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Who: Peter Quill

holdmybeer & YOU.
Where: La Casa de Peter, aka 5022 3B.
When: The 19^th.
What: It's party time.
Warnings: Bad life choices.
[OPEN.]

[ peter made sure to get up at the crack of dawn so he could finish preparing for the party. he stocked the fridge in the garage for ease of access, since he didn’t want to add to the traffic that would no doubt be going in and out his home throughout the day. he probably should have maybe put a little more thought into this, but hindsight’s 20/20 so oops. he could, however, avoid starting wayward pines first hell in the cell by moving items of importance into the spare room. he didn’t want to end up on the ass end of an ass kicking, so in between setting up a half dozen tents, chairs, and tables he made sure he had his own ass covered. ]

[ at eleven on the dot he turns on his music, cranking it up as high as it’ll go. it was late enough that he didn’t feel bad for waking the dead. firing up the grill he catches himself eyeballing the trampoline. he hadn’t really had a chance to break it in… but then he had to remember the tree house incident and his enthusiasm tapered. he couldn’t afford to break his arm or his leg or… anything, really. ] …at least not now. [ he murmured under his breath with a snort. later though, he had a date with destiny ~~and the ER~~. ]

[ stupid ideas aside the gate’s open, so arriving party goers can just go around back. beer in hand, peter’s manning the grill and greeting people as they arrive. he’ll be asking their pleasure and poison… all while also trying to instigate balloon and chicken fights, because, c’mon, he can’t be the only one making bad decisions. oh, and pool’s open, so don’t hesitate to make a splash. ]

( ooc; mingle thread! feel free to make your own top levels. i’ll be tagging around with peter. oh, and don’t forget that ½ the day is going to be a-ok and ½ the day is going to be not so a-ok. things are going to go from bad to worse too, since characters can die during the next part of the plot, so i wrote a kind of out. ~~run while you still can~~. but until the shit hits the fan there’s food & drink, a pool w/ a slide, a trampoline, supersoakers, and a box of fireworks. have at it. )

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♦ early on;

[ after he finishes cooking enough food to feed a small army he’s diving into the pool, because when the hell did it get so damn hot. he’s content to kick back and relax, but it doesn’t take much to provoke him, prompting a friendly fight. if the tides turn against him, then he’s going to break out the hose. it’s not cheating! and, no, he’s not changing it off of jet stream. #dealwithit. when he’s got a few beers in him he’s scaling the ladder to the tree house, because he clearly hasn’t learned shit. ]

♦ later on;

[ when night falls the noise and food have attracted all sorts of animals looking to get the hell out of dodge and it’s not long before his yard is crawling with a bunch of unwanted guests. ] When I said everybody I didn’t actually mean everybody… [ shooing them does nothing… the animals seeming more afraid of the woods than they are of him. ] I didn’t want to have to do this, but… [ and into the garage he goes! the box of fireworks haphazardly tossed out onto the lawn as he locks and loads a roman candle. he’s still a bit drunks, so feel free to try to talk him out of of it… or not, because this could get interesting. ]

[ Woop woop, here comes the ~~wet blanket~~ five-oh. Blake, in uniform as he so often is, waltzes right into the party, a keen eye taking in as much of his surroundings as he can muster on his way through. Alcohol, fireworks, people running around the pool area— He shakes his head.

Private as it is, Peter's place is a block away from Blake's and he could hear the music clear from outside the door. He hasn't clocked in for his shift, yet, but he certainly wore his uniform out despite that, hoping to make an impression. ]

Hey, you're the one throwing this party, right? [ He knows Quill is responsible. When isn't he? ] You got yourself a permit, party animal?

[ he didn't expect to see the fuzz this early on. whelp. it looks like the party's ov-- hahahaha. he waves blake over with a smile, hoping to smooth this over so his party doesn't have to come to a premature end. it's just gotten started and he hasn't had a chance to make a complete ass of himself, which is a staple of any quill party. ]

Me? No, this was Gamora's idea. [ her jerks a thumb over his shoulder and to the house. ] This is me we're talking about, Blake, [ that's not helping the cause, peter. ] of course we've got our permits. [ what permits. ] Just, uh, remind me which permits I'm supposed to have.

[ Gamora's idea, huh? John glances over Peter's shoulder in the direction he'd indicated, but doesn't take the bait. When he looks back at Quill, he's even less enthusiastic. ]

That'd be permits 85-471B, 85-610A, and... [ He consults his entirely empty notepad, talking straight out of his ass. ] 85-921X.

[ He raises an eyebrow, waits expectantly as he stuffs the notebook back in his pocket and fumbles it. The whole thing drops to the ground before he can catch it. Smooth. ]

[ and, if he’s being honest, he’s glad he didn’t take the bait, because gamora would be on both of their asses. most. peter, but blake could easily become a casualty. ]

[ he nods his head like he knows what blake’s banging on about. jeez. what the hell are all of these things for! ] Is that last one a permit for fun? [ he lifts a brow, knowing better than to push his luck, but he just can’t help it. ] ‘cause I definitely got that one. Not so sure about the others though… but I do have 621311-ME. Is that one good for any… [ when the notepad hits the ground he stares down blake. ]

Permit 85-471B, huh? [ he’s calling your bluff. ]

[ Hey, listen, the guy doesn't necessarily have to have to be reading something when he consults his little notebook, but... Peter is entirely correct in calling John's bluff.

