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]

[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.]

[amygdalae]

I wasn't even aware that I had a reputation.

[Just drinking his tea again, don't mind him.]

[goodforsomething]

There's a table full of booze over there and you're drinkin' tea.

[Case in point]

[amygdalae]

[Stan, he literally has 'alcohol' as a dislike on his profile. Why are you even surprised.]

I'm not really a fan of alcohol, that's all.

[Too many... associations.]

[goodforsomething]

[You don't have to like alcohol to drink to forget!]

Sure, sure. Point bein', I like it! Good job!

[amygdalae]

[Even when he wants to forget he'll never turn to alcohol. Unless its something really, really bad.]

I'm still not sure what the compliment is for, but I'll take it either way.

[goodforsomething]

Good! [He's getting better at that. It's a little heartening, even if it's only over a dickbutt.

But, because Stan does trust Bruce, he's got some more serious business too.]

So, listen...Cherry and I are gonna be watchin' the door tonight. You wanna help make sure no one walks back alone?

[amygdalae]

[Bruce listens to the question, only taking a moment to consider before he gives a nod.]

Of course.

[Anything he can do to help everyone else here.]

[goodforsomething]

Great. Just keep an eye out for anyone leavin' early. And for god's sake, don't follow 'em by yourself if they're lookin' shady.

[amygdalae]

I will. And I won't risk myself either, so don't worry.

[...if he has to follow anybody he will be sure to bring somebody else along with him.]

[goodforsomething]

Good. Let's see if we can go one goddamn Thursday without somebody bitin' it.

[amygdalae]

Here's hoping for the best.

[Too bad it won't work out.]