get ready everybody 'cause here we go

[dashing]

WHO: Saoirse, Herian & open.
WHAT: a combined birthday hangout.
WHEN: 30th Haring.
WHERE: The Hanged Man.
NOTES: Drink up now and turn up hungover to the Firstday feast. Open invitation over here, no need to reply to the network post or even have prior cr in order to attend. Please add any warnings to subject lines if they come up.

"Party" would be an extreme word for it; the more accurate word would be "casual gathering of people with liquor readily available." It is The Hanged Man, though, so who knows what shenanigans could unfold.

They've taken over a corner of the inn, and though there isn't much in the way of decorations - making sure the place could be easily accessed after all that snow was work enough - there are a couple of strings of bunting.

Don't get too wild; it'd be unfortunate if Herian had to interrupt her own (shared) birthday celebration in the sake of preserving the Inquisition's reputation. (Or do get wild, and simply shrug it off as The Hanged Man's influence. Whatever.)

Be sure of one thing, though - at least one round is one Herian. Maybe. If you're a close friend, or look particularly glum.

Comments

[sulena]

She blinks once at Cosima admitting she did not know any of her sisters growing up. Had they been separated then? She thinks to ask but does not wish to make dark conversation on a night that is supposed to be anything but...

Still Saoirse certainly knew what it meant to be separated from a sibling.

"Almost twins," she says with a laugh. "Oh yes, I very much agree. If not for her mother's tea then I am sure my father would have been giving me coffee instead."

Which is only met with the sticking out of her tongue, ugh.

[dashing]

There's... a great deal about Cosima's world, her life, that Herian doesn't know in full detail yet, just as Cosima doesn't know so much of hers. Still, she has heard strange bits and pieces, enough to make her cautious of pressing for details, and the separation of family is familiar enough to mages.

It's not an obvious exhibition of support, perhaps, but she brings the hand not entwined with Cosima's across to lightly trace over her knuckles, even if it is the barest expression of increased contact.

"Alienage coffee," Herian muses, with a touch of despair. "I imagine there is a reason I've no memory of what that tastes like."

Repress The Hell out of that devil's brew. "Although I've an uncle who I think probably fermented it into something more than a little ill-advised. Do you remember Alroy?" Or, she sighs, remembering, "Or Tattie-Bogle, as he was better known."

Capable of making booze out of anything: Tattle-Bogle.

[youwonscience]

Cosima cracks up, despite her best efforts not to. "Sorry. Wait, really? I mean, that's kind of impressive in its own way." Innovation, if the kind that potentially could give you an epic stomachache, hangover or both.