(Open Log) You gotta know when to hold 'em

[bindlestifflost]

Who: George Milton, Nick Valentine, and anybody who shows up
When: April 22, starting around 6 PM until
Where: Apartment A-3
Summary: A night for playing cards, drinking beer or b.y.o.b. if harder, snacks and unwinding. Feel free to thread jack and jump all around, at least in my threads. This is just for some relaxed down time and catching up or introductions in a smaller, casual space.
Warnings: None expected. If your characters get to discussing anything triggery or get up to anything spicy, please CW in your individual threads.



Over the past week or so, hand printed signs drawn in sharpie on plain paper have shown up taped to walls around the apartment complex and on any easily accessible bulletin boards at ADI. A couple of them were also delivered to the flophouse with the request they be displayed somewhere the residents might see them.

They read:
Cards and Beer
Friday April 22 6 PM
Apartment A 3
George and Nick's place
You want more than beer
or chips and popcorn
bring your own.
Extra decks appreciated.

The night of, the door to A 3 is propped open. In addition to the dining table, a couple of card tables and cheap folding chairs are set up for games. Two bowls on the coffee table contain chips and popcorn respectively. There's a cooler on the floor in the kitchen filled with ice and cheap beer.

George or Nick will greet people as they come in and tell them to make themselves at home.

((OOC: Feel free to top level with your own character and make whatever prompts you like. George is generally easy-going, but if he catches anyone stealing, getting too hot and heavy in a bedroom, or otherwise being a general jerk about the apartment or the other guests, he will try to throw the offender out. If you want that kind of thread or want to succeed at something nefarious, let me know so we can work it out.))

Comments

aziraphale | ota

[oldbookshop]

[ Aziraphale is not so much here because he saw the signs organically as he is here because Crowley said he ought to come with. What he pays attention to or objectively fails to perceive when left to his own devices is his business. And a mere matter of details when he has a person who can just occasionally tow him along.

Card nights have never historically been his Thing as far as attended social gatherings run, so getting into games is not overall where he lands. Things that do fall into his wheelhouse as the night goes on include:

- Making a beeline for familiar faces to say hello again and maybe see how they're doing.

- Making a separate beeline for unfamiliar faces to introduce himself properly, because he's never not on that manners grind. He likes people, generally speaking. Getting to know them, learning a bit about what their deal is. He already loves them objectively, but he knows well enough to keep that to himself.

(Sometimes an angel can be a person with broad "relative who maybe saw you in your infancy once, now turned up randomly at a reunion 20+ years later and is sincerely very interested to hear about your university major or how you had to change your cat's food brand" energy.)

- Using a spare deck of cards for a) a tiny card house, or b) to shuffle in the manner of someone who learned magic tricks a couple of centuries ago and hasn't really bothered with practicing since then.

- Or, occasionally, if Crowley is on a particularly sparkling win streak at some game or another, and if it seems like the people at that table are amenable, using one of his routine "is the only person at this party I'm properly familiar with still safe and accounted for" check-ins to be a little bit of a bastard. Namely in that he'll wander past and maybe....... offer the rest of the table some sort of gesture regarding the state of Crowley's hand. For a treat.

His card opinions are purely subjective but he's out here doing his best. ]

((i'm honestly up for wildcards/whatever tho, this is just a general little thing!))

[abrightboy]

"Aziraphale! You made it. I was worried it wasn't really your scene."

Not that it's Malcolm's scene, but being part of A Guys' Night sort of event is fun, even if literally everyone was invited.

"Have you tried any of the games? Do you want a drink?"

[oldbookshop]

Stepping out to do something a little bit social is already paying off. No human is any more a duck for him to keep in a row than any other, of course, it's good to be getting out again in general, but there is relief in already knowing more than just the one person.

Sort of makes it easier. It's always a pleasure to run into Malcolm in any case.

"A drink sounds lovely, thank you." Could that be a life motto? Maybe. "And it's not much of my usual 'scene', if I'm honest. But it's nice to sit in on something new now and again. Helps keep things interesting."

[abrightboy]

"I also don't usually do this either," Malcolm admits. "What would you like? They have beer and Winter brought some cocoa... oh and my boyfriend brought wine," he offers.

[oldbookshop]

An effectively and probably unintentionally buried lede.

