Milli-timed to Tuesday the 28th - New Orleans Mardi Gras

[mogget_cat]

The bar room of Milliways is always full of sound - the clatter of dishes and clink of glasses, chairs being scooted back or further in, footsteps upon the floor, rats squeaking, the background murmur of conversations overlapping one another.

But tonight the main door to the bar opens to the mouth of an city alleyway, to a caucophony of noise and music, full of seething crowds and colorful parade floats, the smells of food and sweat and smoke and beer and those colorful fruity drinks sold in yard-long plastic glasses with umbrellas in them. Mardi Gras is in full swing and New Orleans has outdone itself this time.

Yrael enters, trailing laughter from a section of the crowd on the other side. His white hair is decorated with purple, gold and green feathers, his pale face partially hidden by a sharp, glittery cat mask of gold, behind which his green eyes are bright. Over his white shirt this evening he wears a shiny waistcoat of purple, gold, green, and black. It's clearly party time, big time, show time -

"And then some!" he grins, seeing Milliways. "Fat Tuesday is upon us, Milliways! Welcome to Mardi Gras! Come, dance, explore! Laissez les bons temps rouler!"

Yrael will make sure the door stays open for any party-goer who would like to partake in the joie de vivre, and the Bar can certainly provide a change of costume...



(ooc: The post will be open all weekend and into next week as needed! Usual party-thread guidelines apply! Tag in! Threadhop! Meet new people and get into trouble! :D Yrael will be around, but his mun will not be able to tag much until Monday evening. <333333)

Comments

[just_cant_lose]

Jim smokes a cigarette, and watches. When Sherlock reappears he drops it down the hood of the girl in front of him, so her squeals a moment later will add further distraction. But he's gone by then, hand in hand with Sherlock, heading towards the dragon float.

'They'll have the police down on them, checking them out.'

But the floats in front don't seem to have heard, because they haven't stopped and the dragon one is right in front of them.

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock spots the steps built into the float -- unwatched, at the moment -- and steps onto them, still holding Jim's hand.

[just_cant_lose]

And Jim follows him up, stepping easily and like he belongs there, like they both do. There are people throwing beads off the side, and there's music, and some dragon-based theme - Jim ignores all this and takes the lead now, walking along the side to the front so he can lean on the giant dragon head and survey the crowds below.

'Thank you, love,' he murmurs, and leans against him. Who needs staff, when Sherlock's so willing to play? And he's so much more fun in the way he goes about things.

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock kisses Jim's hair and whispers, "You're welcome, sweetheart." He wraps his arm around Jim's waist and surveys the crowd -- jostling bodies, bands, dancers, lots of noise and light and color that normally would send him into the safety of Baker Street.

But this is all right. He's got Jim, and it's all right.

[just_cant_lose]

Someone comes up to them eventually, and looks like they're about to say something. Jim puts a stop to this by simple dint of turning his head, and looking at them until they stop. He looks at them some more, until they go away.

Jim is very good at looking at people when he wants to be.

He turns back to the crowd, and then up at Sherlock.

'What do you want to do next? We could ride this to Jackson Square, get some drinks, and go and find some more music?'

He wants more than music though. He's got an itch under the skin, he wants trouble. He wants the bars where the bad people go; he wants to invite them to take him on, and then laugh as they hit the floor.

But Sherlock's here, and he does still like to behave a lot of the time. Jim eyes the glitter on his cheek, and licks the inside of his lip again.

'And is that glitter edible?'

[mightbeagoodone]

"I still want to dance, so I like the Jackson Square plan."

He eyes Jim, and chuckles. "I would venture not. The glittery bits are plastic, as I recall. Sugar would melt from body heat." He takes in the shops. "If there's a bakery we might find something..."

[just_cant_lose]

Jim's response is lean up, and brush his mouth against Sherlock's exposed throat. Just light, because, paint. He stays there a while, lips barely touching his skin, sucking just a touch along the bone.

'Should let me put a collar on you,' he murmurs, and pulls his arms around him so they can lean together.

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock shivers. "Still might."

His hand finds its way inside Jim's suit jacket, and his fingers lightly stroke Jim's waist, just above his waistband.

