2024-12-11 - Three rats, Three Roomies, and One Guest

It isn’t often that the trio at Fox Run 404 all have the same shifts free, but that’s the case tonight. It’s inching towards dinner and Elmo is in the kitchen working on a pasta dish. Mushrooms, wilted spinach, whatever was in the fridge, plus a jar of sauce. Nobody has to eat it if they don’t want to, but there’s plenty to go around.

As he chops up the shrooms, he chats with The Freak, who’s sitting with rapt attention on the counter nearby. Elmo set out one of his hand towels there, because the last thing he wants is for Esme to say something about there being a rat on the counter. Even though he just had a bath. “So I said to the kid, if you don’t put that skeeball down, I’m calling security. And what did he do?" He pauses for effect.

Saint Kerekes wears white jeans with the knees totally ripped out (baggy skater jeans), bright yellow Vans, and possibly the coziest layered white on white cami and large knit hoodie ever to be knitted. Or crocheted. Or whatever thing this is. A white leather hip bag is buckled to her belt. She arrived earlier by way of tappy tappy tapping with her fingernails, which she just had done at the spa, on the door. Nails she had done after a conversation in which she uttered the words 'idk whatever says fairy to you', and ended up with Arizona Green Tea stilettos.

Seriously, be careful what you say to someone in a spa, especially if you're gonna fall asleep in her chair.

She's tucked into a corner of the couch with her phone out, scowling at some text one of her brothers sent (probably). Her hair's down in a wild tumble of blonde under the drawn up hood of her wide-knit cowl sweater thing.

"Did he put it down at velocity?"

Wesley had an early shift today, so he was up at the ass-crack of dawn climbing into a dragon suit. It meant that he got home early, at least, and then promptly face-planted into his mattress because he's been working too many shifts lately. He had wandered out of his room shortly after Saint's arrival in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, arms filled with towel and clothes as he mumbled a sleepy greeting before vanishing into the bathroom to use the shower.

The bathroom door opens and he emerges looking much more awake, and also now clothed properly, in a pair of tight blue jeans and a featureless black tee that's probably usually worn under a flannel or other overshirt, which he doesn't bother with right now because he's not going into the outside. For once, his hair isn't attempting to reach for the heavens, probably because it's still damp. He steps over to toss sweatpants and dirty towel into a basket in a corner of his room before pulling the door closed and padding barefoot back into the main space.

"Alright. I'm a human now."

If anyone works hard for their money, it's one Esme Marie St. Cloud! Even if she puts extra work upon herself when others would have called it quits much earlier in the day. She starts practice at 6am and gets back usually when it's dark, but for tonight, she said she would join the others for dinner and there was no Ice Show scheduled, so if she fit in any other extra rehearsals, they were done earlier in the day.

Something has her in a good mood and she can be heard humming down the hallway leading to Apartment 404.

By now, Elmo and Wesley already expect Esme to be dressed in something that makes her look as if she's about to hit the ice. And not just a regular ice rink, but like the Ice Capades. Or the Olympics, if you asked her. She enters wearing what she'd worn during rehearsal earlier, a white and icy frilly and sparkly skate dress thing, complete with tights and a sparkly hairnet. At least, she changed out of her skates, which she doesn't do all the time, as she's fine with just capping the blade and walking around just like that. Her boots match her attire, pristine and shimmery, calf-high boots. In her hand, she holds onto a poster of the charity ball in her hand. Instead of just taking a picture of it or the QR code, she just ripped the poster off the wall, like one might do the movies.

"Did you hear? There's going to be a charity masquerade ball thing. Oh God, what am I going to--.." She then spots, first the rat in the kitchen AND then their guest, who gets a distracted, "Hello..." Though all eyes are The Fiend right now.

Elmo looks hard at The Freak, but points the knife at Saint over there on the couch and says, "High velocity, right before he booked it." Then, he stupidly points the knife at his face, where a bruise is starting to darken. "Gave him props for going through with it, though. Ballsy kid." There's a squeak from the rat, who puts both tiny hands on his mouth in shock.

He goes back to slicing mushrooms and adding them to a small bowl while other roommates emerge. "Anyone not eat meat?" Does he know this? Should he? It never hurts to ask, since there's some leftover shredded chicken he'd love to get rid of.

He looks over his shoulder to give Wesley a quick upnod. "What up, human?" Then, he swivels his head to Esme. "Charity what?" Chop-chop-chop. A bunch of spinach is next on the block.

Saint looks up from her phone, which she's struggling to text back on give the unfortunate manicure situation. Her gaze is on Elmo for the moment, and she gives up on her phone after poking a couple times at it with a knuckle to send some emoji. She glances over when Esme arrives home to 404. "Sup, posternapper," Saint says, by way of greeting to Esme. No comments are made about the ensemble. Saint's a performer too, albeit not on ice, and has seen more sparkly and outlandish walk into a room. She lives with Dante and Angelo.

"High velocity for the win," Saint grins at Wes and then looks back to Elmo. "I mean it was basically a challenge." As she chats, a little snoot peeks out from her hair, where there's apparently another rat on her shoulder. She absently reaches into her bag for what was probably once a frozen pea, and offers it to roughly her ear. Tiny pink paws snatch it and that disappears too. You know mostly. Dumbo rats aren't exactly the smallest ever.

Wes missed all but the end of the conversation, but he stands there to digest the last few bits that he did catch, one hand lifting to try and sort out his hair with fingers instead of a comb. He does own combs and brushes, but they're over there in the bathroom and who's he going to try and impress, Saint? Both his roommates have seen him in worse states than this before, and he's got no plans to go out tonight.

