On the evening of the twenty-ninth, the ballroom on the main deck of the boat is decked out in lavish black and gold, thanks to Carol and Sophie, and the assistance of the very strong men they enlisted to help (thank you, boys). It's been a while since Carol has thrown a full out ball, and she liked the chance to stretch her event planning limbs again, even if those attending are mostly the ghost robots in their cater waiter wear.

A soft music is playing over the guests as they enter. As they pass through the threshold, there's a table with simple masks for them to choose from, in case they've forgotten their's. Once they pass through the main archway, they'll find their way to the large dance space where the ghost robot band is sitting, because live music is so much better than a recording, and they actually don't sound half-bad, all things considered. They also take requests, so feel free to tell them that song where you always wondered what it would sound like with a full orchestral backing. There's a large, expansive dance floor in the middle, and you're welcome to get out there and shake your groove thing whenever you see fit.

Tables with food line the far left wall of the room, as well as clusters of tables for the guests to sit when they so choose. There's also an open bar nestled into the far corner, for all your alcoholic needs. There are also plenty of dark corners to slip into, if you don't want anyone to see what you're doing, however the narration suggests watching those dark corners carefully. Rabbit holes lurk in pretty much every shadowed area of the ballroom and while they won't always drop you into a strange location of your choosing, there's a high chance they will. There's probably a high turnover of people arriving back in the ballroom, looking like they've gone five rounds with a bull.

Probably because they have.

The boat seem to want to promote this event as much as possible. While not everyone loves a good ball, some non-attenders may suddenly find themselves in attendance, completely dressed and no idea of how they got there. Trying to leave? Might not go so well either. For some, socializing isn't so much a choice as a punishment, but there are probably plenty of people to help you have a good time.

Or you could go on a trip to Narnia. One never really knows.

[OKAY BALL IS GO sorry I was late getting this up. Rabbit Holes are to be used at your discretion, but if you need suggestions or want me to randomize something for you, just shoot me a PM/private plurk/ping me (iluvroadrunner6) and I will give you a scenario. Otherwise, mix, mingle and have fun with all the pretty formal wear. o7 Actionspam/prose/whatever floats your boat for this, it was easier to just write up the top part in prose.]

Cora is still not really sure what she's doing on this ship.

It's a ship going nowhere. The cabins are nice, but the rooms are insane and there are people here who's faces she knows but they aren't. They're different people from different places and different worlds, and it's a little unnerving, honestly, and if she didn't have her nose, she might be even more confused than she already is. It takes one run in with a Lydia lookalike to figure out that she does not want to do that again. If she is going to be stuck here, she's steering clear of familiar faces.

Except for Derek. Derek is probably going to be sick of her by the time this is over, but this is what he signed up for when he decided to take her on a road trip.

Sort of.

Regardless, he's family and doesn't get a choice in the matter.

Right now, however, she's not considering any of that. She's sitting on a lounge chair near one of the pools, legs crossed under her, staring at the yellow thing in front of her that has latched onto her since her run in with Mary Jane. She's tried several different ways of getting rid of it, and it doesn't seem to want to go anywhere.

It's annoying. It's relentless. It kind of reminds her of a stubby, yellow, incoherent Stiles.

She doesn't want a stubby, yellow, incoherent Stiles.

Unfortunately, it's sort of in love with her, so it's not really going anywhere. So she's just letting it babble until it gets bored or she can decide what to do with it, whichever comes first. Eventually it stops talking, staring at her intently as though it wishes for her to contribute, and she's not even sure what she's supposed to be contributing to.

"I'm not feeding you." She just wants to make sure that's clear.

[The handwriting comes with the quick ease of someone who is used to journals of this nature - legible, but moving at a fairly even pace. It's one of the most comforting things about this place so far, that familiar way of keeping in touch with the rest of the community. Of the things they could have borrowed from Chicago? This was not a bad one.]

Why do I feel like I'm in the middle of a Lonely Island song? Enjoy getting that stuck in your head for the rest of the evening.

[She's not sorry. But there's a pause as she tries to focus. She did not open the journal to talk about how she's on a boat.]

Anyway. New. Still kind of getting used to things. Have a couple of inquiries, if you are so inclined.

First things first: I'm looking for people who, when I say "Chicago," realize it means something a little more than fabulous deep dish pizza and the home of the Bears. I'm particularly looking for the ones from a Chicago that just recently went ka-boom.

