pageant of the bizarre

[goodforsomething]

[Throughout the late afternoon and early evening, Stan seems to have put a surprising amount of effort into setting up the dining hall. It's not usually something he would do without any kind of potential gain, but hell - there's not a whole lot else to do here. And really, if he hangs up some of the ribbons from the sewing room, well, it's not like anybody was using them. He knows how to decorate for parties.

There is a conspicuous lack of glitter in any of the decorations, though. Too soon.

The only dish currently set out is a pan of cinnamon noodle kugel. It's a potluck, bring your own shit! He has bothered to make some punch, at least, as well as bringing down some booze from the bar. Maybe alcohol on Murder Night isn't the best idea, but he'll keep an eye out for anyone who decides to indulge. He'd have to anyway. Apparently passing out in the dining hall will end in explosions.

Speaking of rude and arbitrary rules: off to the side, there's a table labeled KINGMAKERS. There's only one piece of paper there now, a well-done drawing of what looks like a young, ostentatiously emo Mitt Romney. It's obviously Stan's, since he got here first, but he hasn't bothered to sign it; apparently you can submit anonymously or not, however you feel like. As long as we're all participating in the public mockery!]

Comments

[amygdalae]

[At the corner of the table for the Kingmaker drawings, there is a neatly placed picture there. It's unsigned, the entry cleary anonymous, and although the origin of this picture is a mystery people may have remembered or noticed Bruce hanging around said table near the beginning of the event...

He's certainly nowhere near that table now, though; he's just hanging out around the corner of the festivities, as usual, drinking some tea like always while eating whatever the potluck has to offer. For his dish he's made some Philippine Abodo, or at least as close as he can get to it with the ingredients that are around here.

From time to time he might go around and mingle a bit, but for the most past he's content with staying his corner.]

[cherryblooded]

[There are currently three entries. Cherryblod was the first to arrive after Stan, so he knows which one is Stan's, and which one is his. Therefore, the third belongs to the third person to show up.]

Wouldn't have taken you for the type, Bruce.

[amygdalae]

The type for what?

[Says this with a totally perfect straight face as he casually drinks his cup of tea.

Let it not be said that Bruce Banner has an excellent poker face.]

[cherryblooded]

Think you know, but if that's the way you want to go about things, I won't out you.

[Enjoy your anonymous dickbutt.]

[amygdalae]

[What is this dickbutt you speak of.]

I'm still not sure what you're saying, but I'll thank you, anyway.

[cherryblooded]

[Hee.]

Enjoying the party?

[amygdalae]

More or less. It's been all rather pleasant.

[cherryblooded]

That's good. I enjoy our parties like these, to be honest.

[Even with their timing, it's still nice seeing everyone.]

[amygdalae]

It's always nice to be able to get everyone together.

[It helps to keep them all reminded of each other, that they're not alone.]

[cherryblooded]

Too easy to seclude yourself, otherwise.

[Even in a small place like this.]

[goodforsomething]

Heeeeeeey!

[Stan's keeping a good enough eye on the contest entries. He approaches with a hand up for a high-five.]

[amygdalae]

[Bruce blinks at the approach and looks pretty confused at the hand that's been raised.]

What's that?

[Referring to the hand that Stan's got raised, of course.]

[goodforsomething]

A high five, what's it look like?

[amygdalae]

[Oh. Okay then.

Bruce... awkwardly... raises his hand up as well...?]

[goodforsomething]

[High-five!!!!!

Stan tilts his head back at the contest table]

Didn't think ya had it in you!

[amygdalae]

What didn't you think I had?

[He asks, only half-curious as he (innocently) drinks his tea.]

[goodforsomething]

That many cartoon dicks!

[amygdalae]

[...well at least you're forthcoming about it Stan. And was prepared enough that he doesn't choke on his tea.]

Don't say 'dicks', that's crude.

[There is a very, very small smile on his face, however.]

[goodforsomething]

Sure, sure. Don't wanna lose your reputation, right?

[Stan winks. Their secret.]

[isafraid]

[.....stares

He. He recognizes that there's... like, a ton of dicks in this image, but. Uh.]

...Alright, now I'm at a loss for words.

[amygdalae]

Lost for words?

[Don't mind Bruce, he's just casually strolling up with a drink in hand.]

[isafraid]

Err... something to that effect!

[Well, one of them can be casual about this, sure! Just looking at dick art.]

Wonder who decided to make this one up, eh?

[amygdalae]

[He's a doctor, Speedwagon, he can handle some crude, immature drawings of dicks.]

It's certainly... interesting.

[Said with as much deliberation as possible.

...sorry, Speedwagon.]

[isafraid]

[So can he, but that doesn't make this situation any less awkward.]

That's... one word for it. I'd sooner see something like this on the wall of some ruddy tavern then in a portrait contest. But it is certainly good for a laugh.

[S'alright, Bruce. He digs it.]

Probably matches the Kingmaker's likeness better then any.

[amygdalae]

It works since he's a giant dick in the first place.

[Said as bluntly as possible here.]