Time To Unwind

Participants:

abby_icon.gif daphne_icon.gif edgar_icon.gif jesse_icon.gif ling_icon.gif lynette_icon.gif melissa_icon.gif nadira_icon.gif peter_icon.gif quinn_icon.gif raquelle_icon.gif rupe_icon.gif smedley_icon.gif west_icon.gif

Scene Title Time to Unwind
Synopsis A barbeque meant to allow people relax instead has a quiche-bearing Rupert showing up, and Peter stealing both beer and abilities. Also, boobcakes.
Date September 13, 2010

Little Green House


It's a nice day out. Cool and sunny. Which makes it a very good day for a barbeque. And the green house on Northern Staten Island is almost perfectly ready for it. It's spotless, as usual, there are drinks and the usual barbeque sides, and chairs set up outside so anyone who wants to enjoy the day and a view of the harbor. And the sun setting. Or to play with a very hyper-active German Shepherd who just seems to want to play.

Inside is Melissa, dressed in black shorts, tank top and sandals, humming softly to herself as she makes a rather large pitcher of sweet tea. She may not be able to cook, but any southern girl who can't make a good pitcher of iced tea has to declare herself a yankee. And Mel likes her southern accent too much to do that.

Oddly, there's no movie playing, despite one playing almost constantly when Mel's at home. Instead music is playing, at a low enough level that it won't interrupt any conversation that ends up happening. Both the front and back door are open, letting people come and go as they please.

Lynette makes her way inside, although she does knock to announce her presence. She comes in the remains of businesswear, in that her jacket has been left behind, but she wears black pinstripe pants and a matching vest, but her white button up shirt's been untucked and hanging out. And since this is Lynette, she comes in with a bottle of alcohol in hand. It's wine this time, though! And it must be a gift, since there's a bow tied around the neck and everything.

Abigail's in her blue SUV, parked outside Mel's place along with other vehicles. Peter in the passenger side, he was the reason she had actually come to the barbque in the first place. Come with he'd said the other night when they'd both gotten up and had a day not working in the ambulance or running around getting things in order for school or filling out yet more paperwork for the necessary permit changes and seeking employee's for her soon to be relaunched business. Come with me, he'd said, prodding at her and plying her with coffee and sliding her pills across the top of the table.

She'd protested, citing that burning a guys store bathroom, and all the other things that she'd been dealing with mentally, theologically, she didn't think that she should. She had to go make nice and meet Molly, Parkman's daughter, at some point. She needed to go take Kasha out for a bit, all these excuses falling off her lips as for why she didn't want to go to a Messiah BBQ on Peter's arm.

So here they sit, in the SUV, watching as other plunk on by, heading into Mel's place. Her stomach making noises at the possibilities for vittles that may lay within, chin on the steering wheel and thinking. Too much thinking, one of Abigail's faults. "I shouldn't be here Peter, I don't got a red scarf, I'm not part of your little possee, can't I just drop you off and just go visit Kasha?" Who'd be dead asleep likely. "I haven't talked to mel in ages, she's gonna be upset at me"

Nadira likes to be prompt. She hasn't been late a single time to work at Tartarus, and while she's not getting paid to go to the barbeque, she's prompt none-the-less. The Egyptian woman is dressed simply in a pair of tan capris and a white tanktop, feet clad in leather sandals. She quietly passes the SUV, glancing only over at it briefly before she moves towards the front door. She feels slightly awkward just stepping inside the open door, but she enters regardless and peers around carefully to peek for the hostess. After all, she's not entirely sure she knows anyone attending other than Melissa.

"Abby stop being such a pain in the ass," is Peter's gentle rebuke as he leans towards where she sits beside him, both brows lifted, "you need to destress and stop worrying about everything going on, and this isn't a Messiah party, because— " something cuts Peter off, something in his peripheral vision, and as he looks out the windshield it's confirmed to be more than just a figment out of the corner of his eye.

Walking across the street in front of Abby's SUV, dressed in a crisp black suit with skinny black necktie and a dark fedora on his head is a wiry, bearded man with a lanky build and a head a little bit bigger than looks well-proportioned on his narrow body. Rupert Carmichael wasn't invited to this particular party, but it appears it hasn't stopped him from wanting to attend.

"Nnnh…" is Peter's vocalization in response as he notices Carmichael and more pointedly his entourage. Jesse Murphy is a block of a man at his flank, tattooed down his bare arms that his denim vest doesn't hide, black teardrops at the corners of his eyes, goatee neatly trimmed and— carrying a casserole dish. On the other side of Rupert, West Rosen is impeccably if not colorfully dressed. Black slacks make his bright salmon-pink button down shirt pop out along with the lavendar ascot tied around his neck. Slung over one shoulder is a white leather— messenger bag is probably the nice way to put it, but it does look something like a man-purse.

"C'mon," Peter insists, offering a look up to Abby before he leans to the passenger's side door and swings it open, intent on following Rupert. Walking up the front porch behind Nadira's entrance, Rupert Carmichael offers a cordial, "Well, hello there," to her back and a raise of both his brows, sweeping his fedora off of his head as he dips into a nod. Neither Jesse nor West have much to say, though Jesse's dark eyes do avert down to the casserole dish, then back inside the house over Nadira's shoulder.

Rupert brought macaroni and bacon quiche, you can't be mad at him.

One moment, the front yard is empty — the next, a striated blur of gray, hot pink, navy blue, and the cream that is the color of her skin and hair has zipped down the block and coalesces into a solid form of Daphne Millbrook. The navy blue is from the backpack on her petite form, which she pulls off as she enters the house, turning into the kitchen at the sounds of ice-tea stirring.

"I stopped off in Kansas and got youe some fresh sweet corn," says the "country girl," who at a glance is a little worse for the wear since the last time she's been seen. Her elbows and knees, visible beneath the gray bermuda shorts, are covered in scabs. What isn't visible is the bruise that covers her entire ego, and of course the fear of what meeting Matthew Parkman might mean for her. She felt it best not to return to Corbin's hiding place, and instead headed east for her father's place, before coming back to the city she's deathly afraid of — apparently she's stubborn or stupid, or both.

That, and she got the text message party invite.

"And some chocolate from San Francisco. I know you like your chocolate," Daphne says, opening the bag and pulling out the gifts, her dark eyes downcast. She never did come by like she promised Melissa she would.

Edgar's been out of sight all day, not even making an appearance at the smell of food. From the creak of the floor boards upstairs every once in a while, Mel can tell he's been at home, at least some of the time. In truth, he's been in and out and in and out and in and out, all at top speed. She warned him he'd be meeting a lot of people today and it's the first occasion since coming to New York that he's being forced into such an endeavor. He's not so comfortable with it.

Over the past few days the attick bedroom has been converted into something that looks more like an attick. Various bits of used junk ranging from old store mannequins, trunks, a standing mirror, and a clothing rack have all been piled in odd places. At the moment Edgar's standing in front of the mirror making his final inspection on his appearance. "'Ello, my name's Liam Banks, pleasure." With a twist and a finger gun going pew pew at the mirror, he blows his index off and raises one eyebrows with a proud swagger. ".. Banks, Liam Banks." His face goes blurry as he shakes his head at quick pace, shrugging his shoulders and trying to feel comfortable in his 'new to him' clothes.

The pinstriped polyester pants have a new friend! These ones are black with a grey stripe, fashionable. His shirt is a brilliant pattern of red and black horizontal stripe that fits him like a second skin, showing off the tattoo on his upper arm. His boots are still the brown workboots, just camoflaged with black shoe polish, pretty well, or so he thinks.

With a final inspection of his homecut fauxhawk, making sure it's spiked in all the right places, Edgar blurrs out of the room. His reappearance in the livingroom might only be seen by Daphne, as he pauses for a split second before disappearing again. Final destination? The back yard, where there's air.

"Oh yeah, like you have to worry about Mel turning to you and asking you to please hold the stupid steaks and flame up, that she likes them Medium well" and that's Rupert Charmichael… "Not a messiah party you said" But much like Peter knows, like Teo, Francois, Eileen and even her dear Robert know, wear away at her enough and she'll go. If just for the sake of making the other person happy. The engine is killed, keys slid into the pocket of her hoodie and she's pushing open her own door as others show up even more. "If Mister Charmichael even looks my way Peter…"

People arriving has Melissa grinning as she sticks the pitcher of tea in the fridge. "Hey guys. Just put the stuff wherever and make yourself at home. And thanks for the wine, Lynette. And Daph, you know I adore anyone who brings chocolate." She moves to try and give the speedster a hug if she allows, and murmurs, "You okay?"

It's then that she notices Rupert and stiffens. West and Jesse don't get much of a reaction really, though neither of them were invited either. "Rupert. Surprised to see you here. Can I talk to you in the other room? Now?" she asks, a smile on her face, but for anyone who knows her well, it's a totally fake smile. He wasn't invited and she's not happy to see him here.

Looking over as the party seems to arrive behind her, Lynette lifts an eyebrow at the entourage. But, she sets the wine down and steps around to make her way toward the backyard, too. Party, lots of people… she needs air, too. Although, the few faces she recognizes, like Peter and Abby, get a wave on her way out. Whew.

There seem to be quite a few people arriving, and quite a few retreating for air. Nadira, formerly of the former, is now of the latter. She moves, quietly slipping towards the backyard with a soft sigh. Her eyes flicker around. Beverages. There had to be beverages out here somewhere.

It’s only when she begins to hear the sounds of attendees arriving that Ling makes her way from the back yard indoors, stopping to put out a cigarette before stepping inside. She has spent most of the last hour trying to convince Melissa that some form of greater preparation was needed, and when that argument was lost, she took doing what she felt was necessary to get ready, leaving the dinner area and the table where the food is found looking rather impeccably set up, almost looking like it’s prepared for a much more formal dinner than this is meant to be.

Dressed in a long black, loose dress, Ling doesn’t look nearly as casual as many other people arriving for dinner, though the fact that she’s not holed up in her room is a bit of a big step to begin with. Nods are offered to Lynette and Peter in particular, though for the moment she remains off to the side, a cautious eye settled on Rupert – not out of malice or distaste, but rather of surprise. He was about the last person she expected to see here.

