Junk Food Party

[Colonel Worm]

Rlyeh stutters out her response and Worm just watches her, fascinated by the verbal double time and her general vibe. That joint is definitely hitting.

"Hey hey hey," he says soothingly. "No big deal. You do you. Sneak all you want. Just caught me off guard is all." He gives Exxon the Fox a wink. "Now come on, let's grub."

He greets Roshon's request with a roguish grin: "One of everything, coming up."

White-within-white eyes back to Rlyeh: "You want something?" Offering his services to her as well. Mr. Too-damn-helpful over here. Doesn't really wait for her to answer.

Circe beats him to the spread. It takes a lot to queue up ahead of the Colonel, but that's why she's the Boss. He jostles up beside her, grabs a couple plates. "OK, ok, leave some for the rest of us," clearly kidding. Commences to grab one of everything for each plate: burgers, scoop of frachos, chips, dip, handful of candy. A joint for garnish. Not much for himself, just beer (shoves four cans in total into his pockets: 2 for him, one apiece for R&R). Not a pang of hunger with the ol' 30mg working on his system.

He pauses to snag and light a joint and then sashays across the room, stopping to pass out the plates to Thing 1 and Thing 2.

"So, this got a lot of exploding shit? I like exploding shit."

[Rlyeh]

There's three other people sharing the space with her, and that's a lot. Like a lot a lot. But not really. It's not as much as when she's at Funderland-or-Court-Hollows-for-Seasonal-Change-Parties. But. But. This feels like it's more.Like so much more and she can't. She doesn't. She's -

She feels like she can't breathe, but she's gasping for air, but not at all because that's weird-strange-wrong.

"Yes-thank-you-sorry." she squeaks at Roshon-Mechanic-Friend and Colonel-Man-Mister-Worm-Sir at the same time. But it's Circe. Circe-Queen-Groundskeeper-Warrior who receives and incredulous look. "Why would you want to?" escapes her mouth before she could swallow the words back down.

It makes her face flame, turning her fur-coloured-and-patterned-skin splotchy with the red underlay, while absently she wondering why the oil hadn't caught fire with how warm she feels. Surely she would have combusted by now...?

IN a flash she escapes to the couch and the towels, completely avoiding the fuzzy-comfy-warm-blankets. She wasn't going to ruin actual blankets. Towels were meant to clean up messes and make people dry. So it was okay if she sat on one, and layered more over where her head would be.

Then she gulps. Looking at the food. She hadn't grabbed any. was she allowed? Roshon-Mechanic-Friend had bought with money cheese for her. So she should go get some. Would it be okay to touch it? Would the others not like that? Would they get it for her?

was it all a taunt? were they going to kick her out and laughlaughlaugh
making her know againagainagain that she was only worth plastic garbage cheese

She sits on her hands. The towel a rough-scratchy-comfort barrier between her and the nice-clean-couch.

[Circe]

The Summer Queen looks to Colonel Worm and her response to share her food is to open her mouth and use her pink appendage to extend to him a raspberry, "Bleh." As for the show itself, "Hopefully and the kind of booms that don't follow physics," she laughs then, sighs as her shoulders slump in faux disappointment, "Realism of no sound in space, to be more fancy? Screw that. Silent movies are passé. I want to hear the lasers bolts and the noises loved by Michael Bay."


As for Rlyeh's mousey response? Circe, miss angry extrovert, scoffs as she plops down beside the Blightbent. Rubbing shoulders with her, "Why would I NOT want ta?" She asks Rlyeh. The elfin Fairest had dealt with worse grime from her guns, her cards, and shitty stuff in the tunnels. Literally. "Ya seem nice enough ta me, it is a big comfy couch, and cuddling up with a buddy is fun. Unless ya want personal space," Circe bumps their shoulders as she chimes, "Then say so and my crazy ass moves."

[Roshon]

Welp, since the party had started, two things had become clear. The first thing was that, The Expanse, as fuckin' dope as it was, was definitely not the right thing to watch with this group. Which was a shame. They'd probably never get to revel in the glory that was Amos, or Avasarala, or Drummer, but whatever. Which, brought them to the second thing: apparently, they weren't going to be sidestepping their issues tonight.

"Y'all are fuckin' lame," Roshon griped, queueing up Mystery Science Theater 3000 though she offered a "thanks" when Worm handed her a plate.

"Anyways, Worm, what's your deal?" she added a moment later, popping some frachos into her mouth. ""Where you from, who your people, what's your hustle, all that."

[Colonel Worm]

Plates delivered, Worm stretches out on the ground, with his hands behind his head. Glances at the MST3000 and chuckles his approval. He's seen a few and liked them all. Campy shit is his kind of shit.

Watches Circe and Rlyeh for a beat, enjoying the Summer Monarch's good-natured bullying. Puffing away on the joint all the while.

"Who me?" He responds to Roshon, finding her with those white-within-white eyes. "Well I'm from all over. Spent a lot of time south of the border, but re-patriated a while back. I was in Vegas for a little while. But things got...messy. So, it's Sacramento for me. Damn fine town..." Lots of generalization, little detail. Worm's not about to go spilling the whole damn tale on the first date.

"Way I see it, my people are you fine folks. Primarily, anyway. Other than that, I am friend to all who like to fuck, get fucked up, and scrap." He winks, but is clearly being serious.

"Hustle is the fights, the good kind. No official sanctions, you know? I like to use my hands. And I can't pass a drug test." He exhales a cloud of smoke.

"How about you?" he shoots back at his fellow Wizened. "I showed you mine and all that..."

