6383/Gypsy engagement party

Gypsy engagement party
Date of Scene:	30 May 2021
Location:	East Village
Synopsis:	Block party in NYC with all the color, music and dancing (and drinking) that Roma could muster. Some Travelers partake.
Cast of Characters:	Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton, John Constantine, Amanda Sefton, Meggan Puceanu

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Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Dark skies have given way to spotty sunshine, and the humidity once high is settling into something a great deal more tolerable. Such is the day chosen for an official announcement and one hell of a party. There is almost no one that hasn't read the tea leaves for the day, and all appear to be in agreement.

Party!

A block of Alphabet City has been cordoned off and halls have been rented (read: not yet paid for and probably won't be) in case they're needed. It looks all the world as if they won't be, thankfully.

It's something of a pop-up party in that suddenly the streets are festooned with colors hanging from any and every possible doorway and window, with cars, trucks, vans parked along the street. Some of them, okay MOST of them are deliberately parked under the 'no parking' signs that also line the street. Obviously, the owners of the vehicles really, really don't care.

The streets are also lined with food, with those who are better at reading fortunes and futures, and musicians of all ability. Those who are part of it all? There's no question as to their ethnicity, to what culture they ascribe to. They are Roma. Gypsy. Travellers. The women wear all manner of dress, the colors would cause parrots to blush, with skirts, sashes, veils and scarves, they are a tourist's dream of photo opportunity. The men wear their dark suits, a touch more somber and sober (ha!) than the ladies, but not any less celebratory.

There is dancing in the streets, the smell of food washes over the block, the aromas mixing and creating a single, underlying scent of... celebration. One will not find any tourists here. This is for the Roma. For the couple.

***

Word in the community always travels unofficially. There are no engraved invitations, there are no phone calls, no texts via cellphone. Nothing like that. It's a conversation at a market stall, a side comment that hints at festivities to come. Anyone outside the community would wonder if the news was meant for them at all, the invitation that is. Anyone inside the community would know well that it is indeed a celebration and one in which they are invited, regardless from which country they may hail. The language spoken within these gates is Russian, Roma.. and some English.

Ms Wanda Maximoff is in attendance. She's one of the more understated of the Avengers, and thus it's a touch easier for her to wander streets under the radar, as it were. She's dressed in reds from brilliant, bright red to the darker, duskier crimsons. Touches of green, of white lay upon her outfit, and her red hair hangs straight down, with long, dangling earrings made of feathers that lie slightly tucked away. She has a smile on her face; her expression is such that she is (mostly) devoid of care, and delight tinges her words as she slowly strolls, searching for known friends. It's been a long time since there's been a party of this magnitude!

Clint Barton has posed:
And at Wanda's side is another of the less flashy Avengers, Clint Barton. It's a good bet that she took him shopping, because he's in a suit that matches many of the Roma men's clothing pretty well, but done mainly in dark purples. He's got a smile on his face as he walks along with her, taking in the sights of the celebration.

"When you said an engagement party, I was expecting something in a banquet hall or something, not an entire block. These folks know how to have fun." He's looking relaxed and happy, letting any number of cares go for a little while.

John Constantine has posed:
An enthusiastic argument is adding to the chorus of voices. An old VW Bus is parked on the sidewalk; a clothesline dries some personal effects and combined with a minor compulsion charm, keeps the non-magical from seeing the knick-knacks strewn about the table. It mostly just looks like unappetizingly bland fruits for the average person.

There's a bit of a language barrier at play. Constantine's Roma is about as bad as the vendor's English, and the two are carrying on a fine bit of mercantilism as both make appeals to passers-by about the quality of the product, the effects of the weather on product, and lo how near-penniless both the vendor and John are.

There's no significant sign of anger, despite the flailing gestures and bellowing. Nor is there a whole lot on the line; they're nearly playing jacks with the items John wishes to purchase, removing and adding them and almost talking over one another to try and sucker the other guy into caving in the price negotiations.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda arrives, stepping out of an unnoticed alley. She's not quite so flamboyantly dressed as some of the women there, but she is taking the opportunity to celebrate her heritage. It's not often she can. She's wearing skirts, for once, instead of trousers. A loose blouse, even a very bohemian vest and a scarf in her hair. There's no mistaking she belongs in this crowd.

