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

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

While he's found out some things about Grey Wardens, that isn't one of them, and his expression turns somewhat chagrined before shifting to something more apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I'd no idea." But he doesn't press the issue for now, mostly because she's asking him about the Fools - and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he knows as little about that tradition as he knows about the Grey Warden's sleeping habits.

"Is that what you're supposed to do? I'd not- I thought I saw Iskandar with a crown earlier, but I've no idea who the other Fool even is, let along that I'm supposed to go be getting orders from them."

"No apology is needed." Inessa smiles, and glances in the general direction of where she last saw said Fools. "You can, if you wish. I haven't bothered yet, though I may. They're allowed to issue non-military orders, silly things. Beyond that, they have no power. Valentine is the other, as far as I'm aware. I only know him through the sending crystal. Iskandar I met at Anders' birthday party; he seems a festive soul, perfect for the evening."

"Oh, so there isn't going to be a battle in the courtyard, then."

Or even a mock-battle, and there's a faint flicker of disappointment, there and gone again in a blink of an eye. It's the one thing that he's considered going up to the keep proper to see, but if that's not going to happen he's quite content to stay down here and enjoy things without having to deal with too many stuffy nobles.

"Although I'll not disagree with you. I'd talked to Iskandar over the crystals, and he'd seemed very excited even before he'd won anything. Think he'll make things interesting, if nothing else. So why have you not gone over there, then, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I would not rule anything out, at this point. Satinalia celebrations are not known for their predictability. Anything could happen, for good or ill." Though most likely the result will be bruised and hungover people, regardless.

As to the question, Inessa smiles a little self-consciously. "I suppose I'm pacing myself? Give me darkspawn or a library and I'm in my element, but these festivities take some adapting on my part. I'm not unwilling, just...new to all this."

"Aye, I can see where it might be a bit much if you're not used to it."

Even for Jamie. He's gotten used to accepting a lot of things over the past few years, but trying to wrap his mind around everything going on here means he's needed a small break. Quiet conversation suits him just fine right about now.

"I know there wasn't much going on here last year but I've been told that's not usual. Aren't there celebrations like this even for the Wardens?"

"Grey Wardens tend to focus on darkspawn to the exclusion of almost anything else, but...I don't know. Nothing about my Warden experience has been typical, since the status quo all but vanished around that time. There are no hard rules against participating in those festivities created by others, however." She sips at the wine, then sets it down, taking a break for now. "Is this anything akin to what you have attended, in your worth? Is there a Satinalia equivalent?"

"Not exactly, no. There's Huntigowk Day, back home, but it's no even close to what this is here. There you used to just play a trick on someone, like I've seen a couple of times here, but it'd not had feasting or dancing or the election of fools."

He takes a sip of the wine as well, but rather than set it down he keeps it in his hands as he glances back out towards the festivities, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I've been to a couple of things that've been a wee bit closer to this on my travels, but usually they were celebrations that happened after we'd wound up helping someone, and more often than not we'd wind up sneaking out of them and heading back to the TARDIS before people knew we were gone."

As Garahel glances from one to the other, seemingly following the conversation, Inessa tilts her head. "The TARDIS? That's a...ship?" Not having heard that word before, she's hard-pressed to guess as to what else it could be. Thedosian options for transportation don't include such terminology, though perhaps there is something similar. If there's one thing she loves to do, it's compare worlds.

"Aye, it's a ship. TARDIS is just the name for it."

There was more to it then that, but rather than confuse things further, Jamie simply decides to leave that part of it be apart from giving Inessa an apologetic look.

"Sorry, I've lost track of who I've told that to. But my point was that the Doctor'd usually want to leave after we helped someone, so even when there were parties we'd not stick around at them for very long. Makes this a different experience for sure."

"Why was that? For modesty's sake, or something else? I can commend doing good deeds for their own sake, though lingering a little to enjoy the fruits of such labor hardly seems wrong." Then again, there are always other people who need saving, as Inessa can well understand. A Grey Warden's work is never really done, even outside a Blight.

"Erm, well. Something else, to tell you the truth. He'd left his own people, you see, because he didn't exactly agree with the way they handled things. He liked to get involved and they didn't."

