the spine against her hip and ran her fingers lovingly along the well worn pages. As the chill of the night brushed along her skin, she turned her attention to the door, her brightened gaze landing on a familiar face. Robin?

Out of all of the faces she had expected to see - and the list had been relatively small already - he was not one of them. There was no mistaking his boyish charm, however, but it was the blonde on his arm that raised a question. She didn’t make it a habit to worry over her customers personal lives, but something about the woman didn’t match up with the image of someone that belonged with him. Now that she thought of it, she had always imagined him with a bookish, round faced girl with a sweet smile. This is exactly what Mr. Wright scolds you about. Not everyone that comes into your life is a story waiting to happen, she chided mentally as she pulled her gaze from the pair - only to find herself craning her neck to peer up into the intense gaze of a dark haired man.

The first thing she noticed after his smile was his sweater, and she shook her head with a laugh. “Thank you. Yours is… interesting,” she teased as she gave her own a self-conscious tug. She had almost forgotten she was in the thing, but now that he had reminded her, she quickly went about ensure that the tinsel and hands were properly in place. The Grinch couldn’t get too handsy, after all. “It’s not all about winning, though. I’ve found that a person must have a serious lack of personality if they can’t come out of their shell for just one night and don a hideous sweater in the name of Christmas.” Smiling to the man, she turned so her back was to the table as she once again took in his choice of attire with a nod of approval. Offering him her hand in what she was certain was proper social etiquette, she graced him with another bright, easy going smile. “I’m Vexen.”

[Lincoln King]

The woman managed to hold his attention, Lincoln looking surprised and very pleased with her assessment of the previous event and her understand that being a host was not exactly the easiest of activities. Her name was given, along with a cool hand, pale against the soft gold of his skin. It was not held long, a gentle squeeze, a brush of thumb and she was released. "Thank you, Miss Elizabeth, i'm so glad you enjoyed the party and were able to attend again. I tend to go with the theory of "why not?" and it seemed like people could use a bit of a lift in their holiday spirits this year. Speaking of holiday spirits, I might get myself a drink now that things are under control. Would you like anything? There is the obvious beer, wine, sparkling and some more unique beverages available for order..." Including a few bottles of "wine" he'd ordered for those who could not partake in other items. It looked convincing enough in a glass, though he also ensured there was access to red tinted perspex wine glasses available in case. He didn't want to assume, in the past few months he had met a handful of vampires who could drink and eat, maybe she was one? Lincoln was more than convinced that the woman was a vampire, and he felt no harm in trying to cater for those like her. They were all guests, all potential clients or acquaintances.

He'd glanced up, peering over the charming woman's head to catch an eyeful of a truly appalling sweater. It was ugly at best, but what really made it shine was two well-placed baubles that made Lincoln's lips part in a little "o" of surprise. Who the hell designed THAT? The sorcerer made a choked sound of laughter, shocked from him so that it took a minute to warm into the deep, rich sound of joy that had his cheeks dimpling. "Wow... That has to be a one-of-a-kind piece." He remarked, green eyes sparkling with mischief as he glanced back to the woman he was conversing with, "Elizabeth, I have to warn you that if you choose to turn around now you may just get a good look at a gentleman's baubles. At least he has had them polished for the occasion." He knew the jokes were a risk, she had a certain old-fashioned charm to her and yet seemed like someone who would be radiant if she laughed. Lincoln liked to watch the way people's faces changed when they laughed, the way they seemed to relax for that handful of moments and forget troubles. He should laugh more, he decided, giving in to the urge to chuckle as he watched the man searching for the bar.

Definitely a strong contender for the ugliest sweater title.

[Elizabeth]

Elizabeth's attention stayed with Lincoln as he spoke, finding his presence rather enjoyable. A pity they hadn't met until tonight, but it was what it was. At some point she knew he would be whisked away for something, or someone, so she decided to make the most of their time together. "Just Elizabeth, please. No need for formalities, I assure thee." She beamed at him, wanting to drive that point home with him. She hoped that they could be on a first name basis, because Elizabeth was positive if there were humans to keep an eye on, it was him. In a positive context, of course. If he was going to change the way the world viewed the vampire species, then she most certainly wanted to know him.

