Anniversary Party - Open RP

[head_psychic]

Shawn has taken care of absolutely everything. There are flowers and drinks and different types of music. There is food and loads of pineapples. All that stuff that either shouldn't break or demands too much space is simply out of the way and it actually looks very different if you know what it looks like originally.

Still, the pin-ball machine is at the same spot and with all the furniture out of the way or rearranged it's a really comfy place. He has borrowed a couch from a neighbour, who, in return, is of course invited and built some kind of lounge.

Additionally, it is a nice day, which is why the place in front of the psych office is open to hang out as well, with some self service BBQ ("Dad, it's really nice you let me borrow the grill. Hey, why... don't you just stay here and make sure nothing burns down? And be nice to the guests!" - "Shawn! I won't... Shawn!!"), more drinks and the easy Californian warmth cheering up mournful spirits. That and the beach directly in front of you.

Playing idly with the ring on his finger Shawn takes one last look around, a satisfied grin on his face. His prior job as an event planner came in quite handy while setting all of this up. Not only has he still got all the contacts, it also made organizing a pretty easy job. It's all about knowing what you have to do. Then it's actually not work anymore.

(ooc: Open for as long people want to play. Bendy time is love!)

Comments

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

"Eeek!" Shawn squealed when the cold hit him and he jumped around, flailing, his hands patting his cold back. "What the-..."

He blinked; he knew this man, he had met him before but it had been ages. He can't have been older than, what, nine? And here he was, looking almost exactly the same. "Dude. Haven't seen you in a while. You look sharp."

[dead-bob-rcmp.livejournal.com]

Bob rocks back on his sandals, completely unfazed by the flailing but utterly proud of himself for picking out the right pair of bermudas. Looking sharp is exactly what he'd had in mind when he put them on. The tight FREDDY SAYS RELAX t-shirt he's got over it (the words are a stretched and askew but Bob thought it was the sentiment that counted the most) was a lovely addition to the bright flowery shorts.

"Thank you," he smiles just as bright as his clothes and glances down at Shawn's crotch. "My son's just like you. Are you impotent too?"

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

"Most definitely not. Wouldnt' have made to a ten-year-anniversary then. Could you look somewhere else? I mean, I'm married and everything."

Shawn takes another long look at Bob and frowns. "Man, it's been, like, twenty years. How come you're still so... hyper? I mean, facial like. And stuff."

[dead-bob-rcmp.livejournal.com]

With a disgruntled grunt, Bob lifts his gaze. He's not sure if he manages to disguise his squirm in his own nether regions or not, he just hopes the Yank doesn't make him put back the pineapples. It would be near impossible to extricate them now...

"I'm dead," Bob answers simply, flicking his blonde-haired son-in-law on the forehead as he passes by. "See?" He smiles triumphantly, but it doesn't light up his face completely. No matter what he might say, being dead isn't all it's cracked up to be. "It's been a few years now. But everything still..." He gestures down to his shorts with an insistent glint in his eye, "works. Unlike some people."

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

"You're dead," Shawn repeats, his eyebrows rising slightly.

But the old man isn't lying, because Shawn would know if he was. Which means, he's either dead or really, really, really crazy. Remembering their last conversation about snow and him making Shawn a Canadian Prince he assumes the latter for now. "Right. Well. You want a pineapple punch?"

[dead-bob-rcmp.livejournal.com]

"Oh...." Bob pats his stomach and makes a vacant gesture at it, hopefully indicating the sincere lack of internal organs with which to digest the food and drink on offer. "No, thank you."

"So," Bob takes a grand look around, attempting to peer over the heads of everybody with all his five feet and - he coughs - inches. "This is where it all happens, eh? The tracking and the calculating and the- ooh, a karaoke machine! Bigfoot Barry used to have one of those back in Resolute. He used it for mimicking the mating call of the caribou and they would all flock to his cabin." He coughs again, this time a little uncomfortably. "Purely for...personal reasons."

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

Shawn stares. "Why would someone flock caribous?" He thinks for a moment. "Thinking about it if you had said 'for food' instead of 'for personal reasons' I would be less freaked out by the mental image."

[dead-bob-rcmp.livejournal.com]

It's not so much the 'flocking' that...roused Bigfoot Barry's interst. Bob doesn't say anything though, just finds a sudden fascination in reading his t-shirt upside down, letting the silence speak volumes for him.

Bigfoot Barry. Now there's a guy who was never impotent!

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

"Uh, you know what, dude, nevermind." Shawn shakes his head. This is seriously weird.

"Hey, I'm still the Prince of Canada, right?"

[dead-bob-rcmp.livejournal.com]

"That depends," Bob answers with a seriously tone, ferreting around in his non-existent pockets. "Can you make snow yet?"

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

Shawn's eyes widen. "You never said I had to!" he complains.

And pouts.

[dead-bob-rcmp.livejournal.com]

"I was old and alive back then, son," Bob points out, pulling out some more snow and handing it to Shawn. "My memory wasn't what it used to be. Or.." he wipes his hand down his t-shirt, frowning in contemplation, "...what it is now, perhaps."

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

Shawn takes the snow and stares at it, confused. Where did that... is that actual... yes it is but why...

He stares at Bob. "Do you have some cooling packs in your pockets or something?"

[dead-bob-rcmp.livejournal.com]

Bob pats the sides of his bermuda shorts with a friendly smile. "I don't have any pockets," he informs Shawn, turning on the spot just for good measure.

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

"But... how did you..."

Shawn frowns, the snow in his hand slowly melting. "How did you do that?"

[dead-bob-rcmp.livejournal.com]

Bob resists the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm dead, Yank." He makes a grab for Shawn's nose, only for his hand to go right through him. "We have a special licence. Like James Bond!" Ohhh, yeah, Bob likes the sound of that.

Fraser. Bob Fraser. Licence to Spook!

[head-psychic.livejournal.com]

Shawn pales and squeals, jumping backwards. "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!!"

He flails, eyes wide for another good moment before dropping his arms and staring at the man deadpan. "You really are dead."