Mingle - Emergency Potluck

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WELCOME POTLUCK

Greetings, residents! Those more observant sorts among you may have noticed a large influx of very crowded ferries. In order to welcome our new residents en masse, Town Hall is holding a potluck in Town Square. Please bring a dish if you are able and make a new friend!

All of our newest arrivals need only bring themselves. We look forward to welcoming you all into our community, and may your lanterns always be lit.

This event is open to all! In light of our new influx of prospective players following the Great Sail Migration, we've decided to offer a small public event to tide everyone over until the TDM this weekend.

Comments

Keziah (OC) ❣ Established player, new character (testing) ❣ OTA

[umm_shafaqat]

Fresh off the ferry -- and grateful that her new arrival clothes are in dark colors, as she prefers -- Keziah wanders over to the Town Square, following the sounds of socialization and laughter.

It's a large group, and she knows absolutely no one. But that doesn't stop her from walking among them, giving a smile and nod to those who acknowledge her, or even laughing softly at an overheard joke.

She wanders close to the food tables once, more an accident than anything else. She isn't here to eat, but to observe and socialize.

You may find her standing on the fringes, holding a steaming mug because someone insisted that she at least have something to drink. Whatever it is, she can barely taste it, but at least it's hot -- vampires don't do well when it comes to drinking cold liquids.

(Yes, she has been moving about in the sunlight with no reaction.)

[immortaldemonsoul]

"Not hungry?" Ellarinne questions, before shoving another mouthful of spicy cheese and dough into her mouth. A thousand blessings upon you and your house, Cesar Salazar. "That's too bad -- whatever else this town might have going on, they have some amazing chefs."

[dosing]

"You know, it's kinda impressive." Here's a guy (well, wolf, and he sure as hell smells like one) approaching, all swagger and unearned confidence. "Finding a wall flower out here where there ain't any walls."

He flashes an easygoing grin, canines too sharp to be human, though not so much that they're obvious to anyone not on the lookout for supernatural beasties. There's no threat behind the flash of teeth, though; it looks like he thinks he's being charming.

Yeah, this is just your run of the mill fuckboy werewolf.

here i come!

[lordoftheozarks]

He takes notice of her from across the party and feels a chill run through him. He could be wrong. She is holding a mug of something to drink, after all. She might be like Angel. But he can't mistake how slow her vitals are. She's some manner of undead. He would always know.

"Yours seems to be a new face," he says, stepping beside her where she stands. "May I introduce myself? I am Lord Erik Osborne." He doesn't offer his hand to her. No, he bends lightly at the waist and bows instead.

Jonathan Sims | The Magnus Archives | Existing Player

[apocryphalarchivist]

Often times, Jon keeps himself busy, but today in particular was running him a bit ragged.

He'd been up early to help with the pamphlet-making, made a green-bean casserole (one of the few recipes he could recall enough of the steps of), welcomed several of the earlier newcomers he bumped into, and then saw himself off for a bit to mingle with whoever had caught the attentions of his few close friends.

It doesn't take long for him to find a drink and linger on the fringes, however, switching occasionally between chatting with Neil and people-watching.

He's not hard to find, though - and, unfortunately unknown to him, his people-watching tends to have a somewhat unpleasant and deeply-prying energy that's passed along to anyone he looks at for too long. Sorry about that, new friends!

[crushed_pearls]

Hey Jon that bird lady who fell on her face is sidling up to you with a beer.

She's not saying anything.

Nnnnnooooot saying anything.

Sipping the beer.

"'sup you meme-loving fuck?" Erin greets, affectionately.

[tisnotthehouse]

"Mister Sims." Tarantulas is holding a bowl of pudding -- how fortunate for him and his sweet tooth that so many people brought dessert! -- and smiling in a guarded, slightly uncomfortable way, his extra legs twitching slightly in mid-air. He's not about to be rude to his therapist's partner, but the staring, you see. It's starting to fucking get to him. "Is there anything I can do for you? You seem...unusually focused."