A knock at the door, loud, thumbing, and in a distinct four knock beat that she always uses heralds the arrival of Melissa’s DJ Extraordinaire, or at least that’s what Robyn Quinn would call herself if asked. She’s barely able to get the door open herself with the large tray of chicken nuggets, the lid branded with the Chick-Fil-A logo, that she holds in her arms, a bag clearly holding a six pack of beer grasped in one hand. “Heeeey Melissa!” she shouts as she steps in, dressed in a black button up shirt and a long yellow ruffled skirt, headphones resting around her neck as the sounds of The Smiths blasts out for those close to her to hear.

A look is given around the quickly filling house as she steps in a bit more – tons of people she doesn’t know, how exciting! And Nadira, which is an added bonus. And… Lynette? Small world it seems. Finding a clear place on a counter to set down the tray and beer, she sighs, hands on her hips. A grin forms on her face – it’s been a while since she was at a party with so many new people, and now it’s time to mingle, starting with- oh my. Her eyes settle rather quickly on the flamboyantly dressed young man in pink and an ascot. There’s a fashion statement one doesn’t see often anymore, and in quick order, Quinn’s making her way over.

Offering a look at Nadira's back when his greeting is met by aversion and a sigh, Rupert feigns a smile and turns his attention to Melissa, stepping out in front of Jesse and West. "Sure, actually, I'd love to take a minute to talk to you, there was something I wanted to talk about anyway." Setting his hat on a table by the front door, Rupert looks over his shoulder to Jesse, "go bring that out where the rest of the food is, would you?" Then over the other shoulder to West, "Party on," he offers with a grin. West smiles back and unshoulders his courier bag, setting it down on the same table as Rupert's hat and slips in to the house while Jesse looks down forlornly to the quiche and exhales a sigh, stepping deeper into the house.

Outside, walking up the front steps of the porch, Peter turns to Abby with one raised brow. "Don't worry about Rupert, it'll be okay. Just enough the afternoon, everything else will be fine, trust me." Laying his hand briefly on Abby's shoulder, Peter offers a faint smile, then steps forward into the doorway just in time to miss Rupert and Melissa stepping away from the entry hall into a side room to have a private chat.

Scratching one hand at his beard, Peter offers a look around at the people inside, one brow lifted. He's not particlarly casual in dress, with pressed slacks and leather shoes, a tucked in, button-down gray shirt made only slightly casual by the sleeves being rolled up. At least the collar is undone and he doesn't have a tie on like Rupert.

"West," Peter injects with a furrow of his brows to the young man who turns to look over his shoulder to Peter with a crooked smile, then turns back around and heads for the back door.

The strange group of men arriving, dressed much too nicely for a barbecue in Daphne's estimation, make the sometimes skittish speedster a little nervous, and she bounces on her toes lightly, like a sprinter getting ready for a race. The doors being open helps to abate that bit "I'm fine. Took a spill," she says a little vaguely, eyes going from Melissa to the strangers to Nadira who she offers a smile. As Peter and Abby walk in, her brows furrow.

Peter's presence reminds her of too many things she'd rather forget — sort of defeating the point of this barbecue. "Hey," she says, and takes a step away from the gathering crowd. "I'm gonna go check out the backyard," she blurts, the words a rush of energy and she manages not to blur her way from kitchen to said yard, not knowing who she can trust of those strangers — Melissa certainly doesn't seem too happy about their presence.

Beer in hand, Edgar's wandering around the back yard aimlessly, trying to keep out of the way while ignoring everyone who even looks at him. All that time spent practicing in front of the mirror? It's all going to waste as he perches himself on the end of a table and pulls a small phone from his pocket.

Free ale and meat at my place if you're free.

It's Edgar's only male friend and in a house of women, some strangers, and a pink ascot, he feels the need for some familiar testosterone. As soon as he hits send on the phone, he slips it back into his pocket and shakes his leg to hide the phone bulge. In retrospect, the corduroys might have been a better decision, but he's not a woman so he refuses to run and change again.

West, a guy in pink. Abby cocks her head, hands dug deep into her zip up hoodie, khaki skirt and shirt beneath, looking at the .. colorful man. "Peter, is he… funny between the sheets?" She's following him like some little lap dog, at least for the moment, a wave to those she knows, who wave back to her. Abigail cranes her neck this way, that, looking through the door to see who all is populating the grass that grows behind Mel's house and who to talk to.

Calculate in her mind how long she shoudl stay before asking someone to give Peter a ride home and bolt.

"I'm sure there was," Melissa mutters at Rupert before motioning towards the hallway. She lets him lead the way while she looks to Peter and Abby, smiling again, and though it's more genuine, it's still strained due to the surprise guests. "Hey guys. I'll give you hugs and welcomes in a minute. Just make yourself at home." She does pause by Peter though, to murmur quietly, "Edgar's around somewhere. And you should meet Nadira. She'd be useful."

Then she's moving through the hallway, abandoning most of her guests in order to find a private room to yell quietly at Rupert. "Okay, what are you doing here? Because I know I didn't invite you. We don't get along well enough for that. And this was supposed to be a relaxing barbeque."

It seems Lynette missed Quinn's entrance, probably because her mind is on getting herself some room and a cigarette at the moment. And outside, she grabs herself a patch of grass to stand on as she fishes her current vice out of her purse to light up. The backyard is for the anitsocial, apparently. >.>

Parties! Parties are awkward. Even barbeques, as it seems. Nadira, however, is more than happy to push aside minor nervousness thanks to a powerful substance known as alcohol, which she'd managed to procure. Beer wasn't her usual beverage of choice, but it was the first thing that caught her eye and she wasn't terribly picky. Mostly, she just didn't like being so on-edge simply because she was in a new environment.

Backyard? For the anti-social? Not for long.

Really, just a tiny sip or two of crappy beer, and Nadira'd already gotten her courage back up. She hears the familiar voice of Quinn on the inside, and cheerfully calls in that direction. "Quinn!" She doesn't, however, leave the stomping ground of the anti-social. In fact, she's just stirring it up. Edgar's spotted, looking oddly nervous and out of place. "You know, parties involve social interaction. I promise I don't bite." She's not going to say anything about the last sentence, mostly because there are too many awkward things that could be said. And Nadira's trying to be nice.

Lots of people, a small space. Smaller than Ling’s used to for such a gathering, so it’s a bit of a relief to her that several of the attendees have decided to take themselves outside, at least for the time being. Besides, for a proper barbeque, should everyone be outside anyway? Perhaps it was inside that’s for the anti-social. Ling has a glass in hand, now filled with some of the leftover beer from the previous night (as she’s not willing to crack open her bottle of wine, not just yet). She almost seems to glide across the floor as she moves smoothly towards Peter, a somewhat forced half smile on her face. “I am surprised to see you here, Peter,” she intones with a hint of amusement. “I figured you would be much too busy for something like this. It is good to see that you’re able to relax with the rest of us.” Not that this was exactly Ling’s ideal way of relaxing, but she’s trying to go with the flow.

And going with the flow is what Quinn does best, deviating her path, moving behind West as he makes his way towards the back door. Nadira’s shout at her has not gone unnoticed. “That’s a nice shirt, there,” Quinn remarks with a bit of a grin as she walks behind the young man. “Don’t see many guys wearin’ that colour a’ pink too often. Not so sure about th’ ascot, though.” That’s what they’re called, right? She’s not trying to be mean or anything. She’s just very amused.

Looking askance to Abby, Peter offers a lopsided smile to her comment, though there's one brow raised as if to imply behave a little playfully. Ling's commentary and approach though draws Peter's attention attention up to the darkly dressed woman. "It isn't anything, really," Peter notes with a tip of his head, "I've been busy, but I'd by hypocritical if I told Abby here to relax even if I wasn't." Looking to the blonde at his side, Peter offers a tip of his head to her and then to Ling. "Abby, by the way, this is Ling…" he needn't really explain how they're aquainted, "Ling, this is Abigail, she's my partner in the rig when I'm working paramedic duty." It's the first time in the presence of Messiah that Peter has ever mentioned his day job, despite having shown up to meetings in his paramedics uniform at times.

"You all wanna' head out back?" Peter offers with a raise of one brow, looking over to Abby, then back to Ling, "that's where the party is I figure," and also where the people he needs to speak to are. "I figure there'll be time to get aquainted a little better in the nice weather, may as well enjoy the last couple of days of summer, right?"

Not far away, West's approach blocked by Quinn elicits a somewhat awkward laugh from the young man, scrubbing one hand at the back of his neck. Turning to walk backwards, West pushes the back screen door open with one shoulder and steps out of the doorway, holding it open for Quinn. "Aw, yeah… you know how it goes. One morning I just woke up and said, 'you know what, West, real men can wear pink' and just decided to go through with it. I got a big new job at Pause magazine too doing political editorials, so I figured I'd best dress the part, right?" Political editorials in Pause? What is the world coming to?

"Oh, ah— " West offers out a hand with a goofy smile as he holds the door open for Quinn, "Name's West Rosen, though, uh, I do all of my newspaper work under the name Rose Westen, kind've a surname or something, right? I used to write for the New Village Voice," a small, independant newspaper in the city with strongly pro-evolved leanings, "you ever read it?"

Outside and under the sun, Jesse Murphy is settling down the casserole dish with a scowl, looking up and around at the faces out back, leaning away from the food table and tucking his hands in his pockets. The Californian come New Yorker doesn't much look like he belongs here, from the facial tatoos to the trailer-park-chic attire. "This a dry party or can a guy get a beer 'round here?" is asked openly to the crowd, one brow raised.

While members of Messiah and unknowing acquaintances are getting familiar, Rupert Carmichael has Melissa Pierce's undivided attention. Forming a smile on his lips, Rupert tilts his head forward and offers a look to the young woman as he's in confidence and isolation with her. "I'm sorry for inviting myself along like I did, but i figured this would be the best way to get tabs on some of the new blood in Messiah, you know?" There's a faint smile that forms on Rupert's lips. "Peter told me that you'd found Edgar, and I was hoping to get a few words with him while I'm here." As he speaks, Rupert's cadence wavers in that odd manner that his speech has, a halting and anxious posture hunching his shoulders forward as he speaks.