He squints at Elmo's face. "...you dare a tourist to throw something at you," he ventures questioningly, "Hope security tossed his ass into the water."

Then there's the third roomie, and as she busts in with a poster he blinks. Then he blinks again. "Are you a real person," he asks Esme bemusedly, "Or did you step out of a sitcom, like, just like this already?"

This is not the first time he's asked her this question. Nor will it be the last.

"Oh no..." Okay, at least the bruise at Elmo's eye takes Esme's attention off of any rats for now. "Which kid was it? He had some nerve! Is he and his family still staying here at the park, because... RUDE!" And the pitch of her voice rises to its peak when she says this. She also looks like she's about to storm out and beat up a child, dressed like an ice skating ballerina.

"And I'll eat whatever you're making." She's about to say that she's not picky and her lips part, but she quickly shuts that down. Since they have a guest, Esme's about to wander over to where Saint is and lean against the chair or couch or something, but there are two rats there now! Were they there before?? And she quickly withdraws, backing into Wesley too! "Excuse me, that's an awful question to ask someone and LOOK, THERE ARE MORE OF THOSE THINGS! The Fiend is multiplying!" She even scrambles to put Wesley between her and everything else now too.

Now, Elmo was there when something like this happened, but on a float. Let's hope there's no encore of that performance.

Elmo sagenods and accepts the fact that it was mostly his fault. “I did not deescalate.” As to whether the individual in question is swimming or not, he can’t say, but he does give Esme a room number: “1023 at the resort.” What could go wrong?

A moment later, he’s chopping again. “Go talk to them,” he mutters to The Freak, who is peeking over at Saint’s pets when one emerges to gobble up a pea. “What do you mean you’re shy?” He fires up the burner so he can get going on the sauce in a sec. Clearly, he doesn’t believe his familiar for a second.

He’s about to piggyback on Wesley’s comment when Esme reacts. “Trust me, he’s not.” That would be a concern for him, too. “Please don’t freeze this place. Just take a breath.”

Saint isn't the type that needs impressing in social situations. Wesley once carried Saint covered in strawberry shake and chili cheese fries from the midst of a glitter bomb and beer incident. It wasn't pretty and she had to bribe her brother Dante to steam clean everything so nary a report was filed. Do you know how hard it is to get the chili smell and stain out of resin fairy wings? She's not supposed to be anywhere near the bars or the paths from the bars to the ferries after dark. Things just... go wrong when she is.

"Fiend is a pretty dope handle for a sweet little rat," says the blonde. And then she says to Esme, "Don't worry, they're box trained." She points to her rats. "Deano and Sammy." She has only the warning of little paws reaching for her fingernail to take hold before one of them's trying to sample her blue tips. "No dude, bad for you." She wiggles her fingers out of his grasp, but scritches the darker grey rat gently with her fingertips.

"Why would you deescalate?" Saint asks, probably more amused than she should be at this storytime. "I have a couple sugar free cheerios in my pocket," Saint says. She must be talking to the rat, as if he can understand her. That's not her gift, but she fully talks to rats like they're people. "It never gets too cold around me, girlie pop. Go nuts." She thumbs to herself. "Saint." Intros, go!

"What are you-- are you seriously--" Wes twists a bit to look back over one shoulder, no, she's dodged to the other way, he twists the other way to look over the other shoulder in exasperation, "I am not a human shield against your mouse-o-phobia!" Sue him, he doesn't know the scientific term for fear of rats.

He very pointedly steps out of the way. It seems that he's no chivalrous knight - but of course not, he's the dragon. His hands go up in a gesture of washing himself of the situation as he pads into the kitchen area, calling out, "I need a beer. Sin, you wanna beer? Esme?" Elmo's already in the kitchenette, if he wanted a beer he'd have one. "And it's not a masquerade, ice queen, it's a formal ball. Tuxedos and fancy dresses and dancing."

Breathe... So that's what Esme does, though she's practically standing on her tip toes now and if she were a cat, her fur would be bristling, especially once her shield wanders off just like that. "Just don't look at them." She tells herself quickly in a whispered tone. Nope. Nope. Not looking. And the ice skater is sticking as close to Wesley as possible to not make eye contact with any rats.

"1-0-2-3..." She also whispers to herself, but who knows if she'll actually remember it unless she writes it down. Catching Saint thumbing at herself with that introduction and trying to avoid eye contact with her rats is difficult, but Esme offers up a tight smile as she passes through, "Esme... The White Swan..." Yes, that news was posted recently too and something that Esme is really proud of!

HOWEVER, when Wesley offers her a beer, she just blinks and looks at the others and says, "Sure." Like she's twenty-one. Though she does have to ask, "What's the difference. A masquerade. A ball! It's going to be soooo fancy. What are you all going to wear?"

With a look at Saint, Elmo says, "I wouldn't, and yet it's what society would have of me." He shrugs; it's so hard living life against the grain. And anyway, there's a possibility he's about to his revenge via his ice princess roommate.

"Come one, Duder, you're making new friends." He picks up The Freak, ignoring his squeaks, and walks him over to the couch to find a new parch on the cushion near Saint's head. Then, he's back to the kitchen, picking up his beer as he scoots past Wesley.

"Tuxedoes?" He groans the word as he tries to clink his bottle against his roommate's. "I'm not going. This involves too many buttons." He drinks a bit, sets the bottle down, and tosses the prepped veggies in the hot pan.

"Society's boring," comes a reply to Elmo. Saint's other rat is light grey and white. She gives a light scritch to that one too, and offers up a cheerio on the underside of one of those ridiculous nails. Which will be getting a trim and polish change tomorrow. "Rats are much smarter than mice," she offers up from the couch. A little quirk of her lips shows she saw Wes literally wash his hands of the whole thing. "Yeah, beer's good." She sits back after making sure both rats on her person won't be squished by the change of position. "I love a good excuse to get fancy and show it off a little bit. Get fancy."

