#halefinne

"Azul!" Floyd laughs loudly as he picks up his housewarden and tosses him casually over his shoulder. "C'mon, let's party!"

LET’S GET HOOTIN’ ! -- accepting 

A small cry pierces from the cecaelia's throat as he’s unceremoniously plucked and slung over one’s shoulder. It’s Floyd— It’s always Floyd, the only individual (sans his twin brother, Jade) audacious enough to get a rise out of Azul, incoming maelstrom of heated words and hissy fits be damned. The shorter meman of the two has half a mind to fight back— He does, in fact, with the fists that hammer at Floyd’s back as he tries to leverage himself, tries to give the eel a piece of his mind as he hisses between clenched teeth; “Floyd, put me down this instant!” 

Alas, words never work with Floyd. Azul knows this despite his attempts; barking at a wall yields better productivity than reasoning with Floyd, and yet he still shouts. Azul twists, turning to face the direction that the livewire is headed and his stomach drops.

“You can’t take me there,” Azul states in disbelief, freezing. A hand suddenly grabs Floyd’s cheek, hard, and pulls; “Floyd, you can’t be serious!” 

Attention is being drawn towards the two of them, a byproduct of the housewarden’s outburst. Azul’s tone drops into a whisper, his eyes narrowing: “You know how I am with dancing— And, not to mention, they’re popping out there! Dropping, locking, whipping—!”

Cleaning up at the end of the day was one of the worst parts of working at Mostro Lounge. Floyd liked when it was busy. When getting orders out was a battle of you versus the customers, when you had to dart this way and that way and every way to get plates on tables (and to the right ones, he remembered, Azul yelled so much that first month when he just dropped orders wherever Floyd ended up).

Cleaning by comparison was boring. Dull. Floyd liked it better when Azul pulled in a bunch of suckers and got them to do it, even if Jade complained later about things not being perfect.

Speaking of Jade. Floyd looks up from the glass he's been cleaning behind the bar (the same glass he's been cleaning for ten minutes now) and hums questioningly. Oh...Azul told Jade about that? Floyd pouts. What did he think Jade was, Floyd's babysitter?

"It was a joke!" Floyd whined, slamming the glass down on the bar table. It was rougher than he should have done it, but it survived with only a little crack on the bottom. "Azul takes things too seriously. He's had a major stick up his ass ever since he started getting more and more contracts."

Floyd huffed and leaned down, resting his head on the bar counter. He didn't wanna clean anymore. He was tired and bored, but if he left Azul would yell and Jade would get that dumb, pitying look on his face that he got whenever he tried to tell Floyd he was having the wrong kind of fun. Floyd huffed again.

"Azul's a crybaby who gets upset about everything. He even threatened to make me the bitch prize." Floyd scoffed at that and shifted so his brother could see his face. "Isn't that stupid? Anybody who needs to do Azul's jobs would be some boring small fry. No fun at all."

Floyd glared. He hung around Azul cause he was fun. Not cause Azul was his boss or employer or whatever stupid title he put on it. "And Azul already knows what we'd do if he stopped being fun."

Jade had kept Floyd in the corner of his eye as he worked through the rest of the dining area, as he did most nights, but it didn't take his intuition to know that something was wrong this time. Floyd was slower with the cleaning than usual, and while there was rarely a rhyme or reason to his mood swings, there was always a reason for Azul's. The coincidence was strong enough that Jade was willing to hold the pieces in congruence and examine them side by side, where a picture was beginning to take shape. It wasn't the first time he had been caught in the middle of one of Floyd and Azul's spats, but between the outbursts and vitriol was a story that was - as far as Jade could tell - harmless. A joke that missed its mark. That, too, was nothing unusual.

"Mostro Lounge has been busier as well," he pointed out, resting the pole of the mop against the counter with one hand while he slid the endangered glass from Floyd's grasp with the other. As he checked it over, he continued: "Lately our weeknights see the same volume of customers that our weekends usually do. I don't believe that that and Azul's new scheme are unrelated."

There was a hairline fracture snaking in a crooked line from one edge of the glass' bottom, not quite reaching the other side. Jade ran a gloved finger over it thoughtfully, then set it aside. It wouldn't need to be replaced quite yet. Resting his elbow on the counter and his chin in his palm, he looked down at Floyd with bright eyes and a mischief-hiding smile. Even when Floyd pouted and glared and huffed, Jade still found him rather adorable. It was in those expressions that a child lurked.

LET'S GET HOOTIN! / ACCEPTING!

❝ I thought you'd like this dish! ❞

ortho found himself in quite the pleasant mood throughout the night, especially when it came to the varried reactions to the saganaki.

floyd's was one he took a particular interest in, approaching the eel himself.

with ortho approaching, the flame suddenly rose and changed in color. from a deep blue, now to a vibrant orange. the sudden smashing of the plates caused ortho to clap, shouting out.

❝ hehe! opa! ❞ that in itself was more of a traditional practice, but ortho found it fun. the isle was such a closed off place, never did he think he'd get to practice this once more.

now that he was by floyd, the natural thing to do was strike up conversation.

