Halloween Dance 2019 (Open to All Students and Staff)

[Dr. Sean Neville]

((OOC: This thread is set on the evening of Saturday, October 26, 2019.))

Presently four of the seven immediate Coley cousins attended Hammel, which had induced one of the wealthiest families in the state of Connecticut to increase their already sizeable donations to their alma mater, ensuring that their children and their fellow students had access to as many opportunities as possible. Hammel's rules precluded their ability to attend the prestigious preparatory academies that their baseline peers could claim. This had allowed for updates and expansions of some facilities, additional field trips, and entirely new decorations for dances and the other social events gracing their calendar - freeing them of the need to hold some of the fundraisers that previously accounted for the lion's share of the Student Council budget.

The auditorium was adorned in black, orange, and white: spiderwebs, skeletons, the toothy grins of jack-o-lanterns and a particularly sinister-looking scarecrow with animatronic eyes. Chairs and equipment had been moved out of the way, freeing the floor for dancing and mingling to the mixes of the staff member serving as DJ. The illumination was low, and a red tinted stage light cast the room in an eerie glow reminiscent of the blood moon.

A buffet table lined the opposite wall, offering savory finger foods and salty snacks, and sweet indulgences, with the punch bowl in the center with an unspiked concoction dubbed “The Witch’s Brew.” A new addition this year was the chocolate fountain, courtesy of George Fleming’s suggestion and his father’s hefty checkbook.

Students and staff alike were dressed in costumes according to the posted policy: shoes, pants or a skirt, and some form of chest-covering were required, while weapons were strictly prohibited and would result in immediate ejection.

Sean stood watch from the corner adjacent to the buffet table, formal navy long coat clinging to his frame despite the heat of the dozens of bodies writhing around him. One hand held a latex glove filled with popcorn and candy corn nails, picking at the contents to share with his husband.

It wasn’t every school that could boast the mayor’s presence as a chaperone. Certainly not the private academies attended by the baseline elite. A photo op or two would grace the alumni newsletter as evidence of this alliance.

“No incidents so far. I count that as a victory no matter what else happens tonight," he remarked, before popping a kernel into his mouth.

[Josh Bernstein]

In years past Josh would have been nearly attached to Sean's hip; not this year. This year the propriety required of his office took precedence, and he allowed some slight distance between them. As if the people who had voted him into office were unaware of his behavior before taking office.

Of course they knew.

Everyone knew, and if they hadn't before his election they certainly had known after, when the Republicans had pitched a tantrum over his fitness for office. Photos of the mayor drunkenly groping Sean at winter parties past surfaced, along with quotes from people who had been accosted by him in public for impassioned speeches.

This hadn't worked out in the favor of the Republicans; Pilot Ridge's voters knew what they wanted.

But that spotlight had given Josh a jolt of needed maturity, and for the moment he was exercising self-restraint towards Sean. Less so towards the candy, which he was shoveling into his mouth with abandon while peering out at the students. One of the things that struck him was how many same sex couples there were. That had always been the case, ever since he'd moved, but it never ceased to amaze and please him. Whatever the continued disappointing state of the rest of the United States, here, at least, students felt comfortable being themselves.

"No incidents," He agreed, mind traveling back to one particular Valentine's Day that would be stuck forever in his memory. "Perhaps they're on good behavior because they want to impress me."

[Wayne Dietrich]

When he wasn't driving a child cross-country on the holiday, Wayne usually spent Halloween at home. He didn't put out many decorations, but still had a couple spooky "traps" for trick-or-treaters that came by when he was home. (Those that braved their way past were rewarded with full-sized candies, since there were so few people in his neighborhood with children.) This year, however, he had decided to attend the annual dance as a chaperone. Why not? He likely wasn't going to see many more, and showing off a costume would be fun.

Said costume consisted of a gold embroidered leather vest and white dress shirt, the right arm cut off to reveal his entire metal limb for once. A blood red cravat wrapped under the collar, pinned with a gold-plated needle with a gear for the adornment, and he had a top hat and ornate jeweler's goggles as well to match. His slacks were simpler; black and high-waisted, with a pair of red stripes down the side to match his cravat, barely touching the tops of his shiny black leather dress shoes. A leather workman's belt also hung from his waist, holding a number of jeweler's and clockmaker's tools he happened to have laying around his shop, and he leaned against a cane he'd acquired some years back (imported from a British antique shop for just this kind of purpose).

So far, few students had been surprised by it, least of all any of the Coley clan. But it was still fun to fascinate a younger student with the twirling gears and shifting pistons visible through the reinforced glass covering his metal parts.

Spotting the most powerful couple in the room (politically, at least), Wayne made his way over, catching the tail end of Josh's statement. "Doubt that," he laughed. "The night's still young, and no matter how much things change, they always stay the same. That's why we're here, after all."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

There was something downright bizarre about being one-half of a power couple.

