[Center][img]https://i.imgur.com/35foN5l.jpeg[/img][/center] [color=darkgray]A stray firework rode into the sky and burst into a bloom of red and golden lights, blurred by the sweet nectar of the evening's taste. [color=c9bef3]"Looks like we’re out of time, handsome,"[/color] The girl in the sparkling dress spoke loud enough to be heard over the fireworks as she turned back to face Baxter. [color=c9bef3]"But just for you…"[/color] Her glass clinked softly against his, he drank deeply as he had all night, whilst she sipped wary of her present state and setting a pace she felt she could still be uncomfortably at ease with. After draining her glass and replacing it on the counter top, she leaned forward and hooked two fingers in the collar of his open shirt - made much easier by his own willingness, vacant-eyed as ever. [color=c9bef3]"It’s bad luck to enter the new year without a kiss."[/color] The remaining distance was closed between them by Blair, she pressed her lips against his as they hovered precariously over the previously filled champagne glassesatop his bar. As always he ceded to the other's discretion. With inhibitions undoubtedly loosened by his own prior actions it never seemed right to further assert and push the issue. But he found himself surprised. The girl used no tongue and did nothing to take things to a place which would be considered overtly sexual. Then he remembered the music playing in his own head, his dancing, he'd barely started. If he even really did at all. Had he? As the girl in the sparkling dress savoured the moment for a second or two before pulling away, she left him with a warm, and slightly guilty, smile. Wait... this was just something she had wanted to do. And it was measured. And... [color=c9bef3]"Happy New Year’s, Baxter."[/color] She said, her eyes lazily half-closed with warmed cheeks, as she stepped down from the stool and made her farewell with no further fanfare. That wasn't something Baxter had ever experienced before. He'd found himself in all kinds of situations as a result of out of control parties and dancing. After which he'd extricated himself and despite the clear enjoyment, both parties of the parties were all too willing to never party again and instead part their separate ways. Apart. But this was entirely controlled. Measured. And of her own whim. Did she... Actually [b]LIKE[/b] him? [color=b22222]"G'night..."[/color] [hr] Baxter had continued pouring drinks under the assumption that the night wouldn't be drawing to a close for many hours after the clock struck fireworks. His diligence was met by a complete lack of willingness to keep pace with him, and whilst the night was indeed young, people intended for it to remain that way, as people slowly frittered away on the winds in all directions to their own cabins, it wasn't until the bitter cold swept through on one of those winds that it became clear to Baxter that the night was indeed over. He put bottles in the plastic tub he had beneath the bar, and was pleasantly surprised when he realised that one side revealed a handle, and that he'd been stowing the booze in a wagon all along. Anyone who would have still been around five minutes later, would have caught sight of a solitary figure in the blustering snow, trying to drag a wagon full of clinking bottles through the growing powder, with his off-hand desperately trying to close his open-buttoned shirt in a feeble attempt to ward off the elements as he staggered back to his cabin. [hr] A four post bed covered in furs and opulent blankets, appealing to comfort in the hedonistic centre of a cabin which featured a still bubbling jacuzzi held the unconscious form of the son of Dionysus, and the visions of the mind within... The door to a housing trust rental popped open a crack, and the raccoon eyed face of a squatter named Baxter Marsh popped his head through to see what the late caller wanted. [color=b22222]"G'morning..?"[/color] [color=white]"Afternoon."[/color] The caller corrected. [color=b22222]"I guess we can agree to disagree."[/color] Baxter replied. He didn't know why the caller was here, but it was seldom good news when they started to take it upon themselves to correct you about the time of day so early in the morning. Or at least the conversation. The morning caller sighed. [color=white]"Were you at 'The Bent Elbow' last night?"[/color] [color=b22222]"I think you might be looking for Pete. Peeeeete!"[/color] Baxter took the opportunity to try to shut the door whilst he called for the guy who was actually renting the house, only to find it met with resistence. He was unable to close the door. [color=white]"Yeah, that's what I thought. And Last Friday, you were at 'The Hammered Nail'."[/color] [color=b22222]"Peeeeeete!"[/color] He kept swinging the door, unable to close it, whilst the face in front of him grimaced with every attempt to slam the door. [color=white]"Stop that!"[/color] 'The Bent Elbow' and 'The Hammered Nail' had both been in the news of late. As sudden outbreaks of public indecency had occurred in each one. The Hammered Nail had even seen, what had been described as 'a spontaneous orgy of a depraved nature which had somehow gone beyond the venue's maximum occupancy' leading many journalists to rename it 'The Nailed Hammer' or 'The Meatpile'. The fact that someone was at the door now asking Baxter questions about it, left Baxter wanting to take a very defensive posture. That posture being on the other side of this closed and locked front door. [color=white]"Stop. Shutting. The damn. Door. On... Dammit! I'm not a cop! Just speak to me!"