"As for your offer, I am not thirsty, but thank you. Perhaps later? The night is still very young." Her blue eyes cast a glance in the direction of the bar within the club she wasn't all too familiar with, before swinging back to Alexandrea for a brief moment. She lifted a hand when the woman made eye contact with her and gave her a small wave of all her fingers, pulling downwards to Elizabeth's palm. "I would however, very much enjoy being on your invite list for the next time you decide to throw a soiree. I can leave the details of one of my shops with thee later on, if that is alright?" Her attention had shifted back to Lincoln by the time Elizabeth was finished with the question. Just in time to see the somewhat startled look on his features. Her fingers clutched the dress a little tighter, pondering if it was time to leave given the look on Lincoln's face. Was there something wrong? An imminent danger?

Then, he laughed and her fingers fell to the side of her dress, relaxing, once his mouth and eyes did. She almost turned, but waited until he was finished explaining what it was he saw. She pondered his warning, but then boldly turned to see...Doc. That was his name, wasn't it? Or was it just his profession? It was difficult to tell, because she was almost positive that he was a doctor, but why he wanted to be referred to such all the time left Elizabeth intrigued and cautious. Her blue irises shifted down to see an upside down snowman, which was amusing, and then the nose and finally, the baubles Lincoln was talking about. Her eyes grew in size and remained frozen on the polished baubles, before a small smile cracked her lips from their once horrified state, to amusement, before a light laugh trickled from her. "That is most daring." She concluded, with a small shake of her head, her irises bouncing back up to Doc's face. "Please, do not feel obligated to keep me company, for I know you have many of guests to visit with. Perhaps, we shall meet again tonight?" She asked, her attention moving to Lincoln, who was at her side, now that she had turned around to see what had caught his attention. "I certainly hope so, at least. Please excuse me." She concluded before offering him a parting smile, her steps taking her towards the male with the shiny baubles. There were at least two that she saw, that she wished to converse with before the night was through, but this one first.

[Doc]

Doc ordered a three finger scotch, after dropping several high dollar bills on the bar top for the bartender. He had no idea if it was an open bar or not. Thankfully Grace had headed off in different direction as soon as Doc moved to hang up his overcoat. Grace was now firmly entrenched with a group of twenty-somethings laughing and enjoying themselves without any thought to Doc. He in turn rolled his eyes, why was he even here? Because Grace played on his heart strings. At least that is what Doc presumed. Because he felt himself an honorable and caring person. The truth was, Doc was a sociopath. He didn’t care what people thought. He wanted to -pretend- he cared about what people thought.

Yes, that is what Doc presumed. In reality Doc’s heart strings were never played upon. Grace really did not care whether he came or not. She had merely been trying to explain that Doc was acting like a ******* asshole and that he needed to stop. Now that Grace managed to get Doc to understand this, and she had gotten what what she wanted, Doc’s presence was no longer necessary. In fact, Doc could do whatever he wanted as far as Grace was concerned. He was such a dull wet blanket, there was no way she wanted him to be associated with her at all. Especially when that cute blonde guy was looking at her like that. She would lie and said.. That was her Stepdad.. Yes. that is what she would say, if she was asked.

Meanwhile Doc was at the bar sipping his Scotch and surveying the crowd. There was nothing unexpected to be seen, until he noticed some unnamed person step aside reveal the Queen. Elizabeth. One of the first females that took his notice after he had been turned. He watched her as she smiled and absently dismissed the male that was at her side. He remembered when he had been the one hoping to gain her attention much as the male that she dismissed had been. He tossed back the rest of the scotch, and gestured to the bartender to fill him up again.

As Doc collected his highball again he turned to peruse the crowd again, as he noticed the Queen looking in his direction. He caught his breath. Paused. Tossed back the drink in a single swallow, before carefully gazing back in the direction that the Queen was standing.

There the Queen stood, looking in his direction. No. Looking at him. Doc set the empty highball glass aside. He assessed the Queen. She was adorned in the most hideous dress he had ever seen. And he had seen a lot. He glanced that the empty highball glass, deciding that liquid courage was naught but a trick, he pushed off the bar and moved toward the Queen.

“Your Highness…” He bowed as he reached for her hand, “May I say, your dress is the thing of nightmares… The uneducated would do well to study your archetype.”