A heavy work boot descends slowly atop the notebook and obscures the majority of the thing while Blake straightens his spine above it. He's not going to dignify that taunt with any kind of answer. ]

You makin' sure to card the people comin' through the door?

[ Evidence that some days it sure feels like Blake wouldn't know a permit for fun if it bit him on the ass. ]

[ if he hadn't made such a spectacle in an attempt to taunt him, then he probably wouldn't have said anything. maybe. he enjoys busting blake's balls when he gets a chance, since he's usually the one getting grilled for... just about everything under the sun. ]

'course. I know who should and shouldn't be drinking. [ kind of. he hasn't really been paying that much attention to who takes what out of the coolers scattered around the yard. ]

[ he can tell, which is why he extends a personalized invitation to him. ] You on your way to work or can you stay a while? I got a few burgers on the grill and I'm almost certain one of 'em's got your name on it.

[ Blake's dubious about all of this: the drinking, the music, the fireworks... he feels like he's going to be back in some official capacity, along with every other public servant in town. ]

Bribery now, eh? Guess I shouldn't be surprised...

[ He checks his watch, doing his best to hide a smirk. For as much trouble as he gives Quill, the guy's pretty likable, and he's usually fairly harmless in his foolish endeavors. Giving each other a hard time is practically a pastime. ]

Naw, prob'ly shouldn't. Shift's in an hour and there's no better buzzkill than a cop hangin' round the party.

[ to be honest, he's thinking the same thing, but he's hoping it doesn't happen, or that the sheriff just lets him off with ~~another~~ a warning. he knew about the party and seemed into the idea of something bringing everybody together, but considering the nature of peter's parties it could get out of hand in no time at all. ]

Bribery? Really? You think I'd stoop that low. [ he shakes his head. ] I'm hurt. [ no he's not. ] I invited everybody and I'm pretty sure you fall into the everybody category, right? You look like you could use a beer and a few minutes to kick it and relax. [ he enjoys the game they play, because for all the chops he busts blake busts his own in turn. ]

An hour? That's plenty of time. [ he gently elbows him in the ribs as he motions for him to follow him towards the grill. ] And maybe so, but I'll vouch for you. Good people's good people. What's on the outside don't matter.

[ There's a moment when John thinks he ought not reconsider, but Peter is ultimately right that an hour is more than enough time, especially since the station's not really that far away, even on foot.

He follows Quill to the grill and stands upwind of the smoke, not wanting to stink up his uniform with too much evidence of fun. ]

No special occasion, then? Seems like you should be celebratin' somethin'. Or did I miss the memo when I missed my invite?

Nah, [ he waves a hand flippantly. ] not real. I mean, we’re kickin’ off the start of summer and celebratin’ the end of school… but I don’t need a reason to party. [ he nudges blake in the ribs. ] ‘sides, I want to get to know all my neighbors. [ he flips a few of the burgers. ] I made a call about it about two weeks ago, so, yep, looks like you missed the memo, [ he shakes his head. ] and quite frankly I’m hurt. [ no he’s not. ] I was lookin’ forward to your RSVP.

Should be, 'cause I make a mean potato salad for these kinda shindigs.

[ No joking there. John's a better cook than he looks and he's had plenty of practice making potato salad for summers worth of Wayward Pines get-togethers. ]

Sorry I missed the opportunity. Guess I gotta pull my head outta my ass a bit more'n I do.

[ He grabs up a hamburger bun, separates it, and holds it in waiting. ]

Can I get cheese on that, too, or is that askin' too much?

[ Natasha doesn't attend so much as she arrives, a practical entourage of Steve and Bucky in tow; she's wearing a plain black string bikini, flip flops and one of Steve's button up shirts, a large floppy hat and sunglasses giving her face the shade that the pool itself won't give her. She leads the three of them to a trio of lounge chairs, and settles down, setting her beach bag down, promptly sitting into the middle chair and grabs a book out of her bag; the cover is bright green, with gold filigree on the title and closer inspection reveals it as the sort of trashy summer reading that most people tend to flip through when they're feeling lazy and relaxed by the water.

She does, at one point, get up to grab something to snack on, and makes her rounds around the party, engaging in small talk with the other party goers, doing her best to not eat messily and probably failing. It's hard to eat barbecue sauce and not get it all over your fingers and face.

She does not, at any point, enter into the pool. Try to get her to at your own risk. ]

[ Here's somebody brave enough to risk Natasha's wrath: Bucky Barnes. After standing off to the side with Steve, joking and egging each other on (kind of like old times), he heads over to where Natasha's lounging in her chair and upends it into the pool.

YOUR MOVE. ]

[ It's because she's so absorbed in her book that she doesn't notice Bucky stalk over— she doesn't even realize it's happening until she's in the air about to make contact with the water, and then she only has one thought: Bucky Barnes is going to die.