[/color] Slowly the door inched open, with half of Bax's face appearing from the shadows within, behind the door. [color=b22222]"Really..? Cos you'd have to say if you're a cop, right?"[/color] [color=white]"No. Idiot."[/color] Suddenly the door was kicked. Hard. Directly into Baxter's face. [color=b22222]"Owww..."[/color] Bax whined as the door collided with his cheek and sent him sprawling. It was a level of violence Baxter was unfamilar with, and he'd come across all sorts in his partying ways. A kick beyond anything he'd seen, and he was fortunate he was already moving away as the door collided with him, but his present company seemed to no longer be willing to have a conversation where the door was involved. [color=white]"I'm your brother Lenny."[/color] He uttered, breathing heavily with frustration. [color=white]"And you are Baxter Marsh. I've been looking for you for weeks."[/color] Baxter looked up at the much shorter figure now standing in the doorway. Backlit by the bright day's sun. He reached into a pocket and drew a letter which he'd received. [color=white]"I've got a letter from our father. It speaks of attendance to a special camp..."[/color] [color=b22222]"Our father wants me to go to some kind of camp..?"[/color] [color=white]"Our father asked [b]ME[/b] to go to some kind of camp. Something says I probably wouldn't exactly be accepted in a place like that though..."[/color] He gestured to something which still wasn't exactly clear to Baxter. Lenny sighed. [color=white]"I'm-- [/color][color=86a8ad]Good morning campers. This is your new leader, River, speaking."[/color] Baxter seemed confused. He didn't know him particularly well, in fact this was one of only a few times they ever communicated, but from what he could remember it wasn't like Lenny to agree with him on something. particularly on it being morning. Especially with the afternoon sun so prominent and providing him backlighting. [color=b22222]"Beg yours--?"[/color] [color=86a8ad]"It is currently 7:30 a.m. on January 1st. Your first training will begin in one hour at 8:30 a.m. in the arena."[/color] Baxter squinted uncharacteristically, as his everpresent grin dropped from his face. Lenny's words didn't seem to be matching up with what he was saying. It was extremely strange. This wasn't how this conversation was supposed to go. He stopped listening to Lenny and went by feel. [color=b22222]"Oh, bigots are they..?"[/color] Lenny replied by running over and picking him up by both sides of the collar of his open buttoned shirt. Something about the motion made Baxter pucker up for a kiss. But he was pretty sure that wasn't how this conversation went either. Lenny yelled something at him but again it came out strange. [color=86a8ad]Please arrive promptly and dress accordingly."[/color] [color=b22222]"OK. So it seems like they have a pretty strict dress code though, if they take it as seriously as you are..."[/color] Lenny's hands shook as he held him aloft by the collar. He was very solidly built, for his height. Then Baxter realised something. [color=b22222]"Oh."[/color] Baxter stood up with his feet flat on the ground, pulling Lenny off balance up to his tiptoes. [color=b22222]"I didn't realise I could just stand up, there. Who's our father, anyway?"[/color] Lenny sneered, as if disgusted that Baxter hadn't realised as much yet. He didn't seem to like him very much. [color=white]"[b]Dionysus[/b]."[/color] Lenny turned and dramatically said, as if the name should mean something to him. [color=b22222]"What, is he some kind of magistrate or bigwig Cabinet polli in Canberra or somethi--"[/color] [color=white]"Really? God of wine? The vine? Fertilitity? Ecstasy? Madness?"[/color] [color=b22222]"...that's a pretty big portflio."[/color] [color=white]"Yeah. That's a pretty big portfolio."[/color] Baxter scratched his chin. [color=b22222]"So, if our father wanted [b]YOU[/b] to go, then how is it... that you... come to be here?"[/color] [color=white]"Because I didn't like it when he sent me the letter, and followed it up with him, and he said... and I quote... 'Well, if you can find any other sons of Dionysus, then by all means'..."[/color] [color=b22222]"That doesn't seem like he was being very serious about that, it sounds more like he was being--"[/color] [color=white]"I don't care. That's exactly the kind of loophole that you need to get out of this sort of Fated thing in-- Why am I even explaining this? Here's the letter. You're expected. They'll probably have a big party when you turn up."[/color] Baxter looked down at the letter he was now holding. The strange map it contained. And the personalised script that it held, and was changing even as he looked at it. [color=b22222]"...Party..?"