Birthday Party

[peripheries]

Who: Paul Atreides and all his CR
What: Throwing everyone’s favorite Duke a surprise birthday party
When: Forwarded dated to April 1st
Where: Bone House in Gaze

Content Warnings: Drinking, underage drinking, drugs (both fictional and not), drawings of space worms, skeletons, will add further warnings if necessary



When you arrive at the house in Gaze, (affectionately known as Bone House), a skeleton will open the door and offer to take your coat if you have one. No need to take your shoes off or anything!

The large house has been decorated with black streamers and confetti. In the entryway and hung on the railing to the second floor that overlooks the entrance to the great room are large banners that say “HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAUL” (though one looks like it used to say “Jaune” but was just painted over? Whatever).

In the Living Room, there is a large board and various colored markers for people to write messages to the birthday boy. There is also a table full of bottled water and various couches, chairs, and beanbags to collapse into if the party gets to be too much and one needs a quiet place to rest or a place to chill if you’ve imbibed too much… well, whatever you had.

It is also where all the food and drinks are.

There’s an extremely large charcuterie board with the usual meats, cheeses, and olives as well as an extremely eccentric collection of snacks ranging from individual sized Cheez-it bags, to humungous bags of Doritos and salty chips, as well as nearly every kind of Oreo one can imagine.

There are also various cakes, all angel food. Some are misshapen, some have an attempt at being frosted with whipped cream and fruit, one even says “Happy Birthday Ka-” before that was hastily covered with a bunch of strawberries jammed really close together.

At the island, a skeleton is playing bartender. Surprisingly, it can seem to take and understand individual orders, but there’s always a constant flow of tequila shots being made and sent out to the great hall to be served by another skeleton.

And, no, of course it’s not going to check your age to see if you’re legal. It’s a skeleton. Why would it care?

The Great Hall is the center of activity and where everyone is encouraged to mingle and have fun. There is a skeleton on the grand piano in the corner gleefully playing piano covers of the hits from the Shrek Soundtrack with the occasional cover of “DaRude’s Sandstorm” when it has another one to help out.

In another corner, on huge piece of paper that spans nearly 6ft wide and 8ft tall is drawing of an Arrakis sandworm and it’s giant maw. The game is Pin the Tooth on the Sandworm and it’s… very easy… because the worm maw is most of the board. Even if the skeleton spins you as you’re blindfolded, it’s pretty hard to lose. If you manage to do it, which is likely, the skeleton running the game will award you a tequila shot! If you lose, the skeletons will award you a tequila shot (but it’s rail).

(It’s a drinking game, isn’t the point to drink?)

There’s also a table that has many candelabras on it, numbering up to seventeen. They’re still lit and burning even though there is a sign that says “make a wish!” even though it almost looks like a shrine for the dead.

…It’s maybe clear that the concept of “birthday candles” was greatly misunderstood.

There is also a skeleton dealing out small doses of “Spice”, a psychoactive drug straight outta the Duneverse. However, you must check in with this Skeleton to get a dose. There will be no “permanently melting your brain with ancestral memories” at this party!

Teacher’s/God’s/Jod’s/The Emperor Undying’s study, adjacent to the main hall, is closed and locked. Though, the lock is fairly easy to break if someone really wanted to get in. There’s not even skeletons guarding.

That said, many things are warded with eerie runes of blood and bone.

So, fuck around and find out.

The upstairs is generally off limits. Party goers can climb up the stairs, and it’s encouraged if they want to look over the Great Room from above, but all of the bedrooms are carefully guarded by more skeletons who will SCREAM VERY LOUDLY if you try to enter and will become hostile if done by force.

Of course, this won’t happen if you are with someone who lives in the house.

Enjoy the party! Mingle away!

((ooc: if you have any questions or anything, please hit me up at worldtype)) or via PM.))

