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

That gets a mischievous grin out of Korrin. "Then it'd be an appropriate decoration for the grove, wouldn't it? It's their own damn fault for doing it at this time of year anyway, only an idiot shags out in the Frostbacks at this time of year with no protection from the elements. In the summer, though, with a blanket as barrier from things that can get stuck to your ass? It has some appeal.

...and ugh, no beach sand getting into various cracks ever again. I'll be fine with a beach view, but right on it is such a terrible idea. I've learned my lesson." She leans in to brush her lips against Araceli's forehead, content to just sit for a while now that she has the perfect company to do it with. "You know, I swear one of those singing had a strong Orlesian accent. They must have been hammered beyond belief."

"Is that why the warmth balm actually exists?" Phrasing it as innocently as she can, a smirk still manages to pull at the corners of her mouth when she says it; she knows what it's for (more or less), doesn't know what's in it, but she wouldn't really put it past some desperate couples. "I'll stick to the hot springs or tents if it's all the same."

Because it'll have to do since a year in Thedas hasn't endeared the weather in this part to Araceli yet so convincing her is either going to take a great deal more patience or months of hard work. Considering Korrin's words after she rearranges them so she can tuck herself under her arm for more warmth, pressing a kiss to her jaw during she laughs. "That many of them they might fear for their safety if they don't but there's a noble or two up at the party that would trip over their own feet and pledge many things if you get them a cup of dark cider or a mug of ale instead of wine or port or whatever else he's meant to drink back where he's from. Guilty pleasures." Allow her to roll her eyes so far back they're in danger of rolling clean out of her head and down the mountain. "Why feel guilty over anything if you aren't hurting anyone, it's ridiculous."

Araceli's comment about the warmth balm gets an amused snort out of Korrin, who may not have used it that way herself but can completely see why others might have done so. "Hey, anything in a pinch. And I'll definitely be up for the hot springs later. Maybe if we're lucky, everyone else will be too drunk off their ass to make it there."

Not that she minds being one of the main things keeping Araceli warm right now, slanket aside. That laugh of Araceli's brings out a warm smile, glad to hear it more often again after such trying times. "Tch, exactly. People need to be less up their own ass about what other people think and just enjoy without looking over their shoulders. It won't happen, mostly, but nights like these? They're at least an outlet, an exception to all that shit. I bet even if they do remember it all, they'll pretend they don't just to save face." Which just seems the height of stupidity to someone as outspoken and blunt as Korrin. Hiding so much of oneself just seems so soul-crushing to her, and she'd never think to do it.

When the next firebreather begins, Korrin grins as she watches them at work. "When I was little, I would ride my dad's shoulders just to see the the firebreathers at the Satinalia festivals in Wycome and Rivain. Then I would run around pretending I could do the same thing. I thought they were the closest things to dragons I would ever see, until I was old enough to join a company."

Maybe if they can get hold of a tent (because Araceli refuses to be completely naked outdoors unless she's on a beach or in the water) then she can procure some warmth balm, get Korrin to lie back and stretch out to massage out any aches and pains. It's only fair after everything Korrin did for her when she was healing. "I can keep them out. Lockpicks are as good for that as they are for getting into places and things someone wants to keep you out of."

After all, that's part of her recommended healing coming from Bruce himself so after a night like tonight she's earned it. "Well sometimes it's a way to earn a living. Men and women come to the brothels for something they're too scared to find elsewhere. It's a strange sort of trust. Still the first to shame you about it in the light of day. That part is where being a bard and my job at home aren't so very different at all."

Laughing at the idea of a tiny Korrin - although that's hard to imagine, even a young Korrin would have made any age of Araceli look small - she can picture it. Hopefully not setting things on fire with any accidental magic. "I never knew it was so popular. Too much could get damaged, maybe nobles had them at some of their parties." One of the others would have known but that all would have been before Araceli's time in the guard since she'd remember firebreathers. "Could mages ever do that? It comes out of your hands, no? And I don't think most, if any, of them are mages are they? It's performance. Practice and skill and timing. It looks like magic but it isn't."

That laughter prompts a grin from Korrin, whose gaze lingers on her for a time before another burst of flame redirects her attention. "It isn't, but for those who don't know any better there doesn't seem to be a difference. People breathing fire, swallowing it, it all seems incredible, doesn't it? I'm willing to bet some mages give it a shot, as a way of hiding their talent under something more acceptable. Everyone fears someone who blasts fire out of their hands, but if you breathe it for a show? Then it's just entertainment.

Years back, I begged someone to show me how, when there was a huge festival and I was drunk off my ass. I was damned lucky I didn't kill or burn myself, which I can only credit to them being more watchful and sober than me. Even warmth balms and healing spells can only do so much." At at the time, she hadn't had access to either. It was pure youthful stupidity, though observing the firebreathers now, Korrin seems thoughtful. If she ever tried it again, the Vashoth woman would absolutely treat it more seriously.

"...and I love the way you think, as always. We can remain here as long as you'd like, and when you're ready to shut out the rest, just say the word. I'll be with you all the way."

"But if mages are free, then one day they might not need to hide what they are. Anyone with the skill and dedication can be a dancer, if a mage or two danced along with the company then you don't know what sort of tricks they might come up with." Sleight of hand is all the magic that Araceli knew before Thedas but that seemed so real unless you knew what to look for, and you only knew what to look for if you had a particular set of skills yourself. There's plenty to be said for research but one day this fighting will be over. People can breathe. Can think about what sort of life they might wish to lead. If some of them want to drift off into the arts after bearing witness to horror then few could blame them for wanting joy and to bring it to others, to remind them that there are still bright and beautiful things in the world.

