Whatever Holmes said, it probably wasn't differential equations. Either
that, or Sei's been around him far, far too long. She blushes - turns, in
fact, a very flattering shade of pink - and when the dance steps have
finished turning her all around she rises up on her toes to note, very
quietly and with a foolish little smile, "You're lucky I'm not the
fainting kind. Otherwise I'd swoon and embarass you greatly in front of
all these people."

"Sure!" says the little boy cheerily. "Good luck!" He wanders off, punch
in hand, to go see if there /is/ anyone whose autograph he can get.

Romany is slowly recovering from the face-in-hands posture she assumed at
her father's shout, which means she's free to adjust her glasses at what
Sera says. "Beanbag chair," she repeats. "Somehow, can't say I'm
surprised. Can say I need a drink. You? Nonalcoholic, I presume?"

Holmes says mildly, "I think I could catch you, at least on the first
bounce." He then bows to her and offers her his arm to lead her off the
dance floor, but...as with the crowds before, he doesn't see anywhere he
really wants to go, with the result that she's probably leading him more
than vice versa.

Kess gives the kid a little departing wave, then turns a glance around the
place again. Happy couples dancing, people enjoying themselves, and she
hasn't got a dirty look yet. So time to go find the other half of /her/
happy couple, and see if she can coax him onto the dancefloor (during one
of the slow numbers). With any luck, he hasn't broken the present. Or been
caught picking pockets. Steps light, buoyed as she seems to finally be
relaxing in the crowd, she wanders off, snagging herself another drink on
the way.

Looking apologetic, Sera sighs. "Actually. I'll be back as soon as I
can--I want to go check on Ray. Make sure he's not just hiding behind a
potted plant," she says, grinning. "Thanks though," she says -- you can
steal and claim one for me without the drunk in it, and I'll love you
forever."

"That's so very comforting," Seishi drawls amiably, still a little
flushed. "You have no idea, really." Oooh, punch. What are the odds that
there's some left that hasn't been spiked yet? Sei gently nudges Holmes in
that direction to find out.

"I'll see there's something held for you," Romany promises Sera - it's so
much easier to watch over a drink than to watch over a dad. "No trouble."
Because Sera has Baby Privilege, which outweighs even Family Privilege.

"Well, as long as I get to mock you sooner or later," Kitty says,
pacified. "You really did go to an effort, didn't you." She pauses. "That
wasn't your dad I heard yelling earlier, was it?" Pause again, and a
little warier - "If it was, do I have to dance with him?"

And the song's coming to an end, comes to an end, fades into something
faster and not in English. Something that involves synths and an almost
offensively cheery voice. "I think it was," says Pete, eyebrows up, sort
of half-leading Kitty off the dance floor. "And not if you don't want to,
though I'm fairly sure he bathed. And that had to be him Buffy was yelling
at earlier."

Holmes goes with Seishi to the punchbowls, and although he looks
skeptically at her, sidelong, he gets himself a glass. After a taste of
it, he shakes his head slightly. That bowl must be spiked, but there's a
few others left. But /he/ doesn't put it down.

Kitty shakes her head, grinning. "I suppose I should just be glad that
your family are the /only/ relatives who showed up. Counting blessings."
She keeps beside Pete, not /quite/ actually joined at the hip, hand in
hand. "And counting the lack of parole officers..." They're intercepted by
one of the ushers who'd been watching the door; pause for hugging, at
least on Kitty's side.

Seishi rolls her eyes, more in amusement than anything else. Rather than
risk the others, she begs a soda from the bartender. "Oh, look," she
comments cheerfully, cocking her head to the side and listening to the
Happy Chirpy Synthy Music. "The sound of my native land."

Holmes chuckles mildly. "...I'm not dressed to dance to this music." he
says. "It's been a fine evening, though, hasn't it? The ceremony was very
nice."

Pete shakes hands with the ushers, cheerfully, then leans over to kiss
Kitty briefly and whisper something about seeing that his da doesn't spike
the punch with arsenic or anything, and being back to find her. Like
always. And then he tries to be inconspicuous about making his way through
the crowd.

