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ph_logs2025-09-20 10:27 am
pumpkinhollow) wrote in ph_logs2025-09-20 10:27 am
Entry tags:
September Event - Guest Appearances
GUEST APPEARANCES
Ignition
September 20th is the Autumnal Equinox. Many places across the world of Concorde celebrate the first day of fall. While various nations and regions have their own cultural practices surrounding it, nature is god everywhere. And so the inception of Mother Autumn’s domain is universally recognized, even if the names change from place to place. But on a little island named Marrow, in a little town called Pumpkin Hollow, there is another reason to celebrate.
The birth of Dahlia Leeds is not so important an event that it supersedes Celestine herself, and neither Dahlia nor anyone in town is foolhardy enough to claim as much. In fact, after the events on this very same day last year, one might argue that perhaps her birth at least started out as a bad thing. But she is certainly the wealthiest person in town. It is through the combination of substantial wealth and a generous heart, two things that are very seldom found in the same place, that we end up with a soiree where the birthday girl would rather spoil everyone else on her day than herself.
The doors to Leeds Estate, which presides proudly over the town upon its throne at the crest of Founder’s Hill, are flung wide open. Large sums of Brass are paid to caterers, florists, and seamstresses to make sure this place is decorated to the nines. Some businesses labor all year, just to prepare for the handsome payoff they’ll get from this event alone. And you, dear neighbor, are invited. Not only are you invited, but you are dressed for the event in whatever your heart desires, completely at the birthday girl’s expense. Dahlia ensures no cost nor conflict stands in between anyone in town and a much-needed break. She is determined for this birthday of hers to be a good night.
Or else.
The birth of Dahlia Leeds is not so important an event that it supersedes Celestine herself, and neither Dahlia nor anyone in town is foolhardy enough to claim as much. In fact, after the events on this very same day last year, one might argue that perhaps her birth at least started out as a bad thing. But she is certainly the wealthiest person in town. It is through the combination of substantial wealth and a generous heart, two things that are very seldom found in the same place, that we end up with a soiree where the birthday girl would rather spoil everyone else on her day than herself.
The doors to Leeds Estate, which presides proudly over the town upon its throne at the crest of Founder’s Hill, are flung wide open. Large sums of Brass are paid to caterers, florists, and seamstresses to make sure this place is decorated to the nines. Some businesses labor all year, just to prepare for the handsome payoff they’ll get from this event alone. And you, dear neighbor, are invited. Not only are you invited, but you are dressed for the event in whatever your heart desires, completely at the birthday girl’s expense. Dahlia ensures no cost nor conflict stands in between anyone in town and a much-needed break. She is determined for this birthday of hers to be a good night.
Or else.
Incipience
{ The timeframe between ignition and the peak of burning, where a small, contained fire spreads and grows gradually into an established flame. All it takes is a spark. }
The whole town is abuzz as preparations for the gala begin. From the moment people begin to wake up for the day, the air throughout Pumpkin Hollow just feels electric with excitement. After August, people have been needing this lift in morale, and after how last year’s gala went… well, there’s a lot riding on this one. And Dahlia seems much more in control now.Speaking of being in control, the whole lead-up process has been incredibly organized. You wake up to a delivery--- your outfit, perfectly tailored and completely paid for. Accessories are included. She truly thought of everything.
It’s noteworthy that Dahlia’s invitations this time included another name beneath her own. “Suzanne Marie Dyneax,” it said. Most people don’t know the name, but gossip gets around in a small town like this. It’s not hard to pick up on the fact that this probably refers to Susie, one of the teenagers that Dahlia recently moved into her home, whose own birthday was ruined by Seemingly’s attack. Gift baskets have been delivered to others whose days were in proximity to the disaster--- Zivia, Capochin, even CT. Wine, fruit, and sweets, along with a birthday card. Dahlia has said in the past, “my birthday is your birthday,” but never has that felt more true.
With businesses mostly closed for the celebration, you are left with the majority of the day to prepare in relative peace. For many of the women in Dahlia’s inner circle, there is even a pre-party group dressing room set up on the third floor of her home. Only those who received her special invitation (Susie, Noelle, Fever, Cassandra, Anya, Alice, Patty, Melanie, Basira, Elsie) are permitted to join, but any friends or partners are gladly invited to wait at the bottom of the stairs for the girls to make their grand entrance.
