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It's Hamburger Lady's birthday today. Wooden Wally — he's starting to sproud leaves and twigs lately — spread the word around and what was going to be just a little party for a circle of friends in an apartment somehow morphed into a Mutant Town block party. Half the people here only know Hamburger Lady by reputation — she's the lady who looks like she's made of hamburger. Hell of a mutation. Hell of a party, too.
Now it's night, and the streets are glistening, because Irish Jamie with the water-spout powers was helping people cool off — no need to crack a fire hydrant in Mutant Town. Someone's rigged up a PA to keep the music playing, and the guy they call 'Holy Man' because of his power to turn water into wine is making sure the party is refreshed, as long as they're not looking for beer or any non-wine drink, you know? The little Korean girl who can make the blobs of light in the air is up past her bed time, sitting in a fire escape with her friends, wagging her feet through the railings while she keeps the party lit up with a planetarium's worth of colored glowing orbs. It's not often that Mutant Town really comes out like this, but when it does, it's a reminder of how vibrant and diverse the community is.
Not everyone here looks like hamburger or wood. A lot of them look like just normal folks. They might notbe the most affluent sorts — this isn't really a 'middle class' kind of neighborhood — but at least for one evening, they're happy.
One such 'normal folk' type is Wanda Maximoff, who's in a modest and unassuming red dress and her finest Transian jewelry. She's barefoot, with a cup of wine in her hand, dancing in the crowd. She's the sort of young woman who can be seen, even among the buzzing throng.
*
"One of these days," Erik says, "I am going to show you a nice dinner." He's walking through the crowd, with Crystal's arm in his. "But when I heard about this, I just… had to see it." His eyes dance around the crowd, lips curled into a whimsical smirk.
Erik Lensherr is dressed sharply, wearing slacks and a short sleeved, tight fitting polo. A straw hat his perched crookedly atop his head, and brown loafers adorn his feet.
*
"Nice dinner sounds nice," Crystal smiles swiftly over at Erik, though the sights and sounds of the party draw her attention back and forth through the neighborhood, distracted. "But honestly, so is this."
She's dressed for the summer heat in a light and flowy sleeveless green silk dress that buttons down the front, belted at the waist with a skirt that flutters just past her knees and low heels. "Oh, look!" she exclaims, laughing as she points to the floating lights. "Beautiful. How did you hear about this?"
*
Keith heard about the party in the same way that friends of friends of roomates' friends hear about this sort of thing. The Cheshire cat is one of the people milling about, a glass of something hard to identify in his hand. The rather mundane leather jacket and jeans ensemble doesn't quite detract from the strangeness of his person. To some who are sensitive to such things, what's even more remarkable about him is that chaos magic emanates from him, crackling with possibilities. A careful observer might notice that, while the cat seems to be in the midst of one crowd or another, he seems not to interact a lot with the rest of the celebrants. He observes, sips his drinks, and moves from group to group, occasionally sharing in a laugh but adding little.%r%r
*
Wanda is still dancing, but her cup is empty. This is a problem, as one might expect. So she goes to where the drinks are being served, to refill her cup.
"I dunno, Wanda. I've given you three cups already and I really don't want your brother to drag me along the pavement at a hundred miles an hour…" says a makeshift bartender who glimmers like a diamond.
"My BROTHER is not here tonight," Wanda says, audibly a bit tipsy, her pale skin flushing at her cheeks. "I'm an adult and if I would like another wine, then I will have one." The glimmer man goes along with it and pours her another cup.
Wanda smiles. "Thank you," she says, and turns — right into Keith, as he's moving between crowds. "Oop!" she blurts, though she manages to avoid spilling anything on his cool jacket. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she says, cheeks very red now, because this boy is HANDSOME.
This all happens in full view of Erik and Crystal, obviously. Doesn't that redheaded young woman look familiar? Very familiar.
*
Daimon isn't a mutant, but finds them intriguing. Creatures of power, mortal-born, the freakish and the wondrous, all intertwined. Having friends and family o fa demonic bent, Daimon isn't particularly one to judge on appearance.
He at least buttoned up his shirt today, keeping his birthright brand out of sight. Some people do get so tetchy about a little Satan. He considered bringing a guitar, strumming a few tunes, but it seems a little too on the nose to play the crossroads man toay. He smokes his cigarettes and mingles and keeps an eye as a few heads turn toward the local royalty - it's always easy to read class and status, even among those who pretend to have none.