Josh had been mayor for the better part of a year, and Sean had adapted that idea more readily than one that involved both of them. Only a couple of months into his tenure as acting Headmaster of Hammel and he still thought of himself as the psychiatrist first, not as the current face of the Institute.

Perhaps it was because he had never been particularly ambitious. He wasn’t lazy - far from it, as the multiple hats and increased job duties and nearly 30 years of employment and his medical degree stood as testaments. But he preferred having control over his own corner - the mental health services department - and didn’t mind having a higher boss to whom to report. He had never dreamed of taking on the position, and in fact had agreed primarily because the Board of Trustees had ensured him that it would only be temporary.

It was different now, the face of the Hammmel Institute with the face of Pilot Ridge, each of them prevented by decorum from behaving as they did as private citizens.

Not that he would ever grope his husband at the school dance. Never, not him, his duties of supervision and the obligation to set a good example were paramount. But Josh’s distance was…palpable. Usually by this point during a school dance, they would have been holding hands and bumping hips for at least twenty minutes.

The telepath gave him the space, content with standing beside the other man without trying to bridge the gap unless and until Josh made the first move. His husband’s new-found patience and restraint were admirable if not as enticing as the costume that he wore or the smile that lit his lips.

“That must be it. Who wants to risk offending City Hall?” Sean asked with a laugh, as though he and Josh hadn’t done precisely that across time and distance through their years of protest and petition.

With Wayne’s arrival, he turned towards the older man, pausing a moment to admire the full impact of his outfit. The vest more than the gadgets held his attention, and he made a mental note to ask about it before the night had ended.

“We could still escape unscathed. Last year didn’t have a disaster,” he pointed out. Then again, the Halloween dance was always a bit tamer than Valentine’s Day; the latter, more amorous by its very nature, encouraged the students whereas Halloween focused more on venal pleasures - gluttony, fright, and imagination.

“But how are you tonight? Josh, you remember Wayne Dietrich?”

[Josh Bernstein]

Josh grabbed a candy corn, popping it into his mouth with no regard for how controversial a candy it was. He didn't respond to Sean's question, mouth too full of candy to answer before Wayne appeared. He didn't need his husband's prompt; he'd attended enough Hammel events over the past decade that he was more than familiar with most of the faculty, and Wayne was unforgettable.

"I do."

He extended one hand towards the older gentleman as his gaze swept over the costume. "You're going to have to teach me how you put together a costume that detailed," He remarked in approval. Costumes were one of his passions, primarily due to their uses in fun he couldn't speak about on school property. But his motivations needn't be public for him to ask questions.

[Wayne Dietrich]

"True enough." He'd count it as lucky that no one had been lit on fire or suspended during last year's Halloween dance, but felt his point had been made without saying repeating himself. He did, however, allow himself to feel some pride in the appreciation of his costume; while he hadn't made it all himself, managing to coordinate the color had been a feat of its own.

Wayne had been a fixture at Hammel for longer than anyone else; in general timeline (1943), number of years around in total (44, give or take), and longest uninterrupted stint (37). Anyone who had been at the school for as long as Josh had at least seen him around, and given the new mayor's spouse as well as his interest in the school, he undoubtedly had just as much knowledge of the old man as the recruiter did him. Personally, anyway. "A pleasure, Mr. Mayor," he grinned, holding out the glinting metal hand for a shake. "Glad to see you're doing at least as well as me, all things considering."

As conservative as he was, modern day variants were just downright ugly and the election had proved it. There was no cause for such bullying, especially between grown adults.

"I'd be more than happy to. Can't take all the credit, but networking comes naturally when it looks like you walked out of someone's favorite novel." That's how he met the tailor who made his vest and the habadasher responsible for his hat; steampunk conventions and Renaissance festivals were chock full of artisans, many of whom were fond of the meta community. He'd been a hit at his first one and just kept going back every year. "Be happy to introduce you to some folk."

[Ash Anderson]

The roar of a motor punctuated the walls of the gym, a frequent and familiar sound to choice faculty of the Institute, and quickly cooled off to a low, popping purr as it idled.

Ash let her ride run for a few more seconds as she focused. A day trip out usually wasn't risky, but an accident halfway back had slowed her down enough to make her worry about timing. Not that she was wild about the party, but Vincent had his particular methods of persuasion. Besides, she could still feel the caffeine buzzing in her veins, and the sensation plus the inevitable music would likely drown out the cacaphonious rhythm of every heart but her own. She shut the car off, a classic beast of a machine; She was already lucky enough to be one of the few students to own a car, let alone the glorious, unstoppable classic of American engineering that was a 1969 Ford Mustang. Freedom and power packed into the sturdiest, unstoppable frame, it was closer to being home than even the Institute could have been.