"I promise I won't be here too long, but… I guess…" Rupert's brows furrow as he offers a smile. "While I have you here…" The scruffily-bearded man's eyes meet Melissa's as his voice tightens and his words take on a sibilant hissing tone. "The sound of my voice puts you at ease, relaxes you, soothes you. You are feeling at peace and amenable to what I must have you do. When next you hear me speak the command word Iscariot you will do everything within your power to take the life of Jason Pierce. You will do so without hesitation, without faltering, and in ignorance of any risk to yourself or others until you are absolutely certain that Jason Pierce is dead. After you kill him, you will feel terrible remorse and guilt and realize what a mistake you have made in your anger towards his betrayal of his family…"

Rupert leans in towards Melissa's hypnotized form, resting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. "On the count of three" To that, Rupert arches one brow and steps back to where he was standing. "One… two… three."

"…I just wanted to express my deepest condolances on the loss of Kendall. I— I'm really sorry about how everything happened and I just… if there's anything at all I can do, Melissa. You just let me know, alright?" Both of Rupert's brows lift, hands folded in front of himself and a weary smile on his lips. "C'mon, let's… let's get outside and enjoy this party, yeah?"

Relax.

the phonein ABby's coat bleats out, not the alarming one that she and Peter know well enough from some nights in the apartment, a smile to Ling. "We met. In the Corinthian when it opened but that was months ago. Or well, I think it was yo-" She's run her finger across the phone, scrunching her nose at something that pops up on the face of the iPhone and sighs.

"Peter, can you get a ride… home with someone else? I have to go. Something important just came up" Something Ferry just came up. A council members work is never done.

Dark eyes beneath a shock of white-blond hair dart this way and that, and one hand taps just a bit too fast on the lawn chair she's come to lean upon — any special attention paid to the short, cobalt-blue nails tapping on resin will note that the sound can't be divided into individual taps and that the fingers move in a blur. Something doesn't feel right, and Daphne knows that Melissa did not look happy to see Rupert at the party, and she just left her friend with someone she didn't want to see—

Without much thought (as usual), Daphne suddenly moves from stasis to that colorful blur, zipping from the backyard and leaving a wake of air rustling past the no-doubt startled guests, zigzagging around those in her way at the back door, and back into the house to barge into the room where Rupe and Melissa are having their private conversation.

"Oh — hey… wrong room. Melissa, where's the little girl's room? I gotta powder my nose. Wanna show me?"

Nadira catches Edgar in mid beer swig and he nearly snorts it up through his nose when the middle eastern woman talks about not biting things. Luckily, it just comes out in a little spray from his lips that's quickly mopped up with the back of his hand. "Sorry, the las' time a Persian tol' me she don' bite things she forgo' teh mention the snakes she 'ad that did. Spent a month wi' me tush in a didie thanks teh tha' thing." A very uneasy smile twitches at the right corner of the speedster's lips as he regards the woman in front of him, his eyes flitting over her form… mostly to make sure she doesn't have any snakes.

Lifting the bottle to his lips again, he drains the last of it and then shakes the empty near his head. "I uhh… I go'a go get'another… You're good, yeah?" The question is really only meant to be polite, he was certain that Nadira had been eying the phone bulge in his pocket and he didn't want anyone getting his hands on it. The bulge. That is his phone.

By water, Port Ivory is just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Fresh Kills Harbor and the Angry Pelican. And despite the crisp autumn air, the journey is a pleasant one. When he last saw Edgar, they left with the vague promise of doing business again sometime, so Smedley didn't feel too bad in giving the ex-ball player a way to get in touch with him. It paid off when the gesture was reciprocated in time, once the Brit got himself settled.

He makes his way from Port Ivory to the Edgar's place on foot, so it's roughly 30 minutes from when he received the text that he stands on the far side of the retaining wall and lets loose a whistle that would deafen a fruit bat. But in another moment, he's scaling the wall to stand on it, peering as much as he can around the back of the house. Is anybody home? He's not done much to prepare for an affair that came advertised as free booze and meat - but he's wearing his coat (undoubtedly to stave off the cool air as well as mask the guns on his hips), it just so happens that today was a button-up shirt rather than a tee day. The jeans and boots, however, are standard fare.

Though Melissa, of course, doesn't react to Rupert's mindfuckery since she can't, when she's back, she shakes her head at Rupert. "No, let's not. Rupert, I invited friends to this party. People I could relax around. People I like. And you and I? We're not friends. You wanna meet new recruits, fine, but do not crash my party to do it. This isn't Messiah business. You had no right to show up without asking, or to bring people here. One of who I don't even know. That shows an utter lack of respect for me and my house, and that just pisses me off. Thanks for ruining my attempt at forgetting everything for a few hours and having fun with my friends."

She turns away from Rupert and nods at Daphne, knowing that the speedster knows full well where the bathroom is. She's been here enough. "Hey Daph. Sure. C'mon," she says, heading out of the room and…not towards the bathroom. Instead she heads right to the kitchen. While beer was the only alcohol she intended to have drunk tonight, along with wine once it was brought, she goes for the big guns. Rupert, apparently, drives her to drink. So she grabs a bottle of whiskey, pours a glass, a large glass, and nods her head towards the back door before heading that way herself.

"Okay, someone's gotta man the grill. I would, but then we'd all get food poisoning or it would be hard as a brick or something. The job comes with free beer," she calls out as she flops down into one of the chairs outside, not looking at anyone. But then, her face looks like she'd love to hurt someone, so that's probably a good thing.

Apparently, a party is not good for Lynette just now. She lasted the length of time it took to start craving a cigarette. But with a sigh, and without a goodbye to anyone, the blonde slips herself into the house and then… out of it again out the front door instead. Maybe it's just too early for social interaction.

Well, that didn't go quite as well as planned. Nadira raises an eyebrow at Edgar. "I'm fine, thanks… and it's Egypt." The beer in her hand is eyed, and then she spots Melissa… and the glass in her hand. Hmm. She wanders that direction, though she doesn't bother saying anything yet. The whistle, however, has her holding her ears. "People here are clearly not drunk enough." She remarks loudly

Quinn grins as the door is held open for her, hands slipping into the shallow pockets on her skirt. ‘Thanks! An’ can’t argue with that. Takes balls t’ wear pink like that.” Okay, now she’s half teasing, but she means the best, really! The comment on political editorials in Pause is a little over her head, she doesn’t read the magazine, but the mention of the New Village Voice does.

“I used t’ read the Voice every now an’ then. Not as much anymore, but it was a pretty good read for a smaller paper!” Which is the truth, actually. Quinn always appreciates when something has a more Evolved friendly slant than she saw at some other places. After stepping through, she turns and offers a hand out to West. “Robyn Quinn, DJ Extraordinaire! Pleasure t’ meet you.” If the accent hadn’t been noticed yet, it surely is clear now that they’re out of the busier part of the property – or at least a more open area. She gives a wave over to Nadira as she backpedals, motioning for her to come over. “Rose Westen? Then dressin’ like a girl’s not the only thing you fancy doin’?” Okay, taht might be a bit much, but a playful punch to the shoulder accentuates her joking tone. “Just kiddin’. Bein’ a writer, that must be rather fun! I used t’ take creative writin’ classes in school, but enver journa-“ Her words are cut off by an ear piercing whistle, prompting Quinn to spin around on her heel until she finds the source. “Christ, what’s that all about?”

Ling offers a bit of a surprised look between Abby and Peter, the expression on her face showing it a bit through her normal poker face – she’s not sure if she’s more surprised that Peter brought his paramedic partner with him to the barbeque, the fact that Peter is, of all things, a paramedic, or the fact that Peter has show up with a woman in tow. Regardless of which she favours, she lets that forced little half smile grow a bit – but Abby is off and away before she can properly introduce herself, which has the Chinese woman grimacing a bit.

“I suppose out back would be best, yes.” Ling turns, an arm out as if ushering Peter on ahead of her. “I must admit, the idea of an evening to relax, strange as it might be, is quite welcome. There are several here I do not know particularly well, though I believe at least wto of them are here for… other matter.” Messiah matters, in other words.

For a while now, Peter's expression has been one of painted anxiety, especially when Abigail is forced to leave thanks to an inappropriately timed emergency phone call from the Ferrymen. Lynette's disappearance through the house and the overall atmosphere of Melissa's posture has him tense all over. Say what he will about being less empathic since the loss of his original ability, but Peter Petrelli is still able to feel out a room for bad vibes whether he admits to it or not.

"I think I need a drink," Peter admits to Ling with a weary smile and a slow shake of his head, motioning for her to join him out back as he quietly makes his way with Ling at his side towards the back door, missing Rupert coming out of a room behind him long after Melissa and Daphne had left it. Eyeing Peter's back, Rupert's brows furrow and his head cants to the side, a slow smile crossing his lips as he withdraws his cell phone from within his pocket and presses a speed dial button.

"We're set," Rupert intones over the phone as he heads towards the front door, "stick around and keep an eye on things for me. I need to get back to the mainland to handle a business meeting, I take it you'll be able to handle everything here?" Pushing the front door open as he speaks, Rupert steps out onto the front porch.

"Sure thing, boss," is murmured into Jesse Murphy's phone held up to one ear as he leans against the railing of the back porch, watching Wes Smedley with a narrowed stare as the cowboy hops the back fence. "I got everything under control when the cement shows up." Snapping the phone shut, Jesse offers a look over to Nadira, then askance to the back door as West lets the screen swing shut with a clatter.

"Hey hey, Rose is a really fine man's name," West insists with a wave of both hands in the air, turning to look towards the source of the sharp whistle with one brow raised. It isn't far on West and Quinn's heels that Peter and Ling are making their way out the back door, Peter holding the screen door open for the darkly dressed woman, then letting it swing shut behind him. On the porch, Peter's attention sweeps out to Edgar, "That's our new recruit," Peter explains in a hushed tone of voice, "want to come make nice with me?"

The speedster links her arm with Melissa, casting a dubious glance over her shoulder. While Melissa tries to look for someone to grill, Daphne pulls her away from anyone's earshot, her brows knitting together as she peers up into the taller woman's face.

