Vesper smirks. "Same to you...at least /I'm/ not the one gonna get called 'pixie' tonight." She reaches back and flips her hair off her neck, then shakes her head. Making a face, she notes, "I'm not used to contacts." Sara: The Borg never had it so good. This young woman is doing the best impersonation of the Borg you can find without leaving the solar system. 5'8" tall, possessed of a slender, lithe build, she watches the world quietly. Her skin is a dead pasty white, causing long, honey-blonde hair and light, sky-blue eyes to stand out all the more. She's dressed in a fairly form-fitting dark blue outfit, much like you'd see on Star Trek, which has been cut off high on the upper left leg and left arm to reveal patches of pseudo-circuitry which glow and hum and do everything implants should. She has what appear to be 'Borg goggles', perhaps to replace actual glasses. It's a pretty convincing outfit... hard to remember she's a nice, normal human underneath. Wesleyan: Her exotic, violet eyes and her distinctive mouth give her away, but tonight Wesleyan is quite transformed. Her hair is intricately plaited into a heart-shaped crown atop her head, fiilled out with a fall to spill down her bare neck halfway down her back. What is visible of her skin is entirely painted in delicate swirls of yellow and orange, colors perfectly matched to the thin, short, high-waisted shift she wears. What seems at first glance like a flame-patterned embroidery on the dress periodically flares into light, yellow, orange, red, white, sometimes blue; the battery pack for her fiber optics is just barely visible taped tightly to the middle of her back, nearly obscured by her thick dark hair falling loose under the bottom of its arrangement, and flanked by a sturdy pair of wire-framed dragonfly wings, also intricately woven with flexible light strands. In myth, the salamander was the fire elemental, able to dance and dart in the flames by becoming one with them rather than being consumed. Vesper: Tall and green and undeniably sexy, an apparent She-Hulk stands before you, ready to pounce. Her long black hair cascades freely down her back, and her eyes, a bright amber, flash with amusement. She wears a sleeveless purple minidress with a wide black satin stripe down the front; it's belted, hugging the curves of her hips, with a silver chain. On her feet are a pair of black leather boots, reaching up to mid-thigh and hugging her legs almost scandalously. Wesleyan looks to her two companions, grinning widely. "Well," she says, reaching to flip her taut hair back in an automatic if quite unecessary gesture. I think we're stylin'" Brandy: She is a pretty lady, this one you see. Youthful in appearance and petite in stature, her body is toned and has curves in just the right places. Her face is slightly angular, with high cheekbones and a delicate nose, which supports a pair of Lennon-style sunglasses with mirrored lenses. Her long white-blond hair is pulled back into a silky ponytail that dusts the middle of her shoulderblades. A warm-looking caramel-brown sweater is tucked into the waist of a pair of jet-black jeans. The sweater highlights the color of the hiking boots on her feet, as the jeans mirror the plain black denim jacket that she sports. Mannifred: The man you see before you has long, curly black hair, which go down to his broad shoulders, as well as a mustache and long black beard. His face is etched, wrinkled before its time, due to long years of negative emotion. A large man, he is approximately six feet five inches in height. His frame, however, is intriguing his shoulders look a bit too wide, his arms a bit too long, and his legs a tad too thick. Hes kind of boxy-looking, in a vague way. He is someone that would stick out in a crowd, for sure. But perhaps the most notable thing about this man is his eyes. There is a fire in them, a gleam which gives the sense of a presence. His clothing appears to have been selected as things with which to barricade himself against the outside world. He wears a thick black trenchcoat over a dark grey sweatshirt, black jeans, and a pair of black leather combat boots. Dark sunglasses attempt to hide his eyes from the light of day, but even these are insufficient to mask the madman inside... Isn't that...a familiar roar? Yep. For those of you that know him, there's ... distinct form, on a distinct bike, distinctly driving down the street at breakneck speeds. But...He's got a passenger. A female passenger, who's hair is whipping out behind her. He slows, as he approaches an apartment building, pulling up to the apartment buildings parking. Brandy climbs off