i invited ortega over tonight to watch sliders in my room (closed)

[ex_mettacrusher33]

CHARACTERS: Mettaton, Maya, Peridot, Feferi, Keats, Olivia, Vaughn, Oliver, Giorno, Fugo, Papyrus (and possibly Sans)
DATE: A bit after arriving in Terra Felis
WARNINGS: Some of the movies involve violence, but this is just a sleepover. On a cat planet.
SUMMARY: Mettaton invited his closest friends to a musical viewing planned for when they got back to Oska. They're uh... they're just gonna have to make due with what they have.



...this isn't what Mettaton expected.

The original plan was much more dour in nature, surely. He had a very specific intent to hole himself in his room in Oska, feel horrible for himself, and then force those whose presence he enjoyed into spending the night with him watching movies that he also enjoyed. It was meticulously planned to cheer himself up! To encourage his friends to meet with one another and talk about how wonderful him and his taste in entertainment was! To fill the gaping void of despair of leaving Woodhurst with love and admiration!!

Instead, he found himself surrounded by cats. That tends to blast a hole in any pre-planned pity-party.

But! The show must go on, even with a change in scenery or motivation. Besides, it isn't as if his wonderful, wonderful friends (and Keats) couldn't use something fun themselves!! He promised them a celebration! After everything they've gone through, they certainly deserve it.

So his hotel room has been decorated as beautifully as Mettaton himself. Blankets hang from the ceiling, creating one giant fort within the room proper. Glitter is seemingly everywhere. Snacks (...mostly meat-based, like hamburgers, thanks to the area) have been paid for and set up lovingly along more blankets on the floor. Several pillows are also on the floor, as well a steady pile of them in the corner of the room (for extra and/or lounging, you see). The bed holds even more pillows, and the vanity has been encompassed in the fort for any emergency midnight makeovers.

It's going to be a long night.

--

6pm to 11pm:
West Side Story
Little Shop of Horrors
Les Mis

Things are starting off particularly well! It's a trio of downers, sure, but there's enjoyment to be had with them regardless! Mettaton continues to maintain that these are classics and need to be revered as such, but this notably doesn't stop him from pointing out any terrible singing or riffing on anything silly, especially with the last movie involved. He encourages his friends to do the same and get as much fun out of the experience as possible. It's a fine start.

--

12am to 4am:
The Little Mermaid
Enchanted
Into the Woods

The snacks are beginning to wane. The weakest of those invited have begun to quietly drift off into the night, which is a shame for two reasons: One, these are more hopeful movies!! The joyful ones!! The ones Mettaton can't seem to stop himself from sobbing dramatically at. Two, he has a supply of glitter pens at his disposal and has suspiciously left them in plain view, as if challenging his guests to use them on one another.

--

5am to 7am:
Sweeney Todd
Chicago
Rocky Horror Picture Show
Grease 2

It's the dreaming hours, now. Most people with sane sleeping schedules or an ability to tune out Mettaton's gabbing have taken to the slumber part of this party. The movies have also gotten a bit more... questionable, in their content. Cannibalism, murder, badly-sung songs about reproduction... Anyone still awake has most likely reached that blissful, slap-happy state of all slumber-parties where everything is hilarious, the giggles cannot stop, and you're constantly trying to keep yourself from waking the rest of the guests.

--

Mingle, enjoy, and please keep Maya from eating all of the snacks.

PS: Don't trust the bone goblin attempting to sell catnip. He wasn't invited.

Comments

5 - 7

[digiorno]

[Giorno is probably the only person in a position to know when Fugo finally drifts back to consciousness. Even if he weren't always cheating with his powers anyway, he's had his fingers carding through Fugo's hair for hours, and they're close enough he notices the rhythm of Fugo's breathing shift.]

[The quiet is good, though. Fugo was so worried he'd have to be loud and exciting and that people would think he was unfun that Giorno's perfectly content letting him rest in the quiet in these early hours.]