She's left her runed satchel at home, though the pendant at her throat is enough to tell those 'in the know' within the community that she has some modicum of talent. Nothing particularly attention drawing, however.

She is no Avenger, though she's increasingly had cause to bump into them, lately. She's also, for once, not sensing eyes on her, watching her, waiting so they can just touch the hem of her garment, so to speak. Lucifer's groupies are nowhere to be seen. Thank the Powers for that.

Thus, there's a light, easy smile on her face as she wanders the pop up market and watches the people laugh and play with one another in celebration.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
With the stroll, there are voices that rise in racous singing, laughing.. mostly basso voices that carry across the distances of the block. Singing, story-telling, and of course the buying and selling of random trinkets, both magical and potentially magical! Here, here is that 'bubble' of life that Wanda had been away from, separated not by choice but by her current life, and it seems so easy for her to fall back into it, like comfortable clothes or a worn and much beloved pair of shoes.

Reaching for the warmth of Clint's hand, she laughs at the dancers along the side, the children trying their hand (or feet!) at some of the more 'traditional' styles, and the dotting of musicians with guitars, clarinets and even accordions. "No," Wanda laughs, "and this is small in comparison to what could be. They will have larger later. Elsewhere, when they move on." Because, well.. travellers.

There is a nod in the direction of the 'shops', more like vans with their side doors open with very little to display to dissuade any who don't know from wandering over. The barricades seem to be doing well enough to keep tourists at bay, coupled with the fact that this wasn't on any calendar of festivities for the City to draw the crowds, it can be almost assumed they'll be relatively unbothered. Gate crashers will be dealt with quickly.

It's not hard to catch the words of negotiations that ring in the air, their theatric frustrations and argument rising and falling as if they were in deadly battle. Most of the crowd are vaguely recognized, with the smiled nod to one, another.. and down the street, however, is one more 'known' than others.

"Clint, down there.." and there's a rise of her free hand to gesture in Amanda's direction, "Have you met her? She is good one to know." So is Constantine, but him? She hasn't had much run-in with him, and, well.. he's deep in discussion. No messing with his game of chance!

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
A representative of the British Romanischal might not at the outset resemble the typical Roma, but then those northerly communities have interwoven with Irish, Welsh, and English communities long enough to adopt certain unique features. Meggan belongs squarely among the fanfare and festive colours, her blonde hair twisted with chaplet of colourful flowers plucked from someone's garden illicitly. She's gone so far to round her ears so the better fit in, wearing a flamboyant array of colour drawn from the green, blue, and gold side of the spectrum. Several sheared skirts bloom and swirl, cut in filmy layers, their collective weight terribly thin. The patterns of her adoptive people reside in the jewelry at her earrings, the ribbons licking behind her when she walks woven the same. Dancing her way through the street adds sound as the bells at her wrists on strung bracelets add harmonies, a shimmering backbeat.

Here, though, she can thrive. Language is no issue; she speaks it, though her lilting Celtic-tinged accent fades into the dominant choice. Russian among the Russians, less Slavic for those from Central Europe, back to purer Roma among the eders. Exchanges range from asking after an aunty to praising someone's music, but she takes a darn long time to weave through. All the more when her empathy's extended naturally and she has to stop someone fighting over a parking spot. Or a scooter, those things are murder on wheels. Then there's some matter about arguing over a wedding soup, and of course that means taking a taste. She'll get there, eventually.

There being somewhere involving jacks, a man usually in a trenchcoat. And then her smile burns like a small sun, since the moon always know where to turn its face. She doesn't quite catch Amanda in there, though Wanda and Clint will eventually stand out, and she smiles to them too. Because these are her people; this is /home/ for her.

Clint Barton has posed:
Hand in hand, Clint and Wanda move through the festivities, but where she seems like she's coming home, he looks a little like a kid in a candy shop, trying to take in everything at once. He's obviously happy to be here, and occasionally gives her a little tug closer to something he wants to take a look at.

When she points out Amanda, he shakes his head and replies, "I don't believe I have, no. We can go meet her if you like, today's about meeting people and enjoying ourselves, after all."