"Okay, so what gives?" she says in a low voice, her dark eyes narrowing as she lets go of Mel's elbow, putting both hands on her hips to stand akimbo. "It's clear you don't like that guy — what about these others who came with him? Are you in danger? We can go right now, if you want, I'll get you out of here before anyone can even blink twice, okay? We can go wherever, Paris, South America — it's spring there, not too cold — Hawaii? Australia? Corbin's back in California, he's safe for now, I can get away."

The loud whistle commands the attention of at least one of the party people. Edgar lifts his head to the source and waves one hand before dipping both of them into the cooler and grabbing two of them. He saunters over to the other man and raises one of the bottles for Smedley to grab, "Glad you could make i'. I ain' shore wha' sorta meat they's plannin' on roastin' though." The speedster's been up in his room all day preparing his social graces.

He turns a little glancing at the Egyptian woman out of the corner of his eye and leans a little closer to the wall and in turn the cowboy, "Careful though, I think there's one 'ere tha's go' some snakes."

Smedley jumps down from the wall and takes the offered brew with a thankful grin before he twists off the cap and takes a sip. It's only then that he surveys the gathered crowd. "Hopefully not yours," he murmurs, his face still wrinkled with amusement. "Not too many savory lookin' types here." Not that he expected any. It's Northern Staten Island, after all.

He looks to Nadira when Edgar points her out, and Smedley cringes slightly. "Damn, boy. What kinda place did you shack up in?" There are quite a number of good looky if edgy women here, after all. "You've been here, what? A week? A month? Can't say I'd trade you though."

Walking with Daphne, Melissa seems content to be led, and shrugs in reaction to the question. "I don't like the guy, but he's not dangerous to me." Or so she thinks. "He just wasn't invited, and I didn't want him here. His friends weren't invited either, but I know West, and I don't care if he stays." Implying that she cares about Murphy staying. "So I'm just going to have this drink. And another one after, and I'm going to mingle with people. And you, my dear speedster, have someone you should meet," she says, starting to lead Daphne towards Edgar.

When no one responds to her query about manning the grill, she whispers to Daphne. "Can you work a grill? And make it edible? I promised food, and I cannot cook, so…I don't wanna stick 'em with chips and cole slaw and potato salad. And I won't even touch whatever the hell it is that Rupert brought, the jackass."

Nadira's surveying the scene now. When you aren't in the center of things, you watch, you listen, and you take notes. Sometimes literally, by the small notebook in her back pocket. It remains there, for the moment, but she's scanning the faces she doesn't know and simply watching. She doesn't seem awkward or out of place, with it, nor does she seem to hide that she's people watching, sipping from the beer in her hand, which is quickly finished. She moves, angling to find another.

If anybody had superduperawesome smelling powers, they'd probably smell the hot Japanese steamed buns and most importantly the cake when the dark purple Rav-4 pulls up and the man in black (the awesome leather kind, not the suits) hops out, making his way to the back seat to pull out certain items in question, he takes a step back however to raise his voice…any neighbors or passerbyers be damned, he has some pipes on him:

"I AM NOT CARRYING ALL THIS SHIT BY MYSELF STOP HOGGING ALL THE MAN MEAT LADIES AND SEND ME SOME MUSCLE WILL YOU?!"

Ladies and Gentlemen, Raquelle has arrived, tugging a cooler out of the back-seat and setting it aside, resting the containers of the steamed buns on top of it so he can carefully ease the tray of chocolate and red-velvet cupcakes out of the car. "I don't HAVE all day! MY HOT BUNS ARE GETTING COLD BITCHES!"

Quinn waves a hand dismissively at West, grinning as she turns back to face him. “I’ve never met a man named Rose,” she notes thoughtfully. “But then, I’ve never met a man named Cameron either, an’ I always hear that can be a boy’s name too, so I guess that’s that!” She chuckles, shaking her head. “Didn’t know Melissa know anyone who worked in any kinda journalism, but I guess I can’t expect all her friends t’ be club faring types, can I?” She pivots again, scanning the crowd for Nadira’s familiar face, which she’s lost track of thanks to the whistling and conversation.

“I work at the club Melissa manages, I’m the DJ.” The DJ, she’s very clear about that. “I think one of our wonderful bartenders is hear too, if you haven’t seen her yet.” Quinn shrugs, looking back at West with a grin. “if you hear a’ anyone doin’ an article on local music, point ‘em my way. I’m in the middle a’ recording something at the moment.” Sort of. By recording, she means “i have a few songs written”, but he doesn’t have to know that.

Then, she hears Raquelle’s shouting, the voice she remembers well enough from when she’d run into Abby, Nadira, and Odessa there a few weeks ago, and she is entirely unable to stifle laughter at his proclamations. Having entirely lost track of Nadira, and spotting Melissa back inside, Quinn grins at West as she thumbs back towards the door. “Know we just got out here, but why don’t we help? Faster t’ get food out t’ eat if we do, probably.”

Ling cracks something resembling a more genuine smile at Peter’s ascertation. “I believe there is some beer about, though I know not exactly what Melissa has, outside of some… Corona she picked up last evening. I have some wine as well, if you would prefer.” Ling’s stride speeds enough to being her up alongside Peter, a long glance given over to Edgar. “I see. Melissa told me last night that he had been moved in here a few days ago, I have not had the opportunity to speak with him. Given what he can do, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he hasn’t had time to slow down and meet teammates.” The last part is spoken in a bit of a hush, and hand reaching up and running through her hair, sending small motes of smoke shaking out behind her. “I suppose now would be a better time than later to ‘make nice’, as you so astutely put it.”

West's expression immediately sags when Quinn mentions Cameron, his eyes averting down to the grass of the back yard, brows furrowing and shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. "I— I knew a guy named Cameron. Good guy, really— really good heart. He ah…" avoiding the buzzkill topic of death, West just offers Quinn a smile and waves one hand in the air. "It's nothing, but— yeah. I knew a guy named Cameron. He was my best friend. Or— well— my only friend." Grimacing somewhat awkwardly, West rubs at one cheek and offers a look back towards the house.

"You hang out here," West says to Quinn with a smile, "Enjoy the party, you know? I'll handle it." Like Peter Pan, West suddenly drifts up into the air without a care in the world. He may not be headed to the first star on the left and straight on until morning, but up and over the roof of Melissa's house like a leaf on the wind the flyboy vanishes from sight.

Coming down off the porch and looking up to where West disappeared to over the roof, Peter Petrelli offers a slow shake of his head. "That kid's gonna get himself shot one of these days doing that…" Raising a brow to Ling, Peter offers a nod to her, "Can you grab me a beer out've the cooler?" Then with a crack of a smile, he's stepping away from Ling and making his way over towards Edgar, one hand held out and a smile spread on his face. "Hey, you must be Melissa's new roommate, name's Peter." Target focused at the moment, Peter seems intent on making contact with Edgar before expanding out his mingling to the others. Though when he catches sight of Nadira his attention locks on the dark-haired woman for a moment, recalling Melissa's description of her, only to flash a look back to Edgar.

On the other side of the house, standing on the front porch, Rupert Carmichael offers an askance look to Raquelle, and despite his requests for help the skinny, suited man merely slides his fedora on his head and turns down off of the porch and down the sidewalk, tucking his phone into his pocket and carrying on as if he has every business in the world not being here any longer.

When up and over the house a shadow does come, West Rosen lands from out of the sky like Superman, hands on his hips and a goofy smile offered to the man at the back of the Rav4. "Hey there, you got something goin' out back, special air mail delivery, one-time only offer." This, of course, coming from a man in a salmon pink shirt and a lavendar ascot.

"What, 'cause I come from the country, I'm supposed to know how to barbecue or something?" Daphne says, with a shake of her head. "Nope. Barbecue's wayyyy to slow for me to stand over a hot grill cooking. You get all hot and sweaty doing it for thirty minutes right? That feels like hours to me, Mel. I'm a fast food girl. But I can maybe figure it out."

Her dark eyes alight on Smedley talking to Edgar, as Melissa pulls the speedster toward … the other speedster… "I bet that guy knows. He's like a tall drink of water or the quiet man or something rugged and barbecue-capable," Daphne says, nodding toward Wes, then back to Edgar as Peter greets him. "Who'm I meeting? That guy seems busy. I should go help help Raquelle. Fast food delivery?"

Her feet fidget, a blur on the grass, as she glances toward the front of the house, but she has just enough civility not to flee when Melissa is trying to make her be social.

Sometimes she misses the days when her only friend was a scarecrow named Ray.

Which leaves Wes Smedley staring into the face of Peter Petrelli. His gray-blue eyes widen slightly as he tips the bottle against his lip again. He grins there. It isn't every day, and all that. Though, of course, why a man like Peter wanted to talk to a man like Edgar is an interesting point in and of itself.

With a congenial smile, Smedley offers his own hand to meet Peter's. "He'll just be a sec," he assures the New York native with a slight sideways jerk of his head. Zooming off like that went far from unnoticed by the smuggler, after all. And it only brightens the ex-carnie's prospects, so far as Smedley can tell. "Name's Graham," he says as he grips Peter's hand firmly, giving it a hearty shake. "Y'could call me our mutual acquaintance's business manager.

"So what is it I can do for you today?"

Noticing the fidgetting, Melissa smiles faintly at Daph. "Oh, go help. When you get back I'll introduce you to another…Oh, well, yeah. Him. He'll be back in a minute. Guess you don't need to help," she says, drinking even more from her glass. The liquid is disappearing at an alarming rate. She points then at Murphy. She doesn't know him, so he's getting tagged for grunt work. "You, whoever you are. Fire up the grill. You're officially the meat man."

Then she's stopping at the small gathering where Edgar used to be, and propping an arm lightly on Daphne's shoulder, the other lifting what's left of her drink to her lips to sip. "So. Hi Peter. We need to talk later, pretty please. And hi…Graham, did you say? Enjoy the party." She looks back to Daphne. "Hawaii, I think. White beaches and all that. Hot guys. Cool water. Definitely better than stupid Paris."

With a new drink procured, Nadira steps out of the way to watch most of the goers of the party. She takes note of Raquelle's cries for manmeat in the front, and while she was going to assist, she watches West alight like a multi-colored butterfly to go do just that. There also seems to be a few others darting in that direction, so the Egyptian woman remains where she is. No need to overburden, although Raquelle's shouts did put a bit of a smile on her face. She unfortunately hasn't noticed Quinn as of yet, she'd lost her in the comings and goings of people.