The food is laid out, flowers placed, dresses laced and buttoned. The clock strikes 6pm, and the fun begins.
FLASHOVER
{ The moment when a blaze reaches its maximum size and heat, and the radiant heat in the space is such that all combustible materials ignite at once, allowing the flame to steadily and freely burn for the rest of the night. }
By the time it reaches 6:15, the ballroom is already flooded with eager dancers and hungry dinner guests. After all, the whole town is invited, and everyone’s excited to see Dahlia’s beautiful new ballroom and take a load off.The music is elegant, played by a rotating cast of musicians who join the party when their act is over. The food is extravagant--- Dahlia and two of her partners are some of the biggest foodies in town, so this is expected. There is talking and laughing and the swirling of ballgowns, and all is well.
But there is a guest you do not recognize in the corner of the ballroom. An older man with white hair, strong features, and a dour expression. You can see Dahlia eyeing him, then flitting over to him, then talking to him. Her expression shifts from anxious, to annoyed, to resigned, before at last she sighs heavily and leaves him to it. Whatever it is that’s going on, clearly it’s something Dahlia is willing to begrudgingly tolerate in order to get back to having fun.
The reason for the disturbance becomes clear in short order, but by the grace of Celestine (and perhaps Eligos), it isn’t a reality bending nightmare or an attack by some monstrous beings. It is simply more guests.
A lot more, in fact.
Those who were on the island in September of the previous year will recall the Visitor’s Center, which appeared briefly just past the beach and served as temporary living and meeting quarters for visitors from the homeworlds of current residents. It would seem that this is a repeat incident. For the night of the gala, one to two “plus ones” have been invited for the vast majority of offworld residents. Most of them are friends or family who are happy to see their guests--- but this is ultimately a working of Eligos, so naturally, this is not always the case.
At the very least, Eligos seems to have been generous with his own granddaughter. As she turns away from him, she very nearly runs into someone much shorter than her. A dark haired human man with dwarfism. He laughs at the accident, grinning up at her as she stares back at him, utterly baffled. Then, petticoats billowing out, Dahlia sinks to the floor and embraces him as tight as she can, head pressed to his chest with little regard for her carefully-styled hair. Even those across the room can hear her shout his name. ”Jonah!”
Within the hour, the ballroom is packed with nearly double the people originally expected, turning the party livelier than it’s ever been. Tearful reunions, laughter, dancing, mischief, romance, sparring, cruelty, and even proper, righteous violence. Truly, this Leeds Gala will be one for the books!
[ OOC reminders: each apped-in player character is entitled to one or two guests from their homeworld. This can be former selves, family, friends, enemies, and they do not have to be from the character’s exact canonpoint. They can be from the past or the future. You may play them yourself, ask another member player to do it, or recruit a non-member player to do so with moderator approval. Non-member players are permitted to join the Discord server while they’re active in this event! Threads you write for your own guests are eligible for AC for the character they’re there with, and threads you write for someone else’s guest can be used on the AC of a character of your choice. Just make sure to mark them as guest threads. After the gala, guests will be allowed to move freely about town, stay the night on Saturday and go home Sunday, or leave right after the gala if preferred. And last but not least, characters played in the gala can be apped directly from this event, rather than going through the normal arrival process. Let a mod know if you have questions, and have fun! ]
Smoldering
{ The decay of a flame as available heat, oxygen, and burning material gradually diminish. Eventually, the flames will recede entirely into glowing embers, glittering like orange starlight amid the ashes of what once was. }
The party rages well into the night. It’s not typical for residents of Pumpkin Hollow to stay out this late, with everything around here that goes bump in the night, but eventually party-goers begin to find their way out. They move in small groups, huddled around lanterns, may they ever stay lit. Perhaps the surprising bit is that their guests can go with them. There are even reservations made for board overnight at the Oak & Iron, all under the name “E. Rex”.But alas, these reservations are only booked for one night. And by the time the sun begins to set on the darker half of the year for the first time, an unfamiliar black boat is moored at Jack's Marina. One that the guests will recognize as the vessel on which they arrived. They must leave by the time it becomes dark.