"Are you here together? That's wonderful." Aziraphale goes ahead and shuffles his drink priorities down one slot in favor of: being nosy. "Which one is he?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm can't help a smile at his shoes before he looks around and directs Aziraphale's attention to a man with dark hair, smiling as he pulls the pot towards himself.

"That's him. His name is Neal." He looks at Aziraphale. "He's good at poker."

[oldbookshop]

Malcolm is truly a hero for indulging this curiosity. The evergreen pairing of being nosy and being able to show off a boyfriend.

"Oh, the one who's been giving Crowley a run for his money. I like him already." He might have used the term keeping Crowley humble, but, well. He doesn't want Crowley humble so much as he thinks it's very funny to see people show him up a bit on occasion, anyway.

Aziraphale sounds a little bit delighted nonetheless. He leans in a bit, conspiratorial.

"He's a very handsome young man."

Good bone structure and beautiful eyes attracts good bone structure and beautiful eyes, he supposes. Good for them.

[bindlestifflost]

[George catches enough of what the older fella is laying down to know that maybe he ought to go ahead and take the hint. Without much more than a flicker of his eyes toward Aziraphale and back to his cards, he offers a sigh.]

Guess I'm foldin' this hand, folks.

[He pushes back from the table in a scrape of folding chair and stands.]

Don't go sweepin' the table.

[It's not immediately clear who that's directed to. He's not out to start trouble, after all. Once he's up, he eyes Aziraphale.]

Get you anything? I'm gonna try one 'a them cookies Jester brought. Been smellin' 'em off and on all night, and I'm finally in the mood for something sweet.

[oldbookshop]

[ Yes. Another day, another successful very mild thing that Aziraphale probably considers a prank. It's going on the books. It's a 50/50 chance that Crowley already figured out he's been doing it and is just indulging him. ]

I'd be happy to join you, old boy. [ Everyone left at the table seems fine enough to carry on, anyway. Half the fun of playing, he supposes. ] George, isn't it? One of our hosts this evening.

[bindlestifflost]

That's right.

[It's not a far walk to the kitchen or the counter with the cookies. He takes up one of the dark, almost black ones with the white middle and then offers the plastic container toward his guest.]

Now, you're gonna have to remind me a' your name again. I ain't so good with the ones I never heard afore.

[He heard it on their way in. It was in one ear and then stopping in a tangle in his head.]

[oldbookshop]

[ He leans forward and plucks out a selection of his own with a little 'thank you.' ]

Oh, I'm Aziraphale. Crowley's friend. I know it's always been a bit of an odd duck as names go, though. Very old-fashioned. [ Well, recently, at least. It fit fine for a couple thousand years there. ] Mister Fell is perfectly fine, if you'd rather.

[bindlestifflost]

There's a switch for me. Somebody even more old fashioned in this place than I am. I'll do my best to get it right and proper, Aziraphale.

[There's very much a sense of him sounding it out, and it doesn't escape his uncultured accent any more than anything else he says. However, it's far from butchery.]

Unless you'd prefer Mister Fell. You strike me as a gent. Me, I'm good with either.

[He sets the cookies back on the counter, his voice dropping lower so it doesn't carry past the kitchen.]

Your friend know you's helpin' the competition?

[oldbookshop]

Well, Aziraphale is less formal. I do prefer that. But I'll answer to either.

[ Whatever works.

He lets his eyes wander generally back in the direction they came from and gives the question actual factual consideration. ]

Do you know, I'm not entirely certain. There's a very good chance he worked it out and just doesn't think it's been effective enough to be worth mentioning.

[failedpromise]

How intently is Aziraphale focusing on building that card house?

At some point, Cortana wanders over to watch him work, mesmerized. She's not exactly easy to overlook, being translucent and composed of soft blue light, but she is quiet, retsing her arms on the table and her chin on her arms and staring with curious sparkling blue eyes.

"Having fun?" She waits until he's trying to do something particularly precarious to actually speak, trying to see if she can manage to startle him and how he'll handle it if she does.

[oldbookshop]

As intent focus goes, fair to middling. There's something to be said for not wanting to appear wholly unsociable at a social gathering even when things are fairly quiet and settled. On the other hand, though, Aziraphale is given to a little bit of habitual zoning in. If he's historically gotten wrapped up enough in books long enough to develop a fine layer of dust (well, back when he had the leeway to do that without it apparently being a health hazard), that's his business.