❝ how has the hootenany been treating you floyd? you've had fun I assume? ❞

it was floyd leech, his reputation preceeded him. if he wasn't enjoying himself or entertained, he'd walk right out that door to go do something else. his very presence here was telling.

let's get hootin'!

If Deuce was someone who was familiar with parties, this would likely be the moment where he says something along the lines of ‘It’s not a party unless someone throws a punch!’ like they do in the movies. Unfortunately for him, he is not nearly cool enough to pull off that sort of dialogue, even if it’s vaguely adjacent to the regular stuff he says.

Still, backing down from a challenge wasn’t something that Deuce often found himself doing. So when Floyd Leech appears in the midst of the party’s upswing with a wide grin and a wider swing, Deuce does what he does best: he stops thinking, and starts doing.

          “Leech?!” Even when caught off guard, it seems a delinquent’s instincts would die hard and he starts leaning forward in an instinct to tackle. But as Deuce ducks underneath the eel’s swing, he find Floyd’s arms have instead shifted to loop around his waist with an unyielding strength that Deuce quickly realizes he won’t be able to get out of in time.

In the length of his short life, Deuce has never seen his future as clearly as he has now.

          “W-Wait, hold on—Oi!” Comes his desperate cry, but that’s about all that he manages to get out before he feels gravity shift as Floyd hoists him up into the air as if he weighed no more than Lucius, which was both an acknowledgement to the tweel’s strength as much as it was a knife to Deuce’s pride.

As suddenly as the encounter begin, the Heartslabyul resident is sent flying into a nearby cluster of students—either too distracted or too shocked to move out of the line of fire—a bean out of a beanshooter. A stunned silence falls, before a chorus of pained whines and groans break it, and from the pile of toppled students Deuce moves, somewhat shakily, to his feet, with a particularly annoyed look on his face.

          “Fine—by the Seven.” A small cough escapes him, before he rolls his shoulders back to loosen up the muscles. His right brow seems to be twitching and his smile, while toothy, has a mean slant to it now. He has completely ignored the fallen students behind him, at this point, with his newfound focus on Floyd. “If you want me to come at you, then you better catch me!” He says, before lunging forward with a grin.

Realizing that maybe this event was good for something⁠—food⁠⁠—thanks to Azul's gesture, Sebek began to peruse the other potluck options. He could hardly say that plates lined the tables, several gaps a clear sign that this entire arrangement had been severely last minute. For the moment, there is enough, and after much deliberation, Sebek finally decides on his next dish: waffles with apple salad.

Splat.

Sebek feels the plate hit his back, moisture from whatever food was just thrown at him soaking through his ceremonial robes. It's sure to leave a nasty stain that will bring shame to The Great Malleus! Not only that, but he'll have to spend precious time cleaning his robes when he could be doing more noble work.

The half-fae turns around hastily, furious look in his eyes as he hones in on the culprit from across the room. Few people stand between them, but even if there were more, that wouldn't stop him.

"THAT'S IT, LEECH! TAKE THIS!"

MEET CUTE & UGLY. // not accepting 

It’s a sudden weight on his shoulder.  A heavy mass— one that draws him back to the touch of reality, forcing his own head to yield down as the pressure sinks. The numbers in his mind cease as his senses become filled with his surroundings: the clippity-clop of horse hooves trotting on rocky pavement, the squeaks of rickety wheels from a carriage bound uphill, and the sound of someone snoring. It dawns upon Azul’s awareness of how tense his own body has become in wake of a privacy invasion, at the sudden unauthorized physical contact. If not for the scent of familiar sea salt, he would be bound to action. 

Azul sighs. 

“Floyd,” He says, one hand coming to raise. It stops as a feathery touch to the other student’s cheek, a moment of indecision. Azul finds that he’s weighing his priorities: Does he fancy his personal space more than triggering a bad mood swing? 

The carriage sways in its lonesome.  It’s silent. 

Azul’s hand presses up at Floyd’s cheek. He raises it with caution, as if he were in threat of rousing a bear. (Or perhaps, something more benign— like a cat?) The space between Floyd’s cheek and his shoulder is small, but it gives Azul enough room to straighten his back. He finds his head comfortable once more, then he strategically slips his hand away. 

Floyd’s head is on his shoulder again. 

Azul is gazing out the carriage window. The forest outside is dark and the lantern does little to illuminate the clearing. The stageman knows their way though, they’ve trekked this path a thousand times. Surrounded by the mundane, Azul is left to his own thoughts— And Floyd’s snores. 

(Azul wonders what would have happened if he pinched Floyd’s nose—Would he have whined or would he have woken up and pinch him back? Azul doesn’t even doubt the possibility of being shoved out the carriage window.)

Floyd can be cute when he wants to be. It’s a thought that is neither here nor there, a fact that Azul merely observes. He finds himself content, too, in rare serenity. His gaze draws away from the window only once, to chance a look over to his sleeping companion. He should wake him up, but he supposes that Floyd earned the rest.