Gal Pals


colette_icon.gif huruma_icon.gif megan_icon.gif nicole_icon.gif

Scene Title Gal Pals
Synopsis Two members of Wolfhound, a nurse, and a SESA agent turn a livingroom into a bar.
Date May 16, 2018

Sometimes the atmosphere calls for solitude, and other times not as much; though things have been a series of ups and downs one after another, there is something to be said about the value of being around others— even if just a little. Even if it’s more or less an excuse to get together and pass around some drinks. The early evening is rather clear, the air crisp but not biting. Somewhere in the distance is the sound of peep-frogs waking up for the night, the tiny things taking up on land gone more wild amidst the Safe Zone. It proves a contrast to the rumble of motorbike as Huruma rolls up to Nicole’s home, a passenger at her back.

“Apologies for hitting that divet.” Pothole. It was a pothole. Huruma takes off her helmet and angles her head around to Megan seated just behind. “It was much deeper than I anticipated.” There’s a half smile, sheepish, as she swings off of the bike and pops open the rear hatch to fetch a couple of bags from it. A little bit of food, a little more drink, a lot of time to share; Huruma seems comfortable enough rapping on the front door, canting her head towards it as if listening for something. Someone. Someones?

Thankfully, she is not quite at the point of just walking into Nicole’s home. Not like she does to some others. It will probably happen, eventually.

The redhead on the back made a very definite sound of annoyance that rather sounded like one of Huruma's hisses. "'Sall good," Megan tells her, climbing off the bike. "I'm only as old as my spine likes to complain I am." She's mostly teasing … although seriously, her tailbone is complaining about that last landing. Pulling her head out of the helmet, she ruffles her silver-streaked copper hair a bit so helmet-head is not an affliction she is forced to endure all evening, and grins easily. "Wonder if Nic has the Pipsqueak tonight or if she sent her over to Ben's," she comments lazily, grabbing a couple of the small parcels to carry up to the door. "It's been a dog's age since we had a girls' night." She considers that and ponders. "Good Christ, was that really a year ago??"

Hearing Huruma’s bike pull up outside, Nicole flashes a grin in her sister’s direction. “Sounds like company’s here.” She gets up from the couch and peeks through the shades over the picture window at its back to confirm before heading over to the door in her stockinged feet. She’s still dressed for work, but it’s a comfortable shift made of stretchy heathered jersey that is perfect for lounging around in.

The front door opens and Nicole steps out onto the welcome mat, smiling to Huruma and Megan. “Hey, ladies! Ready to get this party started?” She’s in desperate need of unwinding. Things have been stressful of late with work and the personal things she likes to dress up as work problems.

Colette doesn't get up from the couch she’s stretched out across like a housecat, even when Nicole gets up. One hand behind her head and ankles crossed, she looks as though she'd been out riding most of the day, the leather jacket, helmet, and boots by the door a further indication, along with her somewhat corrected helmet hair.

Ladies,” Colette croons from the couch, already halfway through a glass of red wine. There's some relief that the others had come, as Colette was broaching uncomfortable topics of what happened toward the end of the gala a few weeks ago, and that situation was bound to come to an explosive head once all the details came out.

“There isn't uh, much for food,” Colette warns, “I mean I suppose anywhere. But I managed to pick up a couple boxes of vegetable dumplings in Yama Park.” Still in the paper bag on the coffee table. “So it's not entirely a liquid night in here.”

The little excited notes that come right before the door opens for them is just as endearing as it ever was; Huruma’s smile when Nicole welcomes them is easy, a sliver of white flickering there before she leans in to deliver a one-armed hug of greeting, the other laden with those bags. Colette she felt from outside, of course. “Of course we are.”

“We scrounged up some things… “ Huruma steps inside as she responds to Colette’s apparent offering, casting a glance over her shoulder and hanging up her own helmet and jacket, a regular old biker gang on Nicole’s coat pegs. “I may have poked my head into the confiscated goods too. Just for a moment. I left an I.O.U.” Huruma seems to adopt a more conspiratorial tone at this, for the sake of levity.

Her own bags mostly have items easy to find; some bread, cheese, a small plastic tub of hummus that is still warm— and of course a more appropriate offering in the shape of two wine bottles.