[lasthumanvoice]

“Either say something, Jon Sims, or fuck off.”

Cecil usually is willing to ignore staring, but, well. Some things were never resolved between them, were they?

Arthur Morgan | Red Dead Redemption 2 | Existing Player

[mister_morgan]

Dressed in his best that absolutely screams "I was a cowboy up until a few months ago", Arthur is acting as first-resident chore boy of the potluck.

He's not particularly keen to let Dahlia get buried in too much work, and while he's spending as much time with Sally and Gwen as he's able to, he's also up and about any time anyone mentions something needs done. There comes a point where he's gotten familiar enough with those keeping things like water and cutlery stocked that they'll flag him down.

Much as he might complain, it's a comfortable, familiar thing. It reminds him of the simple pleasures of camps back home.

He's a large man, and not the most graceful, so not bumping into a newcomer or two is almost certainly out of the question. He's glad to tip his hat and greet anyone who meets his eyes, though, even when he's looking overwhelmed. Have you ever seen one person carry quite that many plates? Hopefully not. (Maybe he could even use a hand, from anyone feeling particularly proactive!)

[umm_shafaqat]

Keziah gracefully side-steps when it looks like he might run into her, then stops a lady from trying to slip past him when he's balancing so many plates.

"Let him through, chère dame, or your pretty dress might end up with stains on it."

She glances back to check where he is before she removes her hand from the other woman's shoulder.

Edgar | Snowpiercer (2013) + multiple CRAU | new player

[hate_gettin_older]

There's a young man here, looking about him warily. The usual new-arrival clothing sits uneasily on his whip-thin frame, the kind of thinness that's less a matter of genetic makeup or exercise and more a matter of never having gotten a full meal a single day in his life. (He's gotten plenty of full meals over the days that have passed since his death, but nevertheless.)

The food on offer has decidedly captured the greater part of his attention, but he's scanning the crowd and what can be seen of the town from here even as he loads up a plate.

Those who have come here from the Serena Eterna might recognize him. (Even if they've never actually interacted in game before.)

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"Oh good," Chris says lightly, "at least you're getting a lot of food. That'll stop Aidie from worrying too much about you being thin. He still fusses over me."

Chris themself is fairly tall -- 6'3" -- and still a little underweight for their frame. They have been hustled away from serving at the dessert table in order to fill a plate of their own. Chris smiles at Edgar and then moves over to an empty table. There's another free chair if Edgar would like to sit with them.

"Slasher Face" Jean | Project Moon | Existing Player | OTA

[restingslasherface]

Fresh Fish!

There's a short little fella around the place who has brought sushi and, in fact, may have brought that sushi directly to you. They're dressed quite piratically, complete with a saber strapped to their hip and a frankly quite excellent hat, but instead of a parrot there's a baby chicken on their shoulder that stares at people like it wants to Fight Them. A little nametag pinned to their chest (where do they keep getting these office supplies) pronounces them Agent Jean.

Even Fresher Fish

When not carrying around a tray of sushi, Jean can be spotted eating (they have a habit of Making Sandwiches which is being unleashed on the bread rolls) and trying to chat people up. Many of the local residents seem known to them; Jean calls these people by name, and you might overhear discussions of recent battles against 'star creatures', in which Jean compliments the skill and bravery of the resident in question. They are trying their best to project being Available For Conversation but boy is this pointy-toothed little bastard not good at it.

AHHHH I FORGOT TO REPLY TO THIS - Fresh Fish!

[pineapplesalmon]

Local weeb is standing in front of his own food and stares down at the plate in a bit of awe. "... is that sushi?"

Father Mulcahy | M*A*S*H w/CRAU | OTA

[lovethyneighb_or]

“Oh, my.”