Romany takes the opportunity of the relative lull - that is to say, the
lull in which her relatives aren't doing anything particularly horrifying
- to get herself a drink and to arrange the promised a lack-of-alcohol for
Seravina. This leaves her as yet one more person using the bar as an
excuse to hide from everyone else.

Romany's father, marked by wild grey hair, ill-fitting suit, and bedroom
slippers, has meanwhile given up trying to figure out the mystery of
demon-to-short-blond transformation, and - keeping a sharp eye out for
soul-eating fish clones - is in search of a drink of his own. Well,
ostensibly. Actually, he's just positioned himself so that he can keep an
eye on Seishi.

Seishi grins brightly. "It's not possible to dance to something like this
wearing formal shoes. See?" A nod indicates anyone else still on the dance
floor as proof.

This whole party is obviously too calm and simple. Luckily for all of its
fine guests, though, John Constantine has come to the rescue. The doors
swing open, then stay that way as a shadowed figure in jeans and a T-shirt
mutters something to a nearly-naked woman in a red caricature of a dress.
Then he laughs, reaches for her arm, and all but drags her inside,
shifting his hand to her back (and rather low down on her back, for that
matter) as the doors close behind them. And lo and behold, it is John
Constantine! The guy in the Clash T-shirt, that is, not the scantily-clad
woman. "'kinell kind of music is this?" he calls cheerfully over the
J-pop.

Holmes says amiably, "I think /you/ would probably be able to, if you were
so inclined. I think you could walk a tightrope in those shoes if you were
so inclined." He takes another long drink of his punch, and just before
Constantine enters, he says, "And that will be Mr. Constantine and his
nearly-nude companion for the evening."

Kate's withdrawn for the moment, leaving Jack at loose ends, as well. He,
too, heads for the bar, slowly, attempting to hide his discomfort at the
sheer mass of people - harder to do, now that his better half's not here
to hide behind.

"If you weren't so bloody late you'd've been here for the Ramones,
Constantine!" comes an answering yell, from somewhere in the vicinity of
the bar. And then Pete leans over the table and lowers his voice,
addressing Romany with a note of concern in his voice. "I was keeping tabs
on da via reverse echolocation. He's stopped shouting. D'you know where he
went?"

"No," Romany muses, "no, no idea. But sooner or later he'll harass someone
else, and then we'll be able to find him easily enough again." She eyes
her own glass and takes another drink. "Gave up trying to keep him under
control when the clone bit started. Which was considerably before the
shouting about it."

Timothy continues to sit at the bar, watching people dance, occasionally
sipping from his drink. He's not drunk, but he's not quite as sober as he
was when he came here. Which was the plan, after all. He's mostly content
to sit and listen to the music. "I don't know who could have possibly
thought this was a golden age of music," he says to no one in particular.

Half-draped over John, looking pleased as punch to be out and about, Lena
saunters into the fray, a wide, crooked smile on her lips. She's the
nearly-nude companion for the evening yes, and she's only met one of
John's friends... and technically, that one probably wouldn't mind if John
ended up in a gutter somewhere, /so/. She looks a little too
'street-corner' to be here, but then again, her date for the evening is
still in his Clash T-shirt, so they're an interesting pair.

Seishi retorts lightly, "I think that would be a bit beyond me. I'm doing
very well not to break an ankle as it is. Whose idea were high heels
anyhow? They should be shot," she concludes, and sips delicately at her
soda.

Celliers settles gingerly at the bar, not far from Romany. She's safe,
after all. All the better to vulture and observe the crowd, while nursing
a soda.

Harold Wisdom straightens his tie (an effort which leaves it worse off
than before), clears his throat, and steps toward Seishi and Holmes.
Slippers go 'scuff scuff scuff' on the floor. "Are you the woman from
Bath, then?" he says to Seishi. "You're late. I've been waiting since
1968."

Constantine arrows for the bar. He must have some kind of alcohol-magnet
in him. "You didn't wait for me? I'm shocked, Wisdom. Fucking shocked and
dismayed. By the way, you said you'd pay me for wearing this shirt."