Birthday Board | At the Party | The Morning After | IC Party Games | Spice Dealer

Comments

THE MORNING AFTER

[peripheries]

[Did you end up crashing at Bone House? In someone’s bed? On the couch? In the bathroom? The floor? The yard? Either way, you probably look and feel like garbage.

Post top levels detailing the worst part of a rager… the next day.]

[hauntedsavior]

a. clean up clean up everybody do your share

[bing-bong. it's anna, at the door, wearing an outfit that she hasn't worn in a very long time. she'd picked it out as soon as she joked about having to clean up for the party, and who is anna amarande if not relentlessly committed to terrible bits that don't matter anymore. once she's inside, she starts asking around for cleaning supplies and gets to work.]

You know who yartzed over here last night? Fucking gross, man. Ugh. At least it's dried.

[she's making damn sure that this house is spotless, both on the ground floor and upstairs, though she's being much more careful when she goes upstairs. (it's private up there and she's not doing the deep clean where she's not invited.) but she's gonna complain the whole time either way. at least her head's not aching too badly. every time she thinks she'll only do this stuff in moderation, she blows herself out of the water like this. at least she managed to get home to K and spend the night there.]

Hey, you got time to lean, you got time to clean. [she smirks as she says it, though. she's not taking this too seriously. who could when she's dressed like this?]

CW: Vomit, Urin

[strikefirster]

[So not too far off from the vomit there's a pile of couch cushions, beer bottles and a blanket. There doesn't seem to be a lot of movement from it until Anna makes the comment and then it suddenly shifts and a wobbly hand rises up out of it.]

That was me!

My bad-

[A very haggard and bedraggled man in his fifties sits up through the mess.]

I think these are going to need be cleaned too, babe.

[He picks one of the cushions up and tosses it across the room.]

It's not dry though-

[hauntedsavior]

Johnny.

[she says it like a curse, but she's way too tired and it's way too early for her to put a ton of vitriol into it. until he calls her babe and throws a piss pillow at her, and she just punches it out of the air and lets it bounce off the floor away from both of them.]

Don't care how much space coke we all did last night, the 80s are over and I'm not your goddamned cleaning lady. Get up and clean your own piss.

[strikefirster]

[Things Anna doesn't need to put up with in the morning is that.

He's used to that tone and he immediately flops back on the ground and groans, turning away like the giant fifty year old man child he was.]

Ugh- The eighties might be gone but the spirit never dies.

...I will, fine.

Once the room stops spinning.

[He sort of fumbles around looking for a bottle of beer that isn't completely empty.]

[hauntedsavior]

Put the fucking—[god. is she gonna have to babysit a guy twenty years her senior? she comes closer and picks up a half-empty bottle that's definitely gone stale overnight, then clutches it by the neck close to her body.]

Stop pissing all over yourself and I'll get you some water and an aspirin. Sound like a deal, Esposito?

[strikefirster]

[She is probably stuck babysitting a giant man child. He vaguely reaches for the bottle as she scoops it up but it drops when it gets beyond where his fingers can touch.]

It's not fresh piss- That was hours ago.

Ugh... I don't need pills, I'm not a pussy.

I'm one hundred percent all man-

This is nothing.

[He starts to sit up until light from the window catches his eye and he grunts and flops back down on the ground.]

Okay Okay. Fine. It's a deal.

[hauntedsavior]

Yeah, you're goddamn right it's a deal. I know you're all about nothing ever keeping you down, but this ain't something you can wait out on your own.

[she glowers down at him and tries not to think "serves you right" when the light catches him, then takes her leave to pour the beer down the sink and get him a glass of water and some pills. she comes back and leaves them on the table for him.]

You're right about not being a pussy, at least. I wouldn't eat you if you paid me.

[strikefirster]

[At least in that time he has managed to pull himself up to his feet. He's looking pretty rough but he's at least more cognizant than he was when she left. He takes the glass of water but not the pills and chugs it.

He looks her way and gives a shrug.]

Good, I'm not into butt stuff anyways.

