LET'S PARTY

[dousing]

ROARING 20S MEME Well folks, we're here in the 1920s. Whether you're in the United States, Europe, some weird fantasy world, or whatever, the point is it's time to live in the JAZZ AGE. Which is like the Dragon Age with less dragons. Parties, drinking, bad decisions, murder... Wait, what? Well, ignore that last one okay? No need to get the cops involved. Besides, we're all here to have fun. And remember: there ain't no party like a Gatsby party because a Gatsby party don't stop until two people are dead and everyone is disillusioned with the Jazz Age as a whole.

PICK YOUR POISON 1. THE GREAT GATSBY Parties, rich folk, people being morons, people dying, people being morons again, funerals with only one sad guest staring at the man he fell in love with that only had eyes for someone else, this is all coming back to you, right? That's how everyone read it? Anyway, here's for your party people or your tragic backstory people we guess, and overall just don't get obsessed with the green light. 2. CHICAGO So, like... Did he deserve it? Your husband, when you killed him? Whether you're a femme fatale, a fancy lawyer, a dumb schmuck husband, or someone that's going to get murdered, we have to know. Did you do it? How are you gonna get out of it? Watch out and make sure you don't get got. 3. THE PRINCESS AND THE FROG This is your family-friendly option. It's still set in the 1920s, but there's magic, fantasy, hard work actually getting you somewhere... Unbelievable, we know. Still, it's fun to pretend, right? 4. MISC Choose your own adventure! WHO ARE YOU? 1. THE RICH You're rich as balls, whether you're new money or old money or like 150 years ago but not enough to be old money. ANYWAY, you're the financier of all this bullshit, really. It's a good racket. In any case, are you loved? Liked? Does anyone give a shit at all? Does anyone even come to your funeral? 2. THE POOR Man, all you want is to get ahead. You work your ass off to get nowhere and really, that sucks. Maybe you turn to a life of crime. Maybe shit goes bad before you can. Maybe your WIFE KILLS A DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK? 3. THE CRIMINAL Whether you're a small-time petty thief or a top-of-the-line mobster, here you are. Plan your crimes, work through them, rule the city...or just the dumpster. We all gotta start somewhere, right? 4. THE FUZZ Say you're a cop. You want to catch the top cat of the crime family in town but you have to work it out. Maybe you just arrested a murderess. Maybe you're a prison matron. Maybe, just maybe, you're a crooked lawyer making mad bank off of dumbasses that get themselves caught. 5. THE DISILLUSIONED You know everything is bullshit. You do, but no one listens to you. Everything is terrible and depraved and people are dying because they're being idiots but they won't listen to REASON and you have to watch the world fall down around your ears. Have fun being the only smart one. 6. MISC Make up some shit, we know you're creative. As always, these are just suggestions. Make up anything you want, as long as you're having fun!

Comments

Mary Crawley | Downton Abbey

[thequitecontrary]

[ Canon time period. ]

Crowley | Good Omens

[sauntered_downward]

[He lived through this era!]

[snuffboxes]

In 1923, Paris is the place to be, which is fine with Aziraphale - he's always liked it here. Especially the food. But these days, the company is also very good. There's not a guillotine in sight! And all the most interesting people gather in the salons these days. A rather fascinating young man called Thomas is reciting a bit of his own poetry when Aziraphale spots a startlingly familiar head of red hair enter the room.

"Crowley!" he calls, a surprised smile crossing his face, and he waves at the demon immediately, before he even recalls how their last meeting ended, and stops rather awkwardly, mid-wave.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley really, really likes 1923. After all the dreadfulness his lot dreamed up in the late teens, and everything they had planned for the next twenty years or so, this was the era to enjoy. A good couple of years of having parties, dancing, being devilish, and just generally enjoying themselves.

The main problem is, he still doesn't know how to get holy water. They probably keep it locked up in the churches, for all Crowley knows, and right now he is trying to get a priest very, very drunk and tell him where he could get it. It isn't hard. Everyone in this part of France was either dancing or eating or just generally enjoying themselves. So he's been going drink-for-drink with a priest for the last few hours, sobering himself up when necessary.