[/color] [hr] Baxter straightened to his feet with a yawn. He staggered over shag-carpeting, kicking his foot on a wagon that lay in the middle of the floor with a groan. Hopping on one foot to the refrigerator, walking past a clock which held the right-angled time of 9 o'clock. He opened the refrigerator, scratched himself in two places at once, as he propped the door open with his shoulder, before pulling a wine bottle from the fridge door. He raised it to his lips. Gargled the contents like mouthwash before a swallow, then staggered off to the bathroom to complete 'rotating his fluids'. The sound of urine hitting the water at the bottom echoed through the cabin for an eternal minute before the taps ran, washing his hands. One more yawn, and he staggered across the floor before once again collapsing into the four post bed, awash with furs, blankets and cushions, as sleep re-claimed him. [hr] If Baxter dreamed again, he didn't remember it. He rolled off of the bed with a small groan. He stumbled and hopped across shag-carpeting, his foot finding the wagon once more. But it was a meander of intent. He pulled a glass from the cupboard, after spying one with half-slit 'lids and his vague grin growing across his face, like a fresh sunrise that saw the outside of these walls several hours ago. The refrigerator was opened, and he put the glass inside whilst he inspected each shelf for what he wanted. [color=firebrick]"Ah!"[/color] He exhaled in mild joy. A stick of celery drawn from the strange new position of the vegetable crisper, was stuffed under one arm whilst he pulled a carton of tomato juice and a small bottle of Tabasco sauce out with one hand, and a larger bottle of worchestershire sauce and his empty glass with the other, closing the door with a swing of his hip. He placed everything on the countertop and opened up his small pantry to see what he had to work with. [color=firebrick]"Let's see-let's see-let's see..."[/color] Fingers turning the small jars and bottles. [color=firebrick]"Saaalt... Black pepper... Ooo, nutmeg? Thank you kindly... Cayenne..? My good friend Cayenne, you have a date with a girl called Margaret..."[/color] The juice was poured and mixed with the spices at his discretion, stirred thoroughly with the celery stalk. He dusted the rim of the glass with salt, and then habitually snorted it from his hand as he had a hundred times before. [color=firebrick]"Bloody Mary, full of Grace, take us Gin-ners on a righteous path, lead us not away from tempt-Jameson, and deliver us to Aperol..."[/color] He held his hands out in reverence... before snapping his fingers, raising his own blood-alcohol level and completely negating the need for the hair of the dog he had in front of him in the first place. Shrugging, he drained the complete contents of the high-ball. Snorting slightly in reaction to a streak of the nutmeg shooting up his sinuses in his haste. [color=firebrick]"Hoya-toya-toledo! Nutmeg, you are a feisty bitch..."[/color] It had played its part though. No more half-slits. His eyes were wide open now. [color=firebrick]"Time to greet the day..."[/color] He looked down at himself. He was still in the wrinkled, open, unbuttoned shirt from the night before, paired with a fetching pair of underwear. Although people would probably frown upon the ensemble, regardless how fetching they may be. There's no accounting for taste. Baxter pulled his shirt off and threw it away to whereabouts unknown and swiftly forgotten about. He reached down and put his rolling case on the bed, unzipping one side. He drew an identical shirt, complete with coathanger, from the bag and flung the hanger to another forgotten corner. He drew another pair of identical underpants, and lay them out on the bed. Before reaching a blind arm in and drawing out a pair of tight denim pants. He threw the shirt over his head, scrambled his arms through the suitable holes, and then unbuttoned the shirt down the front, before changing his lower half to be 'more decent' for the outside world. In a few minutes he pulled on his shoes, a pair of boots he'd got from somewhere along his European trek, from parts long since forgotten. He pulled his feather lined fur coat from where it hung over a chair and sniffed it twice, about to put it on. [color=firebrick]"Eww... You... need a wash. Ugh."[/color] Baxter dropped the coat into the jacuzzi, and considering things for a moment, placed his high ball glass from his bloody mary in the jacuzzi as well, before scrubbing the green paint stripe from his face with a few handscoops of water, to dubious effect. Another blind arm pulling at his rolling case, until he drew out a long coat. He pulled it on and buttoned it over his unbuttoned shirt. [color=firebrick]"Perr--fect..?"[/color] He looked, swishing the bottom of the long coat around himself. [color=firebrick]"...or close enough."[/color] And so Baxter left to kill the few hours before the next presumptive party, and explore the grounds of this place. As he made his way beack to the field which held the festivities of the previousl night, he saw a tall lean gentleman approaching in athleisure wear. [color=firebrick]"G'morning!"[/color] He cheerfully greeted the oncoming man, crimson of hair and stubble. [/color] [center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img] [color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] Leo - [@Theyra][color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] Blair (via flashback), "Lenny" (NPC) [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] Pending[/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center]