Or must they? Perhaps for a select few, they will fail to feel the call which draws them home. It is unclear why. There are many that Mortanne would have allowed residency for, if she could. But for some reason, all but a small few feel the pull. Perhaps Eligos has simply abandoned them here. (Or maybe none at all end up marooned and everyone goes home? That all depends on you, dear reader.)
When the sky goes dark, the aptly named Heavy Heart shoves off, with only her crimson sails hanging suspended seemingly in midair in the moonlight. The black ship is otherwise consumed by the night. And soon, even those flashes of red vanish into the distance.
Moments recede into memories, like a dying fire settles gently into glowing embers at the bottom of a hearth. The festivities are over, and the guests are gone. Life in Pumpkin Hollow resumes as before. But maybe just a little warmer and brighter.
“My birthday is your birthday,” as Dahlia often says.
Happy birthday.
References to the appearance of Leeds Estate can be found here!
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—not true! No. Shit. That was Mike mode again, sure as anything; it's a good thing he only got one word out before he caught himself, because he was definitely going to go full on pitch shift, in character, the whole shebang. A single word isn't enough to notice it. Phew.
Mike would placate Tenna here by saying something like that. But Battat? As far as he's concerned, Tenna's probably not wrong about how the crew would feel about hanging out with the boss at a shindig like this. (Okay, the other Pippinses probably would have already been thrown out on their asses by this point in the evening anyway for shenanigans . . . )
Not that he's about to say that. Not that he even wants to, come to think of it. The thought sits in him sourly, like a tray of appetizers he probably should have eaten a little more slowly than he did.
But he does have to say something. It's not like he can't pick up on the rancid vibes emanating off both Tenna and Pluey here in their respective ways. Even if he did feel like washing his hands of them and heading over to the bar instead, what would he even do? Probably just sneak back over thirty seconds from now to hide under an ottoman and watch them anyway! Stupid!!
He's not Mike right now! Mike's the one who does this! Not him, except when he's Mike, which is never, always, and also every time except this one specific time. WHO MIKES THE MIKEMEN?!
Wait. That's it. That's—that's simple.
All of this passes through him in an instant. Maybe more like five instants, to be fair.
"Hey, you guys both look beat! Take a load off, bosses! Go find somewhere to sit down and I'll bring all three of us some water. Right behind ya, I promise!"
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Pluey, for his part, isn't sure at all what Battat must be scheming, but he must be scheming something, because Small Mike is the Scheming Mike and thus surely must have a plan cooking to get them all out of this mess. He knows this, and he knows thus that his best move is to simply trust the process. So, he looks between Battat and Tenna with a placating nod, and he scampers off to find some seating away from all the action of the ballroom.
The smell of cigarettes still lingers in the air even after Tenna follows after Pluey, trailing close behind the Mike of the hour. What could he have possibly gotten into, one might wonder; one might also wonder why that smell in particular has a tinge of familiarity to it, even though it's not at all like Tenna's usual brand.
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The problem is this: "just be yourself" is cute advice and all, but it's not going to work in this situation. What would "being himself" around both Tenna and Mike here even look like? There's no way he could get away with swatting Pluey on the head and calling him an idiot even once on Tenna's watch! So that's right out. No being himself. But he can't be Mike either right now, and that's the other thing he knows how to be when he can't be himself, leaving . . . ?
But he'd said it himself to Tenna already: he's here to support Mike tonight. That makes him, in a way, Mike's Mike. If he just does Mike Things, but without acting like he actually is Mike, and while redirecting the attention onto Mike along with Tenna—then, then he gets to help mitigate the situation and keep an eye on both Tenna and Pluey without it being suspicious at all that there's another not Mike here helping them out and spending time with them!
It's absolutely brilliant, and also, completely different from being a caring friend!!
He makes a note of where the two of them head off to sit. And before very long at all, because he takes being Mike's Mike seriously, he shows up to join them. He really does cut a very Casino Server-like figure in his suit, carrying a tray with three glasses and a pitcher of water.
And also a gin martini. That's for himself.
"Told ya I'd be right behind you!"
