OPEN: Satinalia

[faderifting]

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: SATINALIA
WHEN: Firstfall 1
WHERE: Kirkwall
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 is no party at the Gallows, but those who can be spared on Satinalia may be given the night off to join Kirkwall's celebration, which spans the entire city and will take several days to peter out. Hightown plays host to lavish balls—but you'll need an invitation, and the unlucky guards posted at the stairs leading into the nobles' district are especially on guard for mischief-makers. There's no such crackdown in Lowtown, where masked revelers spill out of taverns and into the streets, often bringing barrels of ale along with them. Even Darktown gets involved, in its own way: anyone who can afford a celebration goes to Lowtown, but some of the roving bands of thieves in the tunnels don animal masks for the occasion.

And near the docks, enterprising children draped in white cloth are selling admission to a "haunted" warehouse for one copper. Adorable—except that some of the partiers exiting seem genuinely terrified, with one unfortunate man even having wet himself. Taking the children up on their offer will reveal that they have a genuine haunting on their hands. Doors slam, objects fly, footsteps appear in the dirt floor. There's laughter at the edge of hearing and movement on the edge of vision, and brief snatches of a sea shanty sung in a monotone. Make a hasty exit, or try to find the source.

Comments

Cade

[onlyhymns]

Lowtown is the only place Cade can be found for these particular festivities, dressed modestly for this kind of party yet nicely enough for the area. Knowing so few people present, he hangs back, sitting where seating is available and nursing a cup of wine, which he's allowing himself to drink only because it's a holiday and only because he's just having one.
Hardly the mopey wallflower, Cade is more or less content to watch the revelry and be silently glad he's not in the thick of it. This is kind of pleasant, actually.

[limier]

She doesn’t affect a mask; being a wet blanket is its own costume.

But if plainclothes stand out a touch, they’re yet easily dismissed; workers will be joining the festivities from their posts late into the night. Wren hasn’t come looking for him: She doesn’t envy anyone who need search tonight’s revelry, and she’s other business about. But when that business vanishes upstairs in arm with a swan (complete with ample, feathered bodice) she’s left with two drinks in hand and no particular energy to pursue the matter.

For the best, upon sighting him.

"Cade," Her brows lift in faint surprise, but she doesn’t sound unhappy for it. Hadn’t quite expected him to be seen so nearly social. "Happy Satinalia."

The bruises have faded, sped along by magic — it wouldn't have done to show up to the Viscount's party black and blue —

[onlyhymns]

Cade knows all about wet blankets, and could be one professionally if he had the chance.
He's sitting on a half-wall above the Lowtown market, safely above the festivities while still close enough to enjoy them. He almost doesn't hear Wren, but when he does, he actually smiles, at least in his uncertain, questioning way.
"Ser Coupe," he greets in return, "Happy Satinalia." He looks out and around, then back at her, and tentatively holds out his hand to help her up, should she want to join him.