*
"I've grown somewhat more well connected in this community," Erik admits. "I believe, it is that a smartly dressed man isn't treating these people like second class citizens. That draws attention, and not the bad kind."
Looking up, Erik laughs at the light show being displayed. "Absolutely splendid!" he calls out, and looks to Crystal. "Shouldwe find out where they're pouring the drinks, my dear?"
About this time, his eyes pass by the encounter between Wanda and Keith. He pays it no mind.
Then? A double take.
*
Crystal is royalty in truth, though not to anyone here. Still, she does carry herself with that ineffable certainty that comes from knowing exactly who she is. "Drinks sound excellent," she agrees, searching for the table and finding it just over by Wanda and Keith. She misses the double-take on Erik's part, but Keith she remembers.
"Keith!" she calls over with a warm smile, raising a hand to wave to the young man. "It's good to see you again! Especially under such wonderful circumstances. Isn't this all lovely?"
*
Keith almost looks disappointed at the fact that Wanda manages not to spill her drink on him. Missed opportunities to crank out that old joke about holding your liquor are always something to regret. The cheshire cat gives Wanda one of his trademark grins. "No need to be sorry, Miss. Just a near miss." He takes a sip from his drink, which could be beer or could be juice, but it's more likely something a little more interesting when Crystal calls out to him. His ear twitches and he turns in the direction of the voice.
"Well, hello there.. Crystal, right? Fancy meeting you here." He's not surprised, but it's something people say. "I seem to be running into all sorts of people tonight," he says, giving Wanda a sly wink.
*
Wanda actually puts her hand over her mouth when Keith winks at her. Her experience with boys is at that dismal early level. She's still blushing, but how much of that is the wine going to her cheeks is debatable, really.
"I should have looked where I was going," Wanda starts to protest, but when Crystal enters the picture, she quiets down. Hand over mouth, blushing, all that. She even has to have an emergency slug of wine, which is how she manages to not notice Erik's double-take at her.
*
Daimon doesn't know anyone there, but that never stopped him before. He casually snatches a bit of wine from a passing woman, giving her a wink that makes her blush as he marches up to the various people gathering about, from the stern looking gentleman to the feline and, of course, the lovely ladies in all their variance. "Daimon Hellstrom, new to the neighborhood. As in, I don't actually live here, but it seems lovely."
*
Its almost like seeing a ghost. Someone from his youth. Completely illogical, of course… Erik was a young man back then, barely more than a boy. A reckless, damaged teenager who, to use a more modern colloquialism, gave no fucks.
But no. Such a thing would be impossible. Even if he could never forget that hair, that jawline. It doesn't even cross his mind who Wanda might be.
With an owlish blink, Erik snaps outof it. He turns toward Keith, smiling heartily toward the fellow, albeit with some distraction. "Hello again, Keith," he says, and offers a hand in greeting. "You're well, I presume?"
Daimon's interjection earns a long look followed by a nod of greeting.
*
"Crystal, yes," the young woman nods to Keith. "Erik apparently heard there was going to be a bit of a party. I'll admit, I couldn't have imagined it would be this perfect. Hello," she adds to Wanda and Daimon alike, offering each a hand in turn. "I'm Crystal, this is Erik, and this is Keith. It's a pleasure to meet you."
The things you learn being a princess. Socializing is apparently key. "Are the drinks that way?" she asks Wanda, pointing back toward the table she came from.
*
"A pleasure," Keith says casually, giving Daimon an affable smile. He lets Crystal make the introductions, before clarifying, "That way indeed, although the more interesting drinks are being mixed on the side. Ask for the Screaming Viking," the cat says, swishing the liquid in his glass before taking a sip. "I don't know what's in it, but after a sip I feel like pillaging a bit."
He gives Wanda a look as she quiets down. Another sip, and then he commits the cardinal sin of asking "Cat got your tongue?"
*
Wanda is the sort of young woman who, when a crowd gathers around her, just kind of lets it happen. For all of her dancing earlier, she's not actually that much of an extrovert. In many group conversations, her assigned role is 'just happy to be here.'
