ersatzdivinity | It must have been the mistletoe

[mistletoe standoff, mistletoe avoidance, mistletoe chicken, maybe even some genuine interest.]

I hope you're not too attached to that bracelet.

[ Or the necklace she's wearing. Solo has two glasses of champagne, naturally, plucked off a passing waiter the moment he came into her periphery. His suit is a careful fit for the crowd, the breast pocket hides the weapon. ]

Business, or pleasure?

You know.

[Steve is handing her a glass of champagne, from respectfully outside her personal space.]

They used to represent peace. To the Romans.

[A nod to the mistletoe. Steve's not anywhere near naive enough to plant himself under it, but a friendly conversation never went amiss.]

[The champagne is accepted with a small smile, an eyebrow quirking faintly upward at the choice of conversational starters. It's true, of course, but one might think Steve wouldn't even want to broach the topic, considering their company here.]

Mhmm. And fertility to the Greeks. I'm surprised you haven't been cornered yet.

Who says I haven't been?

[That's dryly said. Steve never took SERE - the modern iteration of the program, at least - but he learned his survival, evasion, resistance and escape in older times, and most of those tactics work on the battlefield as well as the ballroom floor.]

I've been keeping my distance.

Smart man. Be smarter to not draw attention to it, though.

[Especially in front of someone who's perhaps a touch bored, here, despite the welcome respite from the interesting times they're living in lately.]

You know, tempting fate and all.

[That gets a laugh. Somehow, he's not sure Natasha is the sort of person who believes in fate.]

Practically my middle name. Tempting fate. The hell Buck gave me every time he heard I was jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

He's not wrong. You know, it's hell on your knees, especially at your age.

[Now it's her turn to smile, the kind that warms her eyes just a touch. Not all of them make it that far. More often than not, they don't even fully touch her lips. But teasing Steve Rogers, well. A girl's gotta get her kicks somewhere, right?]

[He rolls his eyes rather pointedly, ha, ha, he's almost a hundred, what a real side-splitter. You're hilarious, Nat.]

I'll pick up some shark cartilage later. Isn't that supposed to be good for the joints?

[... he watches a lot of infomercials. This is what happens when you don't need much sleep.]

[25, set PA by day, musician by night, bi with predominantly homosexual preferences. Will kiss the hell out of all of you, though. Kissing is a fantastic hobby.]

Edited 2016-12-02 23:45 (UTC)

[Oh dear. What could this possibly be.]

Well, this looks oddly familiar.

[Beyond glances up at the mistletoe he's standing underneath, nibbling at his thumbnail, then shifts his gaze to Joe. Behind his hand, a smile creeps across his face.]

Isn't this a bit out of season?

[Not that he's actually complaining.]

[Joe only offers the broadest of grins in reply, reaching out to snag Beyond by a belt loop and tug him inward.]

I mean, it's winter. That's a season. Are you really going to leave me hanging?

"Do you know the story of Baldr and the mistletoe? When Baldr's death was foretold, his mother Frigg went to all the plants and animals of the world, securing oaths from them to never harm her son, thereby ensuring his survival. However, she overlooked the mistletoe bush, and when the gods and goddesses amused themselves by throwing weapons at Baldr to watch them bounce off, Loki slipped a spear made of mistletoe to the blind god Hodr, which slew Baldr. His father Odin sent a messenger down to the netherworld to beg Hel to release Baldr.

"Now, there's two versions of the story from there: one says that Hel told the messenger she would only let Baldr return if every thing both alive and dead would weep for him. A single giant refused, and so Baldr was doomed to dwell in the netherworld until Ragnarok. The other, much cheerier version says Hel agreed to send him back, and ends with Frigg declaring the mistletoe a symbol of love and offering a kiss to anyone who passed beneath it.

"So, really, you've got two potential futures here--in one you die, and in the other you earn a kiss. Tell me--is it worth the risk?"

[Probably embarrassed. Probably not gonna stop him anyway. Your odds are, however, better without spectators.]

Amos looked up at the mistletoe, glanced at the quieting living room where the movie had just played into its opening scenes, and then turned a cheerfully broad grin upon poor Remus, caught in the doorway as they'd both tried to enter the kitchen. Rather than his usual metely-friendly grin, this one was far more interested and flirty: Remus was shy and cute and Amos was definitely not blind.

"No worries, all titanium," he assured the other, tapping his left cheek just below his Monroe piercing: that and his tongue-stud and his multiple earrings, though silver-coloured, were definitely not actual silver.