the bike in front of the apartment building, exchanging a few words with the rider, and gifting him with a warm smile. Brandy nods to the rider and waves, trotting up the steps to her apartment building and disappearing quickly inside. Three girls pick their way though the exuberant crowd, three girls in costumes a bit elaborate for the East Village. THe first noticable thing... Sara wanders along with the others quietly, looking awkward in her costume, looking uncomfortable in the crowd, but hell, it's just that kind of night, and she'll play along. Plus, what else does she have to do? Jonothon eases his bike back from the parking lot, looking once down both streets. And then stops. One, two, familiar forms. He skims out and brushes thier minds, to make sure. Suddenly, he blurts, <<-Wes-? -Sara-?>> Three girls pick their way though the exuberant crowd, three girls in costumes a bit elaborate for the East Village. THe first noticable thing is the rather tall green girl leading the way, her height being pressed to good advantage as she takes the point. The next girl in the little conga line is.. uhm.. a perfect little Borg, looking neither right nor left as she assimilates her surroundings. Bringing up the rear is an elaborately lit elemental, colors shifting like flame. Vesper turns around briefly and pokes Sara, raising her eyebrows. She bends down slightly and whispers, "You're really really in character, chica. Y'don't have to be /that/ stiff." Whe winks, and grins. "'Least you're not gonna get cold in that. I shoulda planned better." Wesleyan leans forward, grinning. "Me and my brilliant ideas, eh? Body painting... oy. Ah well... style before comfort." Jonothon simply...gawks. His attention goes -right- past She-Hulk and Borg-Girl to the one with the impecable style (And mythology knowledge) to be a mythic figure. So much for his time alone in New York. Emma never said -anything- about -them- getting weekend passes out. Vesper giggles. "Yah, you. Well, if we get cold, we can always go diner or something. Almost as many diners here as in Jersey, man." Sara blinks. "Um... I'm used to the cold. I'm from Minnesota. This is like home. Plus, futuristic fabric's warmer." She says this with a straight face, too. Wesleyan just laughs. "I've been colder than this wearing less with more eyes on me," she quips. "I think we'll survive; let's just get to the Museum!" Jonothon Stops on his bike, just leaning forward on his handlebars, as the girls approach, appearantly the picture of casual cool, while the girls consider on thier dogged course. He dosen't say anything, he just waits for them to get to where they're almost upon him, and -then- speaks. <<'lo, ladies.>> A solitary figure stands in the shadows cast by a streetlight, watching all the people in the fancy costumes, as if he'd never seen Halloween before. This is Mannifred, who is taken aback at the many costumed people, with whom, strangely, he seems to fit in. Almost enraptured, he follows the general procession. Vesper nodnods, looking around, "Where is it? Which way? And if we find a better party alnog the way or get lost, is anyone gonna care? I can't imagine that art students are gonna be real amusing." Sara offers helpfully, "I like art." Unfortunately, it's not the first "Hello, Ladies," the girls have had tossed their way this evening, considering their skimpy and/or skintight attire; they've tuned out the come-ons by now and are in danger of passing Jonothon by. Wesleyan gets jostled closer to Sara by the crowd, putting her chin up. "We'll cut and won after the contests; I want to see if we can manage to win anything." Jonothon revs his bike loudly. <> The speaker asks, his voice clear, penetrating the noise of the engine, oddly. Sara blinks. "Um... Jonothon? What are you doing here?" Okay, she can recognize the voice in her head... mainly because he gives her static. Vesper pffts, turning back to raise her eyebrows at Sara, "But you don't blather on about Andy Warhol all day." Then she blinks, and pauses, looking over at the speaker. "Wha..? Hey!" Wesleyan runs smack into Sara's back this time, her yellowed brows coming together and then up in surprise. She sidles a half-step back, darting a quick glance at her teammate, pleased to see that her costume makeup is, indeed, staying put and has not migrated to Sara's 'futuristic fabric.' Sara's words inspire a several-blink gape at Jonothon, however. "Who's a git, you toerag?" she retorts, mouth quirking up/ Jonothon leans up on his handle bars, looking for all the world like the bike-punk that he is. And his eyes have a decidedly pleased glint to him, almost like