From somewhere, Megan managed a batch of strawberries — two whole pints of them that she brings out and sets on the counter. What that must have cost here in the city is not a question that ANYONE should be asking, but clearly having this group of women all in one place is worth it to her. She turns to smile, moving briefly to give Nicole a quick hug. "How's the Pipsqueak? Ben mentioned she's just DYING," all drama inflicted here on the tone, "to get the garden started." She grins and turns to Colette.

"You're cheating!" she informs the younger woman. "Starting without us. Wow… we know where we rate, huh, Hooms?" She winks at Colette, though, clearly just teasing as she moves to plunk herself down on the couch, shooing Colette's feet back over her lap if the other woman is so inclined. "I'm old, dammit — I get soft cushions to sit on."

Nicole laughs quietly as her friends assemble, lifting her wine glass up off the coffee table in front of the couch where Colette is seated. “If you lived here,” she says with a grin, “you’d be drunk now.” Megan gets a wink and a grateful smile for her contribution to the evening.

“Pippa’s doing well. She can’t wait to get her hands in the dirt and plant some tomatoes.” The mother’s whole face lights up when she talks about her child. For all that she feared it, motherhood truly suits Nicole Varlane. “She says I’m not allowed to plant asparagus because it’s icky, but I told her it takes about three years to come up proper and I’m not sharing with her when it does.” Her brows lift once. “Suddenly, she’s very interested in eating her veggies.”

Colette tucks her legs up to allow Megan a space, then obliges to stretch right the hell back out when offered. “Look, Huruma can testify to this,” Colette motions to her with her glass, “but it takes a bit to get me tilting at windmills because every other month or so we have an Successful Op celebratory drink, so I have to get an early start so we’re all on the same page.” That’s sort of like logic. Logic’s neighbor, perhaps?

“Oh,” Colette tilts her chin up at Megan, “Scott says hello, by the way. He’s stuck up in Rochester doing maintenance on the Tlanuwa, Hana’s got something brewing we’re gonna need the bird for, so it’s gotta be in top shape. He said to have a drink for him, so…” she swirls her glass around and tips it back, finishing what was left. “I mean, I’m not gonna’ tell him no.

“You are not that much older than me.” Huruma looks up and over to Megan between getting ahold of a corkscrew and burying it into one of the bottles she brought along. The pop is just loud enough to be one of those more satisfying sounds. There is a short laugh for Colette, a half-bark of agreement. “Something like that. Sure.” Whatever you say, Letty.

“Last time that I tried to grow something it did not end well. I can dig. That is the only part I am good at….” At least Pippa is excited, and that’s more important. Huruma is liberal with her own glass, and gives a pour for Megan until she signals a stop. With that taken care of, and a little array of food set out, Huruma casts a glance to Nicole, pale eyes creasing with a smile. “Do you get the WSZR signal here?” Some tunes won’t hurt, right?

Megan laughs at Huruma. "Some days I'm almost sure I'm 100," she retorts. Listening to Nicole go on about Pippa makes her smile as she holds her glass to be filled, but it's the mention of mutual friends by Colette that makes the redhead's smile shift to a softer grin. "He did, did he? Did he say he's stuck or are you just saying he's stuck up there?" Amusement is clear in her tone. "God, I still can't believe all that time he was up there with you lot and we never caught wind of it." She rolls her eyes. "Talk about shitty comms. Damn near had a heart attack when I looked up and saw him."

She sips from the wineglass that has miraculously found itself full thanks to Huruma's hand, sighing in pleasure at the flavors on her tongue. She savors the taste, absently patting Colette's legs across her lap just because she's comfortable. "Nicole, give us the skinny on what your latest fun stuff is all about! Colette's blowing shit up again, probably with Huruma in tow… I need someone else's life to be as boring and normal as mine or I'll get a complex."

Don't let her fool you, though .. Megan likes boring and normal. Or what passes for normal in this day and age, anyway!

“I do!” Nicole confirms for Huruma and moves to a stereo setup along the wall. She doesn’t have to tune the dial - it’s the last station she listened to. “There we go,” she muses as she adjusts the volume to fill the quiet but not overpower conversation. “That’s better.”

When Megan asks about her latest fun stuff, Nicole shakes her head. “Oh, no. My work is terribly boring. Bureaucratic nonsense. I like it well enough, but it’s been known to put Sissy here to sleep on more than one occasion.” Still, she smiles as she takes a seat in an overstuffed accent chair, upholstered in dark green leather. “I get to hear about the exciting things my colleagues are doing day in and out, and I report on them, but I gave up blowing things up after the war.” And even before it was over, actually.