Air. Space. Food. Grass, and trees, and birds hung in the branches, it’s…

… he finds it hard to believe. Between the Captain’s illusory worlds and Number 2’s liberal application of hallucinogens, he’s… it’s almost too good to be true, isn’t it? Even if he is dead; even if this place is faltering, it’s still a living place. He hasn’t heard birdsong in… in many years.

And look.

Company. Food. There’s some strays from the recent voyage here, like him, although he finds himself hesitant to talk to both the locals and the passengers he seems to have arrived with. A hand goes to his chest, in the spot where his silver crucifix should be. At least he’s settled in enough to have put in for a new pair of glasses.

Mulcahy hovers at the square’s edge, picking at his plate while he observes the ongoing mingle, everyone recognizing one another and no one to recognize him.

It’s a lovely party.

[restingslasherface]

Behold, Father! There's a little shark-toothed dude - Korean, possibly? The resemblance is uncanny - that is offering forth a tray of sushi and Vibrating. There's a baby chicken on their shoulder giving you the sort of staredown one normally gets from Russian mobsters. "Welcome, comrade, welcome! Can I offer you the catch of the day?"

They really just vibrate like that huh? The tray is steady as stone, somehow, while the rest of them is attempting to escape Samsara by sheer speed.

River La Croix | OC (Dungeon Life Quest) | Existing Player

[somebodychildofanyone]

How many non-food tables are at this potluck anyway? River and her two apprentices are taking turns manning a table that has Various Weapons, Trinkets, And Bits Of Armor on it. A sign thereupon reads:

INFERNAL ARMS AND ARMOR
NO RELATION TO THE LOCAL DEMONS
COMMISSIONS AND ENCHANTING AVAILABLE
INQUIRE ABOUT APPRENTICESHIP!

River herself has turned out in her working clothes, having decided that while she loves the dress Annabel made for her there's just too much chance of getting dirty or having some manner of cultural misunderstanding that ends in a certain amount of fistfights, so the elf is in her tough pants, her shirt and vest, and her warm green cloak (also made by Annabel's hands, a fact not lost on River; sometimes when she glances over at Annabel she smiles dreamily while fingering the cloth). Come chat her up! One can find her at the table, getting tea, and also Eating.

[hate_gettin_older]

Someone new is studying the sign, with an expression of concentration that suggests that either he's used to a completely different alphabet or he doesn't read very easily.

He's also steadily making inroads on a heaped plate of food, which is probably not his first.

Captain Jack Harkness | Doctor Who/Torchwood

[iwasjustsayinghello]

"...mmm! Now that's what I call a beignet. Had them properly at the Cafe du Monde once. Great little setup, I was having breakfast with my boyfriend at the time, his sister--and his sister's husband, who I was also sleeping with. Now that was my idea of a balanced breakfast..."

Jack blinks, realizing the short blonde he was talking to has left.

...thank heavens for small favors.

Plate of food in hand (and truthfully, the beignets in New Orleans were better), Jack starts wandering around the little impromptu potluck with a deceptively casual eye. As he eats, he's taking in everything he possibly can, rolling over the warnings given to him by the frankly exquisite older woman that came peddling her strange little deal.

"Even an immortal man must die to rise again--and while immortal you will remain in this place, your state of being will...change for the duration."

He's not sure what that means yet. He's not mortal, and he's just the tiniest bit relieved by that after nearly a year letting the Master play with his insides--literally, in some cases.

He was expecting his reception here to be...a lot stranger than it was. Dangerous, full of intrigue, even violent. Instead? He gets fed--and he's reliving his 'imprisonment' all over again.

...at least the locals are cute...

{Catch the Captain anywhere around the potluck! He's really just wandering, watching, and eating, so have at it!}

[lasthumanvoice]

Despite not being local, Cecil is fucking adorable, and here with sweet potato casserole in abundance. Oddly, those who've been around for a while don't seem inclined to dig in, which means he needs to more actively hock it to the newcomers.

It's a task he has no shame about.

"Here! I have food, and you're not eating yet. You should have food, and eat!"

His energy is frenetic, but he has a smooth, warm voice made for radio.

Nimona | Nimona + CRAU | new player!

[yournewsidekick]

There's something pink hovering uncertainly at the edge of the square.

When she woke up in that lady's office, she stuck to human shape for as long as she could bear it -- through the ferry ride, all the introductions, the talk of curses and demons that would've made her hackles rise if she had hackles -- but, well. Nimona's ability to "bear it" got sorely tested on a certain murder boat, and not in a fun punny way with literal bears, either. All she can remember through the weird haze is trapped, trapped, screaming and useless, feeling like her insides were on fire from the pain of being unable to shift, watching her friends walk away as she --

Anyway. Yeah. If she never has to be in human shape again she would be more than okay with that.

So the pink something eventually coalesces into a pink, lanky dog that slinks closer to the potluck, keeping low to the ground. (Look, it's free food, of course she's not gonna avoid everybody forever.) Stealthily, she leeeeeeeeeans up when she reaches the table with the cold cut platter, closes her jaws on a giant mouthful of roast beef, sloooooowly eases backward --

And takes the whole platter to the ground with a CRASH.

With an inarticulate yelp, Nimona dives under the nearest table to hide.

....Three seconds later she pokes her snout out to grab some more of the spilled bologna, then disappears under the table again.

[somebodychildofanyone]

A friendly face peeks under the table, brushing her very, very red hair behind a pointed ear. Her bare arms are inscribed with glowing, overlapping sigils, as if coals have been gouged into the elf's arms.

Gently, in a lilting accent: "If you're one of those dogs that's also a person this'd be a good time to say it so I can get ya like...a decent plate?"

Valdis | OC (CRAU) | OTA

[redlightgreenlight]

Despite being fairly new herself, Valdis brings a basket of fresh bread from a bakery in town. She's taken aback by all the familiar faces, uncertain if they are hers, or from their own homes like César. Nonetheless, she mingles and laughs and tries to greet people she hasn't met yet more than those who she might be familiar with. She has no desire to intrude on their memories.

She can also be found sitting alone, watching everyone and familiarizing herself with their souls and emotions, or she might be picking at food she's collected from the tables. It all tastes wonderful...and most of all: real.

[crushed_pearls]

There's a bird coming at you at High Speeds, Valdis. She's finally spotted you, her soul is alight with joy and oh yeah it's got strong signs that said soul has been eating itself.

A hug is Imminent.

Dr A.T. Menelikov (and optionally R' L.V. Morgenshtern) | OTA

[amourtician]

[OOC: Lev/Lyubov is hovering around in the vicinity, and feel free to assume they're nearby, listening, if you want them in the thread! Or feel free to assume they went to shmuz on their own.]

Anzu arrived in the town early, just head of the main rush; even so, he's not had enough time to prepare much by way of what he'd consider serious festival food. While he doesn't consider himself a particularly skilled cook, he's responsible for about two-thirds of the food by the kommunalka[1], with the others contributing as they can. He's a better cook than he assumes.
[1] flat-share, often family units rather than single adults.

He's brought five dishes—three parve winter salads, dairy-free, and two kinds of latkes, turnip and potato.

The dishes are set out on a trestle table, with little cards in front listing the ingredients, known allergens and even potential texture issues, as well as, having already heard about Cecil and Lev's suspicions about Hawkeye, the appropriate blessing for those who might want to say one. It's a thoughtful gesture, hobbled only a little by the fact he's gone and labelled the ingredients according to the rubrics he's used to. He's aware of gluten intolerance, and lactose intolerance, but not under those exact terms. It'd probably be wise to ask him to explain the labels.

(He almost certainly did that on purpose, to give people an easy conversation hook.)

The dishes

Herring-under-fur-coat, winter salad

A layered salad of pickled herring, roasted carrots, potatoes and beetroot, boiled eggs and mayonnaise-based dressing.