John Constantine has posed:
The negotiations freeze; someone has made a mistake, and for a few seconds it's hard to tell who did what where. But then the merchant starts boxing up John's crate of goods for him.

Perhaps more than seeing, he senses that sunny smile turned his way; Constantine looks over his left shoulder, then his right, and spots the blonde fae wending towards him on the path of least resistance. He turns to look at the goods once more and picks up a little sprig of flowers arranged in a delicate palm-sized constellation. The magus slips the vendor well over the price for the trinket, and when Meggan arrives he has for her a cheeky grin and the tiniest bouquet.

"Get yourself lost on the way in?" he inquires of her. "I thought you were two steps behind me and I looked over my shoulder, 'n--" fingers flex upwards, making the spring disappear from his hand in a little legerdemain. "Poof!"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda catches Wanda moving through the crowd more because of familiarity than any conscious search. She smiles as she sees the woman, glancing as well to the archer at her side. "Wanda," she greets, coming to grasp her hands lightly in greeting. "It's good to see you again." She looks about. "Is your brother here, too?" Shame, if he's not. But, then, Kurt couldn't make it, either.

She then gives Clint a light smile. "Hello." Wouldn't want him to think he's being ignored. Though they've yet to be introduced.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Sorry, love, met some mates who knew Mum and Da, and you know how it is. I'd have had it if my cousins caught wind I'd not said hullo to Kezia or Aunt Florence!" Aunt Florence, who is auntie to everyone between Liverpool and Louisiana, commands a large impression here and it's not in Meggan's nature to overlook her very extended family. She practically floats off the ground, and remembering to keep her sandaled feet connected to the pavement takes extra effort. When closing on Constantine as her appointed Roma plus-one -- or just a gadfly following the Travellers close enough to ride their flamboyant coat tails -- she breaks into that low laugh, offering her hands to him. Or maybe to take the box.

Disappearing flowers make her laugh, and she drops into something of an exaggerated bow, straightening just in time to sway to the music swelling from one side of the street beyond the vendors. In a swift turn, her skirts rush around her legs in numerous rainbow veils that Salome would've turned green over. Someone has either taken inspiration from rattling tambourines and a fiddle or they've caught sight of Wanda and Clint, and felt the need to serenade them.

Her gaze shifts among the crowd for a moment, but not for long. "It's turned out beautifully, hasn't it? I've not seen the like in ages. How it should be, really."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Wanda can feel the subtle pulls, the gentle pressures, the perhaps unconscious squeezes of Clint's fingers when he sees something he likes, and she is more than willing to walk over to investigate as they move down to intercept Amanda. This does, of course, include a quick lesson on how to properly kick up one's feet in a rousing measure or two of very slavic music, complete with learning on which beat the shout of joy comes. (Very important, that!) With each 'station', the redhead is laughing, encouraging, and by his side.&r&rBy the end of this day and evening, Clint will hopefully have learned a step or two, a song or two.. with her help, of course!

As they progress down the street, Wanda's steps are light, features bright, and her tones hold that same ease, "You will be able to hide in Roma camps anywhere with ease.. you will see." She's teasing him, certainly, but it also holds a touch of the professional that she'd mentioned the other day. Should he need them, even to hide in their ranks for minutes, hours or days, he won't be found easily. If at all.

As the approach to Amanda is almost finished, Wanda lets go of Clint's hand to raise them in greeting to Amanda. "It is good to see you. Travels have been kind." Looking around as if to underscore the other woman's words, Wanda exhales in something of a breathed laugh. "I am certain he is around somewhere. Or not at all. There are questions as to how many ladies he has been flirting with. No fights today." Pietro is definitely something of a flirt!

Stepping back, Wanda begins the introduction, "Clint, this is Amanda Sefton. A friend in community." She's careful in that single word which encompasses.. a great deal. "Amanda, Clint Barton." Certainly she's heard the name in terms of the Avengers?

The passage of John and Meggan, along with all the other party attendees is only lightly noted, lightly remarked. She'll be greeting a great deal more people during the course of the day and evening!