[just_cant_lose]

'I brought one with me.'

Just in case. It's that sort of day, to Jim's mind. He pushes up against him subtly, rubbing a little, enjoying the solidity of his body.

'Do you want to get high later?'

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock shivers again, deeper, and murmurs, "Then I will."

He sighs, though, slowly. "You know the answer to that. The real question is, will I actually do it?"

[just_cant_lose]

'Of course. Stupid of me.'

Jim grins slowly, watching the crowd.

'You've done it with me before, and we're here for a few days. It's up to you, though.'

And then he watches Sherlock's eyes.

'I'll put it on you now, if you like.'

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock undoes a button on his shirt, baring his neck, and lowers his head. "All right."

[just_cant_lose]

...fuck, that's hot. Jim touches his neck, but then shakes his head.

'You need to get down on your knees, love.'

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock meets his gaze, and doesn't look away as he gets onto his knees.

(Someone is going to throw them off the float for this. He can feel it.)

[just_cant_lose]

Jim was not actually sure he was going to agree. But Jesus Christ, Sherlock never fails to step up when it counts. Or in this case, lower himself down.

Jim breathes out slowly. He holds eye contact all the way and when Sherlock's settled, touches his thumb along the ridge of cheekbone. His hand drops away afterwards and he stands square in front of him, just taking in the view. The whole city might as well not exist.

'You're beautiful' he murmurs, drawing a leather strap from his pocket, lightly studded. He steps in close to press it to his throat, giving him a moment to change his mind if he wants, before sliding fingers back into his hair, moving it out of the way so he can fasten the buckle.

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock exhales shakily, watching him. All the noise and color and lights fade to nothing around this white-faced man in black.

"You make me beautiful."

[just_cant_lose]

He tilts his head, watching him as the leather slips through the metal, and catches. He makes sure it's not too tight, but not so loose that he won't feel it. Snug, not uncomfortable. He doesn't step back afterwards. He just strokes through his hair, and looks at him.

'Mine,' he says, after a while. And nods, once, before touching a finger to the lower edge of the collar and putting a little pressure on it.

'Up.'

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock rises, still gazing into Jim's eyes.

"Yours." Soft and low.

[just_cant_lose]

Dear God.

He catches his hand and locks their fingers, not moving, just looking at him, breathing with him. He can fell his pulse thudding in his palm, down his nerves, drumming into Sherlock's skin.

He tilts his head to the side, exposing his neck.

'Kiss.'

A quiet order, but an order nonetheless.

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock smiles to himself. He cups the back of Jim's head in his palm and kisses his neck, soft, right over his pulse.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim smiles too, not to himself. He's aware, vaguely, that they're drawing attention but he couldn't give a damn. At least some of it's positive, and some of it probably isn't, but he's tuning it all out.

When Sherlock draws away he just puts his back against his chest, and leans against him again. Let them try to interfere with the two of them. Jim won't stand for it. He's not in the mood to indulge the world being stupid today.

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock wraps an arm around him again, and exhales slowly as they relax against each other.

Jackson Square can't arrive soon enough. Being part of the parade, more or less, is fine, but he wants more now -- movement, music, Jim in his arms.

[just_cant_lose]

It beats walking through the melee, and Jim like being above it all. But it's slow too, and annoying, and the people close by are not interesting. Jim scans the shadows, looking down the side streets they pass, mentally cataloging everything. As soon as they enter Jackson Square he's had enough, and turns.

'Lead off. We'll get drinks.'

[mightbeagoodone]

Sherlock nods and takes Jim's hand again to weave their way off the float.

Someone throws beads at them from a balcony above--Sherlock catches them in one hand, barely looking, and tucks them in his pocket.

[just_cant_lose]

'And you didn't even have to flash your tits.'

Down on the street, it's louder than ever. Jim's upper lip lifts in a a silent snarl at someone who yells too close to him, and he stretches his neck out to calm the flash of anger. It passes soon enough, and there's a bar more or less right in front of them. It'll do. There's even blues.

'How far down does that glitter go? We could do body shots again.'