"Masquerades usually have masks," Saint says. "If you want like the historical difference, I'm not the Kerekes to ask." Meanwhile, her phone buzzes several times, and he's once again got it out trying to tappy-tappy-tappy-tappy back near constantly. There seems to be some kind of high speed conversation going in a group chat of some kind. At least the sound's off and nobody has to hear the alerts too! She puts a cheerio on the back of the couch to tempt Elmo's rat friend. "I know where you can get a tux that snaps on."

A trio of bottles are pulled from the fridge, two in one hand and one in the other, and Wesley hip-checks the door closed. Turning, he gives a little start to realize Esme's right there, offering her out one of the bottles with a smirk. It appear he either doesn't know she's not twenty-one yet, or doesn't care. Once that one's taken, there's one in each hand, one of which clinks up against Elmo's.

"Bullshit. You can borrow one of my suits if you need one, we'll bring it down to costuming and get it re-sized," he declares, walking back into the living room - and over towards Saint, so if Esme's following she'll need to get closer to those rats. He offers one of the bottles down to her with a grin, "Are you trying to get Elm-tree in a stripper tux, Sin? Shame on you."

Even when Wesley abandons her for the couch, now that Freaks on the couch, Esme is safe to remain in the kitchen. So that's where she'll stay. Her bright blues do widen as does the amazed look on her face when she's handed a beer. Yes, she's not good at pretending she's an adult, so maybe Wesley doesn't care! If anything, she seems to just be happy to have a bottle of beer in hand right now. Though when she takes a sniff of it, well, that's something to get used to as her nose wrinkles.

Turning to Elmo, she lets out an exasperated, "Why not, Elmo! It's a once in a lifetime opportunity!" Though there's probably more of these to come in their futures. "And according to this poster," which she still has in her non-beer holding hand, mind you, "It's for a good cause." Looking back over at Saint, she nods her head vigorously at this snap on tux. "I knew some skaters who had to wear those during performances where they had a transformation mid-skate." Though when Wesley calls them stripper tux, her nose wrinkles again, "What? No! It's theatrical."

Whatever is going on in Saint's part of the world though has caught some of Esme's interest and she intones with a light lift of her shoulders, "Someone's popular."

Speaking of theatrical, that's exactly how Elmo groans when Wesley offers a suit for him to resize. It would be too mean to refuse such a gesture, though Saint kind of gives him an out in that regard. "Make it velcro and you've got a deal. Velcro and it's also denim. I think I can bring Timberlake back." Maybe it will be enough of a hassle that people will forget about it.

As he moves the pan around with one hand, he reaches out to clink his beer against Esme's with the other. "Come on," he tells her, "I doubt that's true. What's the cause, anyway?" He peeks at the poster, but only for a second, keeping most of his attention on the veggies as they lose their water content and start to caramelize.

On the couch, The Freak takes a bite of the cheerio and nibbles it greedily, eyeing the real rats like they might try and snatch it from him.

Saint tips her fingertips against her sternum delicately like moi?. Try to get someone in a snap on tux? She smiles then, which ruins the faux innocent thing she almost had going on there. "Look, the park giveth and the park taketh away," she says mysteriously, which definitely is not an answer. "I have bowties for my rats, but I probably won't take them. They're too wiggly to keep track of in public." She makes a shrrrp shrrrp velcro noise at Elmo's suggestion, then laughs.

"I might borrow one of Angelo's suits. Same height, makes it easier. Oh, wait if I swear stilettos I can get one of Enzo's. It makes his face turn funny colors when I stick my hand in the chocolate fountain in one of his jackets." She looks to Esme and asks, "Oh, is it the charity thing I heard people talking about on the ferry?" She taps out a message on her phone then tucks that back into her lap. She shifts a look from Esme to Wes. "Yeah, theatrical," she repeats.

"My brother used some fighting words," she says to Es regarding the texting. "So I threatened his linens. And then it escalated." She thinks for a moment then asks, "When's the opening night?" Deano and Sammy seem to prefer peas to cheerios, but they sniffle the air and venture a bit closer, perhaps looking for some ratty play time.

"There's nothing more theatrical than a stripper. Well, maybe a drag show," Wesley corrects himself before he's finished a second sentence, turning on his heel and tilting back until he drops down onto the couch near - but not crowding - Saint and the rats, kicking his legs out and resting a heel atop his other foot, "Pretty sure that those get wayyy more theatrical, and probably would use velcro tuxes too."

He smirks at Saint, and then looks back to the other two with a shrug of one shoulder, "I mean, I got a bunch of suits and shit still from back when I used to do the big events to get in face time with the other influencers, so I'm going. Could be fun to strut my stuff instead of looking like a dragon all the time."

As she listens to everyone chat, Esme takes a small sip of her beer and it does taste as awful as it smells, which means that she pulls back and makes a face. Just a brief one, because the twenty-ones and up seem to like it. Though when Saint brings up her rats, the figure skater blinkblinks, "Are you taking your rats to the ball? And they aren't going to turn into coachmen or anything?" Were the rats that turned into coachmen or did they turn into horses? She doesn't remember.

"And right, it says so right here." Now Esme will hold the torn down poster right in Elmo's face so he can even read the fine print. "They are having a whole thing where people can donate gifts and things for charity. I'll assume for kids in town. So it's not just the ball, just that the ball is one of the bigger highlights! If not /the/ biggest!" Her voice has that sing-song quality to it when she says this.