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At any rate, when Battat approaches, Tenna's sat with his head in both hands; Pluey's got a supportive paw on his shoulder, patting in repeated there-there motions, but he's clearly sweating underneath those cat ears. He's employing all of the tools in his arsenal as a Mike, and yet...!
"I just— Oh!" When Tenna actually hears Battat, of course, he snaps right to attention, cutting short whatever he was mumbling to Pluey and plastering on a smile as he smooths his hands down the front of his waistcoat. "S-So you did, haha!! You...really meant it, huh..."
He comes very close to reaching for the martini — but seems to think better of it, and picks up one of the empty glasses instead, which (a very relieved) Pluey is quick to fill from the pitcher. (Did Tenna actually realize it wasn't for him, or has he simply decided he's had enough alcohol for one night? It's anyone's best guess, really.)
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But he isn't Mike right now. Pluey is, and Pluey . . . does not look like he's having the best time with this either. Battat may not be nearly as attuned to his fellow Mikes' moods as he is to Tenna's, but he spends more than enough time with them to be able to read the room by now. They're a team.
He's just a Pippins right now. If Tenna comes out of this annoyed at him, that's just his default attitude towards them anyway!
So he shoves the reaction aside, trying his best not to let it show on his face at all to Tenna; that's one benefit of the mask when he's wearing it, is never having to worry about anything showing! And he takes a seat along with them, grabbing the martini.
"T—Mr. Tenna, you've already had a few, haven't you? At least enough that you're not very convincing when you try to smile at me! Your acting skills aren't cutting it . . . something happened, right?"
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"Oh— Aha, ha!!" But he's fine! Completely and totally fine, especially after Mike (Pluey) gives him a few whacks on the back to help with the spluttering. "That's, aha... Is it...really...that obvious..."
He's not fine. He's not fine at all, and that fact only becomes all the more obvious when Tenna sets his glass back down and puts his head in his hands all over again.
(Pluey shoots a Look in Battat's direction. He's heard enough by this point to have at least some idea of what's gotten him like this, something that begins with an 'ex-' and ends with a 'partner,' but how the hell does he communicate that when he can't even talk?! Maybe he could try to pantomime it; he's only got one arm to do it with, the other having resumed back-patting duties, but, maybe...?!)
"Sorry. Ha." Tenna's tone of voice makes it clear that he's still, somehow, even though he's extremely obviously not in a laughing mood, trying to laugh this whole thing off. "Sorry, I just— I-I'm just surprised, that's all!! That you would— Th-That anyone from the old crew, especially you guys, would still... That you wouldn't just leave like, like everyone else, and stay gone, like..."
(Oh. Maybe this is about something else, now, and not just the ex-partner thing. Pluey falters in his attempted pantomiming, looking rapidly between Tenna and Battat as he tries to figure out what Cat Mike should be doing next.)
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But Mike-to-Mike communication aside, Tenna's swerve there was—unexpected. First of all, it can't have been the original issue, right? They'd found him already mid glooby-spiral, so it started before he knew anything about any random crew members being here. Something major happened to set him off, and now it's gone on from there, to the extent that there's something about even a Pippins hanging around him that's feeding into it . . .
Well, whatever did happen, it's hardly new information that Tenna has abandonment issues, lying in wait to spring out at a moment's notice and jumpscare any conversation, like a jack-in-the-box made of pure emotional trauma!
He lifts his hand to pat . . . no, no, he's going to use it to grab his drink instead and take another sip.
"Yeah, well, like it or not, here I am! Along with Mike, of course! I saw Kris around earlier, too. They said you're putting on a show soon? Sounded like you were getting help from the Lightners on it . . . Kris seemed pretty hyped up about it! Y'know, for Kris."
There is a ceiling one must take into account when applying a phrase like "hyped up" to Kris.
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"Oh, you— You heard about that?" Tenna's attention, successfully piqued, snaps right back onto Battat, and he straightens up just enough to throw poor Pluey off from his ministrations. "Th-That's right!! They, haha, don't have any TV here, but that doesn't mean I can't put on a show, right!? And with the kids helping out, no less... We're still working out all the details, but when we do, it's gonna be great!!"