"O-oh," Wanda says, when Vorpal calls her out. She clearly wasn't ready for that. When she speaks, she has an Eastern European accent of some kind. What nation specifically, who knows? Maybe Erik. "I know what is in a Screaming Viking," she says, trying to find conversational footing. "It is probably better to not know. Oh, I mean, I am Wanda." She smiles to Daimon, to Keith, to Crystal, to Erik. Her smile is pretty, but shy.
*
Daimon smiles, "Screaming vikings usually result from funeral pyres, broken pledges and insufficient pillaging. There is a true pillaging shortage in the modern age," he says. He takes a long sip of the wine and just smiles pleasantly at Erik's long stare.
"A pleasure indeed. I tend to prefer my pleasure plural, but a singular pleasure is a good start."
*
To be fair, Erik was close to passing off his confusion, until Wanda speaks more. That accent he knows; it lines up well with the ghost from his teenage past. He looks back to the young woman, expression seeming confused for a moment. The only thing that wrestles him away from it are the choice of words Daimon uses.
"I suppose that all depends upon which neighborhood you visit," Erik offers. "There's plenty of pillaging taking place these days, my friend. Not always of the sort you might imagine, either." He casts a look Crystal's way, hoping she hasn't noticed or was bothered by his odd behavior.
*
If Crystal has noticed the odd behavior, she's too polite to mention it in unfamiliar company. "I think a screaming viking might be a bit much for me," she laughs to Keith and Wanda, shaking her head. "One too many screaming vikings and there isn't very much you can do about pillaging, after all. I'm going to go get a drink," she tells Erik, giving his arm a pat. "I'll bring you one back." A smile flashes and she slips over to the drinks table, already caught in more greetings and idle conversation as she gets two cups.
*
"To pleasures, plural, then," Keith adds and downs the rest of the drinks. "Hm! Yes, now that's bound to put some hair on your chest." He lets the comment rest for a little bit before looking at the purple fur on his arms with a smirk, "Though, who can tell?"
There's a lot of smoothness going around. Crystal's bearing and Daimon's sleekness. For his part, he maintains his air of detached affability. "Good to see you again, Meistersinger," the cat addresses Erik, letting his empty glass pass from hand to hand, a thumb running along its shape. "Have you run into the other two from that day? The girl with the festive day and the kid with the earrings?"
Keith gives Daimon a quick glance, observing that his ears are studded, "It looks like it's becoming a fad."
*
Wanda giggles at Keith's joke. It looks like that joke book he store from some aging stand-up in the Catskills (GET IT) has paid off, after all, since he can entertain this audience of one wine-buzzed teenager.
For all of Crystal's bearing, Daimon's sleekness, Keith's air of detached affability, etc., Wanda is likely the most normal one of the bunch, and in that way she does stand out a bit. She looks to Daimon, though something about him seems to sober her for a moment. Wanda has zero clue about any of her mystic potential, but every now and then there's a pang of intuition telling her 'hey, something's off.' "I did not overhear your name, mister…?"
*
Daimon smiles to Wanda, drawing a small pouch from his pocket, "Hellstrom. Daimon," he says. "Only in the opposite order. I rather like inversions," he says. "I'm a scholar, of sorts. Of intricacies and dead ends and dark shadows," he says. "Aren't I a mysterious one?" he says with a soft laugh.
"I didn't get yours either, from Crystal, Erik -or- Keith," he says, gesturing to the others with the tip of a finger, showing he remembers. "Repetition helps to set a memory. And yes, I like to stay on the edge of the utterly disgraceful, although I tend to be provocative enough as I am."
*
Erik turns to Crystal with a warm smile, and watches as she walks off. There is a fondness in his expression and he seems for the moment content to watch how she interacts with strangers.
Keith's particularly horrible pun draws his attention back, and there is a momentary delay before he smirks ruefully. "I have not," he answers. "Then again, it's a very large city."
To Daimon, he quirks an eyebrow. "Quite the surname, Mister Hellstrom," he remarks, before looking Wanda's way. "Forgive me, young one, but your accent. It is remarkably familiar. From which part of Europe do you hail?"
*
Crystal isn't too long at the drinks table, plying her own sunny charms, before she returns to the little group. "I ran into Jubilation in Times Square, of all places," she answers Keith belatedly, passing a drink to Erik without interrupting his conversation with Wanda. "And a Miss Janet Van Dyne. Apparently she's a fashion designer? It was…" She trails off a moment, laughing and shaking her head.
