but even if the stars and moon collide [afterparty]

[allatonce]

[Well, that sucked!

After about an hour, invitations written in colorful ink appear under everyone's doors.]

Understandable if you're not up to it, but we're having a memorial and "don't wanna be alone" hang-out in the restaurant again.

[The restaurant has very much been decorated with the most rainbow fabric she could find in the department store. Jonathan got roped in, mainly so she could make sure he was doing okay, but also because she assumed that he knew how to put a tablecloth on a table. He seemed like the type, anyway.

After consulting with Undertaker, most of the food that's been set out is more traditional Chinese funeral food than Victorian—you can get a whole roast duck in the restaurant—but she tried for a mix of things. There is fruit, the aforementioned roast duck, and several vegetarian dishes along with potatoes for some reason and... cookies? Okay then.

Joy's trying, because that was way less terrible for her than it was for basically anyone else.

Happy Pride Wrath, New Rapture!]

Comments

small investigation

[inaclearing]

[Brett doesn't...really attend the afterparty this week. People will have seen him retreat to his room, shutting the door behind him, and for most of the rest of the day he doesn't come out.

(He may talk pretty, give fine advice, but you can't be wise and experienced all the time. Can't always reach out and let others support you.)

Very late into the night, he emerges and goes to sit on the floor in the lobby, back up against the check-in desk. His radio is playing - a long conversation between himself and an older woman - and he's taking occasional swigs of the utterly foul-smelling Malort. If it lapses into a song at some point, he doesn't seem to really notice.

Hopefully somebody comes and forces him to go back to his room before it gets too late. Because one way or another, he's gonna attempt to stay awake past midnight tonight.]

suite 5, about an hour after the trial

[hellaethics]

[knock knock, broski]

Heeey, Brett? You up, man?

[inaclearing]

[The reply's somewhat muffled, but pretty quick.]

Yeah, I'm up.

[hellaethics]

Can I come in? I brought you somethin' and as long as you're not allergic to strawberries you might like it.

[inaclearing]

...sure.

[He'll get up and let Jason in. His room is pretty much like all the others. There's a Peregrine Wells Funko pop on a shelf, in spite of how low-key creepy it is, and a corkboard on the dresser that looks to have the beginnings of a full-on conspiracy board. From the look of it, though, Brett was just lying in bed.]

[hellaethics]

[Aw, that's a cute little Funko Pop. Wonder who that's supposed to be. The corkboard wall is also sure A Thing but Jason has a mission! And that mission is to immediately hold out a fizzy pink ice cream soda to him. It even has a cherry and bendy straw.]

I made ice cream sodas for everybody in the restaurant buuut you weren't there so I checked the library and the patio just in case. You weren't there either so I figured you were probably in here.

stayin awake, stayin awake...

[bathymetric]

[ So! In trying to stay awake through the changeover, Brett is actually going to hear something, very slight, over all the radios and speakers around.

Bobby Darin's here to play you off, it seems. And at the very end of the song? Midnight hits, and Brett wakes up on Sunday. ]

[inaclearing]

[FREAKING WEIRD, THANKS

Say no one ever did end up making him go do this in his room - does he wake up in the lobby still?]

[bathymetric]

[ He will wake up in his room, feeling rested! ]

[inaclearing]

[Even though he was just chugging Malort on an empty stomach?]

Lobby

[dullshooter]

[So they’re no longer suitemates, but Misfire still hangs around late at night, and so spots him a Brett.

A Brett that doesn’t look so hot, as…expected, really.]

Do I need to go back and get lil’ beepo? That was a promise, not just a threat.

[inaclearing]

I'm just sitting! The otomo...thing's for self-blame, right?

[it's possible he's a little drunk, but like, he's still got his facts straight!]

[dullshooter]

[He squints.]

Are you self-blaming whilst you're sitting?

[inaclearing]

That's a good catch. I can multi-task.

[He points at Misfire with the bottle.]

I don't know. I'm just...blame myself or not, it all sucks.

[dullshooter]

Alright. [He points a finger in line with the bottle.] You're spared, if only because I can't be bothered to go back and get the little guy.

[Where Brett's sitting against the check-in desk, he's just gonna lean.]

This isn't how I wanted to see you drunk, Brett. I hoped it'd be under crazier, more karaoke-involved circumstances.

[At least there's still a chance to hear him sing. But it'll probably be, like, angsty? And that's not the vibe.]

That's just another strike against this place.

[inaclearing]

I'm not that drunk. It'd be counterproductive - I want to stay up past midnight tonight and see what happens.

[So maybe drinking at all isn't a particularly logical choice, but...you know, also fuck today.]

Can you get drunk? Or something like?

cw: emeto implied

[dullshooter]

Oh yeah. Can and have. Not on this kind of stuff, though I pinched a bottle from Seo and said I’d report back on how it goes. Haven’t been in the mood for the potential fallout yet, though.

[…]

Until now. You feel like making groundbreaking scientific discoveries today?

[He holds out a hand for the bottle. If you want to put a generous spin on it, he’s saving Brett by taking some of the alcohol load off.]

[inaclearing]

[Brett hands the bottle off!]

What do you normally drink? We should try and find some. Us adults could probably use it.

[He's anti-drinking to cope generally. If he weren't, well, he'd be in a different place in life right now probably! But, god, this fucking place.]

[dullshooter]

[Misfire holds the bottle to his lips, though doesn't drink from it quite yet.]

Oil. [He takes a swig and it's...its something that's in his mouth, at least? He can taste the pencil shavings and heartbreak. Weird that anyone would want to willingly drink this, but there's all sorts.] Figure I could siphon it from something, but I haven't found anything that fits the bill yet.

[inaclearing]

That stuff's practically oil.

[He's not exactly drinking it because he enjoys the taste. Or any other aspect.]

You know, I almost asked if it was oil, and then I thought "no, that seems racist".

[dullshooter]

Yeah, I would've had to call you out for that one.

[He snorts and takes another swig of Misery, because, well, he's already started.]

Can't say it's nicer than this, but it's prettier, at least. I think your alcohol could stand to be more brightly coloured and glowing. Does so much more for the vibe.

[inaclearing]

You can get pretty cocktails sometime. Not here. Can't even get anything that tastes halfway decent.

[He's a couple sheets to the wind, even if he's still pretty precise in his speech. Hard to break him of that.]

...I'm probably gonna die in this place, aren't I?

[dullshooter]

[If Misfire were a different person, he'd probably say something along the lines of how they're all going to stick together now, and nothing bad will happen - or that he'll protect Brett and there'll be nothing to worry about. All very lovely propositions that would be sure to bring some empty comfort, but to Misfire it's no better than flat out lying.

And he cares about him too much to do that.]

...Probably, yeah. [Like, damn. Even Obi, the literal bodyguard, got killed.] But hey, so will most - if not all - of us. So there's...something.

[Is that something.]

[inaclearing]

...great.

[It's not really sarcastic. Brett wasn't fishing for comfort; if anything, he's just wallowing.]

It's not even a nice place! Not really. I don't even like the ocean this much, I've been there like once.

[dullshooter]

Obviously, you needed to see it some more before you died.

[He offers the bottle back to Brett. He could use it if they're gonna continue this line of conversation.]

Think of the company, though. I mean, it's a mixed bag and we're dropping like flies, but there's definitely worse.

[Or: absolutely none at all.]

Worse places to die, too. At least you can cram in a bit of living in here before you go.