Holmes merely looks Mr. Wisdom up and down, then looks with curiosity to
Seishi to see her reply.

It's amidst all this that a short woman with dark hair meanders in,
wearing a white shirt and black pants in sizes much, much too large. Her
hair is a mass of ebon tangles, and her skin is pale as cream, but it's
her eyes that really catch glances, twilight and glittering. She's only
come to wish the best; she won't stay long.

Well, that was apropos of not much. Seishi blinks once, caught rather by
surprise. Finally she manages, more or less politely, "Beg pardon?" Beat.
"I'm afraid sixty-eight was... a little before my time..."

Laughter from Lena, and she heads with John to the bar--it's the most
comfortable place to be, really. She eyes everyone with fiercely blue
eyes, and her devilish grin really seems suited for a girl on
Constantine's arm. "Congratulations, Wisdom," Lena purrs, like she's known
him for years. "And, uh, nice t'meet you, too," she says, offering a wink.

This is turning out to be far more interesting (and strange) a party than
Jack expected. He flicks a look at Constantine and his companion, but
mostly he's watching the elder Wisdom and Seishi. Until the newcomer
appears, and he rises from the bar to intercept her.

One of the bartenders comments to Timothy in passing, "Probably the same
people who actually like Celine Dion." He eyes Constantine and Lena with a
vague sense of recognition - though which one he's seen before is anyone's
guess.

So she's been awhile. She was...distracted. And now Buffy has spent the
last few minutes looking through the crowd for a man in a tux that...isn't
here. Or there are lots of men in tuxes but, not apparently the one she's
looking for. A little stressed, more than a little disappointed, she asks
a few people who shake their heads apologetically. She's getting a little
nervous. Where'd he go? He's not off eating someone, is he? No he wouldn't
do that. Oh god, he's snuck off with the microphone to sing. Buffy looks
around desperately.

Mingling and moving through the sea of flesh, the dark-eyed newcomer isn't
that easy to intercept. But soon she's at Celliers's side--who's
intercepting who, here? For a moment... there's absolutely no recognition
on her face (she's falling apart Jack, entropy and chaos and slippage) but
then... "Jacky?"

Timothy rolls his eyes. "Oh, god, don't get me *started* about her! They
never did find all the bodies...er...you should probably just ignore
that." He takes this opportunity to turh toward Constantine and his
companion. "So you made it here too, did you?" He lowers his voice.
Slightly. "Stay away from the old guy. He's...not quite right, I think.
Been hearing voices for some reason." His tone is entirely innocent. And
then over toward the happy couple. "And congratulations to the pair of
you," and, for once, his smile is genuine.

"That skin, are you?" Pete arches a brow, looking away from Romany at
John, then giving up and grinning. "It was ace, by the way. Rabbi Cohen
looked as though she were going to murder you with a glare." Without even
referring to it, Pete's taking out his wallet and paying John off, then
looking Lena over briefly, amused. "Ta. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your
name..." Where. Is. Da. Please stop distracting me I have to find him
before he sets the room on fire and -- oh my god. Claire.

The song's cycled through the j-pop and some Jethro Tull, and gone on to
Edith Piaf and all of a sudden, the playlist's gone to the Who again. I
know you deceived me, now there's a surprise. I know that you have 'cause
there's magic in my eyes. I can see for miles and miles and miles.

Romany drawls to Constantine, as Pete's digging out the wallet, "And here
I thought you'd finally found some taste." She shakes her head, then
glances to Lena with a little smile. "Good to see you again," she adds,
rather specifically to the girl in red.

"Yes, Claire, good evening," Jack answers gently, though his face is
pained. It hurts to see her like that, but he can hardly turn away.
"Welcome to the party. Have you come to see the Wisdoms?" he wonders,
offering his hand.

Constantine just grins at Pete as he takes the money and tucks it into his
pocket. "Brilliant. I live to piss off religious leaders." A beat, then, a
bit worriedly, "She *can't* murder people with a glare, can she?" Romany
gets a cheerful smirk. "Never. Taste runs and hides when I walk into a
room."