And Crowley needs holy water. He can feel himself straying from Hell with every new war they planned. One day, he is going to have to defend himself.

He's not properly sober when he heads back into the salon for another bottle of wine and hears a voice behind himself. A familiar, angelic voice.

"Well, if it isn't everyone's most devoted angel," he says with a lopsided smile, the priest he left at the table instantly forgotten.

[snuffboxes]

The tension in Aziraphale's shoulders eases a bit at Crowley's greeting. Apparently, he's not still angry? At least, he's not acting like it. Which is good.

"Who's this, then?" an attractive fellow in his late-20s appears at Aziraphale's elbow, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, this is my old friend Crowley, you remember I told you about him," Aziraphale says. "Crowley, this is Edward, he's quite the budding artist." Also really obviously infatuated with the angel.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley takes one look at Edward and decides he doesn't like him at all. It has nothing to do with his obvious infatuation with Aziraphale---that doesn't bother Crowley at all---but everything to do with how incredibly earnest he looks. All these little bohemian artists wandering around Paris. Annoying, all of them.

"What is it, then? Painting?" Crowley asks. "Music? Poetry? Got a lot of artists here in Paris, Edward, you're going to have to find a way to stand out."

[snuffboxes]

"Oh, be nice, Crowley," Aziraphale tuts, as poor Edward stammers about a sculpture he's working on.

A young woman wanders over, obviously also familiar with Aziraphale (albeit not infatuated the way Edward is), and eventually leads the poor man away to get more drinks or something.

"Really, they're very interesting sorts of people, you might like them," he says.

[sauntered_downward]

"Are they?" Crowley says, raising an eyebrow. "Hadn't noticed. Too many of them are actively ready to sell their souls to my lot to get ahead in this place."

He leans a little, the wine in his system still giving him quite the buzz. He glares back at the woman and the Edward person again, staring as hard through his sunglasses as possible.

"What are you doing here?" he says. "Not back for more crepes?"

[snuffboxes]

"Difficult to blame them, after the war," Aziraphale says with a frown. The war had really been terrible, and most of the young people in this room had experienced it firsthand, one way or another.

"I'm here to try and - help," he adds finally.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley shifts uncomfortably at the mention of the war. The war earned his side a lot of new people, and cost the other side a lot of innocent people. Crowley is a demon, he reminds himself, but he hates all the death. It's just so unnecessary. People will come to hell or go to heaven all on their own, they don't need...they don't need all of this.

"Help the budding artists believe in themselves?" he says, with no small amount of mocking. "You can't be serious."

I started out thinking this would be fluffy but here I go, making things Sad again!!

[snuffboxes]

If Aziraphale's wings were manifested in the physical plane, they would be thoroughly ruffled by that comment.

"Helping them not to die of drug overdoses," he snaps, his usual optimistic demeanor vanishing in an instant, and it's possible one might sense, vaguely, Aziraphale's original purpose in his words and posture - a guardian, a protector.

He's no fighter, though he spent his fair share of time in field hospitals during the war. And now he's here, and it may not be much, but there's hopefully a little less cocaine at this party than there might otherwise have been.

I love it so much ogog

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley hates how earnest Aziraphale is. He hates how much Aziraphale cares about these people, and how much he wants to make everything right. Because nothing is right, and in ten years' time they're all going to be back at war again, and it's all going to go back to hell, and then eventually to Hell with the capital H, because that's how they like it. They've been planning it, and Crowley's sat in on those meetings where they're all just so excited about another big war. This one even more awful than the last.

Why does Aziraphale have to care so much? Crowley doesn't care. He tells himself this even as his stomach twists into tight little knots. He doesn't care about these people. Doesn't care about how much they're hurting. Not at all.

"They'd be better off with a drug overdose," Crowley snaps back, still feeling the wine, "Better that than---"

Oh. Oh, no, can't share that information, not with Aziraphale.