"I will say that it was an experience, and at least not an unpleasant one. But I'm still not convinced that these tiny mod fashions are going to last."
*
"It is an interesting name, that's for certain," Keith says, not having shared his last name yet. He gives Crystal a raised eyebrow, "Times Square, interesting. I take it this Van Dyne lady decided to give you a 'mod' make-over? I prefer my riding leathers. The whole bit with the ascots and the…" the cat smirks, "I think I look ridiculous enough as it is without being mistaken for Snagglepuss." Yes. He has heard it being said. He has also exercised a great deal of restraint by not Rabbit Holing said people somewhere unpleasant.
*
Daimon's aura of Satan-machismo seems to be a bit overpowering for poor Wanda. "I am Wanda," she says, a bit meekly, like she's worried Daimon might actually bite. Luckily, the young woman is saved by Erik being totally nosy.
"O-oh, um. I am from Transia," Wanda tells Erik, before having a quick, quiet sip of her wine. "It is a very small country. Not many people know of it, I think."
*
Daimon chuckles softly, "Heavens to murgatroyd," he says. "Ascots are fine when paired with a proper smoking jacket. I'm intrigued to see what all these new fabrics are going to produce, in times. The wonders of science. It's like magic, only not!" he says.
He rolls a fresh smoke that may or may not be entirely tobacco, lighting it and placing the pouch back into his pocket. "Transia? There's a mountain there, Wundagore - full of all kinds of strange legends. You ever go?" he asks.
*
"Transia." Erik shakes his head. That doesn't seem to add up, so, he lets it go. Crystal's return makes for the perfect opportunity to do so, and he turns to accept the wine with a smile. "Thank you, my dear," he tells her, before leaning forward to kiss her cheek.
For the next few moments, he observed the trio as they converse. His eyes dance from one to the other, before he looks pointedly between Keith and Crystal. "Mod?" he asks, clearly not clued in on the latest of fashions.
*
"We managed to settle on a compromise," Crystal smiles ruefully back at Keith. "By which I mean that no, I did not participate in this mod nonsense. But I did get a new dress that's a little bit more fashion forward, at least."
She tips her cheek up to Erik's kiss, shaking her head afterwards at his question. "It's apparently all the rage, from England. Short skirts, long boots. Things are either tight or square, with very bold patterns. And like the man says," she gestures to Daimon. "Not a natural fabric to be found." The last even gets a shudder.
*
"Nothing bad with tight. I appreciate it in others," the cat smirks and looks ruefully in the direction of the drinks. He can't seem to find the girl who mixed his Screaming Viking. He gives Daimon a look at the Snagglepuss quip, but he lets it pass due to the fact that the man has a satanic machismo aura, which he can appreciate.
"Transia? I don't think I've ever heard of the place. Then again, I wasn't paying much attention during class." He toys with the glass, looking at Wanda. "What's it like, over there?"
*
"I like what I have seen of the mod clothes, in magazines and such," Wanda says, her accent letting her skate by with such an awkward-reading sentence. "They are so bright and colorful! But they show so much of the figure… my brother would not allow me to be seen in anything like that." She doesn't sound particularly regretful about that — it's delivered matter-of-factly, like that's just how it is.
"Daimon is correct, Transia has… a mountain," Wanda says to Keith. "There is Mount Wundagore, and there is East Transia, which is the city, and there are grazing pastures and forests, and then there is not much else. I have been all over Transia, but that is not saying much, because I think it is smaller than this city."
*
Daimon smiles, "Most places are smaller than this city, in part because this city is bigger on the inside. All kinds of secret places, nooks and crannies. Lost paths and forgotten chambers. The catacombs of Paris have nothing on New York City. Well, maybe a few saints," he says. "New York tends to specialize in sinners."
He blows from his nostrils, twin plumes like a bull blowing steam. "Of course, we have fewer goats here. But more than you might think."
*
The talk of mod clothing, interestingly, has Erik looking Crystal's way with an unspoken question and raised eyebrows, a thing which is soon concealed by way of the glass of wine, lifted to hide part of his face while he drinks.
