We're All Mad Here // Wonderplot

[L△LIA]

"Oh, don't you look at me like that! A party is always a perfectly splendid idea and an un-birthday is certainly as good a reason as any. Now, you might not know this, because you've never had an un-birthday party — and to be fair, neither have I, but I'm throwing one and that's very nearly the same thing or at least it's only ever-so-slightly not —"

Pacing the living room, it's rather a difficult thing not to be impressed with myself. Countless improvised, handmade decorations have transformed my family's small apartment into an undeniably festive space for hosting today's celebration — colorful fabric scraps twisted around the usually dull metal of the District-issue chairs; a brightly painted tablecloth draped over the dining table; an assortment of sandwiches and other snacks; and even a few balloons — bartered from a passing wanderer — bobbing their way across the ceiling.

All in all, I'm quite pleased with myself, particularly when one considers what very short notice I was given. With rations as they are, gathering up the necessary ingredients for a cake involved several shady deals with people I must admit to feeling somewhat uncomfortable conversing with and a good deal more begging than is proper for a lady. (I daresay that Kachoo has a particularly useful talent for acquiring things like flour and sugar, but I really would have preferred not to have invited him to attend, if only that wouldn't have been such a rude thing to do... or not to do, I suppose. An invitation was, however, the only thing I could possibly offer him in return for his assistance.) Still, the end has proven to be worth the means and today's party will surely be something grand.

"— but Dinah." Turning my attention away from the lovely strawberry and chocolate cake sitting upon the table like a crown (the fruit carefully cut and arranged to look like little hearts upon the frosting) and back to the stuffed patchwork cat in my hands who seems to think that now is the most opportune of times to question my logic, I don't miss a beat in my argument. "This is a terribly important day for Cora. One's un-birthday party doesn't happen every day, you know, so it absolutely wouldn't do to have done nothing." At least, this is what Chestibor Rochdale convinced me of last week when he was explaining to me what, exactly, an un-birthday is.

I had just remarked to him about how much I liked the new buttons on his uniform — after all, they looked so shiny that they surely couldn't have been anything but new — and he replied how they had been given to him as an un-birthday present. "I beg your pardon?" I'd said and just as quickly he replied, "I'm not offended." We went round like this for a bit.

"I mean, what is an un-birthday present?"

"A present given when it isn't your birthday of course." I had never considered such a thing before, but decided that I like birthday presents the best and told him so with absolutely certainty. "You don't know what you're talking about!" Chestibor exclaimed and proceeded to ask me how many days there are in a year.

"Three hundred and sixty-five," I told him with just as much conviction as my last reply, only for him to ask how many birthdays I have in a year. "One." It seemed rather a silly thing to inquire about, seeing as how everyone has precisely the same number of birthdays in a year as anyone else, but something in his expression told me I was obviously quite mistaken about one thing or another.

"And if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five, what remains?"

"Three hundred and sixty-four, of course, Chestibor."

"Well, I'd rather like to see that done on paper." With a sigh, I took out my notebook and pencil and worked out the sum for him:

365
- 1
364

He took the book and looked at it carefully. "That seems to be done right — though I haven't time to look it over thoroughly just now — and that shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might receive un-birthday presents —"

"Certainly, but I'm afraid I still don't quite understand —"

"— and only one for birthday presents, you know. Next week will be Cora DeWitt's one hundred and seventy-eighth un-birthday this year and I haven't heard that anything is being done about it. It's very upsetting."

Although I couldn't say that I fully understood how we had gotten to this particular point in our conversation, I couldn't help but to agree that everyone forgetting about someone's un-birthday did sound like a very sad and unfortunate thing. Honestly, I'm quite disappointed with myself for having been ignorant for so long! I have always considered myself to be fairly well informed and yet every time I speak to Chestibor, he always seems to know so much more than me about things like this. I'll never understand how I manage to miss out on learning about such things, but I'm relieved to have been corrected about this.

Dinah still doesn't seem to agree and I don't know how else to explain, so I bring her over to the kitchen counter to keep an eye on the tea. Stuffed animal or not, if she can't be supportive than at the very least she can make herself useful. Hopefully the rest of today's guests will be a little more enthusiastic when they arrive.

[charade]

Cassandra "Deuce" Misere

If there's one thing I'm sure about, it's that I'm not sure about anything to do with today's event. Then again, I'm also pretty sure that this is a terrible idea that's going to end in yelling, tears, arguments, or all three. It's just that a celebration for something I've never heard of for my boss (wonderful lady, but not the celebrating type or at least I don't think so) at such short notice sounds borderline disastrous. Although I suppose it could be worse. Ophelia and Ms. Dewitt haven't always seen eye to eye, but it's not like Lia is the one trying to throw a party or anything.

It's hard to keep my focus as I make my way through the halls of district thirteen. I haven't been invited to many bir-, excuse me, Un-birthday parties in my time,(or parties in general now that I think about it) but the invitation I received didn't really make any of that clear. I don't even know if I'm supposed to bring anything so I baked a batch of sugar cookies ( A "gift" from him and I'm still not sure where or how he got the dough) and covered the plate with foil. I can only hope that there's not already cookies, or as usual, my efforts are going to go to waste. I'm almost sure that Ophelia has invited anyone and everyone that she could, which means I can probably expect to see Will at the party. Thankfully, it also means that plenty of other females with be there as well and so I won't be the only one dealing with his breath and his leers.