If he's doing that thing with his voice again, then his mood must have improved a little bit just now, right? If nothing else, he's at least more relaxed than he was before, a fact which becomes evident in the way he leans back and rests a hand on Pluey's head (who seems to enjoy this maybe a little too much) to scratch his ears.
"It...hasn't been easy, you know?" Tenna's head turns as if he's speaking to Mike, and not Battat, but... "Stuck here without anyone from the crew, without even Mike, but... Between me and the kids, and everyone else I've met here, we're...making it through. Somehow." There's a beat. "Oh! And I've even found someone to do maintenance on me, you know! Fixed me up good as new when I lost my arm that one time, ahaha!"
Wait what was that last part. Pluey almost misses it himself, lost in the kittycat sauce as he is, but his eyes snap open with what is very nearly the sound of a saxophone squawking when he realizes. What?!
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Wait, what was that last part?
Battat's still holding his drink, but that just means he has one hand free to wave around in consternation once he realizes what Tenna just said. He's not going to be holding a drink for long if he keeps up with this gesturing.
"YOU WHAT?! Wait, again? We repaired that perfectly the first time! It already came off again?! Lemme see!"
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Somehow Tenna seems to only just now be realizing that this would be brand new information to anybody who hasn't already been here for at least a few weeks, and that it's not particularly good information, besides.
"No, haha, it's fine, it all ended up fine, see!!" He starts waving both hands in a gesture that, with any luck, will dissuade Battat from taking matters into his own hands. "Just got stuck with some cosmetic damage — real tricky to find any plastic materials in a town like this, you know! — but even that got all buffed out after the NEXT time I got broken, and when I came back after THAT, it really WAS like I was good as new, ahaha..."
Pluey claps his paws to his face, both in an expression of genuine shock and to keep himself from actually making any startled Shadowguy noises. What does he MEAN, the next time?! How many times has it been?! What?! What?! Just what's been going on here, when there haven't been any Mikes to look out for him...?!
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Oops. That does it. He's officially being himself now. He'd expected to need at least one whole drink before slipping up like that—shit, right, he should set the martini down, he can already feel a trickle of gin soaking into his glove—but it would seem this'll do it too. Ahhh, Tenna's not gonna react well to it, but it's too late now! It's already happening! He is rolling down this hill with no brakes!
Battat makes a grab for one of Tenna's hands, as if the arm might just come right off once he gets hold of it.
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There's something to be said for the sheer unexpected factor of Battat's play, such that Tenna doesn't even have the wherewithal to keep himself from getting grabbed. Fortunately for the both of them, that arm does not in fact come off in Battat's grip; it's just as fortunate that Tenna doesn't have nearly as negative reaction as he might if Battat had gone for his shoulder or upper arm instead.
"L-Look, it's FINE if you want to check, but, uh, can we at least, you know, go somewhere else, first...!?"
He has an image to maintain, after all — a fact which Mike might be reinforcing at this very moment if it wasn't also a fact that Pluey is utterly baffled as to what Battat is trying to do right now. What's the plan, man?! You DO have a plan, right...?!
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wait wait wait wait wait wwwwwwaaaaaaiiiiitt a second wait wait wait
He sits back all at once. A little peep eeks out of his mouth, as if he's settled his weight back onto a squeaker embedded in his own body, like he's a dog toy or something, and he lifts both hands up in front of his chest.
"S-sorry, Boss! Of course! Of course we were gonna do that! Not doing that would beeee . . . we're doing it right now! C, come on, Mike!!"
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Anyway. Pluey is quick to hop up and follow after Tenna, who plasters on another smile for the benefit of anyone nearby who managed to catch this little scene. Tenna doesn't exactly know this huge house like the back of his hand, at least not yet, but he does know the nearest room where he can expect the three of them to be secluded from any other partygoers, and he sets a brisk pace as he leads them on.
(Gosh, isn't it almost like they're back on set? Almost, but...)
After the door swings shut behind the last of them, Tenna wastes no time before he shucks off his tails and waistcoat, dropping them into Mike's outstretched arms (always on the ball, that Mike!!) before he moves on to loosening his cravat and undoing the buttons of his shirt. "Look," he says, without actually looking in either Pluey's or Battat's direction, "I'm glad you're concerned, really, I am, but I'm telling you, there's nothing to be worried about!! See..."