She let herself appreciate it for another moment, and exited, heading inside. Who knew, the night night not be so bad after all.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean, too, was keen to take notes or to accept the referrals to whatever business or website Wayne offered. Owing to Josh’s particular interest, and how the telepath of a similar mindset, their household costume budget was significantly higher than that of the average family outside of those with theatrical obligations. They could indulge.

Knowing Josh, they almost certainly would.

“We take what we can get,” Sean remarked, just as a sudden flash from the corner of his eye drew his attention. There was George Fleming, teleporting himself into the center of the dance recklessly as was his preferred mode of transportation. Why walk when you could use your powers?

Sean was, perhaps, the last person associated with Hammel who could lecture about integrated power use, not with the countless articles and conversations about how it was impossible to separate telepathy from personality or ethical responsibility. And yet…

It wasn’t the wanton use of his teleportation; it was how reckless he could be, not mindful of his surroundings. This time he had narrowly avoided a group of seventh graders who had overcome so very much social awkwardness to carve out a section of the dance floor in the first place, and who were retreating to the corner with alacrity.“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me? I’ll be right back.”

He glided across the floor, quality shoes negating the friction as he went not to lecture George but to encourage the younger children to reclaim their space.

Just as he had coaxed the youngest Pareja to rejoin her friends, the door opened and Ash stepped in from the corridor. Through the lowered lights, he flashed her a smile. “Welcome, Ash. Happy Halloween.” His booming baritone somewhat more audible against the musical backdrop of The Monster Mash.

[Ash Anderson]

"Evening, Sean." She replied noncommittally as she scanned the room. The music selection wasn't bad, but she almost dared hope that they might play something by Screaming Jay Hawkins. That wasn't likely, but she could dream.

Much like the rest of the crowd, Ash was dressed outlandishly. Unlike the rest of the crowd, she wasn't in costume. She had opted for her heavy coat, given the time of day, instead of her regular leather motorcycle jacket, and complimented it with a pair of worn jeans and a pair of platform creepers that gave off a distinctly rockabilly vibe.

Despite her reluctance to dress up, she had made one concession to the season's spirit and done her face up in the macabre visage of a skull. Heavy black lines suggested teeth and the jaw, and her eyes were ringed with large black circles that contrasted with pale white grease paint and a choice of crimson circles arrayed on her cheeks and forehead.

Truthfully, she felt a bit silly.

"No Vincent yet?" She asked Sean, still scanning the crowd. At least Wayne had made it already.

[Wayne Dietrich]

The roar of the engine outside had caught Wayne's attention, and he grinned even as Sean moseyed off to reintegrate the younger students into the party. He knew that engine; had helped Rourke put it in his beast of a '67 a decade or so back when the last one became irreparable. (Lucky find, too - all original, and undamaged when the car it came from had been otherwise totaled.) And when the mechanic had passed, he willed it to his young protege; a certain hemokinetic Wayne had recruited. Which meant...

He caught sight of Ash walking in, looking for all the world like a punk version of a Mexican sugar skull. It fit, for sure, but he'd hang out with the Mayor for right now. Walking, old joints, and waxed floors were a bad combination in excess. Still, he gave her a nod when she noticed him, and went back to chatting with Josh about his costume designers and the artists drawn to the conventions.

[Josh Bernstein]

Josh remained by the snack table while Sean wandered off to shepherd students. This was the most disappointing part of school dances, and why the city's adults only party in the winter was far preferable. No student behavior to interrupt anything.

When Wayne brought up conventions Josh lit up. He'd never attended one himself, believing himself to be not particularly nerdy - after all, his hobbies weren't related to pop culture, which is what all those conventions were about. Television series and movies he'd never watched and actors he didn't know, and occasionally some enormously popular young adult book about vampires and dystopian governments. But conventions reminded him of Ryan and Shiya, and he loved them as if they were his own flesh and blood.

"You know. Sean's nephew does conventions. I could ask him to keep an eye out for me. With these phones now he could take a photo and I could confirm or deny. I still can't get over having cameras on your phone, I would've loved that when I was a kid."

Not least because the idea of live streaming while at a protest had a certain amount of appeal to him. Arranging events in real time via social media? Truly revolutionary.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Despite an upbringing in the Catholic Church and a conservative household, Sean had never considered himself particularly hierarchic; in fact, little set him on edge more than a child addressing him as “Sir” as though he was a commandant at a military academy or the guard at a prison. He insisted that Josh’s nieces and nephews address him by his first name and had fully intended to do so with the friends of the hypothetical children who never entered his life. As soon as students graduated, he likewise encouraged them to drop the formal address, entitled to refer to him by his given name rather than the honorific.