Korrin's words pull her back from her thoughts, her mouth quirking at the corner as she gathers her hair back. "Don't get so drunk you try that here sirena." She's teasing but there's plenty of strong drink floating about and Araceli wouldn't rule everything out.

"I need to eat first, I was too busy up there and it was all a rich person's idea of good food. Which is not actually filling. Or good. Money seldom buys taste." And tiny cakes are only so filling.

There's a wistful look at mention of mages and freedom, as even Korrin wonders if that the Inquisition has built will truly last. Not that it won't stop her from living her life regardless of what the new Divine might want, but she can hope for more for her fellow mages. But she'll try not to dampen the mood with such serious talk, not tonight. Her gaze lingers on the firebreathers, admiring before she glances back down to her love.

"Don't worry, I have no plans to get that hammered. I'll settle for 'mellow, but still capable of spiriting my kadan away later'. Besides, most human brews never really get to me, you know that." It takes her drinking them in disturbingly large quantities to provoke that kind of response, so it never really happens unless she wants that.

"Well, then. Time to get you some real food, whatever you like. Some people managed to 'liberate' some treats from Skyhold, but we also have plenty of homemade things, some even with actual spices. I'm pretty sure that's Burly's fault. Want me to get you something, or would you choose for yourself?" Not that Korrin minds being ordered about, at least by Araceli.

Buried beneath Araceli's ability to be relentlessly practical about the things that she needs, the things that she can actually do? There's always something optimistic that she tries to keep very safe. The same thing that has her believing in Leandra when everything is at its very worst, when the nobles say they should let people starve rather than raise taxes on their own luxury goods (likely things she would hear in Orlais, she's sure, or something to do with elves against humans) but she has to believe, has to see it in her mind. If that's where she wants to end up, and this is where she stands now then all she has to do is provision herself and plan appropriately.

"Just remember that I won't be helping you stagger back, is all I'm saying. I have three legs technically." The cane is more a leg at this point than it is anything else, and if she's drunk, and Korrin's drunk, then it's twice as liable to trip the both of them up along with anyone that might blunder into their path too. So. Helpful friendly reminder it is.

"I know nothing of this." Araceli possibly knows much if a Warden was involved in such things but Araceli was being a bard and doing things bards do at parties so of course she was not helping to smuggle macarons or petit-fours out of the fancy shindig down here. "I can go, my leg will fall asleep and I want to see more than just the firedancers tonight." Plus she's pretty much over ordering people about outside of fetching things that she can't physically reach without climbing so she's already up on her feet, cane finding purchase in the snow as she leads the way because look she can smell good cooking compared to the usual boring garbage.

(Don't tell Avery, she doesn't want this potato peeling duty.)

"Maybe I should've brought Asher for us, then. He probably wouldn't mind hanging out and getting treats in exchange for bringing our asses back up to Skyhold." As sure as Korrin is that he'd make a great festival attraction, she's less certain how the noise would affect her nuggalope friend. He's not a mabari, ever craving attention, and spooking a creature that huge could have dire consequences. But just for a moment, she indulges in that fantasy.

"If I forget myself, I'll just make Taas carry me back. He's one of the few who could. But don't bet on that happening, I'd rather keep sober enough to remember this night with you. We didn't get to have this kind of fun last year, after all." Flashing a bright smile, she moves to stand, automatically slowing her pace for Araceli. "Whatever else you want to see, I'm sure we can make it happen. Personally, I'll be content with good food and good music, and something to sing along to other than Andraste's Mabari for the hundredth damn time. We have people from all over, it's time for something else."

"I left Lux back in our room because I was worried about him causing a scene. Remember that Lux is small, used to parties? I don't think I would trust something named after your bear of a friend, not yet at least." Araceli has heard the stories about Asher, especially the ones at the hold when they were up there. Korrin naming her nuggalope after him involved a long terrible moment where she honestly wasn't sure if her poker face would hold.

Casting her mind back - always with that flash she tries to hide because it's a year, it's longer in Thedas than in the guard, sometimes that knowledge terrifies her - she smiles. "We would have been in the Fallow Mire or headed there about this time last year I think." And only Korrin Ataash could talk her back. And only the once. It'd take having to rescue someone very dear to her to convince her a third time. Gripping her cane securely, she leads the way with less hip swinging than a year ago because that doesn't really work when she's walking with a cane.

It doesn't take hugely long to find something good because the smell of spice carries in the air but she nods to Korrin. "You'll need to carry until we sit, I can carry the drinks and this but not bowls or plates as easily." Which is the only warning there is before she orders curry, ram instead of a meat she'd prefer because the hills are always full of ram, but it's curry and she'll take it.

"Asher is far more tame than that bear masquerading as a human ever was, but point taken. I'll try to keep up the exposure, though, see if we'll ever get him to this point. It's not like a lot of people have one, so you can't expect me not to try and show him off." If they could be seen riding him together? Well, never let it be said that Korrin doesn't care about making a big impression.

"I could always carry you as I did then, only without the swamp smell and dead things everywhere." Korrin honestly wouldn't mind if that's what Araceli wants, even if she doesn't get as much hip-swinging action in return this time. There will always be later for that; for now, she's perfectly content to savor what is. Araceli's cane does nothing to detract from her charm and spirit and in Korrin's view, never could.

Inhaling the scents of spice and northern dishes, she lets out a content sigh. That alone is enough to revive her appetite full force. At least someone here aside from them knows good cuisine, and that will be welcome in a sea of bland Fereldan dishes and weird Orlesian ones. "...but I suppose that can wait until we're both as full as we can stand, if you insist. Order as much as you like and I'll carry it over, kadan."

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