"…oh you're not that pretty honey…" Raquelle stares after Rupert with a quirk of an eyebrow and a roll of his eyes, starting to turn with his tray in time for west to drop out of the sky and he takes a step back/falls back a bit and hits the car, tossing the first tray at the poor young man naughtily decorated boobie cupcakes go flying. Some have little silver candies beside the chocolate or peanut butter chip nipples. The details are important.

"The /fuck/ baby…oh jesus…don't do that." He clutches his chest and looks at the sky and then at the man and then back at the sky. "I don't know why it is raining Prince fans, halleluiah, but you almost made me piss myself…" He doubles over, clutching his chest and points. "Back up 4 fucking steps, just back up…I just saw myself grabbing you by your gay as a fruit bat ascot and choking the life outta - " WHAM, Edgar shows up and Raquelle jumps again, hitting that car again and just sliding down to sit on his ass. "SON of a FUCKER, what the-where the-" He smiles and holds up a one moment finger. "I said send me muscle not heart-attacks! GAWD, ya'll are lucky you're cute as hell…" *pant* *wheeeeze* "And that I made two more trays…" *pant* *wheeze* "Of cake tits…" *pant* *wheeze* "Just grab the steamed buns and the cooler please…"

“Oh.” Quinn falls rather quiet once West’s expression sinks and his whole tone seems to just drop a little. Did she say something wrong? She can’t but feel bad, particularly with the last big West offers, which actually causes Quinn to frown. She opens her mouth to respond, if nothing else offer to hang out sometime, but that opportunity – as well as her sudden glum feeling – are washed away as she suddenly lifts into the air, Quinn’s eyes filling with wonderment.

“Holy shit,” she states as he lifts up. “Yeah, I’ll hang here. Find me when you finish.” Even Quinn can notice that something about West’s flight seems different from when she’s seen Magnes do it. And even if it wasn’t, seeing someone fly is something that’s always going to leave her a bit starry eyed. But as West disappears over the building, she sighs. That glum feeling’s returning a bit, and she needs to counter it, quick. Thankfully, she finally spots Nadira for a bit, and if anyone can help with that, it’s the bartender. “Nadria!” she shouts again, waving her over.

Ling can’t help but narrow her eyes at Peter – she’s not his beer caddy, after all. Still, there is business to conduct, and thus she turns to comply wordlessly – at least until the blur that id Edgar goes flying past, prompting her eyes wide. She doesn’t notice Raquelle’s yells for help, and has no idea why the speedster’s veering off so quickly.

Turning back to Peter, Ling cocks an eyebrow at the Messiah “leader”. “Please tell me you didn’t scare him off already, Peter.” She seems entirely serious when she says this, arms crossing over her midsection. Then she takes note of the beer. “I see you’ve handled yourself quite adequately.”

Offering a squinting stare to Smedley, Peter can't help but find the interjected handshake a bit unsettling. Baancing his bestowed beer in another hand, he offers the cowboy a nod. "Peter," is all he offers in return, no need to have that conversation about family names. "Exactly what business is that, do you work for Global Health Dynamic?" Using his cover work as an EMT is much easier than trying to find out directly is Smedley is somehow supporting Messiah, but there's wariness all over Peter's face.

Ling's interjection catches him off-guard however, also that she's making a joke. The world may well be coming to an end. Grimacing awkwardly, Peter practically chokes a blurted response to Ling as his brows furrow. "I— it— " there's a roll of Peter's eyes and an exasperated sigh as he looks down to the beer, shoulders slouching in resignation as he tips it back and takes a sip from it. "Parties," Peter gruffly breathes out with a furrow of his brows.

Acrodd the yard, Jesse Muephy is staring down Melissa in silence, before suddenly breaking out into a broad and welcoming smile. "Shit, chica, you want me to man the grill? Hell yes I will, my momma' didn't raise no bad cook, lemme tell you." Proudly tilting his head back with a cocky smile, the bald-headed hispanic member of Messiag shuffles over to the orange cooler nearby, popping the top open and taking out a beer dripping with crushed ice. Cracking open the can, he holds it up in mock toast to Melissa. "Bring something over here to cook an' I'll get the grill fired up darlin', this ain't no party until the burgders and dogs are done, yeah?"

He's— actually nice.

Out front and across the street, West stumbles ot the side and offers an askance look to Edgar, brows furrowed and hair toussled by the shuffling hip-check that he Brit offered. "Hey, who'm I to keep one man away from another man's buns," West jokes in his pink shirt and lavendar ascot confidently. Though when his attention flicks back to Raquelle, it's all smiles. "Easy there, c'mon, gimme' something and I'll fly it on over."

Over in the back yard, Peter's noticing someone blonde and impish moving over with Melissa, finally actually making a point of seeing Daphne, one brow raised in appraisal as she makes her way over, though right now he's engaged with Smedley in an awkward business-related face-off of cowboy proportions. Also his other hand is ocupied by a needed beer. Parties.

Daphne's not paying attention to Wes or Peter anymore, turning to stare at that streak of red and black before turning to look wide-eyed at Melissa. "Are you kidding me! How many are there! That's not that Felix guy — is it that Edgar guy I'm supposed to keep an eye out for?" she demands of the taller blonde. Clearly those are the only two people who are allowed to share her speed.

(Are you listening, Peter Petrelli?)

Her pixyish face screws up in irritation as she waits for the man to return from the front yard. It's not a logical sort of possessiveness she has in regards to her power, and she knows it's not logical, but that doesn't mean she isn't down right pissed there's yet another speedster in her realm. Felix, that Edgar guy, and now this one? And then there's Clara, whose power is on a whole 'nother level. Her feet move a little restlessly, but Daphne makes herself stay put, reaching with one hand to idly scratch one of her elbow scabs.

A rather charming smile is delivered to Raquelle as Edgar liberates as many of the boxes of food as he can manage in one swoop. Instead of zipping back, he takes the slow way through the house, kicking the doors out of the way and leaving black scuffs of shoe polish on every surface that meets them. It's a good thing he's living with Melissa, otherwise she'd go insane with lack of things to clean.

One of the black scuffs appears on the door to the outside as Edgar makes his way into the back yard and places the boxes in a pile on the table. This is when he gets a good look at the cupcakes and his eyes widen as he just gawks at them for a little bit. "Is 'e kiddin'? They's like… " And he lifts a couple of the cupcakes up to his chest, emitting a low grunt as he actually figures out what 'cake tits' are. "Well ain' tha' jes.. Huh.." With that, half of one of the cupcakes is bitten off as he saunters back toward Smedley, Melissa, and all the other people he hasn't met yet.

When Peter doesn't seem to hear her, Melissa actually sticks her tongue out at him before she bumps his hip with hers. "Pretending that you didn't hear me won't save you, baby. Still need to talk to you. It's not all bad though. In fact, some of it is good! So hang around after the shindig? I promise not to grope you. Unless you want me to!"

Then she's giving Daphne a sympathetic look and flinging her arms around the other blonde for a hug. Luckily her drink is empty so there's chance of spilling it all over the speedster. "Aww…You're still special, no matter how many of you there are. You're still the best! I promise! And why are you looking for Edgar? Ooh!" Murphy's answer grabs her attention. Yep, the fragile looking pain manipulator is a wee bit drunk.

"Yeah! Fire her up! I'll bring beer! Oh, wait. You've got beer. I'll get meat! And who are you anyway, Mr. Meat Man?" When she notices Edgar heading back, she gives Daphne a little push in his direction. "Make nice! Say hi! No killing him before I get to bet on a race around the world!" she calls back happily as she heads into the house to retrieve the food to be burned on the grill.

The loud whistle commands the attention of at least one of the party people. Edgar lifts his head to the source and waves one hand before dipping both of them into the cooler and grabbing two of them. He saunters over to the other man and raises one of the bottles for Smedley to grab, "Glad you could make i'. I ain' shore wha' sorta meat they's plannin' on roastin' though." The speedster's been up in his room all day preparing his social graces.

He turns a little glancing at the Egyptian woman out of the corner of his eye and leans a little closer to the wall and in turn the cowboy, "Careful though, I think there's one 'ere tha's go' some snakes."

Smedley jumps down from the wall and takes the offered brew with a thankful grin before he twists off the cap and takes a sip. It's only then that he surveys the gathered crowd. "Hopefully not yours," he murmurs, his face still wrinkled with amusement. "Not too many savory lookin' types here." Not that he expected any. It's Northern Staten Island, after all.

He looks to Nadira when Edgar points her out, and Smedley cringes slightly. "Damn, boy. What kinda place did you shack up in?" There are quite a number of good looky if edgy women here, after all. "You've been here, what? A week? A month? Can't say I'd trade you though."

Walking with Daphne, Melissa seems content to be led, and shrugs in reaction to the question. "I don't like the guy, but he's not dangerous to me." Or so she thinks. "He just wasn't invited, and I didn't want him here. His friends weren't invited either, but I know West, and I don't care if he stays." Implying that she cares about Murphy staying. "So I'm just going to have this drink. And another one after, and I'm going to mingle with people. And you, my dear speedster, have someone you should meet," she says, starting to lead Daphne towards Edgar.

When no one responds to her query about manning the grill, she whispers to Daphne. "Can you work a grill? And make it edible? I promised food, and I cannot cook, so…I don't wanna stick 'em with chips and cole slaw and potato salad. And I won't even touch whatever the hell it is that Rupert brought, the jackass."

Nadira's surveying the scene now. When you aren't in the center of things, you watch, you listen, and you take notes. Sometimes literally, by the small notebook in her back pocket. It remains there, for the moment, but she's scanning the faces she doesn't know and simply watching. She doesn't seem awkward or out of place, with it, nor does she seem to hide that she's people watching, sipping from the beer in her hand, which is quickly finished. She moves, angling to find another.

If anybody had superduperawesome smelling powers, they'd probably smell the hot Japanese steamed buns and most importantly the cake when the dark purple Rav-4 pulls up and the man in black (the awesome leather kind, not the suits) hops out, making his way to the back seat to pull out certain items in question, he takes a step back however to raise his voice…any neighbors or passerbyers be damned, he has some pipes on him:

"I AM NOT CARRYING ALL THIS SHIT BY MYSELF STOP HOGGING ALL THE MAN MEAT LADIES AND SEND ME SOME MUSCLE WILL YOU?!"