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint isn't known for his dancing, usually. However, he's extremely agile, and an acrobat, and these things translate over fairly well. After a few examples, he's able to make his way through some of the more basic steps, fairly quickly becoming more comfortable with them. It actually doesn't take all that long for him to be able to make his way through one of the dances. He's not going to win any awards for his dancing, but he can get through as well as some of the less coordinated Roma can.

Wanda's mention of the camps gets a little shrug, "Could come in handy someday, you never know."

When Wanda introduces him to Amanda, he smiles and offers his hand, "Pleasure to meet you Amanda. Heck of a party, isn't it?"

John Constantine has posed:
The box is taped shut and John scribbles his name over the tape. "I'll need my hands free a bit; ten to hold it now, and another tenner when I pick it up, yeh?" he bids the vendor. The arrangement seems to suit the man, and they shake hands on it. Not that John would necessarily *assume* the Roma vendor's hands might wander-- but he's doing the fellow the respect of not dismissing him entirely, either.

He turns back to Meggan and reaches up to touch her temple, fingers drawing on two silky blonde threads. The motion passes and the little sprig he'd vanished is tucked neatly behind Meggan's ear.

"C'mon, I see a lass I know," John bids Meggan. His sole concession to the heat of the day is wearing a much lighter-weight jacket, the heavy old winter overcoat traded in for something more suitable for the squalls that periodically interrupt New England afternoons. John points with his chin at Wanda and Clint and starts towards them, hands in his trouser pockets and an amicable look on his face.

"Well well, it's Miss Wanda again," John remarks once they're in earshot. He glances at Clint and gives the fellow a cordial nod of greeting, then, Amanda in turn. "Company included, eh?"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda has heard a thing or two about Barton, it's true. Though not as much as some may have. Most of her interactions with that team, if not with Wanda or, by extension, Pietro, have been with Tony... or, more accurately, Pepper, and by extension Tony. It's funny how that works. "A pleasure to meet you, Clint," she replies with a smile, taking his hand. Her accent is British with a subtle undercurrent of German. Though, when she switches to Romani, her accent switches again to something different and entirely flawless. For now, though, she sticks to English. "Have you ever been to a true gypsy party before?" she asks him. "I expect it'll be an experience for you."

She chuckles at the news of Pietro. "It's in their blood. I imagine Kurt is doing much the same, if his duties at the school haven't kept him otherwise occupied." For all she knows, he's sailing a virtual sea, pretending he's a pirate captain.

Then Constantine and Meggan are approaching. The fae woman, she recognizes. "Long time, no see," she says with a smile. "I don't think I've met your friend." A wry smile touches her lips, however. She can feel the the concentration of magics growing in this place, with each additional newcomer she meets -- or so it seems.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Wanda looks to her side where Clint stands during the introduction, affection playing easily upon her face. Once the introductions are made, she reaches for his hand once more, fingers ready to wind about his. "He was afraid he would look out of place," she teases, her attention moving back and forth between Clint and Amanda. She does look a touch disappointed at the news regarding Kurt, however. She's meet the blue teleporting mutant, and this would also be a welcome diversion from heavier things. "Then we should get him something to mark the day."

Twisting about, the hail gains a wave of her free hand, and upon the approach, once again removes her hands to reach out to John. "They have not yet thrown you out?" Asked to leave, same thing! "You are behaving, then." The light humor is easy upon the Eastern European accented words. "I heard you back at the car. Very impressive. Next time I have need of something, I will bring you instead of Pietro. His head turns too easily." He gets too bored too easily!

Meggan's appearance, too, gains a happy smile, and a greeting. Of course she recognizes the 'regalia', and the redhead inclines her head. "This marriage has been too long in coming, has it not?" Little bit of insider information as well as gossip! A sly grin creeps across her face as she adds in low tones, "I know the bride. She hated him five years ago."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Nothing quite so lovely as the flower placed by a mage in her hair, and if for a second that ear really is tapered a delicate point beneath golden waves and a few thin braids, what of it? Stranger things have happened here in the company of Roma friends, scamps, and dashing men or women ready to steal someone's heart and their breath. Meggan puts her hand upon her hip and strikes a pose, as though nearly ready to dance, giving John full opportunity to witness his handiwork when she executes another slow turn. "I am ever grateful. My turn, next."