Or, more accurately, get into trouble right up to his own neck, as far as Jamie's concerned. But he also knows full well that if they figure out how to get the rifters home, he'll go right back to getting in trouble right along with him. The Doctor needs someone to look after him, after all, and he's believed for a long time that it's his job to do the looking after.

That's assuming, of course, they ever do figure out how to send the rifters back. After a year here, though, he's thinking that's not likely to happen, and a faint shadow crosses his eyes for a moment before he he pushes the thought aside and brings his cup back up again.

"I didn't know that for years, mind. I thought for the longest time it was because the Doctor'd not wanted anyone to get too dependent on his help, because he never really said why we were leaving. We just did."

Inessa listens to Jamie's explanation with interest, but the topic sounds more sensitive than she had first realized, so that has her hesitant to prod further. After all, this is a night for merriment and she wouldn't want to drag down his mood, nor have him divulge more than he's comfortable doing.

That brief shadow doesn't go unnoticed and Inessa responds with a sympathetic nod. "It sounds as though there's quite the story behind all that, but you needn't share if it bothers you. That must be difficult for your friend, being thus estranged. Should he arrive here, leaving might not be possible...but he would have companionship. I would be glad to befriend him."

It's not that he's bothered - not about the Doctor leaving his own people, anyway. He'd been able to accept that part of things easily enough after a few questions, and he shakes his head without any hesitation.

"Och, it's not that. It's more that I don't know all that much more about why he'd left other than that. He'd not had the chance to say before his people caught up with us. And his people were worse than he was when it came to answering questions."

Still, he appreciates her offer, even if he's fairly certain by now that the Doctor's never going to turn up. Just knowing there's people here who're willing to be there for him helps quite a lot and a few moments later, he's able to manage a smile.

"I'm thinking he was happier when he was away from them, to tell you the truth, especially if he's got a mystery to solve. But if he does turn up, he could use a few more friends to help keep him out of trouble. If there's anyone who'll be able to find that around here it's the Doctor."

Listening with interest, Inessa nods and manages a sympathetic smile when Jamie brings up the frustration of people who were rather elusive with the truth. Having dealt with much of that in the Grey Warden order already, it's something she can well understand on principle. Even now, details tend not to surface unless they're absolutely needed and then likely only to those in the most senior positions.

"Trouble is definitely not difficult find around here, nor is it in any insignificant quantity. Fortunately, I'm rather used to trouble-magnet companions, both in my order and otherwise. Garahel should know." Garahel looks up and yawns, trying to give her an innocent look that likely no one believes.

Having been here long enough to know what Inessa's saying is true, he starts to nod - but then Garahel tries for that whole innocent look thing and Jamie winds up chuckling despite himself.

"Oh, he should, should he? Well, if you've got practice with him getting into trouble, then you'll have no problems dealing with it with the Doctor if he ever turns up."

Rather than dwell on the fact that he's likely not going to, though, Jamie drains off the rest of his drink and sets the cup down before getting to his feet and holding out his hand in a rather sudden gesture.

"Tell you what, though. Let's stop talking about what ifs and may bes and just enjoy tonight for what it is, eh? Want to have a dance?"

Jamie's gesture is surprising but not unwelcome, and Inessa accepts that hand, getting to her feet with a smile. "I do. I'll warn you now that my dancing skills are somewhat minimal, but if you bare with me, I'm willing to improve them." What better timing than now? Garahel barks at Jamie in encouragement, happily wagging that tail. Good job, getting his mistress to do something fun for a change.

"I'll promise not to do anything too difficult, then." His own smile is warm - but after a second or two, it stretches into something rather closer to a grin. "At least not until you get the hang of it."

He's only teasing about that last part, though, and once they reach a decent spot near the fire, he sticks to what he'd originally said, keeping his steps simple and hopefully easy enough to follow.

"There, how's that?"

That reassurance gets a soft chuckle out of Inessa, who grins back. "That's what Ciri tends to say, though her enthusiasm soon gets the better of her regardless of my own skill." Which can be reckless fun in its own way, when it's just them but public functions demand some decorum or at least she holds such standards for herself. Her steps are tentative at first, but once she's certain of the beat it becomes much easier to follow. "This is a lot easier on my dignity, thank you. I don't believe this will be any trouble."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

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