faderift | open | the drunk horn's so violent, all spinning out sound

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: SATINALIA
WHEN: Firstfall 1
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Party hard, use content warnings, move explicit content to inboxes.

Named for Satina, the smaller of Thedas' two moons, Satinalia is a celebration of freedom, marked by wild celebration, pranks, the donning of costumes and masks -- not the fine, delicate masks of Orlais, but animals and caricatures and playful horrors -- and the exchange of gifts both sincere and satirical. There's also the crowning of a Fool to rule for the day, or two Fools, in this case: Iskandar and Valentine are given crowns and the right to issue orders. Non-military orders. Unless they manage to start some kind of battle between their imaginary kingdoms.

Elsewhere in Thedas, the festivities may last a week. At Skyhold, no one can pause the war for that long. But all those who can be spared are released by late afternoon, given the night and the next morning -- handle those hangovers before reporting back to work please -- to enjoy the celebration in the fortress or the even less restrained revelries in the valley.

This day was originally a celebration of Zazikel, the Old God of Chaos, but let's not dwell on that.

SKYHOLD

Tables in the Great Hall are piled high with several whole roasted tuskets, meats thinly sliced in the Orlesian style, a tower of cheeses and candied fruits, and great bowls of Antivan pasta with brightly colored sauces. Casks of ale and wine are tapped, emptied, and replaced to keep a near constant stream of alcohol flowing, only improving the efforts of a trio of bards in the corner playing music that's spirited but still easy to speak over. An area near them has been cleared for entertainers: a small troupe of exceptionally limber acrobats tossing and climbing each other in increasingly impressive shapes, and then a team of dancers, romantic and expressive, performing a piece made famous in the theaters of Val Royeaux.

Even once the entertainers finish and leave space for the guests to dance, the party remains more on the sedate side. The celebration indoors is meant to impress and entertain visiting dignitaries and nobles: others are welcome to assist with the schmoozing, but anyone too rowdy or otherwise controversial will be asked politely to relocate, and no one who looks even slightly mischievous or inebriated is permitted into the gardens or library or other easily-damaged areas of the fortress.

The courtyard is noisier. The sparring rings and archery targets are claimed for contests of strength and skill made intentionally ridiculous: soldiers fighting in costume with raw fish as weapons or their hands tied behind their backs, training dummies dressed in discarded finery, an archer capable of standing on her hands and shooting with her feet who's happy to give demonstrations. As the light fades the play-fighting does as well, replaced by music and dancing, with the way lit by braziers and candles and glowlights from Orlais strung in the trees and along the walls.

After midnight, the celebrations within the walls taper off. Some people need to sleep. But those who don't may make the journey down the path and into the valley.

THE VALLEY

In the valley, there's no one to say shush. The party starts early and runs late enough to be early all over again. The food is less fine -- stew and bread, cider and ale, some barrels of young wine and rough liquor gifted by the quartermaster from a mistaken shipment. For anything nicer than that you'll have to bring your own or charm someone who has, but plenty have brought out their carefully hoarded stocks tonight. Flasks of rum from Rivain or treacle-sweet wine from Antiva, tiny boxes of candies and chocolates, small pouches of smokeable herbs: there isn't much of anything but there's a little of everything, all available for the price of a well-played trick or well-placed kiss.

Tonight instead of the usual spattering of camp- and cook-fires, the camp is lit by torches and roaring bonfires, the entire valley caught in the shifting, flickering firelight. Shadows flare and twist, flames limn masked faces in gold and orange and red, and the constant crackle and spark provides its own accompaniment to the music. Fiddles and drums pound and wail, spinning dancers faster and faster, whether big circles of linked hands tugging each other round and round the fire, or a crush of couples, each clasping and spinning and catching and pressing close again. Some duck into shadows, clutched together out of sight until the wind changes and shadows shift, revealing some and concealing others.

There are games down here, too: knives and axes and arrows aimed at hay bale targets, circles marked out with rope for grappling or boxing rings, a bizarre struggled over a greased pumpkin, even pairs growling across tables as they arm-wrestle. The prizes are mostly just the cheers of a wildly enthusiastic crowd and maybe a half bottle of stolen brandy, but there are plenty of challengers all the same and plenty willing to bet on the outcome. The Inquisition is a truly motley assortment, and scattered around are plenty showing off their skills, from juggling to firebreathing to telling fortunes. Instruments from a half-dozen countries can be heard, and small groups clustered around dry patches of ground or upturned crates roll dice and deal cards two dozen different ways.

Unlike up at the keep, this party takes a little while to ramp up, as more and more people finish their shifts and make their way down to join, and it only gets louder as the hour grows late. There haven't been many chances to let loose since all this began, and Maker knows they've all been under plenty of stress. Loud laughter and singing and music continue well into the wee hours, and the crowd only finally thins out several hours past midnight, with a hardy (or foolhardy) core still just stumbling home at dawn.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Hmm, both ideas have merit to them," she says with a faux serious look on her face. A finger taps her lip as she gives this all due consideration before nodding and making a decision.