Her arm is offered to him should he care to take it, something to weave around his when he sets out on a new course. Every journey deserves its course through bright awnings and different stations appealing to the senses. She's not above slipping a few coins or a crumpled bill or two at a musician pleasing her, though not without losing stride with the Englishman in all his dapper weight. They have people to see and celebrate.

The fae smiles to Wanda and Clint, Amanda caught under the sonnet of a smile. Who doesn't know their Avengers? And Amanda, of course. "No redcap business, this time," she merrily answers, and there's no mistaking her as a creature of northwestern England. English polluted by Welsh, Irish Gaelic, and Scots Gaelic makes a distinct accent for the activist. "John, this is Amanda." The introductions are simple indeed. The bobbing rivulets of magic are just visible to her out of reflex, not *too* dazzling if she blinks carefully. "This is a wonderful party so far. It feels just right."

Her laughter is soft, conspiratorial. "Isn't it? I am so glad to be here, /someone/ from us had to. Wouldn't miss it for much of anything!"

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint Barton shakes his head with a smile, "This is the first opportunity Wanda's had to get me to a proper party. I thought I had an idea what a good party was, but apparently I was quite wrong." He looks around with a wave of the hand Wanda hasn't claimed for herself, "This is a serious party. I didn't really expect it to spread over so much space."

Looking over as Meggan and John come up to them, he returns the man's nod and smiles as the blonde introduces John to Amanda. Turning back to Wanda, he says, "I didn't realize so many people had ties to the Roma. Looks like that Traveler name is appropriate, you guys are everywhere."

John Constantine has posed:
"Stayin' out of trouble? Perish the thought," John scoffs at Wanda. Just to prove his point, he digs a packet of Silk Cuts from his pocket and goes about the task of lighting one up. Granted it's not likely any of the local Roma diaspora are going to call the cops on him-- it's more the spirit of defiance against New York's endless restrictions on smoking in public areas.

"Seems introductions are in order; I know Wanda," John begins, and points two fingers at Clint. "You'd be that Barton gent, by association, yeah? And I don't know you yet," he tells Amanda. The hand turns around and points first at himself, then at Meggan. "John Constantine, and the fae lass is Meggan," he says. "Try not to get her too much guilt by association fer hanging out with the likes of me, eh?" he says, and flashes a wry and lopsided grin before dragging heavily on his cigarette and exhaling smoke out the side of his mouth.

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda laughs lightly. "No red cap business," she agrees. "Though I did end up uncovering an infestation of gremlins on Tony Stark's yacht." That was fun. Extraordiinary food fight.

She inclines her head to Constantine. "John," she greets him as Meggan introduces them, her gaze evaluating but not unfriendly. "Amanda Sefton. Pleasure, I'm sure."

Then, she's grinning at Clint. "Our community is scattered. But there are some things that bring us all home. Weddings. Funerals. The usual."

She gives Wanda a bit of a chuckle. "Remind me to tell you about my latest adventure, later."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"It does feel right. I have forgotten how much I miss this," is agreed, her tones soft, falling into a touch of contentment in the observation. "There is life that continues and blooms." It's more than enough to pull a scarlet clad witch from even a touch of the melancholy. And to find time to celebrate it with Clint?

Even better!

"I could not be kept away by wild horses." Wanda can't help but laugh at John, however, as he flips off the powers that be with his smoke. "You," and she points at the gent, "are going to be helping to give reason to shut this down. Just wait. Smoke, noise.. too many gathered in one place..." After all, not everyone appreciates Travelers. Go to a gas station and one may be greeted by a surly gas station attendant who declares, 'We don't serve gypsies here..'.

Wanda turns a smiling face to her archer, listening to him, nodding lightly. "This is small, remember. And we are everywhere. There are little tells, though.." and she lifts a finger to her lips, "very secret."

John does bring Wanda around for proper introductions, Amanda filling in her own. She laughs soon after, and holds out her free hand in gesture to Meggan, a sisterly offrance of hand, "Then if you wish, come away from him. He will bring nothing but annoyance," thus spoken with dancing emerald eyes. Her tones lower again, this time conspiratorially, "Amanda has the best stories..." She looks to the German/English Roma and offers a larger smile, definitely interested in hearing about gremlins!