[None of which is to say that he isn't perfectly thrilled to hear the unexpected sound of laughter coming from the drowsy boy in his lap. Sure, it's laughter born of spite, but that's the best kind anyway. He bites his lip, but there's no way of holding back all of his giggles; a few slip through his teeth, and then it's all over. Gigglefit is now.]

Life imitates-- [Help. He has to pause and try to catch his breath, grounding himself by pushing his fingers through Fugo's hair.] Art?

[unholey]

[The last thing Fugo thought before he finally gave up and let himself drift off to sleep was the somewhat puzzled realization that Giorno's fingers felt nice running through his hair. He's too tired to unpack exactly what he means by nice or what about the gesture makes him feel that way. It's just... good. The regularity of it soothes him; it was comforting to wake up in the same way he fell asleep, drifting back to sort-of-consciousness to the gentle touch of Giorno's fingertips as they run lazily over his scalp.

But he's not thinking about that at the moment. Right now he's curled up with laughter, pleased and surprised that he's somehow made Giorno laugh.]

No, no. [He twists groggily in place, so he can stare drowsily up at Giorno.] If that were the case there would be more-- [He pauses, searching for the word he means.] Payments, to the officials. Bribes. Don't you think?

[digiorno]

[Oh, no. He bites his lip a little harder. Fugo looks . . . so sleepy. So tired. He pushes the hair back away from his face.]

Mm, you're right. You're so right. We'd see a lot more money changing hands than just in the prison itself.

[Admittedly the lawyer guy is pretty greedy, but in Giorno's opinion a realistic depiction of the world would have pretty much everyone act just like that. Ponderously, he pokes the tip of Fugo's nose.]

It's not at all a perfect imitation. Also there aren't nearly enough overtly corrupt officials around anyway. It's absurd.

[unholey]

[Fugo nods, seriously, because this is a serious conversation, inadvertently undoing some of Giorno's work of keeping his flyaway hair out of his face. He was going to say something about good ratios of realism to fantasy in movies (too real and it's boring, too fantastic and it's unbelievable) but then.

Giorno ... poked his nose. Giorno poked his nose? And he's not sure what he wants to do about it. It seems to be the sort of behavior one by necessity must get revenge for. But Giorno's nose is small in the middle of his round face; it would be easy for him to duck out of the way if Fugo reached up to tweak it. Hm. And then he'd have to lean up to follow him. And he really doesn't want to move.]

I suppose it would be repetitive to have another musical number on the subject. The warden's piece said it all, really.

[digiorno]

[He's going to literally die. Fugo is so sleepy, and so confused in his sleepiness. All of his thoughts are coming slow, and he's all soft around the edges.]

[With eternal, fond patience, he brushes Fugo's hair back again. He is happy to keep doing this for several more hours.]

I think a whole musical on the subject of governmental corruption would be interesting, personally, but my tastes are abnormal.

[He wants so badly to tell Fugo smugly that he's being cute. But . . . he resists. For now.]

There should be a number about incompetence, though.

[unholey]

[Fugo solemnly folds his hands over his stomach, closes his eyes, and thinks about this concept. A whole musical on the subject of governmental corruption. He's not a writer, and yet...]

I think it would be very interesting. But it would make an awful lot of people uncomfortable if you set it in the modern era. [He opens his eyes and, very seriously, suggests:] The incompetence number should be called "All The Way To The Top".

[digiorno]

[He was going to say something clever and pithy, like I love making people uncomfortable, which is true. But . . . then Fugo names the number . . . and he's lost. Fugo's cynicism is so refreshing; sometimes it feels like he's surrounded by kindness and light and so on, and here's someone who understands that the world is by and large a cesspool.]

[Precious. This boy is so cute.]

With a big--mm. Crescendo? That's it, isn't it. Maybe a chord change or two. Something dramatic.

[He hums, pleased at this idea.]