“She’s an old maid now,” Colette notes with a wag of her brows and a sip of her wine, grinning broadly at Nicole after the fact. “But really I made her mellow the fuck out because of Pippa. Trust me, it took a lot of convincing to get her behind a desk. But look at her now!” Colette motions to Nicole, “the successful liaison to the Entire President.”

Making a noise in the back of her throat that is half scoff, half laugh, Colette looks at her wine. “Fucking look at us,” she considers, stretching away from the couch to grab her bottle of wine and refill her glass. “Ten years ago I was living in a church basement with a bunch of other bomb orphans. Nicole thought I was dead, and was working for Linderman…” it’s so far in the past now that she can actually talk about it lightly. It’s one of the few things she’s recovered from. “Huruma was… you know, I have no idea. Probably being catlike in a dark alley somewhere?” Blind eyes sweep to Megan, “and you were helping run Scott’s safe house with Grace.”

The noise she makes next is much more earnestly as laugh as she tips back her drink. “Five years after that, we were just getting our asses out of a Civil War. I went from orphan to freedom fighter, Nicole went from somebody’s secretary to the god of fucking thunder, Huruma became a badass mentor, and Megan saved like… what, five hundred fucking lives on Pollepel?” Dark brows raise, and Colette manages a lopsided smile. “I still don’t know what miracle you worked when the H5N10 outbreak happened. One minute everyone was sick as a fucking dog… the next minute it passed like a fever broke.”

Colette sips from her glass again. “I’m not religious, but that definitely made me raise an eyebrow.”

Huruma doesn't remark on Megan's likelihood of developing a complex; she knows that the other woman understates herself. There's a moment where she does give Megan a half squint, sipping at her wine as Nicole sets the volume.

“Lovely.” Is what serves as a thank you for Nicole, and she follows suit to find herself a seat in another chair. Colette reminiscing on years before has Huruma burying her nose in the red. “You do not want to know what I was doing. So let us go with that…” Dark alley, cat stuff, maybe a little bit of maiming. “I was in an evo prison for two whole days if that helps to envision anything.” A troublemaker. Of course.

Huruma leans forward to pick herself some strawberries and other bites into a napkin, before lounging back and slinging one long leg over the arm of the chair.

Cat stuff.

Two whole days??? Huruma must have needed nap time or something for it to have been that long! Psssht! Bright blue eyes meet Huruma's and both eyebrows raise at the half-squint. What? I didn't do anything! Megan gives a vaguely sheepish grin to the empath, having some idea what the other woman may have picked up from her, and turns her attention back to the conversation, savoring another swallow of the wine. "She's not an old maid," she objects. "Old maids don't have recklessly energetic munchkins running around." She winks teasingly at Nicole — if anyone's an old maid here, Megan will have to own it.

"I didn't do anything extraordinary, Letty… I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. And prayed a lot." Meg peers at her. "Religious or not, I'm pretty goddamn sure I did nothing but pray constantly. And don't I wish it were as simple as 'one minute they were all sick and the next minute it passed,'" she retorts in a wry tone. "I busted my ass, and I was sure I was going to lose all of them." She shakes her head, remembering the flu before the island fell… those days bring up a lot of bad memories. A lot of people she couldn't save. But she pulls in a breath and pushes it away quickly, offering with a wicked gleam, "I'm just that fucking good at my job." You can hear the 'so stick that in your pipe and smoke it' defiance to it.

Her tone eases just a bit and sounds a little reflective. "Ten years ago, I didn't know what the hell I was getting myself into; I just knew it felt bad. Something was coming, and it felt bad. Scott and Grace, Alistair… we could all feel it. A lot of the early Ferry or Ferry-adjacent safe houses were the homes of former military people that one or the other of us knew from the old days. I don't think we ever really realized in the beginning just how bad it would get. Or at least… we hoped that it wouldn't get as bad as we imagined." The redhead grins impishly. "Some of us, *cough*Scott*cough*, were far more suspicious and crotchety than others… and it turned out to be a huge blessing. We did good."

She looks at each of the women in the room and holds up her glass briefly. "We all did good. And it's been far too long since we did this, ladies," she observes mildly.

“Old maid? Look—” Nicole levels a look at her sister, but she’s smirking and has no real response to any of that. Because, for the most part, it’s complimentary. But how can one be liaison to anything less than an entire President? “I’m not the god of thunder. That’s Lynette. I’m just Mjolnir.” She’s mixing her pantheons, but who cares? Not her.