Integra Hellsing | Hellsing | ota

[cutmyfinger]

[ the rich, naturally. elite. and realistically, she'd be part of the fuzz... but I'd love to play her as a sort of 'robin hood mob boss' - she dispenses justice where the law can't (or won't), sort of thing. ]

Matt Holt | Voltron: Legendary Defender

[tookashirototheknee]

[Bootlegger! Here for all of your illicit booze needs. Can work with pretty much anything, but also can help put someone in the AU.

(There's totally a mob in the area called the Galra. Their 'prince' is... hard to read.)]

[yousayvoltron]

[Keith is for all intents and purposes an orphan. His mother was a pilot who left on a mission and disappeared, while his father was killed rescuing innocents from a bombing. He's currently living with Takashi "Shiro" Shirogane, a young pilot who took him under his wing, and Takashi's professor "partner" Adam.

Keith's in the lab one day while he struggled to finish a chemistry assignment. History and science aren't his best subjects, and he's on the verge of flunking chemistry after bombing another quiz. He's freaking out because if he does flunk, Adam and Shiro might lose custody of him because there's no excuse for a kid raised by a professor to fail any classes. Or something. That's what Keith fears, at least, so he's cranky and worried and that's just making this assignment harder.

He's unaware of someone else in the lab. How long will that last?]

[tookashirototheknee]

[By all rights, Matthew Holt shouldn't even be here. He's an Irish kid, father disappeared in the war, mother doing everything she can to try to make it work.

He's not enrolled in the college, not by a long shot, but he does do some things in the chemistry lab, thanks to some friends who he provides with premium alcohol.

At this particular moment, he's lost in his own thoughts, working on something in the corner. He might not be using the 'proper' chemistry formulae, but he damn well knows what goes together and what doesn't. There's an odd hint of... booze around him, though. Oops?]

[yousayvoltron]

[It doesn't take Keith long to smell the alcohol. Adam and Shiro are experts at hiding their booze from the police, so he's had a taste here and there. It's not something he'd fight for for itself, but he hates prohibition on principle because only wimps and jerks ban people from having a good time.

Keith tries to focus on his work, but everything's escaping him and taunting him and he really hates chemistry right now. He hates it for being so hard and he hates his teacher for acting like it's the easiest thing in the world.]

[tookashirototheknee]

[Matt finally notices there's another person in the room and lets out a small squeak. Shit. Hopefully this isn't someone who's going to report him for being in here in the first place.

When Keith looks up again he smiles just a bit and waves shyly. Hello other person, hopefully you won't kick him out.]

[yousayvoltron]

[Keith does look up when he hears the squeak, but he doesn't recognize this person. He blinks, confused, but clearly glad for some distraction.]

Um. Hey?

[tookashirototheknee]

Hey, sorry. I'm not bothering you, am I?

[He has a faint Irish accent when he talks, and he's blushing, feeling more than a bit awkward at the moment.]

Just... helping out a couple friends.

[yousayvoltron]

[He notices, and for some reason it makes his cheeks flush and his heart feel a bit lighter.]

No, not really. I'm supposed to be studying, but I'm no good at this and I'm just gonna bomb anyway, so it's not like I'm bothered or nothin'.

[Keith's own accent has a vague whiff of southwestern drawl.]

[tookashirototheknee]

[There's a blush on Matt's cheeks as well. Something about this other guy is... doing odd things to him at the moment.

Getting up from his chair, he glances at the homework.]

I've never had much formal school, but 'm not bad at combining things, so, maybe I c'n help a bit.

[yousayvoltron]

Heh, that'd sure be swell. Frankly I can use all the help I can get!

[He gives a self-deprecating laugh, pushing his books aside and pulling out the chair beside him.]

C'mere, sit a spell.

[tookashirototheknee]

Alright, thanks.

[He sits down, pushing his sleeves up a bit more, and adjusting his hat on his head, smiling a bit. There's a hint of a jaunty smirk in it as he relaxes slightly.]

I'm Matt.

Cassandra de Rolo | Critical Role

[ofwovenstone]

[Definitely the rich and possibly a touch of the disillusioned.]