Ladies and Gentlemen, Raquelle has arrived, tugging a cooler out of the back-seat and setting it aside, resting the containers of the steamed buns on top of it so he can carefully ease the tray of chocolate and red-velvet cupcakes out of the car. "I don't HAVE all day! MY HOT BUNS ARE GETTING COLD BITCHES!"

Quinn waves a hand dismissively at West, grinning as she turns back to face him. "I've never met a man named Rose," she notes thoughtfully. "But then, I've never met a man named Cameron either, an' I always hear that can be a boy's name too, so I guess that's that!" She chuckles, shaking her head. "Didn't know Melissa know anyone who worked in any kinda journalism, but I guess I can't expect all her friends t' be club faring types, can I?" She pivots again, scanning the crowd for Nadira's familiar face, which she's lost track of thanks to the whistling and conversation.

"I work at the club Melissa manages, I'm the DJ." The DJ, she's very clear about that. "I think one of our wonderful bartenders is hear too, if you haven't seen her yet." Quinn shrugs, looking back at West with a grin. "if you hear a' anyone doin' an article on local music, point 'em my way. I'm in the middle a' recording something at the moment." Sort of. By recording, she means "i have a few songs written", but he doesn't have to know that.

Then, she hears Raquelle's shouting, the voice she remembers well enough from when she'd run into Abby, Nadira, and Odessa there a few weeks ago, and she is entirely unable to stifle laughter at his proclamations. Having entirely lost track of Nadira, and spotting Melissa back inside, Quinn grins at West as she thumbs back towards the door. "Know we just got out here, but why don't we help? Faster t' get food out t' eat if we do, probably."

Ling cracks something resembling a more genuine smile at Peter's ascertation. "I believe there is some beer about, though I know not exactly what Melissa has, outside of some… Corona she picked up last evening. I have some wine as well, if you would prefer." Ling's stride speeds enough to being her up alongside Peter, a long glance given over to Edgar. "I see. Melissa told me last night that he had been moved in here a few days ago, I have not had the opportunity to speak with him. Given what he can do, I guess I shouldn't be surprised he hasn't had time to slow down and meet teammates." The last part is spoken in a bit of a hush, and hand reaching up and running through her hair, sending small motes of smoke shaking out behind her. "I suppose now would be a better time than later to 'make nice', as you so astutely put it."

West's expression immediately sags when Quinn mentions Cameron, his eyes averting down to the grass of the back yard, brows furrowing and shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. "I— I knew a guy named Cameron. Good guy, really— really good heart. He ah…" avoiding the buzzkill topic of death, West just offers Quinn a smile and waves one hand in the air. "It's nothing, but— yeah. I knew a guy named Cameron. He was my best friend. Or— well— my only friend." Grimacing somewhat awkwardly, West rubs at one cheek and offers a look back towards the house.

"You hang out here," West says to Quinn with a smile, "Enjoy the party, you know? I'll handle it." Like Peter Pan, West suddenly drifts up into the air without a care in the world. He may not be headed to the first star on the left and straight on until morning, but up and over the roof of Melissa's house like a leaf on the wind the flyboy vanishes from sight.

Coming down off the porch and looking up to where West disappeared to over the roof, Peter Petrelli offers a slow shake of his head. "That kid's gonna get himself shot one of these days doing that…" Raising a brow to Ling, Peter offers a nod to her, "Can you grab me a beer out've the cooler?" Then with a crack of a smile, he's stepping away from Ling and making his way over towards Edgar, one hand held out and a smile spread on his face. "Hey, you must be Melissa's new roommate, name's Peter." Target focused at the moment, Peter seems intent on making contact with Edgar before expanding out his mingling to the others. Though when he catches sight of Nadira his attention locks on the dark-haired woman for a moment, recalling Melissa's description of her, only to flash a look back to Edgar.

On the other side of the house, standing on the front porch, Rupert Carmichael offers an askance look to Raquelle, and despite his requests for help the skinny, suited man merely slides his fedora on his head and turns down off of the porch and down the sidewalk, tucking his phone into his pocket and carrying on as if he has every business in the world not being here any longer.

When up and over the house a shadow does come, West Rosen lands from out of the sky like Superman, hands on his hips and a goofy smile offered to the man at the back of the Rav4. "Hey there, you got something goin' out back, special air mail delivery, one-time only offer." This, of course, coming from a man in a salmon pink shirt and a lavendar ascot.

"What, 'cause I come from the country, I'm supposed to know how to barbecue or something?" Daphne says, with a shake of her head. "Nope. Barbecue's wayyyy to slow for me to stand over a hot grill cooking. You get all hot and sweaty doing it for thirty minutes right? That feels like hours to me, Mel. I'm a fast food girl. But I can maybe figure it out."

Her dark eyes alight on Smedley talking to Edgar, as Melissa pulls the speedster toward … the other speedster… "I bet that guy knows. He's like a tall drink of water or the quiet man or something rugged and barbecue-capable," Daphne says, nodding toward Wes, then back to Edgar as Peter greets him. "Who'm I meeting? That guy seems busy. I should go help help Raquelle. Fast food delivery?"

Her feet fidget, a blur on the grass, as she glances toward the front of the house, but she has just enough civility not to flee when Melissa is trying to make her be social.

Sometimes she misses the days when her only friend was a scarecrow named Ray.

Edgar dosn't have super duper smelling powers. Though a few days ago, before he was introduced to the invention of shower, shampoo, and all the little products that line the edge of the girltub, he did have super duper smell-Y power. The words that drift to his ears are MEAT and HOT BUNS. He stiffens for a moment and just as Peter walks up with his hand extended, the beer bottle is placed into it as the speedster murmurs, "'Scuse me, food's 'ere.. Don' backwash, eh?"

There's a blur of black and red that streaks through to the front and he's gone. Poor West is bowled over at top speed as Edgar skids to a stop in front of Raquelle, "Y'said buns? Righ'?" His nostrils flare as he tries to peek around Raquelle to the food.

Which leaves Wes Smedley staring into the face of Peter Petrelli. His gray-blue eyes widen slightly as he tips the bottle against his lip again. He grins there. It isn't every day, and all that. Though, of course, why a man like Peter wanted to talk to a man like Edgar is an interesting point in and of itself.

With a congenial smile, Smedley offers his own hand to meet Peter's. "He'll just be a sec," he assures the New York native with a slight sideways jerk of his head. Zooming off like that went far from unnoticed by the smuggler, after all. And it only brightens the ex-carnie's prospects, so far as Smedley can tell. "Name's Graham," he says as he grips Peter's hand firmly, giving it a hearty shake. "Y'could call me our mutual acquaintance's business manager.

"So what is it I can do for you today?"

Noticing the fidgeting, Melissa smiles faintly at Daph. "Oh, go help. When you get back I'll introduce you to another…Oh, well, yeah. Him. He'll be back in a minute. Guess you don't need to help," she says, drinking even more from her glass. The liquid is disappearing at an alarming rate. She points then at Murphy. She doesn't know him, so he's getting tagged for grunt work. "You, whoever you are. Fire up the grill. You're officially the meat man."

Then she's stopping at the small gathering where Edgar used to be, and propping an arm lightly on Daphne's shoulder, the other lifting what's left of her drink to her lips to sip. "So. Hi Peter. We need to talk later, pretty please. And hi…Graham, did you say? Enjoy the party." She looks back to Daphne. "Hawaii, I think. White beaches and all that. Hot guys. Cool water. Definitely better than stupid Paris."

With a new drink procured, Nadira steps out of the way to watch most of the goers of the party. She takes note of Raquelle's cries for manmeat in the front, and while she was going to assist, she watches West alight like a multi-colored butterfly to go do just that. There also seems to be a few others darting in that direction, so the Egyptian woman remains where she is. No need to overburden, although Raquelle's shouts did put a bit of a smile on her face. She unfortunately hasn't noticed Quinn as of yet, she'd lost her in the comings and goings of people.

"…oh you're not that pretty honey…" Raquelle stares after Rupert with a quirk of an eyebrow and a roll of his eyes, starting to turn with his tray in time for west to drop out of the sky and he takes a step back/falls back a bit and hits the car, tossing the first tray at the poor young man naughtily decorated boobie cupcakes go flying. Some have little silver candies beside the chocolate or peanut butter chip nipples. The details are important.

"The /fuck/ baby…oh jesus…don't do that." He clutches his chest and looks at the sky and then at the man and then back at the sky. "I don't know why it is raining Prince fans, halleluiah, but you almost made me piss myself…" He doubles over, clutching his chest and points. "Back up 4 fucking steps, just back up…I just saw myself grabbing you by your gay as a fruit bat ascot and choking the life outta - " WHAM, Edgar shows up and Raquelle jumps again, hitting that car again and just sliding down to sit on his ass. "SON of a FUCKER, what the-where the-" He smiles and holds up a one moment finger. "I said send me muscle not heart-attacks! GAWD, ya'll are lucky you're cute as hell…" *pant* *wheeeeze* "And that I made two more trays…" *pant* *wheeze* "Of cake tits…" *pant* *wheeze* "Just grab the steamed buns and the cooler please…"

"Oh." Quinn falls rather quiet once West's expression sinks and his whole tone seems to just drop a little. Did she say something wrong? She can't but feel bad, particularly with the last big West offers, which actually causes Quinn to frown. She opens her mouth to respond, if nothing else offer to hang out sometime, but that opportunity - as well as her sudden glum feeling - are washed away as she suddenly lifts into the air, Quinn's eyes filling with wonderment.

"Holy shit," she states as he lifts up. "Yeah, I'll hang here. Find me when you finish." Even Quinn can notice that something about West's flight seems different from when she's seen Magnes do it. And even if it wasn't, seeing someone fly is something that's always going to leave her a bit starry eyed. But as West disappears over the building, she sighs. That glum feeling's returning a bit, and she needs to counter it, quick. Thankfully, she finally spots Nadira for a bit, and if anyone can help with that, it's the bartender. "Nadria!" she shouts again, waving her over.

