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Since there seems to be a distinct lack of anyone being able to get to the London Gathering in May, unless there's a sudden upsurge, I've said she might as well come over to Bath and have a "Gathering" with Kaitlyn and me. If anyone is closer to Bath, and/or for some other reason would be able to do that but not London, they'd be welcome. And of course, if more people can do London, it's easy to switch back. Bath is mostly contingency after the number of people who can't come.

hS

I propose a toast to the fallen! Jane agreed, and filled her glass with Bleepka as well.

"Is that scorch marks on that note," Milask said to no one inparticular. There were a couple of ideas that ran through his head about the origins of the party gifts, some of them Leto would not like.

"nfortunatly I was not there for the fighting. Leto had roped me into helping him install a new portal stabilizer here in the store. When we heard about it, it was too late to help or even bring the wounded here." Milask said to the man behind him.

"I don`t belive I have had the pleasure of meeting you before." Milask said. "I am Milask, origionally from the Rifts universe, though I have lost my flying ability." Milask held out his paw to the man.

It contained a second parcel of future beverages, as well as another note which said: This box contains a small Tesla Coil that will activate whenever an Agent takes more than his fair share of our gifts. It is very painful. You have been warned. Bye! -Love, the people from the future. Leto rolled his eyes. Apparently, future Agents are just as crazy as present ones.

And if there was a group, there might be a higher chance of finding the sort of person she was after. Besides, people! "Hey," she said, her accent a little less precise than usual. "Any of you play the trumpet?"

Leas poured out a reasonable measure for each of the Trio, and handed them out. "Here you go." He poured another one for himself, and smiled. "I don't think I've seen you three before. I'm Leas. Pleased to meet you." He looked over at Deryn, only to find she wasn't there any more. "Oh, dear…"

As usual, half of it mysteriously disappeared.
"Krisp, will you stop stealing half of whatever is available? And please stop drinking coffee."
Krisp was already too coffee high to listen.

A small parcel came out, with the words: A gift from the future, containing several new Bleep-Products, including Bleeptea, Bleepgreentea, and Bleepcofee. Enjoy.

"Well, that's certainly fortunate", said Leto.

South and Whatev fed Krisprolls half the tea. He needed it.
"When are they going to make Bleeptea?" he said.

This time he distributed it to invididual Agents, taking note of their dietary needs (no Bleep-Sandwhiches for Avians). Jane also brewed some calming tea, thinking it a beverage fit for the occasion.

The Infernal Trio took roughly half the food before going to the bar to eat their stuff and have PG2B2s.
"Chocolate. Yummy," said Krisp.

The Infernal Trio was currently having PG2B2s too at the bar. Krisprolls's idea.
"That's Infernal Trio for you, people," Krisp said. "Well, doesn't matter. I see we're already famous. Good."
"Oh. My. Sporkin'. Glod. Krisp is doin' it again. Jokin' with random people."
"Don't be so worked up, South, it's just a party. We have plenty of time before we get serious again."
"If we ever do, you Vulcan."
"You too think I'm turning Vulcan too fast? Oh. My. Kriffing. Glod."

The Infernal Trio was busy dancing when Krisp noticed a fight near the bar. "Well, I think we should stop that," he said.
"The guy is drunk. It won't last long,' said What'.
They resumed dancing.

"I was there, idiot. I lost some of my best friends. People I grew up with. And as your friend I'm telling you, keep going the way you are and it'll kill you. And their deaths will go to waste. But you wouldn't care, would you, you selfish frakface."

The angry and slightly tipsy woman wrenched herself out of Marcus's grip and slipped into the crowd, managing to unobtrusively make it out of the room. She walked a ways down the hall and then sat down, back against the wall.

"Way too much angst, way too much drama. Just calm down, sweetie. No more vodka for you..." she mumbled to herself.

"US!" shouted the Trio.

"The hell do you know?!" He asked, forcing himself to his feet and rounding on Sara. Justified or not, her comments only served to push his buttons, which he had already been making a good showing out of pushing himself. Excluding Sues, he had never hit a woman, but the look in his eyes showed he was definitely considering knocking Sara's block off. "Y-you think you're so frackin' smart, dontcha?! Where d'ya git off, talkin' like that, y'little brat?! Disrespect, heh. At least ya prolly got t'be there!" Stepping closer to Sara, one hand grabbed the collar of her uniform, as the other snatched the now almost empty bottle and almost slammed it back on the counter. His face so close to hers, he could actually smell her breath, not that he much cared. Whoever the hell this lady thought she was, now he was just hoping she decided to make a move.

If Milask were to turn around, he'd pretty much instantly see who had spoken. While Montgomery Osbert III didn't leave Operations and his training area terribly often, the 79 year old man was still fairly easy to pick out of a crowd. Even if it weren't for his obvious age, and the fact that with Makes-Things' passing he was now the longest serving human Agent still active, his bearing, fairly simple attire, and the large red helmet he wore would have made him stand out. Like most of the others in the store, he was currently unarmed, and his hands occasionally fidgeted around as if he wasn't used to not carrying so much kit with him. Allowing himself to lean on the stereo a bit, he looked around the immediate area and the Agents that had started milling around.