Some things Wesley says surprise here. "Where did you hide your suits? I sorta looked through your closet when I first moved in!" Just kind of... She takes another swig from her bottle, just another small taste. Hopefully, it gets better this time. "Can I see them? Your suits!" She then continues on on some sort of tangent, "I have ideas for all sorts of dresses, I just need to get my hands on the prettiest fabrics to ever exist..." When she realizes that she's thinking aloud, she stops herself. "When I go looking... for a brand spanking new ball gown to buy." And here she laughs and laughs nervously.

From the kitchenette, over the sound of cooking vegetables and, soon, added shredded chicken, Elmo tells Saint, "Don't deescalate!" Especially not with siblings, or so he's told. Once you cede ground, it can be hard to get it back again.

He's stirring things around when the poster ends up in his face, so he pushes it aside with an annoyed grunt. "Get that out of my face, Esme. Wait, what kids?" He seems very interested once kids are mentioned as a possibility, so he leans closer to get a look at that fine print.

"Hm. Fine. I'll check some suits out." He looks over his shoulder at Wes, gives him a thumbs up, and catches The Freak walking his snack away from the other rats. "Play nice over there."

"I could use a good drag show," Saint says to Wes, sipping her beer once it's handed over and he's gotten comfy. She leaves the rats to sort themselves out. "Yeah, take the mask off sometimes. S'good to be person shaped now and then. In my case, without so much body glitter. It takes like three days to wash it all out of my clothes." It never fully comes out of her clothes.

She takes another sip of her beer and says to Esme. "Not a refined thing but like it's cheap and warm and leads to really interesting evenings out. You look more like a mimosa girlie." She picks up a rat and tucks it back onto her shoulder when he tries to slide down her sweater. "Sometimes I take them out with me. They're social animals and get attached to their people."

She calls back to Elmo, "NEVER!" In regards to deescalation. Only one Kerekes ever deescalates and he's not here. She tappy-taps out another short message, rolling her eyes. Fully capable of having in person convos and a fight in text without it affecting her mood. Siblings, man. "I'm always nice," she adds, even if Elmo was talking to Wes. "So, here's the thing. If you get a chance to go out and look hot, go out and look hot. Unless you hate people looking at you. Even so good to try new stuff now and then, and if you hate it, just text your buds and roll out together. Always have a safe word."

A long, steady look is leveled at Esme as she confesses to going through Wesley's closet, and then he slowly raises one hand to press over his eyes. "And that is why I lock my door now, your frozen highness," he exhales a long-suffering sigh, silently counting to ten before uncovering his face and taking a swig of beer.

Without looking, he points over in Saint's direction, "No more body glitter. The last time you were wearing body glitter and I had to carry you away from a Karen before you threw her in a river, they had to strip Flynt's skin and replace it."

As the beer bottle's dropped down to his thigh, he muses, "Hm. Stag, or should I try and find a date?"

When Saint names names Esme takes in some of what's said and eventually states, "Are those all of your siblings? Are they all here??" She did hear mention that one of them worked at the clothing store and she knows Angelo from that float building. "That must be nice. Or terrible. And right now it almost sounds terrible." She's talking about the whole text battle thing, but she's also teasing about it.

And then Elmo relents, and this gets Esme to clap excitedly for him, after she puts down her beer and that poster she stole. "You are so not going to regret it. Imagine, getting to dance the evening away at a fancy ball?? Who even does that??" She then turns to Saint and nods, "Oh! Mimosas sound exciting! I've only had a little wine. And some champagne after competition."

There's a point now where she's slowly scooting over to where Wesley is seated but not trying to look as if she's making her way over there. Well, that is until she stops to ask, "They didn't just give you a whole new dragon costume? They stripped and replaced? Huh." That last part is shrilly chirped out. Rather than try to stealth over to Wesley, she just marches over towards him now, when she chants, "Date! Date! Date! And if you need help, I'll try to find someone for you!"

Here, she crouches down to whisperwhisper over to Wesley, "Sooooooooo.... a little bird told me that you might know some good fabric shops."

Elmo sighs at all the clapping and mutters under his breath, "Dear underlord, what have I got myself into?" He can't really say no to fundraising for kids, though. That shit tugs too hard on his heartstrings.

While the food cooks, he starts to heat a pot of water to make the pasta. "Ten minutes!" he shouts, alerting everyone with a rough approximation of when dinner will be ready. Sauce in the pan, salt in the water. Let's go.

"Who ya thinking, Wes?" He grins as he cooks, sensing The Freak's movement along the back of the couch, covetous of his sugarless treat.

Saint glances askance at Wesley as he reacts to Esme's confession about the closet searching. Amusement is hidden behind a long pull from her beer bottle. She was gonna ignore that whole thing, because roomie business is roomie business and she ain't a roomie. Just someone who loves hearing the drama without interrupting its flow. "If you want to commission something, Dante at Fabricadabra actually does take commissions, but it'll be expensive as fuck if he has to ground up and bead for forty hours." Because Esme looks like she can probably afford it, Saint says no more. Challenge made.

"My apologies to Flynt's skin." There's a beat of a pause, "That whole thing sounded so wrong. RIP dragon."

She shoots a glance back to Esme and says, "Yeah, both here. Angelo's in the pirate show. You might know him better as glitter abs with wings. Dante's a tailor with Parisian tastes. In fact he'd be there, but we wanted some triplet time so here we are, gainfully employed most of the way to Canada, eh." She rolls her eyes and ignores her phone lighting up on the couch cushion beside her. Multiple times.

She opens her mouth to say something else, but the chant of date date date stalls her out. She glances over at Elmo and then Wesley, brows rising slightly.