Finally he shrugs both shoulders out of his shirt, and he turns to let the other two get a good look. True to his word, there aren't any real signs of whatever damage he might have sustained, or even any recovery from said damage: no cracks, no solder, no missing pieces, not even a scuff or scratch that wasn't already there to begin with. Although, if one looks very, very closely...yes, there is a faint etching of discolored marks across the hard, matte plastic of Tenna's upper torso, stretching over his shoulders and down to the components of his arms, curling into fractal patterns not at all unlike spreading frost.
"...I'm fine!! Good as new, even!! Just like I said, aha!! Like nothing ever happened...!!"
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But not this good.
What he sees, when Tenna's ready and gets his attention and he crosses the room to get a better look at him—climbing up onto a chair so he's tall enough to see better—is not what he expected. Shouldn't Tenna have been exaggerating about looking "good as new" after an injury like that? But he wasn't. What is this? How can his mechanical body have been "healed" in this way? Battat looks closer, swaying in, his mouth curving into a little frown. How much was healed exactly? Any trace left of any marks he himself might have made on Tenna in the process of old maintenance back home? Are those gone, too? His repairs. His.
And so of course he's looking closely enough to notice that new discoloration, and when he does, he reaches out to brush his fingers against one curling etched-in arm of the pattern.
"This has to've been powerful magic . . . right, Tenna . . . ?"
He forgets the "Mr." when he's this lost in the moment.
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He looks down at the spot where Battat touches him, and, though it only lasts a moment, a wave of static washes over his screen.
As though he was just surprised by what he saw.
"—Aha!! That, that's right!!" All of a sudden he is very, very quick to pull his shirt back on and start doing up his buttons again. "This place, uh, practically RUNS on powerful magic, you know!! So powerful it, uh, heh, must have left a mark, or, or something!! But that's, that's fine, you know!! I-It's not like it hurts or anything, so...!"
Pluey, meanwhile, has only just started to approach for a closer look when Tenna whips his shirt back on, and he can't help but bounce back a bit in surprise. Huh? What's going on NOW? What did you do, Battat???
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You know. The kind of person with a terrible poker face. If Battat were a different kind of Pippins, he could take Tenna for everything he's worth. And there are times that sounds like so much fun.
But this is how things have ended up instead. He may have said it very differently this time, but the sentiment he's expressing here isn't all that distinct from what "Mike" would have said: you aren't fooling anyone. Battat hops down from the chair and shrugs helplessly. Despite his politeness earlier, he openly watches Tenna get redressed.
"It really doesn't hurt? You're at least telling the truth about that part?"
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(Although he's right there with Battat when it comes to not believing Tenna in this specific moment, Pluey does have to concede, at least on that one point, with a shrug and a nod. He's not wrong, there.)
Tenna makes quick work of the buttons on his shirt — much quicker than he had been while sitting in Crichton's kitchen, with only one arm, one hand and one set of claws to struggle uselessly before Crichton finally took the matter into his own hands — but it's as he's retying his cravat that those quick movements finally stall, his fingers fumbling over what should be well-ingrained into his muscle memory by now.
"It's..." He's not getting away with anything like this, is he? He looks down at Mike, who by this point is giving him an encouraging pat on the leg, and takes a breath. "Just...when it...gets cold, is all. It...aches, then, sometimes... B-But!! That's it, really...!!"
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When it gets cold isn't a thought Battat likes. He remembers it, too—the specific way the frigid wind had sounded whistling through shards of metal that should never have been exposed. The unshakeable fear that any single clump of snow that blew into the wrong raw crevice while they were working could do the last bit of damage that would push Tenna beyond repair. It could have happened so easily. At the time they couldn't think about that, not if they wanted to keep their heads level and their work quick. But the thought is like so many worthless things; it hangs around without purpose. A grain of grit in him that chafes when he rubs against it wrong, and it will only get bigger if he builds a pearl around it to smooth it out—so he doesn't.
But the cold feels far away from the moment of warmth he feels when he laughs at that stupid joke.
He steps back up onto the chair again to offer his hand with the cravat.