Ling can't help but narrow her eyes at Peter - she's not his beer caddy, after all. Still, there is business to conduct, and thus she turns to comply wordlessly - at least until the blur that id Edgar goes flying past, prompting her eyes wide. She doesn't notice Raquelle's yells for help, and has no idea why the speedster's veering off so quickly.

Turning back to Peter, Ling cocks an eyebrow at the Messiah "leader". "Please tell me you didn't scare him off already, Peter." She seems entirely serious when she says this, arms crossing over her midsection. Then she takes note of the beer. "I see you've handled yourself quite adequately."

Offering a squinting stare to Smedley, Peter can't help but find the interjected handshake a bit unsettling. Baancing his bestowed beer in another hand, he offers the cowboy a nod. "Peter," is all he offers in return, no need to have that conversation about family names. "Exactly what business is that, do you work for Global Health Dynamic?" Using his cover work as an EMT is much easier than trying to find out directly is Smedley is somehow supporting Messiah, but there's wariness all over Peter's face.

Ling's interjection catches him off-guard however, also that she's making a joke. The world may well be coming to an end. Grimacing awkwardly, Peter practically chokes a blurted response to Ling as his brows furrow. "I— it— " there's a roll of Peter's eyes and an exasperated sigh as he looks down to the beer, shoulders slouching in resignation as he tips it back and takes a sip from it. "Parties," Peter gruffly breathes out with a furrow of his brows.

Acrodd the yard, Jesse Muephy is staring down Melissa in silence, before suddenly breaking out into a broad and welcoming smile. "Shit, chica, you want me to man the grill? Hell yes I will, my momma' didn't raise no bad cook, lemme tell you." Proudly tilting his head back with a cocky smile, the bald-headed hispanic member of Messiag shuffles over to the orange cooler nearby, popping the top open and taking out a beer dripping with crushed ice. Cracking open the can, he holds it up in mock toast to Melissa. "Bring something over here to cook an' I'll get the grill fired up darlin', this ain't no party until the burgders and dogs are done, yeah?"

He's— actually nice.

Out front and across the street, West stumbles ot the side and offers an askance look to Edgar, brows furrowed and hair toussled by the shuffling hip-check that he Brit offered. "Hey, who'm I to keep one man away from another man's buns," West jokes in his pink shirt and lavendar ascot confidently. Though when his attention flicks back to Raquelle, it's all smiles. "Easy there, c'mon, gimme' something and I'll fly it on over."

Over in the back yard, Peter's noticing someone blonde and impish moving over with Melissa, finally actually making a point of seeing Daphne, one brow raised in appraisal as she makes her way over, though right now he's engaged with Smedley in an awkward business-related face-off of cowboy proportions. Also his other hand is ocupied by a needed beer. Parties.

Daphne's not paying attention to Wes or Peter anymore, turning to stare at that streak of red and black before turning to look wide-eyed at Melissa. "Are you kidding me! How many are there! That's not that Felix guy — is it that Edgar guy I'm supposed to keep an eye out for?" she demands of the taller blonde. Clearly those are the only two people who are allowed to share her speed.

(Are you listening, Peter Petrelli?)

Her pixyish face screws up in irritation as she waits for the man to return from the front yard. It's not a logical sort of possessiveness she has in regards to her power, and she knows it's not logical, but that doesn't mean she isn't down right pissed there's yet another speedster in her realm. Felix, that Edgar guy, and now this one? And then there's Clara, whose power is on a whole 'nother level. Her feet move a little restlessly, but Daphne makes herself stay put, reaching with one hand to idly scratch one of her elbow scabs.

A rather charming smile is delivered to Raquelle as Edgar liberates as many of the boxes of food as he can manage in one swoop. Instead of zipping back, he takes the slow way through the house, kicking the doors out of the way and leaving black scuffs of shoe polish on every surface that meets them. It's a good thing he's living with Melissa, otherwise she'd go insane with lack of things to clean.

One of the black scuffs appears on the door to the outside as Edgar makes his way into the back yard and places the boxes in a pile on the table. This is when he gets a good look at the cupcakes and his eyes widen as he just gawks at them for a little bit. "Is 'e kiddin'? They's like… " And he lifts a couple of the cupcakes up to his chest, emitting a low grunt as he actually figures out what 'cake tits' are. "Well ain' tha' jes.. Huh.." With that, half of one of the cupcakes is bitten off as he saunters back toward Smedley, Melissa, and all the other people he hasn't met yet.

But Smedley just shakes his head as he releases Peter's hand, glancing at the bevy of ladies that surround and henpeck him. They're all pretty in their own right, sure, but it's pretty obvious that the man they're hovering about has business to attend to. Or, at least, a polite social engagement that doesn't involve the ultimate removal of pants. Wes lifts one eyebrow higher than the other, then clears his throat.

Loudly.

When he settles his eyes on Peter again, those eyebrows dart upward in a Well, then sort of expression before he answers him directly. "Transportation," he says with a nod. "Could be somethin' I hauled ended up where you clock in, but I'd have to check the logs. I run a fair deal of cargo." His smile twitches some, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "You understand. But tell me," and Wes lifts the hand that holds his bear to gesture lazily toward Peter, "Why're you interested in my employee what runs like a jackrabbit bein' chased by a coyote?"

When Peter doesn't seem to hear her, Melissa actually sticks her tongue out at him before she bumps his hip with hers. "Pretending that you didn't hear me won't save you, baby. Still need to talk to you. It's not all bad though. In fact, some of it is good! So hang around after the shindig? I promise not to grope you. Unless you want me to!"

Then she's giving Daphne a sympathetic look and flinging her arms around the other blonde for a hug. Luckily her drink is empty so there's chance of spilling it all over the speedster. "Aww…You're still special, no matter how many of you there are. You're still the best! I promise! And why are you looking for Edgar? Ooh!" Murphy's answer grabs her attention. Yep, the fragile looking pain manipulator is a wee bit drunk.

"Yeah! Fire her up! I'll bring beer! Oh, wait. You've got beer. I'll get meat! And who are you anyway, Mr. Meat Man?" When she notices Edgar heading back, she gives Daphne a little push in his direction. "Make nice! Say hi! No killing him before I get to bet on a race around the world!" she calls back happily as she heads into the house to retrieve the food to be burned on the grill.

Nadira's found Quinn at last, thanks to the shout that the DJ gives. She moves, headed over in her direction and another sip of her beer is taken on the way over. "Quinn! I thought I'd lost you in this crowd. Glad you're not missing out on this… interesting turn of events. If the ball is half as exciting as this…" She shakes her head a bit. "Honestly, though, it's good to get out. I've realized I've become both a workaholic and a shut-in. Purposefully, mind you, but… nice to get out and socialize, isn't it? Quite an eclectic bunch of friends that Melissa has, though."

Raquelle straightens up slowly before eyeing West and Edgar warily and just…staring for a few moments. "…riiiight." Blink Blink. "Can you walk? I mean are you physically capable of using your legs?" He asks before pointing to the left over cooler and he scratches his cheek, working his way back to his feet and brushing off his butt. "Actually, no, you know what. I have the perfect thing for you to carry." He pats his pockets, pats pats…slips out a tub of cherry flavored lipgloss and hands it over. "There you go baby, now please…if you can…/walk/ it, nice and pretty so I can see that cute lil' tushie shake…WALK it into the house, okay?"

He watches after Edgar smiling and ahhing and sighing softly with some relief, bumping the cardoor shut with a hip and hefting the cooler himself, making his way to the front seat to tug a bouquet of flours out and resting it on top of the cooler, messenger bag slung from a shoulder. "I'ma turn her over my knee…I just know I am." Just in case nobody heard him. "Please WALK."

"Parties?" Ling waves a hand dismissively at Peter as she turns back around, not waiting for a response. She's headed off towards the cooler, her own glass in hand in hand as she moves across the yard, shaking wisps of smoke free from her form as she moves. A beer is procured, and Ling treutrns thusly, handing the drink over to Peter. "I believe the one you seek ahs returned," she remarks somewhat obliquely , offering a nod to Wes. "Hello. Is there anything you can be helped with?" She doesn't mean to sound like a waitress, but that's exactly what she comes off as. Delivering a beer to Peter likely doesn't help that.

Quinn laughs, leaning against Nadira and shaking her head. "It's a party. You think I'd miss somethin' like that? I mean, Christ, I thought we'd met before, Nadira!" The Irishwoman chuckles, shaking her head at the other woman. "Did you see that guy who flew off? I only know one other person who can do that kinda thing! An' he works for a magazine! How cool is that? I can only wonder what other kinda people she knows."

A shrug is offered at the Egyptian woman, Quinn nudging her in the side. "Hey, you can call me any time you need t' get out. I'm sure I can find somethin' for us t' do. An' if I'm not mistaken, we still have a date t' go on!" Quinn exclaims mirthfully, sticking her tongue out at Nadira. "The ball's going t' be fantastic. Have no doubt about it. I've got m' girlfriend thinkin' on things we can do, even."

"Jesse Murphy," explains the relative stranger in the yard to Melissa as he his chin tilts back, pointing to a scar under the right side of his chin. "Orange Level, 2009," is an indistinct way of informing everyone in the know that he was in the Moab Federal Penitentiary and that he wasn't cooperative. "I'm from the Chicago Chapter," is stated as he points to the tattoo on his right arm of a red unfurled banner that members of Messiah would perhaps liken more to a scarf, coiled around an assault rifle. "Me an' Pete go back a long ways," Jesse notes with a nod over to Peter, then a look to the grill.

"Call me Jesse or Jes, whatever suits you, Chica. I may not be as good at grillin' as this pyro I knew in the Big-M, but let me tell you," Jesse flips open the grill and starts turning on the propane, getting out the grill lighter, "I sure as fuck know how to burn shit."

Out front, West stares at Raquelle, wide-eyed, one brow twitching and both hands coming up slowly. "I— I'm— not— " going to take that, gay, a lot of things pop up in West's head as he backpedals from Raquelle with an awkward smile. "You know— I— hah, I think I heard my phone ringing inside of the house, fucking thing— right? Haaha…" Skipping backwards West is suddenly weightless, floating back and then zipping up to the second floor windows, landing on the shingles in front of the roof before levering himself in through the window and out of sight.