The electrokinetic shakes her head a little ruefully when she thinks on the past. How she let her sister down, but also about how she ultimately found her again and tried to do right. Maybe she succeeded. They’re here, after all. “My sister dear thinks my problem is that I need a girl,” Nicole notes with a grin, dismissing her earlier thoughts. “I’m single, ‘Letty, not dead.

Which is to say she still gets it. Sometimes. Once in a while.

Shut up, Colette.

“Well,” Colette opines over the rim of her glass, “maybe you can explain that to Sable when she comes by.” Blind eyes flick up to Nicole as if she could see her with them. “Because I told her she should,” her brows raise, “stop by,” and then her eyes flick down to her wine glass again, “and see you.” There’s a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, a self-satisfied game of matchmaker.

Content to amuse herself with her sister’s love life, Colette swirls her glass of wine around again in a very clear affectation and then takes another sip. “We really should do this more often.”

“I’ve been repaired so much by you that I can confirm, Megan.” Huruma is settled back in the seat a little further, eyes roving to Megan when she says how good at her job she is. It’s the truth. She also, definitely, did a lot of praying. At least that’s what it felt like.

It’s hard to tell if the snort that leads into a throaty laugh is for Nicole or Colette, or both.

“You are seriously trying to set your sister up, aren’t you?” Maybe a little more clear now. Huruma narrows her eyes over the chair towards Colette, an amused smile flashing a bit of teeth with a fresh laugh. “Single, not dead, she says— I am sure that she can find her own girls.” She looks back to Nicole, briefly, before draining a third of her glass. “If that’s what she wants, anyway.”

“Could always do a regular poker night… or what have you. We’re somewhat in the same place these days, hm?” A regular thing could either be a great idea, or a terrible one.

Megan grins at Huruma. She has definitely sewn that woman up more times than she cares to count. But the idea that Colette is trying to set Nicole up… with a girl?? Makes the redhead blink in confusion. "Wait, what? I…" She looks puzzled and then shrugs. "Well, how about that." Huh. Nicole goes both ways. All righty, then. Not like that's a problem…. although she's had a little wine too and she'd love to blame the wine for the irreverent thought that perhaps she should set Colette on Huruma! Cuz … you know… she's Meg's best friend and needs someone to keep her company sometimes!

Totally not her style to say that aloud, though. Megan smirks at Colette and points out, "Just because you're all about domestic bliss doesn't mean everyone is." Ooh!! "Poker night? Now that sounds fun. Although admittedly I kind of suck at the game."

Nicole has gone almost as red as the glass of wine in her hand by the time her sister’s finished. “I’m definitely able to find my own dates.” There happens to be a nice man at the office that she dates on occasion. Allegedly. “I’ve just been enjoying my freedom,” she mutters into the rim of her glass before a long drink. “You’retheworst,Sissy.”

And by that, she of course means best.

“Poker night sounds great.” Because it might be a distraction from all this. “Maybe hearts or gin, too.” She likes a bit of variety in her cards.

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Colette tips back another sip of her wine and offers a look over at Megan, the smile slipping to something more crooked. “Sometimes I forget that not everybody knows everything about everyone around here,” her brows raise, “practically living with Hana has made me ambivalent to personal privacy. I just assume she’s somehow watching at all times.”

At that, Colette looks over to Huruma. “And I still haven’t gotten a good read off you,” comes rather bluntly, “so I didn’t recommend you,” she motions with her wine glass to Nicole. “No hard feelings?” A bubble of laughter flutters up afterward.

“She is a woman, not a hydra.” Huruma laughs more openly at Colette, and it only settles into a self-satisfied sound when the younger woman admits no decent reads from her. She gives Nicole a raised brow, breath puffing in amusement before turning her eyes back to Colette. “No hard feelings.” What else is there to say to that, exactly?

“And on second thought, perhaps poker with me dealing in is not the best idea.” Huruma mutters this from her lounge on the chair, brow pinched and a half smile as she considers it. It is understandably difficult to bluff with her. She always knows. “I have been banned from too many casinos. I am blacklisted in Monaco.”

Megan grins at Colette. "It's not a thing to me. I occasionally think I might be the only actual almost-entirely-hetero I know, so… " She shrugs dismissively. She has to stifle a laugh when Colette peers at Huruma that way. Ben's Terrifying Wife… Meg's never been entirely sure herself, and she's never so rude as to ask. The last part, though, brings both copper brows up in fascination. "Are you really??" she demands of Huruma. "That's really a thing? People get banned because they're really too good at reading other people's tells? I mean… how do they know you're using an ability? Maybe you're just that fucking good at reading people's body language! Microexpressions and shit." She's genuinely intrigued by the notion.