Write me a musical sometime.

[unholey]

[Fugo looks up at Giorno, eyes widening-- before his expression, so sleepy and content, crumples like a piece of tissue paper. He shifts in Giorno's lap, shoulders tense, and turns his face away; since Giorno has pushed his hair aside, there's nothing for him to hide underneath.]

I can't. [It's ... easiest. To just say it. Just admit it and get it out there: the reason why all of a sudden his grandfather's focus shifted from the piano to his studies. One of the reasons why he was sent so far away for university.] Sorry.

[digiorno]

[Oh.]

[Well.]

[He fucked up, didn't he.]

[That was stupid, is what he thinks, immediately. What a stupid asinine thing to say, to even joke about. He got lost in happiness and carried away and fucked up. Again.]

. . . Fugo. My Fugo.

[God, he's even turned away. Giorno breathes out softly, carefully, and rests his hand on Fugo's shoulder. Squeezes lightly.]

I was teasing. I don't want you to write a musical for me. I don't want you to write anything for me. And if I did and you couldn't, it wouldn't matter anyway.

I'm sorry I made you sad.

[unholey]

[He's caught in an odd position between two conflicting instincts. He wants to pull away, so Giorno doesn't have to look at him when he can't hide his hurts. But he also wants to curl back close again, towards the comfort represented by the gentle hand on his shoulder.]

I know. [He knew it was a joke when he heard it. That's what they were doing just a moment ago, before he ruined it. Joking about this movie. Joking about life at large. Allow themselves a moment of bitter fun by jabbing at systems that were meant to protect, but designed to fail.

So, why. If he knew that. Understood and believed it. Why did those words-- write me a musical sometime-- make his heart catch painfully in his ribs? He trusts Giorno not to leave him. Doesn't he?] I just... you surprised me. I wasn't expecting to hear a request like that from you.

[I don't want to promise you something I can't do, even as a joke.]

[digiorno]

[Giorno's hand doesn't move. None of him moves. It's hard, though. He wants to pull Fugo back so he can see his face, tug him close and apologize fervently until he can tell from the set of Fugo's jaw that it's been accepted.]

[He doesn't. He just allows himself one more apology:] I'm sorry, Fugo. [And keeps his hand on Fugo's shoulder, steady and careful, for a long and agonizing moment.]

[Then, he leans over close so his spine is starkly curved, so he's protecting Fugo--and both of them--from the room as a whole. His voice is soft, and very careful.]

Ti voglio bene. There are a lot of things you can do, and do, for me. You made me laugh, just a couple of minutes ago. What's not to like about a sweet boy who makes me laugh?

[unholey]

[By this time of night, there's little light to be found in Mettaton's hotel room. Everything is dark and fuzzy around the edges; all that's left to fumble around by is the flickering glow of the television, sometimes bright but often dim. It's the darkest room he's allowed himself to stay in since he started leaving the lights on and doors open behind him. Just in case.

If anyone else had asked him, he would be a tense, anxious mess. Not good company at all. If anyone else had asked him, he wouldn't even be here. But since it was Giorno-- in at least this way, he has nothing to worry about. Giorno wouldn't let him hurt anyone in this room full of increasingly-sleepy people.]

[When Giorno leans over him, even that little bit of light is filtered almost entirely away. Fugo shifts to peek at Giorno through the corner of his eye. It's a lucky thing that it's so dark, because ... all of that leaves him warm and rosy, starting in the tips of his ears and spreading down through his cheeks, and makes his legs and toes curl underneath the blanket someone draped over him. They're all good. They all make his heart ache, because they feel too good to be true. Except Giorno would never lie to him.

He needs one last moment to put himself back together again; to be as okay as he's ever going to get, as tired as he is and as close as they are right now. But then he twists and turns back to Giorno wondering, not for the first time, what sort of karmic balance he's managed to strike to earn the place he has next to Giorno's side. And then, very solemnly, takes advantage of the short distance between them to reach out and tweak Giorno's button nose.]