"Because if you actually watch it, sometimes, she looks right into the
camera and...oh yeah. Scully wants me." The short, dark haired man beside
Buffy nods emphatically, while the blonde looks around the room for
anyone. Anything. "Hey you looking for something? The punch is right ov--"

"Punch! Yes. Punch," Buffy latches onto, having done her best to
not hear a word that he's said. "Can you...get me some? I'll just...wait
right here." she gives him a smile. And as soon as he's stepped away,
she's slipping through the crowd again.

The old man - Harold Wisdom, yes - straightens his shoulders now to match
his tie. Or something to that effect. And his eyebrows go up, just before
he leans in conspiratorially to Seishi and only spares Holmes a glance,
"Don't you worry. *I* know you're immortal. Won't tell anyone. Do you
fancy me?" The last is accompanied by an expression that's, at best,
difficult to describe. Something resembling manic grinning lust, possibly.

Holmes just looks at Harold with a kind of pained expression. "Sir!" he
says, a little too prissy for a 21st century party, it seems.

"A pleasure," Lena calls to Romany, grinning widely. Well holy shit; it's
a small world. "London following us around /here/, now?" she quips to
John. And then to Pete, if he might still be paying attention, "It's Lena,
by the by." She'll offer a hand if he seems the sort, and then make sure
to get herself a Manhattan, minus the frills. Just the drink, thanks.

Timothy leans back at the bar, which is a bit of a mistake where barstools
(which, in this case at least, don't have backs on them) are concerned. A
little applied telekinesis keeps him from actually falling over, but he
looks a bit unsteady, at least until he stands up. It looks *kind* of
natural. "I, uh, need to stretch my legs. Yeah." He starts walking in one
direction, sees Harold, and ends up coincidentally moving in just the
opposite direction instead. Which just happens to take him toward the
punch.

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood," Claire singsongs to Jack,
smiling brightly. "There are congratulations in order," she adds. A pause,
and then she reaches out to take his hand, albeit hesitantly, the faintest
shiver moving through her as she mutters absently, "So many /people/
here."

Seishi's immediate response to that is a very undignified squeak. "Excuse
me?" she manages, after considerable effort. "But I'm not..." Quick look
up at Holmes that just screams HELP! "...I've never even been to Bath."
Oh, that'll do the trick. Riight.

"That's because taste is /clever/, John," Romany replies to Constantine,
but it's rather more amiable than edged. Just this once. She keeps one
hand on the Reserved Drink, not guarding her own quite so carefully.

Pete's watching Claire absently for a second, then wrenches his full
attention back to the people right there. He does indeed shake Lena's hand
- and his is feverishly hot, matching today's everpresent brightness in
his eyes. "Lena, then. Lovely to meet you." That was Seishi squeaking. "I
apologize, though, I think I have to go avert a disaster." Never been to
Bath. Oh, crap. And then he's turned and starts wading through the crowd
again, calling, "Da! Where are you." And when he finally gets there it's
to take his father's arm and lean in and hiss, "Leave the nice ninja
/alone/!"

Hey, there's Timmy! Right...near the short kid pouring himself two cups of
punch way too cheerfully. Buffy is torn. Someone she knows that might've
seen Angel and--oh no. The short kid has turned around and smiles brightly
at the Slayer who is -obviously- looking in his direction. Buffy turns
slightly away and puts a hand over one side of her face, pretending like
she didn't see him. "See that?" the kid leans back to inform Timothy, "I
love it when they play hard to get. Although...I've never actually seen
them play anything else. But I'm sure they do, oh yeah. And she's the one.
I'm the Data to her Tasha Yarr."

"Yes, it is, and there are," Jack agrees, tersely. He's obviously steeling
himself not to flinch, as she accepts his hand. The press of the crowd
doesn't make him any happier than it does her, apparently - he's got that
pinched expression. "Shall we go wish them well?" A gesture towards Kitty.
While his tone is soft, it's not that of someone who's merely trying to
humor the unwell.