[possessum]

( Peter had noticed the woman off and on throughout the evening. But he hadn't known she was the maid.

This is, of course, his assumption. And he's startling at the appearance of her downstairs, where he is currently draped over the sofa, one long leg hiked up onto the arm of it, arms hugging onto someone else's jacket like it's a person. )

Oh— fuck—

( He's moving to sit up, eyes glassy and red from so, so much weed and whatever the fuck that Spice stuff was. As he sits up, a bong shaped like a machine gun rolls off of him and hits the floor. )

Sorry, ma'am. ( He hastily reaches to pick up his bong, anxious and subservient — which is kind of hilarious, considering he's six feet tall and the stuff of horror movies. But Peter is the sort of person who looks about ready to cry at any given moment.

And now he's looking hazily around the room, feeling dizzy and intimidated and nervous about all the mess the poor woman's going to have to deal with. (But... wasn't she right there partying with everyone else?) Unfortunately, Peter's brain, frazzled from years of being stoned, Ari Aster levels of trauma, and literal demons, simply doesn't work out any logical bits and pieces here. )

I'll help you clean... ( He's slurring a little as he says it, tongue thick and dry, still only half-awake at all. )

[hauntedsavior]

Anna.

[she corrects that really fast, before she even sees the bong roll to the floor. when she does, she looks back up at him.]

No titles. And I don't really care if you help me clean up. I'm here to make sure you guys get home safe, too. You sound [and look] like you're still fucked up from last night. What was it, just weed or were you on the spice, too?

[she starts idly picking up some beer bottles while she keeps talking.]

Haven't figured out what cures a spice hangover yet. Haven't seen Paul all morning and he's the only one who'd know. How you feeling? Hungry, thirsty, light sensitive?

[possessum]

Who? ( Comes the confused reply, the teen blinking over at her for a moment before he realises. She's Anna. )

Oh— Oh, okay, got you. ( He's a little slow on the uptake, but he's getting there. Kind of. He's trying to sit up a bit straighter on the sofa, but the room does feel kind of like he's spinning, and Peter immediately presses a hand to his forehead, fingertips massaging up against his eyelids for a moment as memory comes in slowly. )

...Both. ( That spice stuff was crazy. Peter lowers his hands from his eyes, letting the little stars spark out of his vision before he looks hazily back up to the woman. )

Kiiiind of all of the above? ....Yeah, it's all that. ( A small echo of a laugh, but it also sounds like a groan, and the sound gently tapers off into silence for a long moment. Thoughtful, and with a growing sense of unease before— )

...Was that stuff like... supernatural or something?

[hauntedsavior]

You know it, dog.

[she says that right before she heads out to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and pour out a couple more aspirin. this time she comes back with a dry washcloth, too, and takes her time handing everything over.]

Drink. Take the pills. [a concerned look.] Then lie down and put the cloth over your eyes so you can just rest here for a bit. [and she finally returns to the conversation about the spice.] I don't know who the hell came up with the idea of space cocaine, but here we are. Sure as hell the strongest thing I've ever been on.

[possessum]

( Peter takes the things she brings back, head tipping forward in quiet thanks. The pills go down easily enough, though there's a wave of nausea when he takes a hearty sip of water, and he has to take a moment to let that abate before reaching for the cloth.

Slowly, he lies back, placing the cloth over his forehead enough so that it's covering his eyes. Immediately, the weighted darkness helps; it actually surprises him how quickly it does.

—And there's a sudden little thought, a memory, that flickers across his mind like the click of a film reel. Some random time when he was little and sick, staying home from school, and his mom was placing a cool washcloth over his forehead to bring down a fever. That was maybe back when she could stand him. )

I probably... shouldn't have done it. ( He realises, in retrospect, with an almost self-deprecatory tone. Fucking with stuff he doesn't know about... that could be dangerous. Especially for him; he knows that. )

...Guess I kind of wanted to just.... forget about shit for awhile, you know?