Maybe she needs to get out more.

After she shows that interest in Huruma's banning, Megan … well, she's not the blushing sort or anything, but she looks a little nonplussed at her own query. "Geez. Sorry, Huruma — it's just we shared life, space, bedrolls, and firepits for two whole years and that's a weird little tidbit that I never actually caught about you." She grins at her friend. "Not that I think I know everything by a long shot." Definitely need more wine. She's maybe babbling a little, which Hooms at least knows she only does when she's feeling a little self-conscious or very much on edge.

Blacklisted in Monaco.” Nicole shakes her head with a smile. “You say it so plain.” Then again, there’s plenty of things she says rather plainly that most people wouldn’t. Rubbing elbows with the president and all. “They ban plenty of mundane people who’re too good at reading tells or counting cards.” Still, she’d wager Huruma’s ability’s more useful than most.

“Maybe we’ll be fancy and learn one of those games where the dealer doesn’t have stakes, but gets to play all the same.” Those exist, right? Maybe baccarat or something.

“See, when Huruma gets in trouble,” Colette notes with a motion of her glass in her direction, “it’s classy. Blacklisted from Monaco sounds so much more suave than…” she hesitates, making a noise in the back of her throat. “You— know— stupider shit.” Clearing her throat, Colette takes a bigger swig of her wine as if it were a bottle of beer.

“Okay, I think games in general might be out. I mean, unless we can all be honest. But I can look around corners, so even holding your cards close to your chest might not be safe.” Cracking a smile, Colette takes a smaller sip from her wine, smiling fondly. “How’s about… uhh, the fuck was that…” Colette wiggles fingers in Nicole’s direction. “The drinking game? The one you and that blonde British guy were playing that one time at the apartment? Asshole?”

“It’s a thing, yes.” Megan’s reaction gets a nod, and Huruma angles her head that-a-way. “Oh, I have a lot of those. Weird little tidbits. Sometimes they are even relevant.” She flashes a small smile for the redhead, lips parting in a fresh laugh for Nicole and Colette.

“Being blacklisted from gambling is one thing, but at least I can still vacation if I wanted?” It’s a small consolation? Huruma sits up a few more inches, foot bobbing off of the chair arm. She’s sipping at her glass as Colette keeps talking, and there’s an idle thought over less traditional card games before she gives the other hound a squint and a mutter. “They always know the good games, I suppose…” She tips her head after Nicole, waiting for her to answer her sister. Drinking games definitely sounds more doable. At least at the moment.

Megan just grins at the fact that people get booted out of casinos. It's never really been her scene, so she hasn't a clue. Swallowing more wine, she watches the siblings squabble and tease, amused at it…. And content in ways that might be a little surprising, if the women knew it. This — "normality" in all its lazy definitions — is comforting. The redhead's mind slips back over brief images from years past. Nothing bad, just mental snapshots of moments in time. And she indulges in those memories while the women sort out what card games might be done.

Glancing up to catch Huruma looking toward her, she offers a faint, wry grin and a subtle lift of her glass. This moment, here with these women, is probably as close to "home" as the redhead gets anymore. And it's most assuredly been far too long. Maybe she needs to unbury her head from running around the Safe Zone and take a little time off for herself. It's an unfamiliar thought, and one she dismisses for later consideration. "Could always just play something like Spades or Hearts and every time to take a trick, you gotta drink. It's gonna mean some of us get seriously soused very quickly," she offers.

“Playing for money is definitely out of the question in this crowd. Playing for fun,” and booze, “though? That I could get behind.” Her tongue runs over her teeth as she recalls the game Colette is referring to. Nicole shakes her head, “That’s more a college game. I don’t have the energy for that anymore.”

Which is a goddamn lie. If Nicole didn’t have the energy for ridiculous drinking games that get even more difficult the more the party has had to drink, she wouldn’t be in politics.

“I should probably check on Pippa.” Nicole isn’t known to be a helicopter mother by any stretch. Protective, certainly, but she also trusts the rest of her daughter’s family to keep her just as safe and generally doesn’t meddle. She starts to rise from her seat, eyes on the landline phone on the wall in the transitional space between kitchen and living area.