Which is a long route to saying he startles enough to lay waste to the card house, something he looks mildly affronted about. Blast. Not that there's much to be done with a single pack of cards in any case.

"52 pickup has always been less than my idea of fun, to be entirely honest," is where he starts, already starting to gather the cards back up with intent to start over.

Translucent beings of soft blue light that he's met counter, though: now up 1. It's hard for the affronted principle of the matter to win out over simple curiosity. Even in a different reality, it's rare that he comes across beings that are entirely new to him.

"I don't believe we've met?"

He'd remember, surely.

[failedpromise]

Cortana grins in obvious amusement at this. Is it sad to see the house collapse? Not really, but it is funny and maybe also a little satisfying to send it tumbling down.

"Definitely not. Name's Cortana." She lifts her head from her arms and offers him a hand to shake. "You?"

[oldbookshop]

On the one hand, a not-unlike-Crowley sort of mischief brand. On the other hand, already better manners out of the gate. And that's always nice.

"Aziraphale. Pleasure to meet you." He shakes her offered hand. "Would it be terribly rude to ask what you are, or more... manageably rude?"

Not human, certainly, if currently very modeled on humanity. They could form a club.

[failedpromise]

"I wouldn't consider it rude at all actually. Just unusual." Even here, there's not many people who ask.

What would be rude would be to ask her age.

Her hand has little weight to it, and her temperature is cooler than that of a human despite the sweatshirt she's wearing.

"I'm an AI. A UNSC smart AI, to be exact."

[oldbookshop]

Aziraphale is filing 'UNSC' away under things that would have been handy to recognize at a moment like this. Clearly he needs to get properly up to date with the times. Goodness.

"Oh! Isn't that remarkable. I've never met an AI before. Not that I've heard about, at least. Although I'll admit that I've never run in especially technological circles to begin with."

[conning]

Neal encounters Aziraphale during one of the attempts at mostly-forgotten magic tricks. He's coming off a win against Crowley, one that apparently Malcolm did Neal the favor of pointing out.

Neal, for his part, is fascinated by the appearance of someone who looks shockingly like Martin Whitly but also seems to get along with Malcolm.

He takes a sip of his terrible wine in its red solo cup as Aziraphale shuffles, clearing his throat and offering a tip about shuffling that I'm too lazy to look up right now but it's there, for sure.

Neal smiles. "You don't share your friend's interest in card games?"

[oldbookshop]

As tips about card shuffling go, it's definitely a real and very good one that everybody here would verifiably recognize as such. Aziraphale gives him a pleased little thank you for that, before anything else.

Manners are so important in this mutual nerd world.

"Not especially, no. I've dabbled here and there, but they don't tend to grab me. Not much of a 'poker face', apparently."

Sometimes a person only gets away with a few thousand years of lying to management because management is either gone or never considered that they'd lie at all.

[conning]

Neal hides a smile himself, not particularly well. He's not really trying.

"Malcolm is the same way. Lack of poker face, I mean. I saw the two of you chatting."

[oldbookshop]

"That would have been around the time you were trouncing Crowley, if I recall."

Love is stored in the being-pleased-to-watch-your-crush-lose-games.

"He's a lovely young man, your Malcolm. Very kindhearted."

[conning]

Neal grins. "I don't think Crowley would put it in those terms, quite, but I think so."

The phrase your Malcolm warms him all the way to his bones. Neal glances Crowley's way, curious and willing to risk the rudeness. "Is he your Crowley?"

[oldbookshop]

"That'll be his stubbornness at work." Pot and kettle but okay bud.

Aziraphale is starting to think he needs to reexamine the energy he's putting out there. Humans sort of keep catching him dead to rights. It doesn't come out to a very real existential danger here, to be quote-unquote found out, it's just Crowley might hear it outside of some carefully cultivated imaginary situation in which Aziraphale has full control of all the factors.

Even angels turn out relatable content.

He does a minor momentary British floundering.

"In the proprietary sense of a very long and enduring friendship, I suppose I could say that he is." He wrinkles his nose. "So long as he never hears that I have said he is, in any case."