The little card in front says:

fishy, no mezanos

herring, potatoes, beetroot, carrots, eggs, mayonnaise

my sincere apologies, I was unable to ensure all the herring bones have been removed.

dealer's choice on blessing, don't ask me whether the potatoes are more important than the fish

Potato salad

More or less the universal potato salad with mayonnaise, with the addition of pickles and boiled peas.

The little card in front says:

parve, no mezanos, but malt vinegar pickles

potatoes, peas, pickles, mayonnaise

beware of the peas, they're boiled and not fresh.

boreh pri ha-adomah

Vinegret

Another winter salad of the three staple root vegetables (potatoes, carrots, beetroot), boiled just enough to make them soft and bright, and not enough to boil away the taste. Sauerkraut proved impossible to find on short notice, so there's more pickles, and some tiny whole pickled onions, too.

The little card in front says:

parve, no mezanos, but malt vinegar pickles (again)

potatoes, carrots, beetroot, pickles, pickled onions, lemon juice and sunflower oil dressing

boreh pri ha-adomah

Two kinds of latkes

These are latkes. One plate is potato, the other turnip. There's a medium-sized dish of cut glass with fresh applesauce set beside the two platters.

The little card in front says:

it's latkes, have you ever heard of a meaty latkes?

potatoes, turnips, applesauce. sour cream belongs in soup, not on latkes.

boreh pri ha-adomah for the potatoes and I have no bloody idea as to the turnips. my husband doesn't know either. I'm sure HaShem will forgive us all for not being sure whether a turnip is fruit of the earth or a various kind of food.

Anzu himself is perched on the end of the trestle table, swinging his legs and fidgeting with his serpent-headed walking stick.

A description of Anzu

He's short (159cm, making him nearly half a metre shorter than his husband), with a broad torso, long limbs, and long fingers, and dark skin. He is dressed impeccably, in a long midnight blue frock coat and midnight blue trousers with subtle black pinstripes; the waistcoat is a dark teal, as are his spats, and he's tied an electric blue cravat. A wool felt high hat, the same colour as his frock coat, sits upside-down beside him, holding a pair of dress gloves.

He wears his hair down, in carefully pomaded twists that reach just slightly past his shoulders—except for the corkscrew payos. He's clean-shaven, and wearing a Bukharian yarmulka in a pattern that matches his waistcoat.

For the moment, he's content to watch others, greet people who greet him, introduce himself to those who come over. But occasionally, he'll wave people over, if he spots them looking in his direction.

He's keeping an eye out for some of the people Lev's already mentioned to him. He may be middle-aged and quite secure in himself by now, but socialising is still a matter of active effort to him, and he figures he could get a head start if he befriends the people already amicable to his husband.

[lasthumanvoice]

"I'm pretty sure turnips are fruit of the earth. Though that makes me wonder about peanuts now, given now those grow. Hello, hi and hello!" Cecil is reading the notecards and vibrating with joy.

"I may need to argue about latke toppings with you, though. Sour cream is perfectly acceptable. Cranberry sauce, even better."

Vika | 20XX | Existing Player

[lastofthefirst]

What The Fuck Is That Robot Doing

So there's a clockwork machine here, dressed in a ragged opera cape with her fibrous hair pulled back into a ponytail. She is, very definitely, a machine. The cape doesn't hide a whole lot, is the thing, so there's the click-click-click-click of her operating gears, her strange, wide feet, the bit where one of her arms ends in what is probably a gun, this is a-robot, this is-a 'puter. One of her eyes is a sphere of unmelting ice, craved with an iris and pupil, that steams in the air.

Thing is, she's eating. Like. Indiscriminately. Not with incredible greed or gluttony, no, but with great variety, trying a little bit of everything, being careful to use serving spoons and the like rather than touching any of the food herself.