And yet…

Ash was still a student, and his preference, his requirement for adequate boundaries between those over whom he had authority or owed a confidential duty, was the use of the honorific, or the abbreviated version, coupled or not with his surname. Dr. Neville, Doc Neville, or simply, Doc was preferable to being Sean, even if Ash was technically an adult. That predated his temporary elevation to Headmaster and would remain long after he had surrendered the mantle to a permanent replacement.

He was gentle about the correction, as always, aware that she didn’t intend it as disrespect the way some students did. “Doc is fine,” and then didn’t dwell on the matter, instead addressing her question. Gesturing vaguely towards where he had last spied the exceptionally tall trainer, he replied, “He’s here and there.” Followed by, “I like your makeup. You need to show me how to do it sometime, possibly for New Year’s Eve.”

Not a skull per se, but makeup had never numbered among his skill set even if he could incorporate it into roleplay with Josh. Youtube, he heard, was a resource but he had little patience for video learning, and tried to limit his time on the Internet lest he begin to emulate his husband’s hobbies.

[Vincent Meian]

Vincent loved Halloween.

Not because of the modern interpretations (though that was fun in its own right) nor because it was his birthday (he'd hated it for years because of that). No, his interest was in the study and research of mythology, and Halloween by far had one of the more interesting histories to it, and had gone through so many changes over the centuries to be nigh unrecognizable. Between the loss of the original druids, the adoption by Christianity, the advancement of capitalism, and several centuries of time, the holiday had gone from a pagan new year and harvest celebration to little more than excuse to eat, drink, and be merry.

Still, it was fun. Dressing up in costumes, making "spooky" treats, and gathering together on one of the first substantially cold nights of the year counted among the definition of a "party" in his book.

Speaking of costumes, the tall trainer had picked a costume from a few years back that he particularly liked for both its simplicity and pop culture reference. This year, he added a hat as well, just in case the weather soured. This signature staff and wand of the character were absent, of course; can't have a teacher carrying around weapons, either. But still, he enjoyed the look.

Coming back in from the chilly courtyard after escorting a student back to their dorm, he shook out the heavy leather duster a bit and glanced about. People were still having fun, and there was still food at the buffet. It looked like all the chaperones were still here as well, and the new Mayor still kept attendance (though now was being chatted up by the oldest member of the staff with Sean nowhere in the vicinity.) Another glance found the psychic across the room; satisfied that he could be away for a moment, Vincent maneuvered to the food and grabbed a few morsels. For once, he hadn't supplied any of the food, but that in no way indicated how tasty it was; the head of the cafeteria was a extraordinary cook.

[Ash Anderson]

"No promises." she answered ambiguously as she returned Wayne's acknowledgement with a grin and a wave of her gloved hand. She'd catch up with him later- knowing Wayne, prolonged locomotion in a place like this wasn't in the cards.

She, however, had been sitting behind the wheel for the better part of two and a half hours, and was more than happy to stretch her legs with a trip to the snack bar. three minutes, one decorated paper plate, and a glad of punch later and she was back to scanning the crowd, quickly spotting Vincent over the heads of the other students. All that stuff between the two of them was an entire mess of dancing kids populating the makeshift dance floor. Curses.

She considered hey options and figured that it would probably be easy enough to cross without bumping into anyone. She sipped her drink carefully. Physical contact wasn't high on her list, for more than one reason. While she had a decent enough grip on hey power not to hurt anyone unintentionally, the noise and darkness were taking much of her attention, and a wayward body in the wrong place could be much worse for the offending student than herself. More importantly, she could never quite keep her hands to herself. Old habits die hard, after all.

She screwed up her courage and a few moments later, she had crossed the floor with a practiced deftness.

"Heya, Vin." she greeted her instructor as she sidled up next to him, watching the crowd.

"Found this on the dance floor, you know where lost and found is?" she asked, flashing a cell phone in front of him quickly.

[Wayne Dietrich]

When it came to nerddom (as a couple of his recruits had called it), Wayne definitely belonged more at a classic car show than any sort of pop culture convention. He knew more about motors than comics, read more manuals than fiction, and generally felt just plain out of touch with most young kids these days. But steampunk conventions blended both worlds together for him, made his day-to-day weirdness seem both amazing and commonplace. AnachroCon in February, the Clockwork Festival in April, and so many more - he'd made so many contacts through the years that Andrea had taken him, he couldn't go to all of them every year anymore, not even if it was just East Coasties. Had to pick and choose, and show up like everyone's favorite great-uncle.

It was fun, and he'd never have known how good it was if she hadn't taken him to the first.

"You could always go yourself," he countered with a smirk. "Even the Mayor gets to take a vacation now and again, and good as tech is now, it still ain't being there in person. Maybe you could go with the kid; make it a family affair."

He caught Ash's wave with a grin, noting that she scooted off to grab food quickly. Gal's gotta eat, after all; most powers demanded it, her's too. Plus, why not snack when the Hammel's head chef was on duty for the night?

"You never know," he finished. "You might fit in more than you think."