he's smirking without a mouth. He's, oddly enough, in a good mood. <> He dosen't add that she looks like she ought to be ready to go on the catwalk for a strip show, or that the through crosses his mind, but just continues with a <> And realizing that Sara just asked that of him, he says, <> And he takes -alot- of joy in that. Brushing her hair back from her eyes and peering at Jono, Vesper smirks and glances back at Wes. "Toe Rag? He doesn't look like Odin's goblin to /me/..." Mannifred walks past the Hellions' group, without really taking notice of any of theem, and ends up stopping in front of an art museum, where the steady stream of colorfully costumed party-goers are headed. The place is decorated like a Gothic castle, and actually manages to look creepy... in a Halloweenish sort of way. Jonothon's eyes flicker over to Vesper. <> He responds dryly, and leans back in his bikes seat now. Wesleyan cuts her eyes to Vesper, snickering, and then back to Jonothon. "Now, now, if you flash her right here in the middle of the street, we'll laugh at you can call you a dirty old man." Sara blinks. "Can we take Jonothon to New Orleans for Mardi Gras? The first time anyone asks to see my breasts, we'll let him flash them instead." Jonothon Sahkes her head. <> He says dryly. <> One hand, mehndi patterns *almost* covered over by the cloudy body makeup, lifts in an unconscious gesture as Wes attempts to brush her phantom locks, actually tightly plaited, away from her face. "Well, it does *now,*" she says briskly, starting to shiver a little from the cold. "We're supposed to go into the museum for the party; want to come with?" Vesper stifles a laugh, looking around to see if anyone heard. Then she blinks at Sara. "You got asked that there then? Anyone mention Haagen Daaz?" She shakes her head, "Wait, I don't wanna know. Any vampires down th- no, I don't wanna know that, either." She listens to Wes, then *nods*. "Cold as hell. Well, er. Yeah. It's heated, right?" Jonothon chuckles. <> He nods, and looks over at the place, and sighs. <> And with that, he tears on to the street, trying to find a place for the bike. Wesleyan hustles the other girls into the line for the museum, chattering that Jono will *certainly* be able to find them with big she-hulking Vesper around as a signpost. "Did you bring your money?" she asks. "Or is this my treat?" With an almost childlike expression of wonder, Mannifred slowly ascends the long stair to the museum door... two men dressed as knights stand in front greeting people, and taking tickets. Mannifred wanders right on in, without evepose is sorry to make you have to do this, if you're logging, but my lab is soon to close... I guess the few Manny parts'll have to be taken out :( London: With broad shoulders and a thin waist, a well set jaw and a thin neck, the young man standing before you looks something like an underfed swimmer. Short, roughly cut brown hair frames his dark features, his dark eyebrows and his darker eyes. While not remarkably handsome, he has an attactive face and a certain look about him, a certain look which labels him as a photogenic youth. His lips smile softly at the corners and betray a sharp sense of humor often kept intact. He is dressed remarkably well today, combining the style and dress of his film noir heroes into a sharp costume modeled after the private eyes of the first half of the century. He wears a charcoal grey suit, slightly baggy around the elbows and knees. The suit isn't very well kept, but it has an incredible quality to it, as if found in the attic of Al Capone, unworn and still stylish after so many years. A light black tie is knotted loosely around his open collar. The tie is fairly wide, a distinct change from the thin ties in style today. A silver wallet chain hangers from a belt loop to his pocket, dissapearing in the fabric somewhere. The outfit is closed by a pair of dress shoes, fairly scuffed yet still somehow clean. Jonothon: It's the invisable man...with a gothic twist. The gaunt figure before you, eyes hidden behind mirrorshades, which hug his temples tightly, as his ears are a merely outline, like the rest of him, covered in deep, pitch black bandages of leather, wrapping snug against his body, outlineing a youthful form. On his head is a fedora, also black, and he wears a tradional burgendy velvet smoking jacket, darkk tan slacks, and nicely polished brown shoes. Even his hands are hidden by gloves -- not one, single inch of skin is visable. It's almost like there really -is- nothing to him but bandages. From the direction of Little Italy comes a man walking the sidewalk like a beatcop - a long, quick stride and a sense of wandering pervade his body language. In Little Italy he fit right in with the old Italian men, in that suit of his, so much so that some may have mistaken him for being of Italian descent. But once he leaves that fairly restricted area, one, two, three blocks past the restaurants and shoe stores, he begins to stand out. And so it is as he approaches the four of you, until it gets to the point where he feels so smooth in his clothing that it shows on his face, marring his features with a massive grin as he walks down the road. Not long after, as his hotel's not far from here, a familiar bike roars back down the street -- but this time, there's -far- to many bandages on the rider for it to be Jono....unless he blew the rest of him up. He steers it into the alley, and then comes back around, and sends his thoughts out, skimming out for Wes's mind. <> He drawls at her. <> He slowly heads toward the entrances, eyes flickering behind the sunglasses. Wesleyan looks at London's approach and laughs. "One thing you gotta remember, London... noids do not sleep with doodles." She tugs at Vesper's elbow. "Cousin alert," she says. London fortunately is out of earshot to hear Wesleyan's comment. This is fortunate because he wouldn't have had a clue in hell as to what she was saying. But he sees her, and those around her, horribly easy - it's not too tough with the costumes, of course. He also sees Vesper, and though he does not immediately recognize her he knows she appears familiar. Vesper gyahs, and bends slightly to whisper back to Wes, "Christ, I don't think he could /possibly/ be more smug." Without waiting for him to get closer, she narrows her eyes and sprints over, hair billowing impressively behind her (just like in the comics!). Without a word, she stops, glaring down at London, then smacks him upside the head and grins like a madwoman. "And /that's/ for the deal with the /fish/." Wesleyan looks on with amusement. She turns as if to speak to Sara, but looks sharply around, eyes twinkling. 'Good boy,' she thinks to herself. 'Planning ahead.' "Oh, kill me," are the first words from London's mouth as he encounters Vesper. He darts his eyes past her shoulder to Wesleyan, accusingly, and then back towards his cousin. "Might I remind you," he says, clear and loud, "that the fish were *your* idea? Much less that I was the one that at least knew how to gut 'em? You were just bopping them on the head with that dumb spatula of yours, screaming at them to get clean! get eatable! go fishies!" He lifts his hands and smacks his cousin hard on the shoulder. "So there!" Jonothon blinks, as he rounds on this scene. The big, green chick just...smacked London? He likes her already! He ambles over to Wes's side, his expression -really- unreadable under the bandages and shades, and says, <> His voice is strangely light, and for once, it's totally clear of all of the 'static' of when he's down and moody. With a sheepish look that quickly morphs into one of mock annoyance, Vesper lightly shoves London back...well, lightly /enough/. Well, okay, a little hard, but totally out of love! Honest! "How the bloody hell did /I/ know they didn't swim around pre-cooked and pre-gutted? I'd never fished before! And you'd better be damn glad I didn't wanna go squid-catching." Her eyebrows rocket up, and she crosses her arms. "So /hah/." Wesleyan turns fully to Jonothon, smiling at him as we walks up. "Ah," she grins. "The shades are the clincher. Kiss me, lovey." She turns up her cheek to him, as he has seen her do to London a few times, allowing her eyes to drift back over the rather miffed looking queuers in line behind them... displeased by the additions. London remains quiet, his jaw thrust out in frustration, for a few seconds before his mock anger melts away into a broad grin. "Vvves," he says, almost reproachingly, as he slings an arm around her shoulder. He gestures towards his friends in line, tilting his head in that direction."Good to see you." <> He says dryly, but -damn-! He actually leaves over and touches his cheek to hers. Shock of shocks. Jono's gone touchy feely. It IS Halloween, and Jono is CERTAINLY possessed. <> He asks, looking over at the cousins. Wesleyan nods, turning to call to London and Vesper. "Hey, Antagonists... you're holding up the queue, you bonces." Vesper grins slightly, lightly ruffling London's hair. "Good to see you, too, boyo." She looks up at Wes, and grins, tugging her cousin over there with her. "Sorr-eee, Chameleon Girl." London slips into line like a thief, giving a sharp glare to a fairly built, visibly angry man two spots back.