"Drinks first, then if you would be so kind as to take me to the dance floor?"

For a moment, his eyes fix on that finger, watching it with interest before she makes her decision. When she does, the corners of his mouth start to tug upward into a slow smile.

"That sounds good to me."

He lifts his cup towards hers in a toast of sorts before bringing it up towards his mouth, only to stop just short and lower it a fraction as the smile stretches a bit wider.

"Now, I'll admit I was hoping you'd choose that one. I'd not have minded watching your cup for you, but I'd much rather have a dance instead."

Christine smirks and with a shake of her head, tosses her hair over her shoulders.

"Well, it seems a little rude to make you watch my cup while I dance with others. I am sure if you have a talent for music that you must have a talent for dance as well and I will not be disappointed."

"Aye, well, maybe that's true."

Or maybe not, since he's the one offering. All in all, though, he's much more keen on the idea of dancing, and he doesn't bring the offer back up again. Instead he gives her a decidedly lopsided-appearing grin.

"Now, I'm not sure if I'd call it a talent for dancing, but I'll say that I've had a fair bit of practice when it comes to that. Might be as some would say that's the same thing."

Edited 2016-11-07 03:45 (UTC)

"Oh, I am sure there is a slight difference," she says, holding her finger and thumb a small distance apart to indicate this. "Anyone can memorize the proper steps, but if you cannot feel the music deep down, you will never look natural doing it. Your body should be a visual representation of the music, not simply movements in time with it." It's clear she deeply loves dancing and how freeing it feels to move along to music.

"But I am sure you will not let me down." No pressure, Jamie.

"Ohh, I see. So you're saying that you've faith in my ability to ah...be the music? Is that what you mean?"

The corners of his mouth quirked into a hint of a smile before he brought his cup back up and titled it back, finishing off what was left before leaning over and setting the cup off to one side. When he straightened back up, there was a hint of mischief in his eyes, something to go along with the smile that was still there.

"Or would that be a wee bit of a challenge, maybe?"

Christine's lips twitch, trying not to smirk. It seems he's found her out. But she lifts her chin and says, "That depends. Are you a man who can rise to a challenge?" She'll start drinking down her cup as he answers.

That gets the corners of his mouth to twitch a bit themselves, but as he lifts his chin slightly, his face becomes a study in nonchalance - spoiled a bit, perhaps, by the fact that he still wants to smile at her, but it's not a bad effort, as far as he's concerned.

"Could be as I am, aye."

With one quick motion, he gets to his feet...and this time he lets himself grin outright, although he also stretches his hand out towards her at the same time, an invitation she's more welcome to take up if she likes.

"Only one way to find out, I'd say. Unless you don't think you're up to the challenge."

Christine chuckles into her cup, the sound echoing out the sides, before she finishes it off and sets it on the ground beside her stool. Then she places her hand in his and rises to join him.

"I am always up for any challenge involving dancing, good ser. Let us see what you have in store for me." She'll let him lead and see what happens.

"Aye, let's."

The song that's playing is a lively one, and he can feel the itch to move with it even as he curls his fingers around the side of her hand and leads her out to an open space. He's picked up on a fair few of the dances here over easily enough, especially some of the more energetic ones that remind him of the reels and jigs from back home. With a bit of room about them, he has no qualms about letting himself get swept up in the music and setting a pace that suits the song and should be easy enough to follow, at least to start. He fully intends on turning it up a notch once they've warmed up a bit, though - unless she beats him to the punch and does so first.

It's easy to lose herself in the steps that come as easily to her as breathing and Jamie in turn is a very good partner. Letting him lead was definitely not a mistake, and she shows how pleased she is in his performance with a wide smile.

"You have skill," she says, before lifting up their hands so she can twirl beneath them.

"Aye? So do you, I'd say."

He's not kidding, either. She moves as though she is part of the music, and there's something about that that makes it easy for him in return. As he moves to catch her hand - the better to spin her out and and back for a moment when the music is right - he smiles at her, something that's just as pleased as her own smile of a few moments earlier.

"You weren't kidding when you said you were fond of dancing. Don't think I've danced with someone that's enjoyed it as much as you for a long time. I'd not realized it made such a difference."

"It makes all the difference in the world!" she says, ending the statement with a soft laugh. Her mood hasn't been this light and joyous in quite some time. The last few months have been especially trying for her and she's needed an occasion to be happy again. "A dance partner who has no wish to be on the dance floor will feel like a dead fish in your arms."

The past few months have been more than a bit rough for him as well. Very rough. He's needed a night like this more than he's realized, and as the tempo of the music picks up, urging them to go faster, he tosses a grin her way.

"Aye, is that so? Well, that's good, in that case. Don't think a dead fish'd be able to keep up with these musicians. Think we can, though. Ready to show them what we've really got?"

"Absolutely," she replies, ready to rise to any challenge set before her, but especially one that involves dancing her heart out.

[ ooc: good spot to fade out with them dancing? ]

[OOC: sounds perfect - and he'll give her an exhausted but happy kiss on the cheek afterwards, as well!]

open | the drunk horn's so violent, all spinning out sound

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