[hauntedsavior]

[she laughs dryly without looking over, at least once she's certain that he's doing what she asked.]

Trust me, dude, I get it. Lived that way for years. Never helps, though, does it. [she's not trying to admonish him for it; instead, no, she sounds extremely sincere about it. and just a little tired.]

It's just kicking it down the road for you to deal with on top of having a splitting fuckin' headache and the dry heaves. [she realizes that she hasn't seen him around before, but also considers that she hasn't seen a lot of people at the party before, and decides to lob a softball instead of anything more prying.] So what is it? Dealing with the squiddification of your whole life?

[possessum]

( Peter never would have expected the creepy skeleton house to have such a chill housemaid, but honestly?? She seems really easy to talk to.

(She's not.... really the maid, Peter....)

He closes his eyes even if they're already covered by the cloth, relishing the sweet relief of just lying back in darkness and not moving. He feels like one of his dad's patients lying back on the couch — or is that just a psychology stereotype? Peter had never actually ever been to see a psychiatrist, himself. )

And this place keeps forcing us to remember shit anyway, so... feels kind of moot to try and forget. ( He notes dryly. His lifelong method of "suppress what hurts!" really doesn't hold up in a place that can literally summon forth ghosts from your past. )

I guess 'everything' sounds pretty dramatic, but... feels like everything. ( The list of things he's trying to run from is so long, he's constantly tripping over it. But there are a few things that stand out, and while usually he's not the type to just share personal tidbits so freely, Peter is recently in a state of "fuck it, might as well." )

My girlfriend's Corrupted to hell and back, my best friend returned to the ocean and I'll probably never see him again, aaaand I'm possessed by this crazy demon who's making a pretty good life for itself here. ( He moves his hand around as he lists the items. )

...I'm remembering again why that spice stuff sounded so appealing.

[grice]

[ falco stayed the night expecting this. y’all crazy hooligans, leaving a mess and being reckless with your health!

where cleaning is involved (he was trained by the best; even if levi wasn’t here, every time he does clean it feels like humanity’s strongest has his eyes all over the crud in the house. it’s scary), falco sweeps in places that are actually dry— where it isn’t, he’ll have to go straight to water and fabrics to get the . . . whatever it was? off the couch. and the wall. oh, god what is that?

at least he’s seen worse in non-party situations. but, um. ]

What’s . . . This?

[ whatever it is, it’s probably either gross, embarrassing, or both, and falco doesn’t know which to lean on. not even colt was this bad when he drank.

if you’re hungover, he has homemade remedies for anyone in need: water at the ready to drink, a helping hand to hold your hair by the toilet if you’re feeling unwell or even some vials of medicinal mixes said to gently ease headaches and upset stomachs. ]

You’ll feel better in a bit.

[ hilariously, for a boy so docile, falco has a bit of a frown on his face while he tends to you, whether it’s water or medicine in his hands, or gently rubbing your back, he ends up huffing: ]

You all got so carried away— Why do people even drink this much?

[ 😤 it’s nasty and gross and the negatives outlay the positives! why!

(is he— is he mother henning?) ]

dude, where's your heart? | midoriya "deku" izuku | kaworu nagisa

[terriblepurpose]

Paul wakes up knowing, beyond all doubt, that something awful happened over night. The details aren't clear (in and of itself alarming), but the evidence of his external and internal senses are excruciatingly so even before he opens his eyes.

His mouth tastes horrible. He's dehydrated and riddled with the byproducts of liver processes that have gone awry, his blood a gummy, imbalanced mess in his body. Some thin metal mesh is pressed against the bare skin of his back where his shirt has ridden up, and on the other side of him -

On the other side of him are two bodies. The one whose chest Paul's head has fallen on is firmly muscled, with a heartbeat strong enough to worsen the throbbing in Paul's head. The other one, the one whose sternum Paul's outstretched hand presses against, is slim, bony, and pulseless.