"I'm surprised this store has enough foom for so many Agents," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Still, seems like there aren't terribly many of them in a festive mood. Can't say I blame them, can you? Hm...it's probably odd to ask, but I'm not sure if I saw you in the fighting, chaotic as it was. Were you there? Particularly during the fighting in Operations?" Perhaps it wasn't the best thing to ask on the anniversary of a fairly horrific event, but bluntness had always been Osbert's way. With his fairly advanced age, his memory could get a bit hazy at times, especially in events as chaotic as the Invasion, so he was trying to place if he had seen the other man before. Besides, it was better than awkward silence.

"Do our dead friends and comrades a favor and let the past be the past. You're disrespectin' them by dwelling on it and not livin' the life that they gave theirs up for. And give me back the damn vodka," she growled, snatching the bottle up and taking another generous swig.

"Coulda had a freakin' mojito," she grumbled, noting interestedly that the bottle was almost empty.

Leto, noticing that several Agents can't grieve on drink alone, brought some Sandwiches, Salads and Chocolate cake. At the same time, a portal suddenly opened and a box came out of it. On the Label, it said: This is a present from the heads of various OFU's to the Protectors of the Plot Continuum, in order to commemorate the valiant Agents that died in the defense of it's Headquarters last year. When Leto opened the box, he found out that it contained various foodstuffs, oviously untouched by Gandalf or any of the other OFU cooks.

"Looked like the strongest stuff 'e had," Marcus replied, placing the bottle on the opposite side of the glass from Sara. "'Sides, not that bad. Otherwise ya wouldn' be drinkin' it!" Snickering to himself, Marcus stared at the empty glass, half listening to the song and half losing himself in his alcohol-veiled thoughts. What the hell was it so important to her for, anyway? Couldn't a man just get plastered in peace?

Not too far from where Sara and Marcus were, Troy stared at the bar with a look of concern on his face. He had never known Marcus to act like how it looked he was acting. Part of him wanted to go over to the man he considered a friend, but at the same time, he was enjoying the music and Marcus had always preferred to take care of his problems personally. Adjusting his sunglasses, he moved onto the dance floor again, looking around for the bespectacled (and rather generously endowed, which was odd but not unheard of in the PPC) young Agent that had caught his eye a few seconds before. After all, wouldn't their dead comrades have wanted them to have fun?

Watching the slowly filling dance floor, Gerald Murphy shrugged a bit. "I can look into it later, should probably find Leto," he said to his brother. "You know how business is, bro. You go have some fun for us, aye?"

Chuckling a bit, James grinned at Gerald before heading onto the floor. "Aye, sure. Just don't try to pickpocket anyone, y'hear?"

"I want you to tell me why you're trying to drown your sorrows in the worst-tasting alcohol known to sentient life." She snatched the bottle back and took a swig, glaring over the rim at him and daring him to do something about it.

Adder fidgeted nervously. "Seriously, Deuce, I'm getting that mall feeling."

Her partner gave her a strange look. "'Mall feeling'? You consider that a bad thing? From what I've heard, most Real World girls have positive feelings concerning the mall."

Adder returned his look tenfold. Deuce grimaced. "Right. You're not most Real World girls. But what's your problem?"

"You know that feeling you get sometimes," said Adder, "when you're in some place and you have that unexplainable feeling that you do not belong there?"

Deuce grimaced again. "I know that feeling far more than you could possibly comprehend."

"Well, I get that feeling whenever I'm walking around in the mall. So I call it my mall feeling."

Deuce nimbly dodged a mini-Balrog that had made a grab for his daggers. "Why exactly are you getting that feeling now?"

"Because we had nothing to do with the Mary Sue Invasion, so therefore we reeeally don't belong here."

"Says who? A bunch of the newer recruits are here. See, there's that Abominable Trio I keep hearing about. Hey, they have Pan Galactic Gargle Bleeprin Blasters!"

Adder raised an eyebrow. "I didn't take you for a Hitchhikers Guide fan."

"Oh, please," Deuce rolled his eyes. "I had it shoved in my face during training. I'm completely familiar with it." Grabbing the drink, he took a sip. "Well, well. It really does feel like getting your brains smashed out with a slice of lemon wrapped around a gold brick. What was I saying?"

"That's the Bleeprin working," Adder muttered. "I don't drink. And Deuce, if you get so wasted that I have to carry you back to the RC, heads will roll. Mine will not be one of them."

"Point taken," said Deuce. "Don't worry, though. I can hold my liquor."

"That's what they all say."

However, the veteran wasn't on the attack. Instead, he merely snatched the bottle out of the woman's hand, filling up the glass again before downing it all in a couple swigs. The bottle and glass were placed back, the Agent letting out a sigh and giving his new companion a pointed, if lazy, look. Had he not already been at a rather decent level of intoxication, part of him would have realised how pathetic he looked, but right now he didn't care.

"The 'ell is it to you?" He asked, unable to hide the slight slur to his voice. "Everyone's drinkin'...Heh, the Bleeproducts...they just dun' do the trick, y'know?"

Taking another long drink, Marcus could hear the music starting to turn up, partygoers tentatively dancing to the stereo's choice of music as bit by bit some people attempted to liven the place up. Really though, he honestly couldn't care less. People had died, and he'd never been able to do anything but stand by helplessly and try to get some of the wounded out, but here people were almost celebrating it. He just didn't get it. "Well?" He asked, impatiently. "Wh-wha'd ya want?"