That's a gift in of itself.

I've dressed up as best as I can, which means I'm in my work clothes, and stuck a little heart shaped pin near my chest. I've also let my hair down, but that's about the extent of fancy for me. I'm sure some of the other guests will stand a bit more. It's probable that the wheaton twins will be there. Maybe the professor. Rochdale. Ophelia is the type of person who gets to know everyone, whether they were meaning to befriend her or not. Ms. Dewitt has gossiped about her on occasion, usually to moan about how "that empty-headed darling girl" is always popping up when she's least wanted and is going to wind up getting someone thrown in jail and that she'd be much better off without her head except for that fact that she seems to have lost it years ago. Or something like that.

I think I can recall an occasion or two where she appeared in the halls to ask me what was in the package I was carrying and whether or not I'd join the dance. Or maybe it was something about how soup can be beautiful. I'm not really sure. I've only encountered her a couple times and its hard to carry a conversation with someone like Ophelia. I would have doubted that she'd even remember who I am if not for the invitation addressed to me. To be honest, it's not like anyone really gives me the time of day unless you count will. And I'm not sure if he counts.

I find the door without much difficulty, having memorized dozens of addresses on my delivery runs. It's unlocked, and when I head inside, I'm greeted by decorations and an assortment of food that looks almost too good to be true. There's a chocolate cake at one table, and I think the last time I saw that much chocolate was never. Ophelia is over by a counter with a small stuffed rabbit. I say hello with a small wave and stare around in sudden anxious uncertainty now that the air is about to give birth to an awkward silence. So, I lock on to the first thing I see with the intent to make an ice breaker type of joke; which happens to be the food and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Maybe you should label the refreshments so people know which ones to drink and which ones to eat. Can't be too careful. Someone might put a slice of cake in a cup!" My statement is followed by a weak laugh and an awkward cough, after which I place the cookies near the sandwich trays and take a seat by the counter and immediately focus my gaze on the far wall. There's only one person here right now, and already the small talk attempt has shown that socializing is not exactly my forte. I should have offered to play cards while we wait for more people to arrive or something. At least I hope more people turn up.

To be quite honest, I am hoping for several things, not the least of which is Will's absence, (which is foolish, because where there is food, there is Kachoo) but the greatest of which is that perhaps my boss will appreciate the party being thrown in her honor and not fly into a rage. I don't know how many people have really gone out of their way to do something like this for her, though I think the number is small. But really, How should I know? I just work for the woman. Nice woman. Can't be too careful concerning her, even if it's just a thought.

I'm now sure of another thing though, and that's that this day needs to be over as soon as possible.

[sbeeg]

"The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things- of shoes and ships and sealing-wax- of cabbages and kings"

All I had to hear was the word "party" and I was in. Of course you can't just walk into a party all casual, it is a formal gathering of friends (more like acquaintances) where one celebrates an occasion. In this case the cause for a party is an un-birthday, whatever the hell that is. However Will Denton is not the kind of man to pass up a party just because he was no fucking idea what it's about! Chances are it is going to be a bitchin' party... however there was that one time that he went to that crazy guy's apartment and everyone just swayed to a chick playing a kazoo, and that other party where everyone laid on the floor and pretended it was the ceiling- but other than those very bad examples, this "un-birthday" is going to be a blast. What exactly did that mean? Did someone get younger? Geez, I hope there aren't any babies- Will Denton doesn't do babies. They cry and they look at you like you're supposed to do something about it. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME WRINKLED DEMON RAISIN?

Other than my deep set dislike for babies and odd party experiences, I am completely prepared for Ophelia's party thing. One must be looking their best at a party, after all that's where mating rituals tend to happen- if you catch my drift. So I put on my ultra gray, district issued gray uniform that I've been saving for a special occasion. Pair that with my ravishing good looks and patchy full, manly beard, I was ready to meet the ladies.

Strutting down the hallway I couldn't help but stop at every some what reflective piece of metal siding and check out my hair. It's red you know, the color of fire and passion. Sliding in front of the door to Ophelia's apartment I opened the door to reveal that I wasn't actually at Ophelia's quarters.

Sliding in front of the actual door to Ophelia's room I threw open the door and saw, to my delight, a table full of food. Cake. Chocolate. Oh I must be dead because you sure as hell couldn't get this in District Thirteen. Without a word to the other occupants, I rush the food table, snatching a sugar cookie and biting off half of it.

"These are pretty good," I tell Ophelia, around the chunks of pastry in my mouth. "But I make 'em better."

Popping the rest of the cookie in my mouth I turn to spy the only other person in the room- and let's face it the only one I dare say I have eyes for (kinda). Cassandra Mie... Mye... Misery... Misa... whatever, her last name doesn't matter because soon it will be Denton and then maybe I can fucking remember it.

"Deuce, my darling, it has been too long," leaning one hand on the table, I use my suave moves and speech to show off my credentials as a superior mate. "It's been ages, have you done something new with your hair? Cause it looks good. Real good." There's a move I like to call "The Implyer." You give a compliment that on it's own is genuine and innocent and then right afterwards you give 'em a smoldering look and a little lick of the lips. Putting my plan into action, I look deeply into her beautiful big eyes and run my tongue over my lips- which actually picks up some cookie crumbs so you know two birds one stone.