do you wanna dance, do you wanna fight?

Mike blamed the snowpocalypse of last week. But not entirely. Not when it was all over his track record that he Did Not deal well with the holidays in general, and this one in particular. But at least this year he'd actually made it all the way to Christmas Day before he'd caved in and felt the need to run, run, run as far away as he could get and just lose himself somewhere unfamiliar until New Year's was closer than Christmas.

But there was also a bigger difference, this year.

"Babe, can you find a station that's not playing the same five Christmas songs over and over?"

This year, as Mike's pick-up rolled along the road getting further and further away from Fandom, he wasn't alone.

[ooc: NFB, for the girl. Happy holidays!]

Mike was turning thirty-six today.

And he wasn't doing a goddamned thing about it. Hey, last year he'd straight up forgotten about his birthday, and that one had at least been one of those big ones that ended with either a five or a zero. He didn't really see a reason to make too much of a big deal of this one, either.

Okay, so he had a beer in hand. And was just lounging on the couch like a man who'd at least decided to relax for his big day. Wasn't that enough?

[ooc: Primarily for that lady friend of his, but open!]

Mike had a fuller house this weekend than he'd anticipated. And you know what? He was okay with that. He liked having his own space but it could get a little lonely, too, and stress had been piling on him over the last while, between doing repairs for the shark damage on the house and trying to keep his business on its feet.

So even if there'd been more supernaturally enhanced pairs of ears in the house than would've been ideal for a night with a lady visitor who wasn't going to be in town for long... Mike was really freaking happy. He knew all of this was fleeting – Brooke would leave, and so would his assorted werewolf-adjacent friends – so he was just making a point of enjoying himself as much as he could while it was all happening.

And since he was a good host, he'd wandered into the kitchen in his sweatpants and his ratty tank and was making breakfast. A whole ton of it. Eggs and bacon and toast, the whole lot. Coffee, too, of course. And yes, he had at least half an intention of bringing Brooke breakfast in bed, but that remained to be seen.

It was a good morning out here at the mansion.

[ooc: Open for all of the people staying here, and visitors too, what the hell.]