[Circe]

"Well, cazzo back at ya," Circe laughs, "I most certainly don't have a limp." And for some reason Roshon didn't like the cheesy campy entertainment? Did she prefer lasers and explosions? Well, Circe already informed her she was the one with the controller. Maybe also bipolar.


And that was a good question to ask. Sure, Circe had vetted the Colonel upon arrival, but he might share more.


Circe heard a rumor about Las Vegas. Something about there being a House that always wins, even against Keepers. Circe offers a cheer at his praise of Sacramento.


Circe's bouncing ears got her lips to give in to temptation. "So, nymphos, masochists, and junkers? Oh my," she says in faux shock. It was the best she could do. She needed a voice deepener to pull off George Taki.


And the Colonel turns it upon Roshon. Well, that was something interesting to hear too. Circe nibbles her chosen food as she listens in to see what is what. Often distracted by the stupidity of the puppets and F grade movies. And, wait? What did it say? "Umph, that is wrong enough ta come back around ta the line."

[Rlyeh]

R'lyeh is Very Tense. Shoulders near her triangular fox ears, which are perked. Ready for any sign of the Not Good. But the Not Good doesn't happen. Circe-Queen isn't Rage-and-Bluster. Kindness. Consent. "I would like to have space. So I don't touch you." she says. Voice careful and controlled and not what she wanted but it's what she says, and maybe. Maybe if she learns that this is real-and-kind-and-not-joke-prank-hurt-and-scars she might say what she means and wants. But not today.

Today she eats some cheese. It's good.

She pulls her legs up, making sure the towel Roshon-Mechanic-Friend had set out, is still covering the couch as she adjusts. Wide, fathomless eyes stare between the Miner and the Summers as they speak. Offering up word-secrets-answers to questions. and smiles.

[Roshon]

Alright, well, the Oil Monster seemed to have calmed down and settled into her nest. That was good. Not that she was literally an oil monster, Roshon was just so used to giving everyone shit that she hadn't quite gotten out of the habit. That was how she'd survived growing up, her and her friends. They gave each other metric tons of shit. Helped them develop the social calluses they needed for growing up where they did, looking like they did.

Thankfully, she'd learned a little bit over the years.

But only a little.

"You showed me yours already?" Roshon asked, arching an eyebrow. Damn, Colonel, couldn't even see it. That where your name comes from?

Thankfully, Circe jumped in with the Takei impression, and Roshon shot her a quick look of thanks.

"Well, guess we have one out of the three in common," the mismatched miner-chimera added. "As for me? I grew up in Chiraq. Fell in love with engines. Became a mechanic. Got disowned. Got kidnapped. Escaped. Traveled a lot. Realized I wanted to put down some roots. Got scared, ran away for a bit, then came back. Mmm, let's see, what am I missing?"

She paused to think for a moment and took a long drag that burnt her joint down to the roach.

"Yeah, anyways, I like cars. Driving 'em. Working on 'em. Shooting 'em."

She shot Circe a knowing smile.

"I like whiskey and weed. And music and stuff. Learned to play some guitar while I was traveling. I dunno. Just tryna figure out life, feel me? Lemme know if any of y'all got some answers, though."

[Colonel Worm]

Worm glances at Circe from his position stretched out on the floor. "Oh me, oh my." He echoes with a grin. She'd called out his crew to a T. No shame in his game.

Ryleh's discomfort is obvious. Largely because she says so. It draws Worm's attention and he eyes her closely. He feels sympathy for Ms. Super-Fund-Site, a deep desire to help her. But also knows that, in the end, it's none of his business. For now, he stays out of it.

To Roshon now: "I did. I'm just that fast."

Listens closely to her own abbreviated history and then asks: "So what scared you off?"

That's Worm all over. Either too slow or too oblivious not to ask the wrong question. He's just not that sneaky. If he wants to know, he says so.

[Circe]

Circe smirks as Rlyeh rejects her, "Kay," and scoots forward. Her ass hits the floor with a light thump. Circe wasn't sure if Rlyeh was a no touching sort, found Circe annoying (plenty did), or something else. But let it not be said Circe wasn't a respectful asshole. She gives Rlyeh a thumbs up.


Roshon had a good reaction and her story got the blue ears to twitch towards the fluffy lady. Circe shoots her a smile when she mentions shooting.


"I prefer tequila. Used ta drink more stuff but," she shrugs as she nibbles a cannoli. "A really bad dream ruined everything else fer me. Alternative makes me trigger happy," she frowns, "That gets expensive."


"Sharing time?" Circe snarfs down some food, then chases it down with a drink, "Ah, Well," her accent? It isn't Italian anymore. It is firmly Jersey. "I used ta be an arrogant, stupid, asshole. Stereotypical Italian Jersey, complete with cosanostra. And computers a lil' bit too. Then I did something very stupid, kept being arrogant and stupid, and got a blue makeover from Fottuta macchia di merda di un Custode."


There was that Summer Mantle. Circe was raging, whether at who took her or her past self, was up to question. Her accent went back to Italian as she reels in her Mantle, "Then I won. There was a riot. Literal, big ass brawl that I didn't start but used. We got out. Fought, won, lost, mixed that up, blew shit up, relocated. Oh, I learned computers got better, machines got simpler, and Hell yes guns. Fun fact," she giggles, "I won the crown in a contest. Roccia, carta, forbici, oh ho ho ho!"


Circe didn't go over her brief usurption and reclamation of the crown. Instead, she sips her drink, "Honestly? I'm a total gunbunny. I mean, truly? When it comes ta a slavering Hedge hound charging ta eat ya and ya stop 'em with a wall of lead? I've only seem them stopped one way that was funnier than that, oh ho ho ho!"