There's chanting. Chanting.

Wesley's expression is one of immediate regret as he glances past his beer to Saint with a look that says 'help me'. Or maybe he's looking at the rats to distract his room-mate from her current fixation. When no Redwall-esque rescue immediately comes, however, he takes the tactic of focusing on the other thing that was said.

"Uh-- yeah, I mean I know a few ways and places to get material, some of which we definitely shouldn't tell Dante about, but he might be your best bet if you're looking for a gown or something," he says, both eyebrows going up, "Unless you've got a Singer or something hidden in your room."

While Esme might not say so, she is STARVING and ten minutes is a super duper long time, especially if you last ate since, oh yesterday, probably. But she shall prevail! "I can't wait!"

As she's crouched down now, yes she's dropped down to a full crouch, next to Wesley, she peeks out when Saint brings up a Parisian tailor. "Oooooh. Whenever I pass by Fabricadabra, I'm always tempted to take a peek inside. There's so many pretty things." Her eyes then widen, "He grinds up a bead for forty hours??!!" In her mind, she's calculating just how much that might cost her... and she immediately shrinks back down to whisper to Wesley once more.

"Do you think we could, I don't know... visit Tank and you distract him and I'll cut a few fabrics that I might need?" Yes, she is whisperwhispering. "You've heard me sin--" She starts to say, before she sneakily nods about the Singer, like having a sewing machine is her little secret.

Hearing Dante's name again, she rises to stand, "Dante and his pirate crew made that marvelous float for the parade. He even complimented ours for all the hard work we put in." She says this proudly, despite having almost a meltdown that day after the whole ice fiasco. "He seems nice..."

Hearing all this talk of grinding beads and such, Elmo isn’t unhappy that he has cooking to distract him from things. He just sips his beer, watches things come together in pots and pans before him, and chills. “Poor Flynt,” is all he adds this time, coming in after Saint’s RIP to mourn for Wesley’s character.

The Freak, on the other hand, makes a bold move to be more part of the group. He scoots along the back of the couch to where Wesley and Esme are chatting about fabric, pauses as if to consider something, then takes a few more steps and rises so he’s balanced on his hand legs. Squeaking a bit, he holds out what’s left of his cheerio to Esme. A peace offering, perhaps.

Saint's smile behind her beer bottle only grows when Wes gets the look in his eyes like heeeeelp. She does absolutely nothing other than scritch a rat behind the ears, then let one of them snuggle down into her sweater where he can eat one of the defrosted peas in peace. "What... no, talking with my mouth full. Grinds at beading, you know, that hand stitched shit takes days." Seeming unaware she has mush mouth when she's sneaking cheerios and trying to hide her smiles with socking back beers. Ten minutes is a long time when you're an athlete who hasn't snacked since stealing some popcorn from a distracted cashier for lunch.

She almost chokes on her beer when Esme says Dante seems nice.

Coughing a little, Saint wipes a droplet of beer from the corner of her mouth. "Oh, he totally is."

Her attention is taken by the adorable lil ratty frien' with his cheerio doing a ritual offering of the snackies to Esme. "Aw, he likes you." Yes, she's fully shifted attention to the rat familiar, and dragged everyone else into it by pointing it out.

Wesley squints one eye and raises the other eyebrow at Esme, as if attempting to judge if she even knows what sewing machine is. The result is inconclusive. "I mean, I might know how to get into some of the storage rooms from the tunnels," he admits, motioning a bit with the beer in her direction. Then he tilts it back to his lips to take a hearty swig, lowering it and shooting a mock-glare over in Saint's direction.

"Some help you are," he mutters, although there's no actual rancor there. At least the subject's changed from him getting a date.

"Now that's what I wanted to hear! We'll talk again later." Esme says after having crouched back down to continue whispering to her Wesley-roommate. She even ends this secret conversation with a very loud WINK.

"Oh!" She quickly exclaims with a deep furrowing at her brow now as she pops up to stand once more, "Well that sounds just as difficult. Buuuuuuuut." She practically sings out, her voice getting higher the longer she goes on, "If you could put in a good word with your brother, I would greatly appreciate it!" This she says to Saint, smiling all angelic and with a cute tilt of her he-- OMGWHATISTHAT!

It's Fiend with a now germy Cheerio in hand!

Oh yes, Esme is shaking in her pristine white Ice Princess sparkling boots. Then she staggers back, one hand to her chest as she quietly tells herself to breathe, before calling out to Elmo, "Some warning please! I almost turned this entire apartment into a freezer!"

Elmo is pulling out the plates and cutlery for dinner when he feels a sense of disappointment coming off the couch through the familiar connection he has The Freak. When Esme calls out to him, he frowns and turns to the trio on the couch. "Just...don't do that."

The rat races back over to Saint and her pets and hangs out there where he's more accepted. "You guys come serve yourself, okay?" He said ten minutes, but time is weird and it's a quick dinner anyway. "There's parmesan on the counter, black pepper or whatever you need."

Saint, for her part, feeds a couple more peas to her rats and watches Freaky frien' do an offering. "I can talk my way into anything," Saint says. She can't, but she likes to think she can. "So if you want some help on a liberation mission, LMK." Yeah, she says El Em Kay out loud on purpose and not ironically either.

She blows Wesley a kiss from her side of the couch, laughing finally. Can only hold in the amusement for so long. "Course I'll put in a good word for you Esme the Snow Duck..." She pauses. "Wait, what did you say you were again?" Has Saint Kerekes never seen Swan Lake?

The theatrics bring that smile back full force and she says, "Don't worry, princess. It'll never freeze with me in the room."

"El, you need any help in there? I'm kinda handy with a knife?" She asks, when dinner's already basically done. Timing is everything.

She puts out a hand for the Freak frien to offer transport to the kitchen.

"Oh my God, you have got to get over the rat thing Esme, you live with one," is Wesley's opinion on the matter, his eyes rolling in his head before he pulls his feet back in and with an single smooth motion rises up to his feet and is in motion towards the kitchen. The beer bottle's deposited on the coffee table in passing, since he'll need both hands for this.

"It's true," he declares, smirking as he walks away, "She's hot enough to keep the room from freezing. Just ask her. She'll tell you."

Esme practically pouts when she feels as if she's scolded, by the Dragon, no less! "I am tryiiing, but he caught me by surprise! Imagine if you saw a giant roach from out of the corner of your eyes that appeared out of nowhere and suddenly it's RIGHT THERE. You'd scream too."

OH, did someone call Princess Odette a DUCK? Now that Wesley is up and getting food and things, Esme is peering over at Saint. Her tone is still sweet though when she corrects, "Oh, you mean the Swan Princess... Thank you!" And with that she goes over to where the food is before she says mean things, well that is until Saint looks as if she's taking the rat pack into the kitchen and that just makes Esme step out of that area of the apartment and linger elsewhere! Probably near the couch again.

To one of Saint's comments, however, she starts to ask, "OH! Can you create fi--" And then Wesley explains and this just produces another, "oh." from the ice princess.

"Bread!" Elmo gestures to a loaf sitting on the table. There's a bread knife around somewhere, probably. "Please and thank you." Besides that, he steps aside to let everyone head into the kitchen and mix themselves up a bowl of kitchen sink pasta that's actually pretty healthy.

The Freak climbs aboard and swipes his tail around on the way to the kitchenette/dining nook. "I didn't know you could do that," he tells Saint, looking to Wesley as well since he did know. If they found outage same way Esme did, that'll make for a good story, he bets.

"Fuckyea, carbs!" Saint says, carrying lil Freaky to rejoin his papa Elmo. She grins at the latter. "Course I can. Hotness is a state of mind. It's an attitude. Genetics just help it along, you know? But you know that, right? You had the whole skeleton thing going on at Halloween." She lowers her hand to the counter to let the rat scamper, then shoves up her sleeves and goes to wash her hands so she can cut the bread.

Her rats are in her clothing somewhere, seemingly secure. The baggy clothing makes it hard to tell where they've holed up, be it a pocket or the drape of her shirt, or even in the sweater hood under her hair. For Esme, this may be a relief. Then again, if you can't see something, you don't know where it is. So maybe not.

"Oh, I was thinking a goose. They're really big, right? Are swans bigger? I feel like swans might be bigger." She looks back to Esme and says, "Hey, don't knock duck. It's delicious."

"It's only like seventy percent attitude," Wesley declares, waggling a slice of bread in Saint's direction because he's already sawed off a few bits for himself, "Ten percent genetics. And then like twenty percent hair and skin care products. And, if you're me, an additional ten percent pure Wesley-ness."

Pasta on plate, check. Pasta sauce poured over pasta, check. Bread, double check. He sets the plate down, fetches his beer, and then he drops himself in a chair, all 110% of himself apparently. "Swans are bigger," he says, "Which I only know because a guy I know over on Starlight once sent me a video of a drunk tourist that hopped a wall into a pond area and got his arm broken by a swan."

Esme is mentally taking notes of some of the things Saint says about how Hotness is a state of mind, but every so often she has to scratch out a few things when Wesley adds in his input, but who does she trust more when talking about what's Hot? Saint or Wesley?? Saint's was easier to remember without all of the percentages, so! And did having Wesley as a roommate count as ten percent Wesley-ness? No, probably only four percent.

IN TRUTH, Esme is happy to not be able to see Saint's rats! Sure, they are probably lurking around somewhere, but out of sight, out of mind. Unless they appear right next to her in an inopportune moment of which there are many.

"I could eat bread all day!" Says the ice princess on a secret very tight budget and right now she is mentally salivating over all of this food. She may have also said something back about the duck thing, but once Saint says that duck is delicious, that's all that she can think of right now too...

"My turn!" She sings as she gets her plate and loads it up with bread and all the healthier stuff, some of which, she just picks from the pan and eats if no one's looking! Just a few! "Imagine getting your butt kicked by something as graceful and beautiful as a swan."

"Hottest skeleton in the park, thanks for noticing," Elmo says confidently as he watches people grab food. As the one who made it, he'll be the last one to fill his plate. That's a rule of etiquette, right?

Wesley gets a snorty laugh when he mentions that story. "I remember that video. Oh, man, it looked painful but that swan was a badass." They'd all be lucky for some big swan energy. Huge uptick in hotness.

He'll grab a plate and head over to the food with Esme, dishing out pasta while she gets her sauce. "It would be an experience of a lifetime," he decides. "One that would end in an ER trip for most of us." Then, he looks to Saint and hmms. "Or dinner."

"I'd say maybe eight five percent," Saint says to Wes. "In person anyway. A lot of presence can outweigh things. I think it's why some people grow on you." She thinks on that a little bit then says, "Okay, yeah, hair products can really make a difference. Shallow, but true." She eyeshifts a little, then gets back to sawing bread. Good thing neither of her brothers are here to call her out on the amount of haircare and skincare products she has in the biggest bathroom in the suite.

"Oh yeah, can't discount the Wesleyness." She shrugs. "Attitude, I'm saying. You gotta account for it. Also helps if you start with good hair, but you know, some dudes rock a clean shave. And the second they know how to wear a good crisp shirt or a suit, it's just over for me." She waves a hand and finishes sawing the bread. She gestures with the bread knife, then puts it down. She waits on others to serve themselves before she goes to get herself a portion. She waits, then eyes Elmo, who seems to also be waiting. So she goes ahead since you don't have to silent hesitate twice for her to take advantage of something.

"Course I noticed. I always notice." She picks up a fork sundry. "Crispy swan. I dunno about that, but... hey why not. I'll try anything three times."

"I've never had swan," admits Wesley as he settles in at the table with his food, picking up one of the sawed slices of bread and gesturing with it, "Duck's pretty good, prepared right though, so-- yeah, I'll try it three times too, why not? I'm sure it's a delicacy. Probably in France. France loves two types of food - majestic animals and gross ones, and swans are kind of both."

One hand comes up, fingers rubbing thoughtfully against his jawline for a moment-- then a shrug, and he digs into the pasta, his mouth soon too full to say anything. Now's everyone's chance, while he's shut up.

"Thank you!" Esme chimes over at Elmo before taking her plate over to settle down away from where she knows rats might be. This means not sitting near Saint or Elmo... how big is this table again?

And now they are going back to talking about hotness and Esme returns to making these mental notes. "So... what kind of hair care products?" She asks, hoping that it's a Drugstore brand! It's not that her own hair is never perfect, but she's never been called hot before!

She then looks over back at Wesley when this Wesleyness is brought up again and then she realizes that Saint is talking about how to look hot the guy's edition. That does remind her though and now that Wesley is eating, Esme has to ask, "So, Wesleeeey. Do you have a crush on anyone right now?" She means: Who are you taking the ball, good prince? Also, this is far more important than eating swan.

At some point during the conversation, Elmo grabs a slice of bread, too. "Thanks," he tells Saint, "cut just the way I like 'em." And yes, he does hold her gaze while they both wait on each other, inwardly relieved when she steps in just ahead of him.

"I'd eat a swan," he adds on the way to the table. He's not sure about signing on for three whole gos, but if the first one is good? Well, watch out!

The table itself is small, but Elmo doesn't invite The Freak over; he'll get some of his own food later. "I'll let you borrow some of mine," he tells Esme when talk moves to haircare products. Then, he starts forking some pasta.

Saint's smile to Elmo when she finally takes her plate first is amused but accommodating. Usually it's a standoff, but not when the chef if all generosity. Only situation where it's ok to deescalate. "My pleasure."

"I don't know if you can even eat swan," Saint chimes in, finally settling into a seat. First thing she does is take a big bite of bread. "You're right, they so are. Like the junkyard dogs of the water, but pretty-like. I remember now seeing them in some fancy show about... antiques roadshow maybe. Something with rich Brits." She leans her arms on the table and digs into her food, falling silent for a little while to take neat, rapid bites. It's clear she was raised in a household where you put food away cleanly before one of the boys gets it.

"Heat protectant, leave in conditioner, long hold. Anti frizz everything. Always research your shit before you buy it and definitely a deep cleansing treatment once a week."

She takes another big bite, so any further advice or commentary will have to wait!

After a few mouthfuls of bread and/or pasta, Wesley brushes some bread crumbs off his hand into the pasta (so they're not wasted) and then digs out his phone, thumb tapping the screen. "Lemme find out," he volunteers, and it only takes him a couple moments before discovering, "Oh, yeah. Total gourmet food. And.. huh. The British monarch is the only person allowed to eat swans in England? That can't be true."

If nobody stops him he's going to fall down an Internet rabbit hole real fast.

While Esme may be starving, she eats as delicately as a bird. For the most part! But she'll nibble on things and listen as people talk about eating swan of all things. It's not that she's protective of swans, but she will be playing one in an upcoming production!

"I'd probably eat anything." She says out of the blue as she takes a forkful of pasta, chewing daintily. "Because why not! I mean, if it's food..."

Though this is when Saint comes up with the good stuff and Esme quickly reaches over for her phone to take actual notes, because even she'd already forgotten all of those mental notes she'd just taken. "Deep cleansing treatment... 1xweek."

However, his is when she spies Wesley pull out his phone and her curiosity drags her that way like a magnet to look over his shoulder and stare. She was hoping to find girls' numbers and stuff to find Wesley's secret crush, but instead it's more swan. Maybe her hovering might get him out of that rabbit hole though.

"So Wesley, you still haven't answered my question." Or that.

"Of course you can eat swan. If you can eat kangaroo..." Elmo let's that hang there as if it's the most fitting evidence, stuffing his face while Wesley looks things up. When it's confirmed, he points his fork at his roommate and nods, though that thing about the monarch has him looking puzzled. "Seriously? They're that good?" Go down that rabbit hole, Wes; teach us some things.

It's probably a good thing that Esme doesn't take him up on borrowing hair products, because Saint seems to have actual, real advice. And hair, which also helps.

As he eats, he catches sight of The Freak nearby and it looks like he's begging. Soon, he mouths. Be patient.

"What, they actually do that?" Saint asks, of nomming swans. The OMG is implied in her tone, casual as it is. She digs into her pasta, clearing about half her plate before she speaks again. Business, the woman means business. She's down a piece of bread, too, sipping drink between, but largely making it clear by her intake that she's an athlete and may have skipped a meal today.

"That's what I can get Angelo for Hanukkah. A year of jerkies of the world subscription? They do those, right?" And now she's on her phone clicking through some e-commerce sights like a total dinner heathen.

Does a cheerio fall out of her pocket? Maybe. On purpose? Maybe.

"Thanks for cooking, Elmo," she finally says, a little late, but trying hard to use the manners her dad taught her.

"So apparently all the swans in the U.K. belong to the queen? No, that's an urban legend. Okay, that's where the 'only she can eat them' rumor came from, it's not real, okay, okay," Wesley provides a running commentary of his deep dive on the subject of swan eating, "But yeah, it's gourmet food apparently. Supposedly very tasty."

He looks up, blink-flinches to find Esme that close peering over his shoulder, and draws away, pulling his phone into safety. "--what question."

When Wesley dismisses Her Majesty's birthright to be the only one to be able to eat swan, Esme looks skeptical at him, "How do you know that it's an urban myth? What if all of the swans in the U.K. actually do belong to the royals? Are you from the U.K., Wesley?" This is asked in the same way that she asked if he were a doctor with a medical podcast when she first moved in... "I bet that's why hardly anyone knows what swan tastes like. It's an exquisite and regal delicacy."

Then Wesley asks her 'what question' and this has Esme making a face at him, like, 'you know!'. HOWEVER, if hadn't heard her earlier, she sweetly asks him again, "Who do you have a crush on, so we can help get you and your crush together in time for the ball."

Elmo eats his pasta like there's swan in it, with reverence and appreciation. Seriously, the guy has a certain focus around mealtime, as if he's glad there's a meal at all and so gives it as much of his attention as possible. Sometimes other food distracts, though.

"Do they, though?" He leans toward Saint to look at her phone, eager to see whether a year of cosmopolitan jerky might be in the cards. If it's not, well, that's a damn good idea for a business.

His eyes flick over to Wes and Esme, moving between the two and settling on the former. One brow lifts curiously, less about whether he has a date in mind and more wondering if he needs some assistance with all the questions.

Saint pulls a face at the swan thing, but finishes clearing her plate nonetheless. "So weird. Brits have the weirdest rumors. Frenchies have the most juicy ones though." She puts her fork down and tips back, neatly patting the corners of her mouth with a little paper towel she had in her pocket.

"Well, I ordered it," Saint says to Elmo, "So now we see what actually arrives. Seemed legit. Had good reviews. I didn't preview the box selection, though, so RIP Angelo, he gets to decide. He's the sweet one. Dante's much harder to shop for." She crosses her legs and holds her phone under the table, occasionally sending off a message in what appears to be a never ending text string. Messages pop up often, but she's definitely paying attention to the table.

"Are you really not gonna go, Elmo?" And then she looks across the table. "Es, what about you?"

"I don't-- I don't have a crush, Esme, I'm not in high school," Wesley protests, turning his phone off and shifting it to slide it into a pocket with a roll of his eyes before reaching for his fork, "Besides, the park is full of extremely hot people, at least one of whom is in this room, how could I choose which one to have a crush on? And I know it's an urban legend because I looked it up, I was literally just on wikipedia--"

The fork's set down and he reaches for his beer instead.

When Wesley tells her that he doesn't have a crush because he's not in high school, Esme can't help but give her roommate this incredulous look. "Woah! Woah! Anyone of all ages can have a crush." She then points at Wesley's phone which he'd already put away, "Look it up! Google how old has to be before they stop getting crushes." Her pointy finger, becomes a waggy finger now too. "They'll probably tell you: NEVER!"

Then Wesley brings up the hot people in the room and he couldn't possibly be talking about her right! Is there a clause where roommates shouldn't date one another, she wonders with a tilt of her head. So that meeeeeeeans. And here she lets out a surprised and pleased squeal, "Are you taking Saint to the Ball?? Oh, that would be soooo cuuuuute!" That comes out as a squeal too! I am so happy for you guys!" Though when Saint ask both she and Elmo, Esme's not sure what the question was, but she figures it's about the ball.

"Oh, I would never miss this for the world!"

Elmo mumbles something with his mouth full of pasta, seeming to agree with Saint about the absurdity of the swan thing and the juiciness of the French.

When he finishes his bite, he sits back and takes a moment to look around the table at everyone. There's the barest flicker of a smile there, especially at the exchange between Esme and Wes. When he looks back at Saint to answer, he shrugs one shoulder. "Maybe? I don't know. I've never been to a ball."

He clears his throat and hits the carbs again, this time mopping up som sauce with a piece of bread.

"So masquerades are about showing up and looking rad. You don't need more than a simple suit and a sparkly mask." Saint begins, then backtracks and says, "Ok, the mask doesn't have to be sparkly, but if you're wearing a mask, why the fuck not?" And then she adds, "You don't even really need a date. You can just go dance, or watch, or mingle, or scam lots of catered snacks, or spike the punch bowl, or go look at the stars."

"We might get fired for spiking the punch bowl, but you know, only if we get caught." Saint pauses in her ball primer to add, "Snitches get ditches."

And then continues on from that aside. "If you need a suit, Fabricadabra can sort you out. Just tell Dante Saint sent you and if he raises his eyebrow, just tell him I said he's cruising for botox if he keeps that up."

She clears her throat. Where was she? Cutting a glance at Esme as she spirals into some kind of cotton candy delusion. Which is when the Kerekes comes out. "Hey, sugarplum fairy, keep your kawaii designs on your own panties, thank you."

And then back to, "Or say fuck it to a dress code, show up and steal the whole ass punch bowl."

"What." Wesley looks at Esme. He looks over at Saint. He looks back to Esme. Back to Saint. Then to Elmo. He even looks at the Freak and the other rats. He takes a swig of the beer and then he leans back, motioning with the beverage in hand as he inquires in bemused tones: "Am I-- am I being Punk'd? Is Ashton Kutcher hiding under the kitchen table? Is that what this is?"

He smirks a little, shaking his head, "For the record, I meant me. I'm the hot one." One hand lifts to swirl about his face, "Can't you tell?"