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

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

[wontforgetyou]

"Aye, well, they look quite festive. I can see why folk'd be interested in them, maybe."

Still, he already has something for his head, thanks to the scarf, and his eyes flick between her and one of the bouquets with a faintly speculative expression before he reaches out to almost - but not quite - touch the topmost bloom on one of the bouquets.

"What about these, though? Seems to me that these'd appeal to a few people as well. Think I like them a wee bit better than the crowns, actually."

[ancarrow]

Eirlys feels rather gratified that he's noticed the bouquets, as they haven't been doing nearly so well as the crowns and personally she likes them far better. "Isn't it lovely? It grows in the meadows of the Hinterlands. You're welcome to one, if you'd like."

[wontforgetyou]

"Aye. They look like the heather back home."

It's not the same thing, not exactly, but it's close enough that a flicker of something rather fond crosses his face as he looks back down at the bouquet that's just beneath his fingertips. But it's gone when he looks back up again, something mischievous in it's place

"Now, hold on just a minute here. I thought we were supposed to pay a price for these wee favors. Aren't I supposed to be playing a trick or some such for one? Or doing something else?"

[ancarrow]

She turns a stem between her fingers, watching the petals spin. "Heather? That's a rather lovely name for them."

She glances up at him, her own lopsided smile rather mischievous in return. "That's entirely up to you, Jamie. It all depends on if you've any good tricks prepared, or if you'd prefer the something else."

[wontforgetyou]

Deep down, he thinks that's a good name for them as well - and even if they're called something else here, chances were he's just going to think of them as being called that from here on out. Sometimes the easiest way for him to think of something is to associate it with something else he was familiar with, and this is no different.

But while he nods briefly to agree with her, he doesn't wind up saying anything else about it - instead opting to bring a hand to his chin, stroking it as he pretends to think about what she's said. After a moment, he gives a small shrug of his shoulders, but a hint of a grin playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Afraid I'm all out of tricks. Might have to see about doing the something else, if that's the case. That is, if you don't mind that sort of thing."

[ancarrow]

"I wouldn't mind at all. That is, I don't mind, so long as you don't mind." That came out far more clumsily than she intended, and she knows that for all her protestations she is a little daunted, never having done the something else with a human before.

[wontforgetyou]

"Och, now why would I mind getting the chance to kiss a bonny lass?"

He says it playfully, but just in case he decides to keep that part of things fairly chaste, simply leaning over just enough that he can brush his lips against her cheek, although he wouldn't be offended if she chooses to pull away instead.

[ancarrow]

Eirlys leans in to meet him halfway, smiling widely as she feels his lips brush over her cheek. "I'd say that more than merits some of the - what was it you called it? - heather."