[once an alcoholic earth wizard, now an alcoholic High King of Fillory. Probably back on Earth for god knows what reason. It's Quentin's fault, whatever it is. You bring the kisses, he's got the eggnog. Icons don't show it but Eliot's got a twisted lower jaw which results in facial deformity.]

Test test

He's gotten the place decked out properly for the holidays, and the last of the finishing pieces is going up as he hears the door to the front open. He's sticking out of a particularly festive-looking archway, the mistletoe raised over his head to stick it in place as he waves to her.

"Hey. I was just going to call and see if you wanted to do anything for Hannukah."

He points over to a small alcove that he'd done up in white and blue, near the chair she liked to lounge in.

There's a takeout bag in one hand and her duffel in the other, and it's really just fortunate chance that it's the duffel she drops on the floor and not the dinner she's brought over as she stops dead, looking at the space he's set up by her chair. Her chair, as in the one that's hers, her usual place, and ain't that something to say? Who'd'a thought. And the set up he's put together...

It's good he's on a ladder, because that gives her time to wipe away the tears that well up in her eyes, disguising the motion as she drops the takeout bag on the table and heads over to investigate. Her fingers trail over the base of the menorah, and the memories it brings back are maybe a little bittersweet, but it's even sweeter that he'd thought of her.

"Aw, gee Sandy, that's real sweet of ya. You didn't have to do this for me." Turning, she offers him a slightly watery smile, moving to stand at the base of the ladder, blinking away little bits of moisture. "It's real nice, though. The whole place--it all looks real nice. Real festive."

Edited 2017-12-03 22:00 (UTC)

He grins down from the ladder, sticking the little sprig carefully in place before starting to climb down. He's noticed the dampness in her eyes, but he's not about to say anything, other than to reply to what she says.

"I know I didn't have to. But I wanted to. I mean, if I'm going to decorate this place..."

He makes the last leap off of the ladder before peering over at the bag of food.

"Glad you like it, though. What's in the bag?"

"It's real nice," she says, aware that she's repeating herself, but she doesn't really have words to properly express how she's feeling. It's been a long time since anybody did something like this for her. And the holidays...

"You know I haven't celebrated since I was in school? Not even college, god, I think the last time we did Hanukkah was...I dunno, I was maybe twelve. Before my ma's ma passed." Memories she hasn't thought about in a long time. Her life is firmly broken into two periods: before Arkham and after.

Shaking her head, she smiles up at him again, and this time a little more of that regular Harley shines through as she shrugs. "Figured I'd bring dinner, since I was coming over anyway. Indian, Pammy introduced me to this great vegetarian joint a few months back. You like curry?" It's one of her favorites. Spicier, the better.

"...you know, it's always sort of made me wonder why your friend Pam is a vegetarian."

Beat.

"But I'm a big fan of curry. I spent a few years in the subcontinent and I'll admit, it's hard finding anything that comes close."

He tilts his head towards the kitchen, a place she's very familiar with, then the dining room.

"How about I get us some drinks and we have dinner?"

Another one of those shrugs. "Hey, everyone's gotta eat. Plants die, fertilize other plants, make room for 'em to grow. Plus modern farming practices are destroying the earth." You can tell she's heard this lecture a thousand times. She's even got Pamela's cadences down. The next part is much more Harley. "You know me, I'm always here for a good cheeseburger, but this stuff's pretty good. Drinks sound great, I'll get the food."

She turns and is about to step away to fetch the bags when her eyes catch on the lintel above both of them, and she stops, eyebrows lofting. "Hey. Is that mistletoe?" It's bad luck if you don't follow the traditions, isn't it?

He looks up himself, even though he's the one who stuck it there, before scratching at the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I mean..." he glances up at it again, over his head and all. "I guess I just did it on auto pilot. We've always got some back at the brownstone. And we always had it while I was growing up."

"Well sure," she answers. "What's Christmas decorations without mistletoe?" Her family had done a bit of both Hanukkah and Christmas, after all, trees and menorahs and Santa and everything all in one proper jumble. And Christmas, well, Christmas was everywhere. And really, this isn't a big deal. Just a tradition, and one she's always thought of as sweet and cute and absolutely nothing but a bit of fun.

So looking up at him, she grins cheerily and beckons with a crook of her finger for him to lean over, make it easier for her petite frame to reach. "Well, we can't just leave without a kiss. It's bad luck, you know."

Natasha Romanoff | MCU

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Joe DeLaurentis | OC

no subject

no subject

Hel | Norse Mythology AU

Remus Lupin | HP Marauders era

no subject

Eliot Waugh | The Magicians (books)

Re: Eliot Waugh | The Magicians (books)

Paging Dr. Quinzel

Reporting, stat

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject