COUNT DOWN | OPEN AU

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    //human AU! everyone's invited to a New Year's ball/gala!
    Aristotle paced with justified uncertainty from wall to wall in the confined space of his flat, palms pressed together and fingertips resting on his chin, eyes wild with thought. He took strides almost too big, whirling around once he reached one wall so he could make his way back, insistent pacing creating a rhythm which stimulated his mind, filled with thought patterns. An invitation laid open on the counter somewhere beside him, reading in elegantly swooped letters Join Us! followed by detailed information on the ball being held for all the town's inhabitants. He didn't even know they had a ballroom. When he read over the scripted page, unsureness welled up like concrete in his poors, mind already wavering by the time he'd started reading over the dress requirements. Startled, Aristotle had thrown himself back, face blank as his legs started moving, a subconscious effort provided by his unkempt mind; as he paced across the floor, socked feet padding along the hard wood, he had meticulously began going over his plans for the night. First and foremost, he wondered to himself whether he should even attend.


    He had suits for formal occasions, and the invitation addressed unmistakenly to a certain Aristotle V. Midday, but he wondered if it would be enough. He wasn't the richest kid on the block, as being alone and seventeen would entail, especially since saving up for college funds wasn't cheap, despite his many scholarships. He didn't want to swagger into some ballroom like owned the place while looking dejectedly more out of place than normal. As his mind branched out to other questions, he grew increasingly more insecure over his options. Who would be in attendance, he wondered? Those that he knew the best, hopefully? Or, perhaps most others had the same doubts as him. Would it be worth his time? Casting a sideways glance toward the laptop open on his bed, Aristotle outwardly cringed; he'd been working on that essay for days, he didn't necessarily want to stop for some offhanded party. Of course, of his biggest concern, what would he most regret? His pacing slowing to a stop, the teen stared blankly forward in thought, brows furrowing as he mulled over the word, sloshing it about his skull. Eventually, he reasoned to himself that he could always leave early, but he wouldn't be able to arrive late. Perhaps, a bit of his time could be spared.


    Releasing a long sigh, he came to terms with his decision. Angling his cranium toward starboard and diagonally up, he peered owlishly at the clock hanging on his wall. Two hours until the party officially started. His flimsy gaze flickered downward, leveling his head to the wall in front of him, and he almost audibly gasped when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Short waves of hair disheveled, sweats and tee shirt clinging to his frame messily, shadows under his eyes dark enough to make his sunkissed skin appear pale; he looked gaunt, like a ghost looming amongst the warmth of someone's home. Two hours would have to do.


    Rushing toward the bathroom, he turned on the shower and scrubbed himself clean, almost frantic in the way of washing his hair and making himself presentable. His brunette locks were more tamed by the time he finished, falling somewhere just above his chin. A half an hour had passed in his pursuit of cleanliness, and there he stood, grasping the edge of the counter as he stared at his reflection. Sickly pallor all but vanished from his face, he looked more like the healthy youth that he was, save for the traces of sleepless purple under his eyes. Unfortunately, he didn't have any makeup, so there was little he could do. Sucking in a breath of air from in between his teeth, Aristotle hastily continued with his prepping, drying his wavy hair and decidedly pushing it back, grooming himself meticulously out of habit. With an hour left, he threw himself on to his bed and began typing away on his computer, and fifteen minutes before he had to leave he got up and dressed completely. Between black, brown, and green, he chose black. Long black socks held secured his shirt stays, clamped onto the end of his crisp white dress shirt. The tux was simple, dark, and a three piece, vest fitting snugly over his lean frame. He spent five minutes too long struggling over his bowtie, so he had to rush in snatching up his shoes and phone.


    Despite having to run back into his flat and grab the forgotten invitation, he made it to the address written on the page with five minutes to spare. The building was marble, grand, and massive. Lit by street lamps and glimmering lightbulbs, Aristotle was stricken to stillness by the sheer weight of it all. He'd never been to anything so regal. He'd taken extra precautions to even wear matching socks, but... still. Standing in front of the many steps leading to the open entrance, the teen stood there, chewing on his bottom lip.

    tags; updated 12/30

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    Atticus often spent his time alone within the confinements of his apartment. The holidays were often spent alone on his part, it wasn't enjoyable at all per say. Once, he would celebrate with a huge family, all speaking his language, all sharing his morals and having a great time with good food and fun games. That luxury was all ripped away though and now Atticus felt himself craving his family more than ever. They were broken, brother was always gone, mother was crying, dad was a drunk, but it was better than nothing.
    He kept himself busy with reading, catching up on recent events and some more modern types of fiction, it had seemed to be going quite well. Then he noticed a letter flutter from his mail slot and it caught the veteran's attention. A letter? He never received a letter before, well, not in the last year. He put away the book he was reading Mr. Bird's Advice For Sad Poets, onto the desk that stood besides the veteran's couch. Picking himself up, Atticus walked over and bent down to pick up a thin piece of paper that read Join us?


    Join us? For what?
    After opening the envelope and reading the note carried inside, Atticus had realized he was invited to a New Years party. Tonight! It seemed to be formal too and immediately the man was sent into a slight panic. He threw himself into a shower, scrubbing sweat off his scarred up body and taking a few moments to dwell in the act. Even after having such afflictions for so many yearsm the former soldier still never got used to how mangled his body was, how his bones poked through skin and how his arms were dotted with scars from a former addiction. After catching himself drifting into intrusive thoughts, Attie raced himself out of the shower and hooked a navy towel around his waist to look through whatever formal wear he had.


    That's when he realized he did not have much formal wear.
    He had a few button-ups, sure, but they weren't necessarily 'formal'. The man bit his lip, he only had two legitimate options.
    His formal military uniform which was a nice olive green and properly tailored to the man's frame. It had the hat and pants and everything. Decorated with the two little arrows on his sleeves that symbolized his former rank and accessorized with many medals, it was a pretty thing. The uniform did fit Attie, but he did not want to carry the memories with him anymore, war was not all there was to Attie.
    His only option left was an old suit Attie owned decades ago. To the modern eye, it must have looked absolutely atrocious.


    It was a tweed suit and the guy had no choice but to wear it. It was all he had. Standing in front of the mirror once again to adjust what he wore, Atticus internally debated whether he should go or not. The suit itself was a navy colour that matched the pants, the shoulder and chest area was rather loose, it came to no surprise. This outfit was ancient and it was tailored to Attie's self before the war, when he was strong and wide-set. It was odd to be wearing it again. He wore a white dress shirt underneath it all, under his jacket and resting over the white fabric of the shirt was a tweed vest of a silver colour that matched the flatcap Atticus carried in his hands. Around his neck was a navy tie that was a little darker than the shade of his suit. He was conflicted as to what to feel right now. Resting the flatcap over his hair and adjusting it on his head, someone may have took the veteran for some 1940's gentleman. Technically, they wouldn't have been wrong. He just didn't know if modern people appreciated such a look. Wasn't black a formal colour? Attie had no other choice, it was either this or his uniform which was just plagued with awful past events.
    There was no holding back.


    Grabbing the letter, Attie grabbed one of his scarfs, this one was a navy colour and it matched his current outfit. Hooking it over his shoulders and masking his face from the cold, the man headed outside to go to the party. He knew he was going to regret this, parties weren't Attie's thing but... There was no turning back now.
    He was shocked to find that the letter guided him to a ball. This... Must have been a mistake, right? Who had the money to rent such a thing. Almost frantically, Atticus read and re-read the letter to make sure it lead to this grand Utopia. It seemed like this was no mistake, in fact, another man was present who also seemed to be carrying a letter.
    Ah, the was wearing black. Darn, Atticus had a feeling that was the colour he should've went for. Walking over to the other male, Attie lowered the scarf from his lips to speak.
    "Were you... Invited too?"




    INFO- 30/12

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    Hanzo Shimada - heir to an entire illegal empire that secretly ruled Hanamura, one of the richest individuals on this planet and spoiled to no ends... and yet he still despised social outings and having to dress himself up nicely for others. He left the social gatherings to his brother, who reveled in the attention as much as he seemed to need it - which was a lot. Usually Hanzo only spoke to the powerful individuals whom his father had established relationships with, introducing his eldest son like some sort of sick prize. All those outing were mandatory, and for business reasons, not for fun. So it was strange that ages after having gone to any sort of social gathering, the man was suddenly getting an anonymous letter inviting him to a ball. Every single hair was on edge as the man had opened the letter, and his amber gaze had turned cold and bitter. This raised questions and alarms on so many levels - who was inviting him? More importantly, why? He was a complete stranger around these parts, having only just moved into the city and not even planning to stay for long. And yet still the letter had sat menacingly upon his table, as if quietly judging him.


    Eventually it was too much pressure on the man, and he felt like he was obliged to go, even though he was busy preparing for his own new years traditions that didn't involve loud, obnoxious parties that the Americans loved to celebrate. His were more quaint and quiet celebrations, with photographs of Genji and a hot cup of tea to keep him company. If it sounded sad, it was because it was. But Shogatsu was a celebration of forgiving and forgetting past mistakes and starting anew in the new year. For now those plans seemed to be halted, however, for Hanzo was busy now preparing himself and dressing up, Genji's photo laying gently discarded on the table next to his bed. "Gomen'nasai, ototo," he murmured out while fixing up his hair in the mirror, tying it into a neat bun with a ribbon that he reserved only for special occasions, red and gold silk tying his inky black hair together. "Watashi wa anata to issho ni shin'nen o iwau tame ni sugu ni modorimasu." A soft smile caused his usually tense feature to relax, and he fixed the black suit he had on, before glancing at Genji's photo with a low breath. He grazed his gloved fingers over the frame, before putting on a coat and leaving his home, letter tucked firmly into his grip.


    "Yoku, yoku..." the male breathed out as he approached the grandiose building, too caught up in awe to take notice of Atticus and Aristotle for a brief moment. His amber gaze was tilted upwards, glancing at the intricate design on the construction, though eventually he cast his eyes towards the two others instead, politely nodding in greeting. "Greetings. This is where the... new years ball is taking place, yes?" he murmured in inquiry, taking the piece of paper out and flipping it open in one fluid motion, rereading it and then glancing at the address once more to confirm. "Haven't been in such a grand building since I was a young boy."


    tags (updated 12/29)

    [fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10px;line-height:1.5]#8F75C3 for speaking
    [ channeling child Elsa here for Vic's outfit ]


    It was daunting to be invited to such a formal event, especially because it seemed like the sort of thing only adults went to after telling the kids that they wouldn't be able to behave themselves there. She had showered a few times, mostly because after the first two times she had ended up either getting food in her hair or getting distracted and hopping in the mud puddles outside.


    Once she was finally able to focus on getting ready, the eight year old was faced with the terrible prospect of having to deal with the mess of long white-blonde hair that was usually knotted in a messy bun on the top of her head. But she called for some assistance and it was now in loose curls with a braid crossing over the top of her head in a sort of crown style. There was a trio of three icy blue flowers tucked into the right side of the braid to match the shade of blue on her dress. The dress she had managed to scrounge up was an icy blue that reached up into a small turtleneck, with a black band starting at the top of her waist and ending at the top of her chest, a thin twirling design tracing over it in light gold. Atop that was a similarly shaded jacket, which had a small line of black along the edges of it.


    "Attie!" The little girl dashed down the street, happily coming to a halt in front of the familiar man, tucking her hands behind her back as she grinned up at him. "You look nice!" She blinked upon noticing the other two and reached out one gloved hand to gently hang onto Atticus's sleeve. She wasn't usually shy, but she still wasn't sure if anyone would want her there, given that she was just a kid.
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    tags (updated 12/27)