Constantine leans over to the bar to order a gin and tonic, and when he
returns his attention to Pete, he's diving back into the crowd and what
did he just shout? Da?...oh, no. John goes slightly pale. "Oh, shit."
Romany's anger is terrifying, but at least she's sane enough to control it
at a wedding. John doubts the same is true of Harold. He'll just have to
hope that Harold thinks he's a potted plant.

Any further harassment is therefore derailed by a higher priority. Harold
glowers in Pete's direction. "Oh, it's *you*." He jabs the index finger of
his free hand toward the middle of Pete's chest. "I'm on to you, too.
Where did they grow you, and what did they do with the body!" The potted
plant stratagem might, at this rate, just work.

"Oh, /dear/ Jacky," she whispers. "She's so worried about you. She'll come
see me, soon," Claire murmurs. A gentle smile, nearly like a mother's
warmth, and then she nods, and will follow Celliers wherever he might
lead. "Pryde is beautiful," she notes, as they walk. "So beautiful."

Lena glances up to look at John and wonders, quietly, "I'm going to assume
you're talking about someone's Dad, and not another of your
ex-girlfriends?" She can't help but tease--it's so easy, with Constantine.

Kitty, meanwhile, has been dealing with a different knot of chaos - first
those ushers, then a knot of people ... actually, she has no idea who
those people were. Since a good number of them seemed to smoke, presumably
they were Pete's friends rather than people who just wandered randomly in
off the street. Now she's managed to pry herself free from one of the
wandering small children, and is taking refuge in the one decent dark
corner ... which is already occupied. Startled and pleased look: "Liam!"
It's kept quiet. No mobbing the angel.

Timothy has, of course, spotted the Slayer as well, and he's about to at
least go over and be polite (or whatever passes for polite in Timmyland),
when the kid starts talking to him. Timothy's eyes widen with dread, and
then narrow with suspicion. Even if it is...a bit of mental
calculation...seven or eight years too early.* "You used a contraction,"
he says, a bit coldly, though he's still smiling. "So you're an imperfect
being. Better watch out, cause if someone comes along and offers you
kool-ade and starts gibbering on about fulfilling your prime directive..."
He trails off, looks at Buffy, looks back at the guy, "by all means, take
it." (*Helpful Timmy Fun Fact: In his universe, Star Trek eventually
inspired a cult who ended up, in 2010, undertaking a particularly gruesome
mass suicide.)

... Da? Romany considers that, and finishes her drink rather hastily, just
in case. "It's more or less all right," she comments toward John and Lena.
"I made sure he didn't have any guns on him."

And then Pete's giving Seishi and Holmes an incredibly pained, apologetic
look, and almost /drags/ his father away. The discussion can probably be
partly audible no matter /where/ they go, or how loud the music is. "Da,
would you shut it for a second? I'm *not* a bloody clone, all right? I'm
an altiversal counterpart from another dimension and I can't believe you
just made me say that out loud." There's a pause, and the irritation's
fizzling at the edges; he looks at the old man with a mostly-concealed
wonder. "You /came/."

Kitty's the safest target, at the moment, or so Jack guesses, and thus
it's in her direction that he leads Claire "Kate?" he guesses, casting a
glance down at the dark-haired one beside him, as he picks his way through
the crowd. "And yes, she is. Most brides are on their wedding day." His
own and the ensuing tangle he's not going to contemplate, at the moment -
merely dealing with that number of people in the same room is tough
enough.

Liam is, indeed, still here. The demon eventually found a cab, but the
angel opted to stick around a while longer, more from a sense of
obligation than anything else -- crowds. He really doesn't like them. He's
ensconced himself quite comfortably in a corner, and has been working his
way slowly through a steady supply of Guinness (it's good to make friends
with a bartender). Kitty gets a look back that is equally startled and
pleased, since he'd given up hope of having a word with either of the
couple. "Mistress Wisdom," is what he offers, with half a smile. "Enjoyin'
your day?"

"I got his son killed," Constantine mutters to Lena. "It's a long story."
He leans over and kisses her quickly, then picks up his drink from the bar
and downs a good half of it at one go. He eyes Romany warily. "Any knives
or heavy objects?"

