milliways_bar | Twelfth Night Party, Pontmercy style!

You -- yes, you, whoever you are -- got an invitation to the party. All of Milliways is welcome!

If you choose to come, you'll find Bar directing you to a big round tent that went up this afternoon on the lawn outside the bar. Marius and Cosette and various friends spent a lot of time this morning ferrying decorations in, and the waitrats spent a lot of time in the afternoon ferrying food in, but the doors won't officially open until close to sunset.

But this isn't a cheap white plastic tent, oh no. It's warm and domed and made of thick fabric, something like a very large yurt. A bit of magic keeps out the drafts, making everything extra cozy.

There's a fire in the middle of the floor, with a low screen encircling it but also magic meaning that this fire puts of warmth but will not actually burn anything, even if you step right into it. The floor is wood -- great for dancing, if you feel like it! There's a piano over against the wall for anyone who wants to make some music.

Everywhere there are garlands of European evergreen branches and herbs, studded with bright dried fruit and sparkling ornaments. (Mistletoe might very well be among them, though the Pontmercies haven't thought to supply that as an intentional party game.) There are candles and lanterns everywhere, and a big chandelier. There are no electric lights at all -- it's all fire -- but a good number of them are magical, so that nothing's going to get set on fire or covered with smoke. The general intended impression is of genteel, welcoming festivity, in a very French and very early 19th century European way.

There are food and drinks galore. Come in and enjoy the party!

[OOC: Party-style post! Subthreads for various categories and activities, etc. Open from now until whenever!

Edit: As of Joly's arrival, Cosette now has a mini-polaroid camera. Fear, Milliways. Feel free to assume that she's popped up to take a candid picture of your character(s) at any point, as long as they're not doing or wearing anything scandalous! She will happily give the resulting picture to your character if they want; it probably won't be a very good picture, in terms of composition or focus, but it will be cheerfully enthusiastic.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"So it can. But you said you hadn't been here before - that must have come as quite a shock?"

Especially for someone expecting one of the possible Christian afterlives.

He nods. "I was raised a Catholic, and spent my life trying to decide if I truly believed in the afterlife my priests told me about as a boy. I was ready to meet St. Peter. Or perhaps to cease to be, for the evidence of the afterlife was never fully compelling. But to be in a bar? It boggles the mind still."

"Well, I've been given to understand this place isn't the end of the road. That whatever waits for you still waits, whenever you're ready to go to it."

"So I am here until I wish to meet my maker, as the English would say it?" Does that mean he's not ready?

"So they say. Or until you get tired of being here."

"I do not think I will get tired of it that fast, mon ami. Heaven, it probably does not have such parties." The food was, to use a phrase that does not quite fit, divine.

He laughs.

"No, there do seem to be quite a few long-term residents, and no one is forced to move on against their will." Not by the bar or anyone in it it, at least, though some have found themselves drawn to leave without really wanting to. "But you won't be here for any longer than you want to be."

"There is much to consider. Things I perhaps should have considered before now." Was Poirot enjoying the quiet too much to risk any more change? Perhaps.

Well, there's nothing wrong with that.

"Something you'd like to talk about to somebody other than yourself?" he offers.

He ponders this. "I do seem to have been going on, have I not? But today there is little on my mind otherwise, it seems. My apologies."

"No need to apologise", Michael says immediately and sincerely. "We all have days like those, and I'm willing to listen if you need it."

"You have done well to listen. It is a skill I have cultivated throughout my life." You never know what someone will tell you without realizing it.

"I picked it up mostly when I was learning to be a good father, but it serves me well in general."

"How many children do you have?" That is something Poirot cannot go on about, so he feels good asking.

And Michael is always happy to talk about his children.

"Seven, and one foster. The oldest is 25 and the youngest, the foster, is ten."

"That is many children to have. But as they get older, no doubt they start to be a help instead of a hindrance." Large families - aside from his own - were the norm where he grew up.

"Definitely", he agrees. "The older ones already help with getting the younger up and dressed and breakfasted, and to keep them entertained after school. Maggie, the ten-year-old, likes to play Dinosaur Cowgirl and luckily my youngest boy is strong enough and willing to play the dinosaur."

"Dinosaur Cowgirl...ah, the imagination of the children, it can be a wonder." At least from afar.

Michael nods fondly. "A wonder and a joy to watch them play, even if it sometimes gets noisy. Maggie... you could call her a war orphan. Her father's still alive, but not in a position to take her back just yet, and her mother and her last foster family... she's seen things she should never have had to, especially so young. But now she's laughing and playing."

"Then you do a great thing, taking her in and helping her. Those who took in the orphans in the wars of the last thirty years were as great of service as the soldiers." He just wishes there no more war orphans.

"Her father's one of my dearest friends, and my family owes him a debt." Or more than one, really. "So keeping his little girl safe and trying to help her recover was the least we could do. His dog came with her - he's hers now, and her constant shadow. I think that helps her feel safe, so we even got permission for her to take him to school."

"I have heard of such an idea. If it helps, it should be allowed." Though in his time, "service dog" means seeing eye dog.

Michael nods.

"Mouse is very smart and well behaved, so the only disruption he caused was the children wanting to play with him and I gather that's settled down now. Except at recess."

Mouse? What a silly name for a dog, but most dogs do have silly names.

"As one would expect from children.

"And now, monsieur, I think I shall make my way about. But it was a delight chatting."

"Likewise." He offers a hand in farewell. "Enjoy the rest of the party."

Twelfth Night Party, Pontmercy style!

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