Sliding off of the couch, bumping into the coffee table, nearly kicking Megan’s wine out of her hand, Colette wobbles and wavers her arms to stay balanced. Then, raising one hand to her mouth, she presses a finger to her lips in a silent shushing motion. A moment later, slower than Huruma is accustomed to, Colette desaturates into a black and white image, then slowly fades away like someone edited out of an oil painting one brush stroke at a time. She slinks her way across the floor, leaving a few sloshes droplets of wine in her wake, creeping in on Nicole.

“I never got the college experience.” Huruma mutters, when it comes to ‘college games’. She has her mouth to her glass when Colette slops her way up from the sofa and equally messily goes into her chameleon mode. While Huruma does not say anything, she watches in mild fascination, tracking Colette’s course with her head.

What does she think is doing, exactly?

“Do you really need to check on her?” Huruma tears her attention towards Nicole, amused for several reasons. “Do you think she’s going to be up all night eating sugar and listening to horror serials?” She’s six.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, that's alcohol abuse! Megan's hand flies upward to keep her wine from being spilled all over the place, and she quickly swallows the last of it for fear that when Colette sits back down, it might bounce her around too much! And then her brows shoot to her hairline when the young woman shifts into monochromatic color schemes. She shares the WTF? look with Huruma, puzzled and curious.

And then, just because it makes her giggle to think about it, Megan scoffs, "Gimme a break. That one has her father wrapped around her little finger so tight, I'm pretty sure he looks like an old-time telephone cord when she's not around — she's all "Daddy, read me another one, please" and batting her eyelashes. That being said, however…. Nicole, since when did you take to helicopter momming?" Because it's really not like the other woman. And then it occurs to her to point out, "If you didn't wanna talk about the love life thing, you coulda just said so!"

Although if Nicole has already picked up the phone and dialed it, well… hopefully the other end hasn't been picked up yet, cuz that was a little loud. Whoops!

No phone yet. Nicole looks at Huruma, a little surprised. “Oh no. What age do they start doing that?” Staying up all night to eat sugar and watch horror serials, she means. Is her baby growing up too fast?

Has she had too much wine or not enough to be having these thoughts?

“You’re right. You’re ri— Colette. What are you doing?”

Some kids never grow up.

A few droplets of wine spatter on the floor. A giggle emanates from nowhere and nearby all at once. Splotchy half-visible portions of Colette come into view as she loses her focus on her power, and she comes completely into view as she doubles over in a whooping and nearly breathless fit of laughter, just barely holding her wine steady as she drops into a crouch with one arm wrapped around her sides. “Oh my gosh,” she wheezes, “your face!

Colette squeaks out another series of breathless giggles. “What are you doing!?” She mockingly mimics her sister with much more exasperation than Nicole had. Eyes clenched shut, tears rolling down her cheeks, Colette has fallen into an absolutely inescapable pit of laughter.

“From what I gather, whenever they start talking back. Badrani is that age. But he knows not to cross me— so— ” Huruma regards Nicole with a visible amusement, trying to ignore Colette flickering in and out like an old projection. It gets a little more difficult when she starts wheezing laughter, and Huruma can’t help but smiling, a little sharp with a crinkle of nose.

“The first time she did that to me, I tried grabbing at the air. I knew she was there but I couldn’t see her—” There is a chuckle now, more vocal, for Colette’s rolls of giggles. Huruma finishes off her glass and sets it aside, raising a brow at the girls. “Anyway,”

Megan's chuckles are a lot quieter than Colette's whooping laughter. "I sincerely doubt Benjamin will let her watch a horror serial… good lord, does such a thing even exist anymore?" Frankly, she's not even sure there's regular television — Hollywood got blasted, so it's not like it used to be.

Huh. That thought brings a wistful smile to her face, though. "I miss the movies," she admits lazily. Nibbling on a berry that she helps herself to, she asks, "Anyone remember the last one you saw?"

Nicole’s face flushes red as her sister makes fun of her, embarrassed rather than angry. “I have not had enough to drink for this,” she growls and reaches to snatch up the nearby bottle of wine and top off her glass. She’s in a game of catch up now.

If she drinks enough, maybe she’ll forget she’s such a square. Fingers crossed. She used to be fun, right? Had to be! Or people wouldn’t come over to her house for this sort of thing. Nicole sinks back into her chair and cradles her glass to her chest while she reflects. When Megan asks about movies, she lifts her head again and smiles. “I can’t remember the name, but I caught a second run of this movie about people attending a professional conference, and the crazy things they get up to.”