Angel, demon, Wanderer - though I guess we're all kind of Wanderers now - doesn't really matter. Hell, I'll even take those from a Chicago that didn't go ka-boom. A little bit of community can go a long way in a place like this. CLF need not apply, however, unless you want a bottle of what looks like really expensive vodka broken over your head.

Moving on.

Also, if you happen to know where I can find a guy named Robert Herron, let's chat. He's tall, with straight dark hair, blue eyes, looks like he's in his mid-forties. If you see him, tell him Claudia Blake is looking for him. He'll know who you mean.

[There's a beat.]

I hope.

[Moving on.]

Dad, if you're here somewhere, I'm at the bar on one of the upper decks. It's kind of cute, with this little anchor behind the bar and ... a very creepy waitstaff. I'm probably going to be there until this very expensive bottle of vodka is gone. So if you see this, drop by. You can split it with me.

[She doesn't really care about public versus private. In case you're not smart enough to figure it out, the guy she's looking for? Totally her dad. But moving on.]

Anyone have any idea what we're supposed to do around here?

[And with that, she'll end her journal ramble before her hand cramps. Flexing her fingers slightly she'll go back to picking up the glass sitting next to her and taking a long swig with a wince. The world just ended. She's pretty sure she's allowed to get super freaking drunk. She's perched on a stool, wearing clothing that seems a little worse for the wear, with tears and soot stains littered across the jacket, shirt and jeans. There's also a nasty gash on her forehead that she's managed to bandage up on her own, but it mostly just looks like the gauze is sitting there for show.

The problem when you bleed white blood.

All the same, she's going to sit there, with her drink, and wait for the responses to come back. Enjoy your day, ship. Feel free to bug the newly arrived guardian.]

When it comes to Alexander Abernathy, they answer is a lot. He could get into a lot of trouble.

And he'll probably drag Rafe down with him, let's be real.

See the problem with Alexander is that he's bored. He's easily bored, which is why the ship, in all of it's wonder and majesty, was able to hold is attention was able to hold is attention for a few weeks but now he's back to being bored again. A bored Afreet demon is a problem. Especially when he has access to copious quantities of alcohol. Because when you can set fire to things all on your own, you tend to investigate mundane things you can do with that particular power, especially when you have the power of the internet at your disposal.

And he's always really thought flaming drinks looked cool. Especially a Flaming Lamborghini. Which is what he's currently trying to do at one of the many, many bars located on this ship. He's mostly got the glasses stacked at this point and is working on mixing the part of the drink that's poured over top - his dad taught him to mix cocktails ages ago and he's probably going to bartend in college once he gets there - so he hasn't gotten to the actual fire yet, but it's coming.

When it does, whoever built this ship will probably forever regret leaving that much booze lying around.

---

Meanwhile another, less destructively minded teenager is also testing out some abilities of her own. After a brief trip home, Zoe Dabrowski can be found favoring a long sleeved Henley that hooks around her thumbs as she sits cross-legged on the main deck with a small potted plant and what looks like an old notebook. The plant itself is nothing more than a sprout, with a small purple bud at the tip, but she's looking to change that, given the right amount of time and concentration.

And, of course, the right spell.

When she finally finds the one she's looking for, she pauses for a moment, letting the fingers not holding the book in her lap drum idly against her knee as she tries to figure out the best way to approach it. She's still fairly new to her magic in a lot of ways, and there's a lot her mother didn't get to teach her and her father refuses to. But at the same time, there's always a chance she could figure it out for herself, which is why she took her mother's spell book before she left again. If he won't teach her, she'll learn on her own.

She glances from the book to the plant for a moment, before holding out her hand in front of her. She pulls at the magic somewhere inside her and anyone paying attention will see the colors around her hand distort slightly, almost like a thermal coming off the pavement on a super hot day. As she focuses, the flower in front of her starts to stretch towards it, arching up towards the sky until it very slowly peels back the layers of the bud and comes into full bloom.

She jumps up with a pleased noise as she finishes because she did it.

Then gasps as the pot tumbles off the end of the lounge and shatters on the deck.

Whoops.

[ see elena.

see elena heading toward one of the bars on whichever deck you see fit.

see elena serving herself a drink because boys men suck and she has had it with this ship.



enjoy. ]