"But, these two?" and again, Clint and John are included in those 'two'. "I am waiting for the games to begin to bet." Nothing like a sure thing!

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"A pleasure to meet you." Raising her hand, a casual flex and wiggle of her fingers will suit as the universal hi there for Clint, putting together the final link for their square of excellence. She raises up just a little, finally scorning the ground under her feet to float a relative centimeter or two past concrete pitted and scarred with age.

Wanda's warm offering is one that she meets with a touch of the flower in her hair, a shake of her head. "I'm used to bearing his guilt, rather in it for the long haul. Makes life interesting, doesn't it? Annoyance is a fair price. Free to bring him along?" Green eyes soften in laughter endlessly tapped from a wellspring of good humour.

For Clint's benefit, she says, "I'm Romanischal -- one of the British Roma. As Amanda says, we can be trusted to come down the road for the right reason." Or the wrong, but no need to ruin the light, friendly atmosphere. "Gremlins on a Stark yacht? Ugh, sounds like a headache and a half. Better than grumpy kelpies, though."

She wouldn't know melancholy if it bit her in the face, but the gentle tides between happiness and poignant emotion pull her back and forth. Every laugh is something precious, and this is as fulfilling to her as a proper meal. A hopeful look turns to Amanda. "Oh, you've stories to share? I can drink to that."

Clint Barton has posed:
With a grin, Clint says to Amanda, "Oh, I want to hear about that, Tony loves that yacht." He glances at Wanda, happy to see how happy and alive she looks surrounded by her people, free of the normal cares that weigh her down.

He continues speaking to Amanda with a nod, "Yeah, so it seems. There's a ton of people here, I wouldn't have expected it. Hope I'm included in that story offer, sounds like you do some interesting stuff."

He nods, "Ok, I've heard your name before John, you're part of the magical community around here. You've worked with SHIELD, as I recall." He smiles to Meggan and returns the little wave, "Nice to meet you as well, Meggan. British, eh? It seems this has brought folks in from all over."

John Constantine has posed:
"Everything you 'eard about me is true, spot on," John reassures Clint. "But I won't hold it against you. Bless me, if I got my back up every time someone rose to my reputation, I wouldn't get past the newsstand in the morning." He grins fearlessly at Wanda and blows another lungful of smoke up towards the skies, clearly fearing neither code enforcement nor the Surgeon General.

"So what're you lot up to around here, then?" John inquires, and gestures at Wanda, Clint, and Amanda. "Out seeing the sights, getting the gossip on the soon-to-be married couple?"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
Amanda laughs outright, now. "Why do I quite suddenly feel I need to begin the tale with 'no shit, there I was...'?" She shakes her head. "I fear the tale will lack something in the telling and," she looks around at all the 'mundanes', Roma though many of them are, "my visuals might give people a start." A theatrical shrug as if to say what-can-you-do?

She gives a small shake of head. "In any case, it began, as so many Tony Stark stories no doubt do with a gaggle of giggling wenches in very brief bikinis, obviously looking to party." There's not a soul on this Earth that won't believe that one. "They snuck in somehow, despite not being on the guest list." Something that definitely did not impress Pepper Potts, but Amanda lets that slide. "One of them walked past me. She 'smelled wrong', if you take my meaning." She taps the side of her nose and gives a wry smile. Of the group of them, Clint is the least likely to understand and he's connected to Wanda. Amanda is quite sure he's bright enough to get it. "I followed her and discerned an illusion. By the time I broke it, several of her compatriots were harrassing the birthday boy himself. But when I broke it, she turned into a gremlin, let out an unholy shriek, and proceded to try to pepper everyone with pate and pigs in blankets." She glances to Clint. "They even managed to knock Steve Rogers overboard."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Bright green eyes flicker towards John with Meggan's inquiry of whether or not it was okay to bring him along with no little amusement, her tones holding the same laugh as she ventures, "I don't know.." and her lips press together in a hard to supress smile. "You will get us all locked up." He won't, of course, as many, many others are enjoying their various forms of smoke, both indoors and out. Many, many blends represented here!