"Ehhhh . . . I guess it could be a lot worse than that. I doubt that's anything we can fix, anyway."
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And isn't that in itself a strange, novel experience: to actually have to concern oneself with something like seasons or weather, now that he's stuck here in this place where such things are well beyond his control, subject to aspects of his environment which can't simply be locked away or changed entirely...
But — there's no point dwelling on that now, and Tenna has had quite enough of thinking about weather, thank you very much. All at once he turns and leans down to let Battat fix his cravat, with just the same level of trust and ease as if it were Mike offering his hand... Which, to be clear, is not a thought he will be unpacking later, because why would he? It's absurd to even consider, especially given that Mike is already right here beside him, offering up his waistcoat and jacket so he can hurry up and get this show back on the road already.
no subject
And if Battat fusses over helping Tenna get ready with exactly the practiced ease of a Mike, that doesn't mean anything either. There's nothing in that to think about!
"Aaaand there! Looking good, Mr. Tenna."
If that's true, too—if the waistcoat actually looks fucking incredible on him, which Battat was not planning on pointing out and is not going to express in so many words now, either, but hey, it's topical now, it came up naturally—that is also an objective fact. Duh?! Anyone would agree.
He hops down again to head to the door. On the way, he gives Pluey a friendly pat on the ears, the way he only does when his mood is especially good.
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"Heh, don't I ever!!" There's no mirror in here for him to preen in front of, but that hardly stops Tenna from flicking out the tails of his coat as he gives himself a once-over. Whatever it was that had him so glooby before seems to be long gone by now, and nobody's more relieved by this than Pluey, who...is getting some extra head pats, too?! From Battat AND Tenna?! Boy, everything's coming up Pluey...!!
"Ah— Hey, so..."
The gloobiness might be gone, but there's an uncharacteristic hesitation in Tenna's tone as he calls after Battat. What could THAT be about?
"I, uh... I don't know if you came here for my sake, or if it was just for the party, but..." Yes, he is definitely speaking directly to Battat now, and sounding sheepish about it, at that — wait, is he really? "You, ah...didn't have to check up on me, or anything, since, you know, Mike's here, and all, but... You did. So... Thank you."
Is that? An earnest expression of gratitude? From Mr. Ant Tenna, to one of his employees? Pluey, for one, finds it a little difficult to believe what he's hearing. Just how much has this place changed him...?
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But isn't that what Kris had said? It had seemed impossible just to hear them say it. He thinks everyone hates him for doing all that. The staff hating him for his demanding theatrics? Well, yeah. No shit, Tenna! But Tenna realizing that? And not just realizing it. What he said just now was . . . better. It wasn't glooby. It was something real.
Ahhhh, shit. He'd need a whole new corkboard to figure out how that makes him feel! Fuck that.
He exchanges a helpless look with Pluey.
But fuck that too!! He has a drink to get back to out there! And without it, he has two free hands, one to grab each of them—Pluey, and Tenna too—by the forearms and steer them to the door along with him.
"Y-yeah, well, the party I came to is the one Tenna and Mike are at, so if I'm supposed to be having a good time or something, you'd better come along with me!"
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But there's no indignation or offense in his words, as Tenna finds himself getting grabbed all over again; only genuine surprise, followed by an easygoing laugh as he lets himself get steered along. Maybe a month ago, when he was still freshly arrived in this world, he might have still taken issue with any challenges, no matter how slight, to the notion that he is the boss around here, but...
"You're pretty pushy for such a little guy, haha!!" Somehow, he doesn't actually seem to mind it. "Anyone ever tell you that—!?"
Pluey, for his part, could not be more content with the way things are turning out now. Tenna's happy, Battat...seems like? He's happy? And maybe now they can actually get back to the party, and maybe he can get back to dancing without having to worry about any teens chasing him or even younger kids yanking on his tail!! Everything really is coming up Pluey!!
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He draws his hands back to wave them in the air—
"Uhhh, sorry, Boss! Actually, I get that a lot! Haha . . . "
—Though Tenna hadn't really seemed upset in the way Battat might have expected, which makes the temptation to grab on again very real. But best not to push his luck, not with how much he's managed to get away with tonight.