Her book, at least, survives the assault, landing on the deck next to where her chair was, but everything else goes with her, hat, sunglasses, the chair.

It takes her a second to surface but when she does she doesn't hesitate: Natasha snaps her arms out, wraps her hands around Bucky's calves and pulls.

Master Assassin splash fight, round one, let's rock! ]

[ At some point before the world's most alarming competent splash fight (and his own part in it, though that's where his work here will end; he won't be intervening), Steve's simply enjoying the heat of the late afternoon and poking at some hotdogs on the grill. He's more clothed than Natasha (hard to get less clothed than that), but still relatively dressed down, in shorts (!) and a T-shirt. His feet are bare on the sun-soaked concrete — it's probably too hot for some, but he's got supersoldier feet. It's pleasant.

Also pleasant is— well, he's got eyes, and that bikini doesn't leave a lot to the imagination. Or lends it too much — he hasn't decided yet. Mostly he's trying not to think about it too much, or pay any mind to the conflicting impulse to go over to her and cover her with his own shirt. Which is really what reminds him. ] Hey, Romanoff.

[ She's the width of a few lounge chairs away from where he's standing. He needs to raise his voice in order to get her attention from her book, but the noise of the party around them still means no one's really gonna be listening. Probably. ]

You look terrible.

[ She's shed the overshirt she's been wearing due to the heat, laid out on her lounge chair with book in hand and hat on head. Her ears prick up a bit when she hears her name, and she looks up and around, unsure of the source at first. She closes the book and stands up at his comment, makes her way over to him after she slides her feet into their flip-flops, and stands next to him, tilting her hat up and her sunglasses down just enough so she can get a good look at him. ]

Sorry. Didn't mean to make you lose your appetite.

[ Bucky arrives with Steve and Nat, and he finds-- despite everything-- that he feels oddly at ease at this party. Of course, this is still a prison, and they need to get to the bottom of everything, but at least they can have one day where they actually relax, at least a little.

He remembers attending backyard parties like this, in the fictional memories he has about life in Wayward Pines. Even tagging along with Steve and Nat, he never felt like a third wheel in those memories. And he doesn't feel like one now. So here's Bucky in his pool party finery: neon orange swim trunks with some kind of tropical flower print, a band shirt cut into a tank top (there's no shortage of tees for various very loud rock bands in his wardrobe, most of which he can't bring himself to enjoy), sandals, and sunglasses, with his hair tied back. This is likely the most his robot arm's been exposed outside of his occasional modeling stints for Steve's classes. Enjoy all that metal gleaming in the sun!

He'll snack, drink (not that it does anything), mingle, and may dangle his feet in the pool, even if he doesn't jump right in. ]

Edited 2017-06-16 19:06 (UTC)

[Blaine loves this party atmosphere. He mingles and makes sure that everyone is having a good time. Between getting meat from the butcher shop he now worked at to procuring the alcohol, Blaine is pleased with how his contributions have helped this be successful. He is in high spirits as he wanders the crowd to mingle.

The gleam of metal catches his attention first. He turns to see where that's coming from and his eyebrows shoot up in interest. A closer look tells him that this guy looks an awful lot like Jefferson. The arm is a pretty noticeable difference. Still, the similarity intrigues him and he moves to investigate]

That band's pretty good. [he points to the tee the other man is wearing. Blaine is wearing a sleeveless shirt with his swim trunks, which are blue with little palm tree islands on them]

[ Oh no. Music. There's a topic of conversation that Bucky's tried to study up on for the sake of blending in, but hasn't been able to really find much footing in. It's tough when you go from Bing Crosby and Glenn Miller to Nirvana and Soundgarden-- not even getting into the even louder, angrier stuff. He can't say he likes a whole lot of it; he can hardly connect to the music. But it's a part of the Bucky other people here remember, so he's tried his damnedest to absorb it.

He glances down at his shirt. Pearl Jam. Okay... which one's that again? The one with the loud guitars and the singer with the really emotional voice. (Does that even narrow it down?)

Bucky shoots the guy (Blaine, he remembers, though it's a bit fuzzy as to how he might know him. In passing, as another citizen of Wayward Pines?) a grin, carefree like he should be, and takes a sip of his beer. ]

Yeah? I like to think I have good taste. [ No, he really doesn't. Modern music is noise. ]

[Blaine can't help having a special fondness for Pearl Jam. Of course they came onto the music scene at a good time in his life, but they are also a Seattle-born band. There's likely going to be a Pearl Jam song somewhere in the musical lineup of the evening]

In music, at least. [he smirks at Bucky's choice in swimwear]

[ He looks down at his shorts and laughs, good-natured and (if he's being perfectly honest) enjoying the opportunity to act like a version of himself who never was the Winter Soldier. ]

I'm pretty sure these things don't come in any pattern but 'tacky'. [ Returning that smirk, he gestures at Blaine's swim trunks with his beer. ] Case in point.

[he smiles and shrugs. Yeah, the swim shorts look dumb, but the clothes he was more comfortable wearing would be a little much for a party like this]

Well, you know what Madonna says: "Beauty's where you find it". [why does he even know that song. He's not sure himself; the words just come to him]

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open.

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open.

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