He's so easily spooked!

Back in the yard, Peter is offering a look to Smedley that's part scurtinizing, part wary. One brow kicks up and brown eyes zip up and down Smedley quickly before Peter kicks back his borrowed beer and down the last of it, nodding once as he steps around Smedley to set the bottle down on a table beside the cowboy. "If I ever need something moved I might know the man to talk to then," comes with a flash of a smile and gears turning in Peter's head.

Looking askance to Melissa, Peter lifts up his other beer and takes a swig from it. "Later," is his answer to her question, "maybe not tonight, I've got something I need to do later…" For all that Edgar is back, Peter's brows furrow thoughtfully in silence. Brown eyes divert to Daphne for a moment, and then Peter quietly steps over behind Ling, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Sorry," he whispers in mild apology as his hand flashes a warm golden hue and then fades back to normal coloration,

"Melissa," Peter offers as he turns back around, "I'm gonna take off. I'm just not feeling up to a party with everything else going on right now… but— thanks for inviting me." There's an askance look to Edgar, then back to Melissa. "Tell him I'll be back to talk later…" and just like that, Peter Petrelli is dissolving into a cloud of billowing smoke that roils and churns and is caught on the summer breeze, blowing across the yard and through the back fence.

He took his beer with him.

Sauntering back over to where Smedley is standing, Edgar was concentrating a little too hard on the cupcake to notice that Peter turned into smoke. With a confused frown, he turns around, like a dog trying to catch its tail and then scowls at no one in particular. "Where'd the bloke go tha' 'as my beer?" His lower jaw flares out just a little when he clenches his teeth and then suddenly smooths when he sees that Ling has it. "Ne'ermind, found i'."

He takes a few steps over to his other room mate and offers her the cupcake that isn't half eaten, "'Ere, I'll trade you. Y'don' wan' tha' beer'll make you go all squirrely, then you won' be able to drive near'as good as you do now."

"You," Smedley says, pointing his beer toward Edgar once he gets nearer, blinking away Peter's strange departure as more evo-shenanigans. "We got business to discuss. So when you're done here, you come find me. No excuses." Smedley tips the beer to take another drink and turns to deftly scale the wall again, pausing on the top to turn and salute the man who invited him with the bottle. "Thanks again. Good luck with your lady folk." He jumps, then, and is gone.

Melissa pauses at the door to give Peter sad puppy dog eyes. "Okay…But soon! Or I'll…I'll…call your mom!" she threatens, before disappearing into the house. It doesn't take but a minute before she comes back out carrying a platter full of stuff for Jesse to burn. "Orange level?" she asks as she approaches him. "That sucks. But shhh. I don't know that guy," she say, nodding towards Smedley. But she didn't exactly lower her voice, so it's not like everyone isn't aware that she's warning her fellow Moabite.

The plate is set on the side of the grill and grins. "Get to work, grill man!" Then she's glancing around until she spots Edgar and slides over towards him. "Petey said he'd be back later. He's off to do something he should probably be leaving to someone else."

"Yeah, parties are kinda your thing." Nadira agrees with Quinn, shaking her head a little. "You are kinda easily impressed. The flight is… strange, yeah, but a magazine? That's… alright, I suppose. I guess. Melissa certainly does know some interesting people." She grins. "Yes, and you do owe me a date, and yes, the ball will be fantastic." She's silent for a moment. "Bringing the girlfriend, then? I'm not likely to bring anyone. Kinda think I'll be too busy to pay attention to someone like that anyways, considering how big it could be. I'm sure I'll be busy with drinks and the like. I've offered to help however I can."

"…oh my god. Its the new gay character on Smallville." Raquelle deadpans as he watches after West with a grimace and a shake of his head. "I'm so tivoing the show now." He sighs and makes his way into the house and into the kitchen area, to drop the cooler, straightening up and whistling sharply as he holds his bouquet of flowers. He looks around with a squint, staring as he blinks and stares at the people he doesn't know and then the people who were there and aren't anymore. "Yoohoo? Anybody seen a Twig wearing an Ascot? I misplaced him…" He whistles sharply though after a minute, obviously searching for somebody, namely…Melissa but he does sing almost teasingly…

"Oooo…sugarpie honey bunch…" He almost starts laughing here and now, but he holds it together, seeking how the hostess holding out the bouquet of flowers and of course his arms for his damn hug. "You know that I love you…" He fakes a pout. "I can't help myself…"

Ling wrinkles her nose in annoyance, both at Peter not so subtly making off in a very, very familiar fashion and from the unmistakably naughty cupcake being offered up to her. "I… you can't be serious," she says flatly as her eyes are cast up to Edgar, handing him the beer. She doesn't reach up to take the boobcake, just sort of standing there, eyeing it. She lets out a long drawn out sigh as she finally takes it, shaking her head. "This is… words fail me. " It's almost like she's inspecting the confection, confused and alarmed by it's design.

"Maybe! I'd like t', but I don't know if she can make it. Even if she does… yeah, I imagine I'll be way too busy helpin' out t' really be able t' do much, you know?" Quinn leans against Nadira a bit less steadily, laughing. "What's so easily impressin' about workin' at a magazine? Come on, you really don't think that's cool? Pssh, whatever!" She nudges Nadira again, shaking her head. "Date or no, we need t' get t'gether again sometime soon. Before I throw the Hallowwen party, certainly!"

And then she hears Raquelle calling for a twig with an ascot, and Quinn can't help but laugh. Pushing herself away from Nadira, she turns and grins. "How did you lose West?" she shouts back amusedly. "I'm going t' go find him, make sure Raquelle didn't scare 'im too bad. We'll plan somethin' when I get back, hmm?"

Turning to wave to Raquelle, her dark eyes falling on the speedster, Daphne takes a step toward Edgar, intending to swallow her silly pride in her ability and be civil to another like her — at least this one's not a cop, that she knows of! But suddenly the pocket of her gray shorts is buzzing and she pulls out the cell phone, glancing at the display.

"Sorry, Mel, I gotta fly," she calls to the other blond woman, then glances at Edgar with what a defiant little chin raise — almost as if bating him to race.

And suddenly, she's gone in a whoosh of displaced air, the blur of fuchsia and gray and cream there only visible a second before it too is gone. So much for socializing.

"It's a bosom," Edgar says rather loudly as Ling eyes the cupcake, not seeming overly concerned about whether or not it might embarrass the poor woman. "If you ge' two, you can preten' you go' 'em, righ'?" Realizing what he just might have implied, he sort of just takes a few steps back and hems in nervousness. "No' tha' I'm sure you go'… Uhm.. No' tha' I've seen except… Wha' I mean is I haven't seen."

Daphne's sudden departure, makes him blink once and he holds a finger up to Ling. "Hol' tha' thought, she's got my… bra!" And Edgar races off right after Daphne. Why he said bra? Well…

Uh oh. There's singing. And it's a song Melissa knows. And she's a bit inebriated. So even as she moves towards Raquelle, she picks up the song, in the worst singing voice most people here have ever heard. "I love you and nobody else!" is sang before she busts out laughing and gives Raquelle his hug. "Hey Raquelle. Wasn't sure you were gonna be able to make it. Have a beer! Mingle! Meat's on the grill now."

Then Daphne's calling out and Mel glances over, mouth opening to say something to the female speedster, except, she's gone, leaving Mel pouting. "I feel like Dorothy," she mumbles. Edgar chasing off after her has Mel perking up. "Oooh. I've got fifty on Daphne!"

Raquelle squeezes Melissa tightly, kissing her cheek and handing over the flowers before pulling back with a little shimmy. Head turning in time to see…people take off and he takes a deep breath and looks back to Melissa. "Don't sing baby, leave that to me okay? You look gorgeous, I wouldn't have missed it for the world, and I think you're drinking enough for me too." He smiles and then takes a deep breath. "I spent all morning fashioning ughylur…" He gestures towards his chest. "With baked goods, so I'm going to go watch the man put a couple of hot dogs on the grill to secure my sexuality." He winks and heads off to the grill. He'll be occupied.

People are speeding off. Bwa? Nadira peers back towards Quinn. "What is with people and this whole… blatant use of abilities? Is everyone so…" She can't quite find exactly the words she wants to use. "At least it's not Egypt." She mutters. Melissa's 'lovely' singing catches her attention and she grins. Inebriation! That's what she likes to hear! She takes a long swig of her beer. "Hope we have more food soon. I'm starved."

Quinn smiles up at Nadira, reaching up and tapping the tip of the Egyption's nose - and promptly turning it Rudolph red, complete with a glow not unlike the reindeer in question. "I dunno. Normally I'd be calling people idiots. I have this one… friend, I guess, who does this shit all the time out in public, and I'm waiting for him t' get arrested for it. I guess because we're with friends and people Mel trusts, it's okay, you know? It's not like we're all out at a bar doin' this. You can trust Melissa, and outside of that sketchy dude grillin' and another guy or two, everyone seems trustworthy. So, whatever." The red glow doesn't fade as Quinn turns and begins towards Melissa's house. "West! Stop being a scardy cat! Fly your arse back out here!"

Now Edgar's taken off in a blur, leaving Ling at a complete and utter loss for words. Totally speechless, completely and utterly, holding the boobcake in hand. "I…" Ling just shakes her head and sighs, walking past Melissa on the way back to her house. "Your parties confuse me," she intones as she passes, almost bumping into Quinn as they both reach the door near simultaneously, disappearing inside afterwards.

Snickering, Melissa nods to Raquelle. "Okay, you sing. I know I suck. But it's so much fun. And yes, you go be manly at the grill. Just don't make him too distracted. i wanna eat my food!" she tells him as he wanders off. She grins at Ling, shrugging a little. "They confuse me too. Why do you think I'm drunk? It's the way to be to understand things! Or avoid understanding. Whichever. Just relax and go with it, Ling-Ling."

So Jesse cooks the meat, without burning it too badly thanks to Raquelle's distraction. It's handed out, and served with all the other food that's been brought. The beer flows, conversation confuses and amuses, and the fun goes on until the last person heads home or passes out. All in all, Rupert's visit aside, the party was a success, if Melissa says so herself! But at what cost?


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