In the first blurry moments of waking up, peeling one eye open while the other stays crusted shut, Paul forgets that Kaworu doesn't normally have a heartbeat. He lifts his head and digs his fingers against the thin lattice of sensitive nerves over bone, which will make for a rather rude awakening as soon as the sensation cuts through the fog of sleep.

[peripheries]

The petite, pulseless body on the other hand, is dead asleep. Not contentedly, but purposefully, as though he unconsciously knows that the sooner he wakes up, the worse he will feel. Therefore, sleeping as long as possible is the goal. More so than usual.

So when there’s a furious press on his wrist, he kicks out at the offender. He has a head full of nice memories and a body that’s completely destroyed. Do NOT do this to him.

[terriblepurpose]

Kaworu is alive enough to lash out, which is a good sign. His bony foot is as sharp as ever, and thankfully (where are all their limbs, anyway?) accurate, connecting just under Paul's knee.

"Kaworu," he hisses, and regrets it immediately, "You'll wake up-" a brief upward glance "-Midoriya-kun."

Then, because concern throbs worse than the tender spot on his leg, or the mass of tender spots that have replaced his head: "Are you all right?"

[peripheries]

“No.”

Kaworu tries to curl up and bury his face in both the pillow and whatever part of Paul he can get to. His body feels miserable and heavy, like his limbs are weighted and his brain can barely connect them so they’re useless and floppy. So he feels terrible. He feels like he could start spewing sea water everywhere again, except it would be pure tequila.

He can’t even think about Midoriya.

“I think I’m dying.”

[terriblepurpose]

Paul pushes up onto his elbow, swallowing thickly around the residue that's colonized his mouth as he reaches over Midoriya to brush at Kaworu's tangled, sweat-tacked hair.

"You aren't going to die," Paul assures him, not remotely convincingly, "We'll get you a new heart. Teacher will gr-"

That's one of the least sensible things he's ever said aloud, and he vaguely and grimly remembers calling the taste of human skin 'leathery'. Paul frowns, twisting his head to wipe a stray trace of dampness from the corner of his mouth.

"Do you remember what happened?"

[peripheries]

Even in his miserable state, there's something nice about the touch to his pulsing, aching forehead and he leans into Paul's hand, cat-like as ever. The touch is soothing.

Wait his... heart? Slowly, he reaches down to feel his chest. Nope. S^2 engine is still chugging along. He squints at Paul for a second before realizing that makes his head hurt worse. A heavy sigh.

"We did shots, danced, played games, did Spice, then sat on the couch. I think there was more but I don't remember."

[terriblepurpose]

Kaworu's bleary list lines up with what Paul recalls of the night, each word touching off mnemonic cues that at first reassure him. Alcohol, sugar, dehydration, and lack of sleep explain most of how he feels, including the hovering anxiety. He'd been so sure he'd been handling himself better than that.

He'd felt sure he'd been handling himself well at all, but the soft hair tickling his fingers evokes the feeling of the nape of Kaworu's neck under his hand, and - he's not sure, a clutching worry that he has to remind himself is at least partially depleted neurotransmitters.

"We...came up here?" He squirms in the bed, which is at least large enough for all three of them, and whatever lumpen objects they apparently dragged in to line their nest like Iskierka. "I should have had you drink more water. I'm sorry."

He strokes the fringe of Kaworu's hair again, soothing and conciliatory.

[peripheries]

"Or someone brought us up here. I don't remember."

Unlike Paul, Kaworu feels at ease. Nauseous, and like something is burrowing into his skull just above his eye, but at ease. The party happened. It was okay. It was better than okay, it was good and Paul is good. Idly, but not thoughtlessly, he reaches out and gently runs his fingers across Paul's cheek bone as if to confirm he's here. Everything is here and it's not a story he tells himself to pass the days as he stares at white walls and white ceilings.

"It's alright. I'm alright. Are you?"