Holmes looks at Seishi. "...I see that Mr. Wisdom comes of his mental
state fairly." he murmurs quietly to her.

There's a moment where the kid just looks at Timmy, almost cringing,
horrified. "Oh my god. You're right. I'm not Data. I'm his evil twin
-Lore-! Lore never got any! Oh my god, I have to...I have to correct this!
Is--is my face twitching?!" the glasses of punch are forgotten as the poor
kid flees through the crowd. And no, John probably hasn't seen Buffy yet
so he can't be talking about her.

"Whatever you said," is the Slayer's comment to Timothy when she
gets close enough, "Write it down. I want to make every geek I ever meet
run that fast. Speaking of, you haven't seen Angel anywhere, have you?"

"Be polite for a change," Seishi mutters to Holmes under her breath. But
oh, she's staying right next to him, yes she is. And boy are her eyes big.
Yikes.

"This is my kind of party," Lena notes wryly. "An open bar, and potential
homicides." She remains near John's side, keeping her nearly-nude self
away from anyone who looks even remotely uptight. She'd cause scandal at
quite a few weddings, perhaps... But not this one.

Holmes comfortingly, acknowledgingly, and obligingly, touches his
graceful, long-fingered hand to the back of Seishi's bare neck, just once.
"...but it is a blessing to have family here, even if it is family of an
alternate kind."

Kitty grins at Liam, somewhere between exuberant and verge-of-panic. In
other words, the usual bride's expression. "The answer is either 'yes' or
'so this is what it feels like right before you faint,' I'm not sure
which. Thank you. For being here. Are you doing okay? Do you need
anything?" She /knows/ he doesn't like crowds.

Claire nods, whether or not Jack happens to look to her; it /is/ Kate
she's talking about. Her eyes are absent, and she's pale and not all
there, pausing to look at a potted plant, briefly, give a wink and a wave,
and continue one. "...such a good listener," she mumbles to herself.

Romany glances back up to John and Lena. "One cellphone, last I saw him.
Don't know what he might have picked up after he got here, though." And
she gets up to get herself another drink, because at this rate she's going
to need one.

"Doin' alright," replies Liam, amiable -- he's a bit tense, but sitting
quietly out of the way does a lot to alleviate that. As does Guinness.
"Couldn't leave without congratulatin' the bride. An' you look absolutely
lovely, lass." Poor Kitty. Amused sympathy in his expression; the angel
moves to rise. "Offer you a seat for a minute?"

And Jack's expression is all transparent guilt, for the moment, before it
fades into a look of utter disgruntled discomfort - he looks like a cat
that's being forced to wade through puddles. After a moment the pair comes
up to where Kitty and Liam are, and Jack clears his throat politely.

Timothy grins at Buffy, and offers her a slight bow. "Back home, there
weren't too many of them around any more, but we learned about the
Massacre in school, and there were always a few crackpots. We were always
told to mention the Fifth City of Babylon or something if any of them got
too rowdy...though to be honest, I never really paid attention." Pause,
cause he's babbling. "Oh, Angel? Yeah, he was here a while back. Ran out
of here like the devil himself was chasing him." Which makes for a nice
reversal, he doesn't add. Not aloud, anyway.

"The devil was here?!" Buffy is immediately alarmed...for like a second.
Chasing Angel. "Someone must've tried to, you know. Speak to him." stupid
Angel! This was supposed to be fun! She was gone for all of like...okay
awhile! But there was makeup to apply and people to talk to and--one of
the discarded glasses of punch is picked up and downed. Blech. She makes a
face and looks up at Timmy. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but
that's okay. Keep going. I'm all about the Massacres and...stuff."

Given that Harold is seventyish and suffering from the particular kind of
malnutrition that can only be described as 'has eaten nothing but cheap,
stale delivery pizza for the last two years,' dragging him is not
particularly a challenge. He gives Pete an annoyed look. "Had to make sure
these people didn't induct your evil sister into their pagan cult, didn't
I? She's been in enough of 'em alread-" And there's an annoying ring from
his pocket. He freezes and eyes it as if he thought it were about to
explode.