To encourage Amanda, however, Wanda plays it up even if the other witch doesn't. "She is also very good storyteller. Perfect for firepits." When she does give with the goods, as it were, brows rise, her eyes widen slightly before she laughs. "Is shame I was not there, but... Steven in the water? Oh.." She can't help it, "I will have to ask him about that." Uh huh.. 'ask'.

A half a block down the road, deep voices ring out in a cheer, heralding the arrival of *drink*. What that may mean, the fact that some has been 'imported' in may not bode well.. or bode quite well depending upon one's opinion on the matter. "Gossip, yes. And there..." a gesture is given down the street, "is perfect for finding more that goes on outside." It may be one of the few times the redheaded witch may actually partake of alcohol! Maybe.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"A story that doesn't begin that way isn't much of a story, and ought to have the first chapter or scene lopped off." Meggan is much more a connoisseur of pop culture than anyone has a right to be, and her social media following is terrifying proof of how far her influence and interests extend. Movies, TV shows, telling off Roxxon or the like to an army of activist followers? Take of that as one will. She breaks into a bright smile to encourage Amanda nonetheless, elevating her shoulders to one of those devil-may-care shrugs ripe for the telling.

John's warnings about his notoriety being what they are, she just rolls her eyes and breaks into a dreamy smile. His smoking like a chimney hasn't any effect visibly on her, though she's within the halo of that, Silk Cuts poisoning the sky and his lungs. Hers? They've already learned to filter carcinogens without even trying, a general reason why Surgeons General or otherwise are not permitted anywhere near her. Doctors of the Strange variety notwithstanding.

"Looks to me like the bad smell was an oversight. Trust gremlins to forget the little things. Aren't especially bright, are they? What a waste of good appies, too!" The horror of the story has clearly been saved to the end, her hand going to her mouth as she leans into John. "Imagine, throwing Captain Rogers into the sea! That's a near hanging offense where I'm from. Or revenge for the tea. Haven't quite figured it yet. Might have to ask Mer; he'd have an opinion."

The colourful arc of drinks, though, that gets her potentially a little higher in the air. Yes, she floats, and when she does, it's a brief bob at best. No need to upset the locals, but they might mistake her for just being a tad taller. "Ooh!"

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint nods, "Yeah, bikini babes tend to get free passes to Tony's parties, it's a weakness of his. Bet he was just thrilled when they stopped being so buxom." He grins at the thought of Steve going overboard, "Oh, that makes me wish I had been there, just for the amusement value. Besides, dealing with food throwing gremlins would be a nice break from things trying to kill me all the time."

He glances in the direction of the cheering, then back to Wanda, shrugging as she indicated the cheers mark the place to be, "Well, why don't we head that way. You folks care to join us?"

Amanda Sefton has posed:
"Sounds good to me," Amanda tells Clint as he suggests they head towards the cheering -- and the booze. Really, what's a party like this without booze, right? Booze, dancing, good stories. She doesn't recommend bonfires inside the city limits, though. Especially in Downtown Manhattan.

She hasn't had a chance to relax like this in a very long time. It's almost as good as being home, but without all the personal drama. That works for her.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Wanda purses her lips at Clint's observation regarding Tony's party-goers and nods, not saying anything more. She hasn't ever attended one of his soirees and really, other than the odd mention of a lament of missing it, has no real desire to attend. "For amusement value.." she repeats, a fond touch of elbow to Clint's ribs.

It's off, however, to the rapidly growing circle as another part of the party commences. The drinking. Then eating. Then dancing and, of course, those games of chance. Drinking always comes first!

As they approach, the soon to be bridegroom is in the center of the circle, holding aloft two bottles of what is obviously drink.

<<Come, drink with me, fellows! Drink to love! Drink to health! Drink to those I'm leaving behind,">> he says this in Russian, putting in the occasional word in Romani as he continues, <<"those loves.. Yelena, Marta.. I drink to you!">>

Off to the side, the ladies mentioned, festooned in their own finery hold up their own glasses, empty for the moment as the groom to be splashes around the liquid, attempting to fill glasses as they're presented.