[Robin Little]

It wasn’t long before they’d stepped through the door that they were accosted by Lincoln’s greeting. Robin laughed beneath the attention – having lived with one Jameson Dade for a good long time, the varying affections of men who weren’t dead straight were not lost on him. Before Robin could even respond they were being shooed inside and out of the doorway to make way for other guests, whom Lincoln greeted one by one. The human was nothing if not a good and thorough host.

Behind them was a woman dressed in a ball gown, but it was a ballgown that could be mistaken for a tree with the decorations that speckled it. The woman wearing it was like the star at the top of said tree, and Robin nodded in her direction – not at her, but more to draw Maddison’s attention toward her.

”That takes ‘ugly sweater’ to a whole new level. I’m not sure I even think it’s ugly…” he said. They’d had the discussion earlier about ugly sweaters and the fact that Maddison refused to wear one. Robin may not let her live it down the whole night – him, the nerd beside her, who was rather excited by the prospect. Sometimes, he wondered what Maddison saw in him. She was pure elegance, disallowing any fault. Wasn’t Robin an ugly accessory to her overall glamour?

He nodded as Maddison suggested drinks; on their way to the bar, he did a double take. There was a face he recognised in the crowd – a blonde, who had been looking in his direction. He lifted a hand in a wave but Robin thought she must have missed it. It was like two worlds were colliding? What was she doing here? Robin didn’t even know her name. She was just the girl who sold him books over the bookshop counter.

”I know that girl. She works at the bookshop,” Robin said, seeing no reason why he should keep the familiar face from Maddison. He’d even introduce them later, if the chance arose. He slid onto the barstool and, this time, ordered himself just a regular red wine.

”What would you like, babe?” he asked, the tender lingering, waiting for her answer.

[Lincoln King]

Lincoln watched Elizabeth's reaction with amusement, glad to see she didn't appear offended or bothered by the interaction, nor the sweater. In fact, she seemed intrigued by the man wearing it. Little escaped Lincoln's notice, he was a quick study in body language and due to his ability to remember every single detail he had quite the eye for shifts in mood. Hers was growing less attentive, partially it seemed due to her feeling mild guilt over keeping him occupied, and largely due to her interest in capturing people she wanted to draw into conversations. He wouldn't keep her, mostly because he couldn't deny that she was correct and he too had spotted people he would like to greet or spend more time with. "Elizabeth, it's been a pleasure. You are always on the list, the nice one, I promise." Linc laughed at his own silly Christmas joke, giving her a friendly wink as she departed. For a moment he paused, just breathing that atmosphere, admiring the faces around and him watching interactions.

It would be so easy to get lost in it, to find a corner booth he could lounge in, sipping his honey whiskey and watching the world pass by. You could learn so much by just watching, just listening to the people around you. He didn't like to gossip, but he lived for rumours. You could gauge their potential of authenticity by taking note of the source, the frequency and the believability of the content. If a rumour seemed worth his time he would dig deeper, picking at the pieces and putting them back together until he saw a picture forming. Maybe he was in the wrong line of work? No, people were puzzles, figuring out his client's wants and needs then how the hell to give them to them in an acceptable format was a challenge he enjoyed. A challenge he excelled at.

A familiar face was close enough that he could see the chiseled line of his profile, partially obscured by passing party goers but not less easy to appreciate for it. It seemed more and more of his precious party guests were coming out of the woodwork, enjoying another event by the socialite sorcerer. This one in particular was of special interest to him, not only had they shared an intriguing and all too brief conversation but they had continued speaking, to greet each other in passing and discuss plans they'd yet to have time to follow through on. Claude had seemed to strike up a conversation with the woman in a jumper that was one of Linc's favourites, the man in question wearing one of questionable taste himself. Seemed to fit him though, of course he'd pick something that wasn't entirely tasteless and yet bordered on inappropriate. He hadn't fully decided which direction his feet might take him and yet he was moving, heading towards the bar. Another friendly face appeared to be playing dutiful boyfriend, to a girl who would happily let him bleed while bitching about her outfit. Yeah, Linc could really take or leave Maddison.

Once the bartender was free he ordered his drink, taking the glass of amber liquid and situation himself between the two groups. Close enough to smile casually across at Claude and gorgeous Grinch girl, while equally close to Robin and his blonde accessory in case he was in the mood to further poke the bear. "Skål." He murmured to no one in particular, catching the eyes of a few around him as that liquor passed his lips.