No Really What Is She Doing

Hey was your day going normally? Too bad, there's a robot sidling up with her click-click-click-click and just opening up the conversation, as Normal People Do, with: "Y'got any hands you're not using?"

1.

[worstorganplayer]

Snakes can't help but stare even though he's trying not to. How does a robot eat? Won't it ... gum up her gears or something?

"... So, looks like you're having fun," he says slowly. He certainly doesn't want to ask, but ...

"We've got a little bit of everything here," he continues.

Sheogorath || The Elder Scrolls (+crau) || OTA

[blindwatchersees]

It would be a pleasant and unlikely surprised if someone had brought smoked baliwog legs to the event. He hasn't seen any so far, but he's a long way from having assessed every dish.

The dithering old man isn't himself, not quite. Just a spore adrift on the wind, looking for purchase. He's always been here, but not like this, and the way he is now needs time to take root. Something brought him here, something that knew his name, but he can't remember, neither what brought him here nor what his name is. Oh, he has a name, but it isn't his, not quite. But he knows he's quite mad, and he knows that's a mercy.

Tap, tap, tap. It's not his cane either, but it's a good one, sturdy and good for giving things a good thwacking if need be. He's not thwacking anything at the moment, though. For now, Theodor Gorlash has spotted a pleasant looking dip, and is ambling over to give it a try, while every so often a tiny bit of his outline shuffles, like he's made of restless butterflies.

henry blake / m*a*s*h / will match style

[letemallcheer]

( when henry blake found himself on the receiving end of some spiel about about being maybe-dead and something about a second chance in a funny town, he'd argued at first. "do you have any idea how many kids are dying back there in that war?" he'd asked. "why don't you give one of them another chance, huh?"

but his questions seemed to fall on deaf ears, and eventually he'd accepted the deal, and been shuffled off to the next point.

and that was that. he'd shown up to town right on the verge of fuming about it, determined to find out who he needed to send an official letter to about this whole operation, or, if that failed, who he needed to send an official letter to in order to find out who he needed to send an official letter to.

but that was all hours ago. now that he's at a potluck with a spread of food that is both identifiable and edible, well. he's singing a different tune. in fact he's beaming as he piles his plate with food, practically one step away from whistling a jaunty tune as he goes. )

Boy, isn't this swell? ( he asks his nearest neighbor amicably. ) I think the only thing this little shindig's missing is a good lemon meringue. Don't tell my wife I said this but I think this place could give her recipe a run for its money.

[notinflictthem]

The only warning Henry gets is the increasingly loud thumping of shoes on the ground, then a particular scrawny doctor of his acquaintance yoinks his plate from his hands and crushes him into a hug.

"HENRY!!!"

Hawkeye Pierce, dressed in three clashing patterns as bright as a Christmas tree, in the flesh.

"How the hell are ya?! Where've you been??"

Gilbert Fitzroy + George Elsworth | Changeling OCs | OTA | Existing players

[comedyequalstragedy]

There’s a pair of new arrivals who don’t…seem to be in step with the rest of the crowd.

On the one hand, there’s a nervous looking fellow named Gilbert who seems to be doing his very best to make himself useful. You’ll find him clearing space on one of the tables for you to set food down, or asking you where he can find some extra napkins (someone appears to have nabbed a good number of them), or even just asking you directly “do you want a hand with that?” His tone never shifts from the overt helpfulness that can only be recognized as ‘customer service voice’.

His accent betrays that he’s a little rougher than his refined appearance would suggest, being solidly working class, clipped in some places and smooth in others. To those with eyes to see, especially those aligned with fae magic, this perfectly normal gentleman has an air of unnaturality about him. His colouration doesn’t sit correctly on his face, spilling over his features like a painted figurine, and similarly, his fingers are entirely smooth and jointless. He looks as if he walked out of a music box. The simple clothes he was given glimmers with small crystals of ice on the sleeves and pant legs, catching the light as he moves.