That's not true, you know. Ask anyone and they'll tell you that I'm mean. [And rude. And prickly. And moody and argumentative and, honestly, there's no point in making a list of all the bad things about him. It would take too long. Instead, Fugo changes tack and reaches up to carefully push a long piece of Giorno's hair that's come undone back behind his ear.] I'm okay. You made me laugh, too.

Just for that-- [Just for this, he thinks, but doesn't quite have the courage to say.]-- I'm glad you asked me to come with you, tonight.

[digiorno]

[There's a long, sad moment when Giorno thinks Fugo isn't going to turn around after all. He's thinking about what to do next. He thinks, if Fugo still doesn't feel all right, it might be best to just go--to say thank-you to Mettaton for the invitation and say he's not feeling well so he and Fugo are going to go. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Certainly no worse than the look on Fugo's face a moment ago.]

[But then Fugo does turn. And--he tweaks Giorno's nose, which makes him gasp, one hand flying up to cover it instinctively. Has anyone ever done that before? He doesn't think so. He knows people do it, it's just never been done to him.]

Oh, [he says, just sort of a general response to--all of this. Fugo existing and being the way he is. He feels warmer than he did a moment ago.] Good. That's really good.

. . . You're mean to other people, sometimes. [Tentatively, he leans into the gentle brush of Fugo's fingers.] But you're nice to me. That makes it more special, I think. That you're so sweet to me.

[unholey]

[Giorno gasped, surprised and pleased, when Fugo tweaked his nose. And now he's leaning into the place where Fugo's fingertips are just barely caught in his hair. Fugo sleepily watches this reaction, makes a note of it, and is entirely puzzled when Giorno points out this very new pattern of behavior from him.]

I am? [He falls quiet as he tries to work out whether this is true or if Giorno is just exaggerating a little, the way he often does when he feels something strongly. His eyes widen just so as he comes to the end of a quick mental analysis of his behavior around Giorno compared to the way he acted and reacted to Mista and Narancia.

Something happens. Something falls into place for Fugo, though he can't recognize exactly what it is; he doesn't understand it at all, or have words to describe the light, fluttery feeling in his chest. In that instant he only understands that--]

[There's something different about Giorno.]

Hm. [... sadly, he doesn't really have anything profound to say about it. He's plainly puzzled by his own behavior, too sleepy to know where to start thinking about it. And he's private enough that he doesn't really want to talk about it either. Not right now, not in Mettaton's hotel room.]

[digiorno]

Uh-huh, [he confirms.] You are.

[Something happens, then. Fugo's expression goes all funny, the way it does when he's thinking something through, when he's solving a problem. Giorno wonders what problem it is he's trying to solve right now. Something about Giorno himself, maybe? But he hopes not. He'd hate to be a problem that needs solving. Those days are supposed to be over.]

[He lets quiet settle between them, though, because really: he isn't afraid. He's just curious, gently and naggingly curious. After a bit, though, he presses his cheek more firmly against Fugo's fingers, wanting to know--no. Wanting his attention, really; he can be honest in the privacy of his own head.]

Everything all right in there?

[unholey]

[Ah, right. He's still talking with Giorno. There's still a movie going on. Fugo is pulled back to the present by Giorno's gesture; he responds by mimicking his original gesture, though there really isn't any hair that needs to be pushed back again.]

Just thinking. [With Fugo, this can go in all sorts of directions. But he manages a brief, twitchy smile for Giorno. Nothing bad is what he means by it. And: I'm okay.] I'll tell you about it later, maybe.

[digiorno]

[The gesture's still soothing, even if there's no real purpose to it this time. Enough that Giorno sighs and closes his eyes, just focusing on feeling it with as much of himself as he can manage. It's so relaxing.]

Mm. All right . . . There's time.

[That's one thing they've got, on this team. Plenty of time.]