"For being such a young city," he remarks to Daimon, "it does tend to be full of surprises. This place, for example." He gestures around with the glass of wine. "Plenty of fascinating people to meet." He then cants his head Wanda's way, curiosity getting the best of him. "Were you born in Transia, Wanda? If I may be so bold, your dialect suggests otherwise."
*
"I'm sure it's wonderful for some people," Crystal waves a hand, taking a sip of her drink. "But it isn't really to my taste. Mod, that is," she adds, catching on to the rest of the conversation. "I think my family would agree with your brother, Wanda," she chuckles.
"I've been through much of Europe, but I'm not sure if we ever passed through Transia," she muses. "Paris was very nice, though." She finally seems to have noted Erik's interest in Wanda's accent, giving the man a curious look without interrupting the line of questioning.
*
"I rather approve of that," Keith says when Wanda mentions the smallness of her country, "It sounds like your country's doing things just right. Who needs to mess around with all that unnecessary geography? Saves you at least five years of memorizing rivers and stuff. One mountain. The meadow. The town. Done!"
Daimon's comments seem to amuse Vorpal, who feels like he has to chime in, "Saints are boring, in any case. Who wants to spend time in their company? Worst party hosts."
*
Wanda seems confused by Daimon's statement. She notes to him: "There are many places to buy goat here. Usually you must only ask for it, they will not advertise goat. I am not sure why you would, but…"
Wanda seems… maybe a bit weirded out by Erik's questioning? Maybe it's something about the way this guy looks at her. Maybe her mutant woman's intuition is just trying to tell her something and she can't decode it. "I was born there, but my family is… in America, you would say gypsy. So we spoke that among ourselves, and it has… that is my accent, I think." She smiles faintly at Keith, blushing again a bit. "I am sorry to have to excuse myself, but I must be going — it is late, and I must work tomorrow." She gives the group a meek little wave, and then disappears into the crowd of the party.
*
Have you ever had that feeling just under your skin but you can't quite place it? Erik shakes his head at Wanda, then glances Crystal's way. He realizes how this must look, and his eyebrows rise upward. "Well then," he tells Wanda, "I must be mistaken. I thought I could place it. Do have a good evening, and be safe."
After taking another drink of wine, he reaches for Crystal's hand, hoping to tuck it under his arm in the same manner with which they entered. There is a note of apology there, in his eyes. "Saints are not all that terrible," he tells Keith. "Terribly boring, though. Everyone needs a bit of fun." He looks Crystal's way again, mirth entering his expression. "It doesn't seem as if this party plans to die down. Perhaps you might enjoy a dance, my dear?"
*
"I can't remember the last time I danced," Crystal admits, lifting her cup to drink and…Well, if she's going to dance, she can't be holding her drink, can she? So bottoms up it is, until her cup is empty. It's enough to bring a flush to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes, even if it's just wine.
"If you gentlemen will excuse us," she smiles swiftly to the others. "Keith, so good to see you again. Mister Hellstrom, a pleasure to meet you. Enjoy your screaming vikings," she laughs before turning toward the dancing.
*
"In lieu of a real viking, I'll enjoy the drink in your honor," Keith smirks and raises his empty glass. He's going to look for the 'tender, he thinks, he rather likes the taste of it. "Enjoy your oom-pahpah. Cats don't dance," he confides and looks at Daimon. "Nice to meet you again… Daimon, right? I'm going to look for another Screaming Viking. Failing that, maybe I'll find me some Goat's Delight and drink it in your honor," the cat smirks.
*
Daimon smiles broadly, "Oh, believe me, I always enjoy the screaming, viking or otherwise," he says, throwing a wink as he starts to back away and stroll off to find other entertainment.
He's intrigued by the Romani, sensing her potential but unsure what to make of it. And the feline is…something. Even if Daimon isn't entirely sure what. "You, too, Keith. Goat's Delight, huh? I might have to look into that. Be seeing you folks around. Don't be a stranger," he says, slipping away to mingle amongst the mutants. Such interesting creatures.
*
"All you have to do, Keith…" Erik downs his glass as well, then snatches up Crystal's and hands both to a wandering passerby. "Is move your feet."
With that, he takes the lady into the crowd, lifts her hand into the air, and masterfully guides her into a clockwise spin. Once she's come around (assuming she isn't a terrible follow), he'll catch her free hand and tuck it around his back. It would seem the classic three-step is his preference, at least for the jaunty number being spat out over the PA.