Aha! You admit she's my sister! Aha! Pete's concealed wonder turns into a
visible relaxation, and he's got this grin twitching at the corners of his
mouth. "It's a /Jewish/ wedding, Da. Not pagan. Get your phone."

Constantine blinks at Romany. "Why did you give him a cellphone?" Pause.
"Actually, if it's your cellphone, that's a clever tactic. Telemarketers
call you, get your father, flee in terror." He drapes an arm over Lena,
then pauses. That blond over there, by the redhead. That's...oh, no, the
last thing he needs is for Buffy to meet Lena. And vice versa.

Kitty hastily shakes her head, lifting both hands to try to forestall
Liam. "Oh, no, no - we got a break earlier," and her skirt thankyouKess is
long enough that she could get away without wearing formal and therefore
painful shoes, "it's okay, really ... and ... thank you. Credit goes to
Kess, though. She did - just about /everything/ for this," 'this' being
specified by a wave of her hand at the gown. Then there's a clearing of
throat, and Kitty glances back - and steps back automatically; the more
people in Liam's vicinity, the more space between those people and him.
Jack - and Claire? For a moment, she just blinks, looking at the other
woman with a little smile.

Liam is up now, anyway, half-finished beer in one hand, cane in the other
-- because there are people, now, and he'd rather be standing. Which still
leaves him shorter than everyone else. "Ah... Mr. Celliers," he greets,
with mild if friendly caution, and, with much the same air, "Claire."
Another hint of a smile. "Can't have the bride to oneself for long."

"Naah, just an expression," says Timothy to Buffy. "I didn't actually see
who he was trying to get away from." He shrugs. Can't have been that
serious, since they haven't all been torn to shreds or made to dance or
anything like that. "As for the Massacre...eh, doesn't matter. Probably
won't happen here."

Seishi flushes again, very briefly, and smiles. "I guess so," she answers
lightly, and, relaxing again, starts scanning the room. "It looks like
things may be quieting down a bit..." Shows what *she* knows.

Claire's eyes are wide and sweet, and she looks to Kitty with a warm
smile, releasing Jack's hand to offer it up to Kitty--there's something
/in/ her hand, now, a single white feather. There is the faintest bit of
lucidity in her eyes, and she glances to Liam, briefly--almost without
recognition--but then looks back to Kitty and says, "L'chaim, Kefira."

"Did they open presents yet? Because I brought them a sword. Or...it was
Angel's but...he used 'we' so I think its from me too." Buffy explains
needlessly, talking with her hands. "I put the bow on it anyway. And he
really left? I'll kill him. Not..literally. Unless he really left." then I
will SO kill him! Maybe this was a bad idea. It can't get much worse
right? "So who else is here? Anyone I should try to avoid?"

Holmes says, "I don't mean to contradict you, but there /is/ one
legitimate madwoman here, even past Mr. Wisdom's eccentricities." He
indicates Jack and Claire to Seishi subtly.

Lena glances away, following John's looks, and she finishes her drink, not
in record time, but relatively quickly.. and actually doesn't order
another. She remains close to the Englishman, querying, "Should we find
the bride and offer our deepest sym--err... heartfelt congratulations?"

"Liam," Jack returns, with a polite inclination of his head, though the
look he gives the angel is unreadable. The feather gest a faint frown, but
for the most part he's watching Claire. Kitty does receive a genuine smile
and a murmured "L'chaim," as well.

A white feather. Wonderful. Fantastic. Liam takes a step back from the
other three, nearly tripping over the chair in the process, but he manages
to just shove against it instead. His expression shifts from amiable to
neutral; already uneasy in the crowd, the reminder of angels, dead and
broken, fails to help.

Warily, eyeing Pete with increased suspicion, Harold reaches for the phone
as it shrills again. "What!" he barks at it. And then: "... no. ... No,
they haven't. ... No, they - *what*?" He holds the phone out at arm's
length, glares at it disgustedly, then pulls it back to complain at
whoever's on the far side, "It was *Hebrew*!"