Nicole’s smile slides to a grin. “It was surprisingly accurate.”

Colette is on the floor now, wheezing and laughing and holding her stomach and managing not to spill too much of her wine. She's swallowed up into that pit of hysterical laughter at something that isn't really all that funny at all. But for too long a while all she can do is laugh, which turns into fitful giggling, and then finally a murmur of “Muppet— Muppet Treasure Island,” in belated response to the question.

Colette doesn't clarify how long ago that was, however.

Nicole’s reaction to her sister’s giggle fits gets a small laugh from Huruma in turn; she looks between Megan and the other women soon after, suddenly curious about the answers. It becomes increasingly obvious that they have different tastes— but there’s one thing she can agree on.

“God, Tim Curry’s voice.” Huruma mutters, trying not to laugh as she stifles it with a piece of food. She lounges back again, still slung about like a housecat. “Badrani and I had a Dolph Lundgren marathon.” A moment of thoughtful chewing.

“I have a type, alright?” Don’t judge.

Megan laughs outright. "You do have a type," the redhead agrees with a wrinkle of her nose at Hooms. Wickedly amused, she admits, "Mine was Red. Retired, extremely dangerous. Cuz… well, 'I kill people dear' made me laugh my ass off." And well… she, too, has a type. Don't judge! She waggles her glass at Nicole. "More wine is required, however… " She grins. "My second to last… was Harry Potter," she confesses. "I love those books."

Nicole is happy to oblige, reaching across to tip the bottle and fill Megan’s glass. “Sis, if you spill wine on my carpet, you’re paying to have it cleaned.” Somehow, it’s managed to stay clean in spite of the six-year-old living in the house.

Huruma gets a grin. “We all have a type. Mine is emotionally unavailable and probably dating one of my friends, I’m reasonably sure.” She over-enunciates her words for emphasis. “It can’t just be something simple like tall with dark hair, or has an accent.”

Women willing to put up with me,” is Colette’s somewhat giggles response, sitting on the floor between kitchen and living room. “But m’not greedy, m’lucky as hell t’have some amazing women who love me more’n words and all that shit combined.” A smile ghosts across Colette’s face, head tilted to the side and brows raised with cheeks flushed and drink gradually tipping toward the rug because she's focusing on the diamond ring she wears, not the glass — and she's in no state to do both.

“S’polygamy legal in New York?” Colette asks to the air, contemplating the legal complexities of her relationships.

The laugh from Megan has Huruma reaching over with a socked foot to push playfully at her knee. You cut that out. “For me, there is no such thing as emotionally unavailable. Is that considered a cheat too?” She wonders out loud, trailing off and watching Colette.

“Who cares anymore?” Folding down off of the chair, Huruma sets her glass aside with a small laugh. She rises up to cross over to Colette, taking the wine glass from her and relocating it to an endtable. “You are happy people, kintana, that is what matters.”

“Come here, you.” Time to get this scamp off of the floor, it looks like; Huruma goes for broke and moves to scoop her up like a princess. A very drunken princess.

Megan laughs a bit harder, making a point of not spilling her wine when Huruma nudges her knee! "What, is it my fault if certain of us share a type??" No naming of names required!! She winks though. "I'd say that yes, it's kind of cheating, a little. But Jesus, sometimes you gotta have the cheat if you hope to have any idea what the hell's happening inside those tall, dark, and silent brains. For instance, … well, no, never mind. I'm really not drunk enough to say that yet," she grins.

Rolling her eyes expressively, the redhead observes to Nicole, "C'mon, that can't be all the guys you know — dating your friends. That sucks!" She watches Huruma scoop up Colette and giggles softly. "She's so cute."

“You’re right,” Nicole grants, her eyes rolling toward the ceiling as though she might find the words she wants up there. “Sometimes they’re straight up married.” She has a small and bitter laugh at her own expense. “There hasn’t been anybody serious since Ben and,” she holds a hand up to ward off whatever her sister might be about to… slur in her direction, “I’m just fine with that. Someone will come along when the come along.”

Or when Colette literally shoves them in front of her and shouts Now kiss! maybe.

"Hey hey hey!" Colette drunkenly slurs, "what about Huruma?" She stares eyes wide, mouth twisted in a maniac's smile that barely holds back laughter.

No, Colette.

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