Anyone holding an instrument gets glanced at occasionally, thick with envy.


And on the other hand there's a man who answers to the name of George. He seems at once to take up space, intentional and confident, and to blend into the background like a statue or piece of furniture. Not quite so helpful as his counterpart, but more than willing to step in if he sees someone in need of assistance.

For those who can see it, this gentleman’s stony face is entirely literal. He appears smooth and polished as a fine marble statue, patterned with veins and striations the way stone is. His features are chiseled by necessity, and his gaze is piercing. A smell of leather conditioner seems to follow him, sourceless but ever-present.

He's watching the crowd, impassive, filing away observations for later use, looking for the best places to spend his time networking.

[redlightgreenlight]

Valdis sits to the side, now just observing everyone as they move and mingle around the town square. The souls all vary, and with her powers intact she can see deeper now than before. The colors and lights held within souls, the brightness or darkness, but it gives her a headache when her sight sits there for more than a few seconds, perhaps she just needs to 'flex' the muscles as it were.

Still, she's seeing some interesting things even without soul sight, there are more changelings here, though she's not certain which court they belong to. Her gaze flits over to where Max is, still helping people with their food, then back to the man helping at another table. He seems nervous, awkward, almost...robotic in a way, as if he's acting as he was trained instead of fully conscious, ambling about trying to be helpful.

She smiles when he asks her about napkins. "I'm sorry, I don't know where to find some, but perhaps I can help you look?"

Roger Rabbit | Who Framed Roger Rabbit? [OTA]

[whoframedme]

You could see it from a mile away. A mountain of a plate, stacked so high it shouldn't be standing with a bit of everything from that can be found on the serving table, a few things that can't, and one small stainless steel kitchen sink. In front of it, rummaging underneath the table, a rabbit speaks up.

"I can't believe it! I grabbed ketchup, an' mustard, an' salt, an' pepper, an' soy sauce, an' chocolate syrup, an' maple syrup, an' guacamole, an' queso, an' ranch, an' I still forgot a fork!"

[gnighteverybody]

"Talk about unforktunate," Yakko answers, laid out on the table.

"Lucky for you I'm at your service. And your crockery too-" at which point he picks the wobbling plate up, ready to scamper away.

Music Alwyn Szereban | OC [OTA]

[battlebyballad]

Oh how she loves things like this. No better way to connect to people than food.

Keep an eye out for the tiefling weaving her way through the crowds, humming and looking for conversation.

[vespertineactivity]

There's a doll sitting on one of the tables, looking out at people with a couple of cups of tea set out in front of it. It probably, at first, just looks kind of weird, but then it does a little wave after meeting Music's eyes! Its face doesn't move but it sure seems delighted.

Agent Cooper | Twin Peaks | New Character and New Player

[throneoftheblacklodge]

A man with jet-black hair that seems to be slightly graying can be found piling up a mountain of food. Cherry pie, donuts, anything sugary that he can get his hands on, paired with the richest black coffee that he can find. He scarfs it down in a frenzied state, like one who has not eaten in a very long time. And initially, he speaks to no one and keeps to himself.

After a certain point, he pauses in his excess, mumbles something about needing to remember some self-control, and decides to take a deep breath and eat each bite slowly, savoring it. In between bites, he takes much more care to observe his surroundings, watching the other party-goers curiously and taking in the scents of trees on the breeze, trying to name everything he can.

Eventually, he snaps his head to the person nearest to him at the table and announces in a voice that is both flat and a bit too loud, “Hello. Dale Cooper here. By any chance, do you happen to have a pen and some paper that I can use?”

[maltesefalcon]

Dale has looked at a tall, fully-feathered bird-man, with full wings peaking out from the back of his brown overcoat and sharp talons on his hands and feet. Which is all very ridiculous, but perhaps even moreso is the fact that he nods and pulls out a notepad and fountain pen.

"Of course. Cerrit Agrupnin, by the way."