Under the Second Moon

[coquettish_trees]

WHO: Everyone Ever. It's your party!
WHAT: S a t i n a l i a !
WHEN: 1st of Umbralis
WHERE: Kirkwall and the Gallows
NOTES: I volunteered as tribute but have no authority save what having like three free hours has granted me. :D

Once dedicated to the Old Goddess of Freedom, Zazikel—but now attributed more to the second moon, Satina—this holiday is accompanied by wild celebration, the wearing of masks, and naming the town fool as ruler for a day.

---

The Gallows

Even tamped down by both the imminence of Corypheus's assault on Ghislain and the doleful pleading eyes of the Seneschal the Inquisition means to do its due diligence to Satinalia, its members beginning to appear fairly early on in the afternoon in anything from simple mask to full and elaborate costume, largely eager to let off some of the pressure that has been building ever since the news of the unanticipated battlefield broke.

Along with handcrafted decorations made from cunningly re-purposed bits of scrap... everything... that liven the main areas of the fortress it seems like someone has gone absolutely ham on decorations of the webbed variety. The hours can nearly be told by the yells of disgust and shrieks of surprise—and the laughter of companions—that rise above other chatter to mark yet another victim of this particularly sticky prank of an adornment.

The courtyard is the site of much preparation during the daylight hours, and then well-lit and filled with a feast that is simple but plentiful at dusk. Also plentiful: wine. Some clever person acquired an immensity of cheap horrible wine, floated some bundles of equally cheap spices in it to make the poor quality slightly less obvious, and set it to heat in a large cauldron over one of the temporary fire pits that has been constructed. It's good there's a late start tomorrow. Music is largely provided by the members of the Inquisition that make practice of it, and as a result, dancing is less an organized affair and more something that just breaks out every so often.

It is also true to its name tonight, some intrepid souls having decided that the opposite sides of it were the best places to set up the rival “throne rooms” that are mostly benches dragged into configuration in front of stacked and blanketed bales of hay. It's not much, but not much is necessary: the true decorations of the impromptu Fools' Courts are the personalities of their respective rulers, each of whom seems to have already collected a small zealous following eager to accomplish whatever ridiculousness they are set to in an effort to depart the normalcy that contains a fight for the Inquisition that is no longer skirmish mission after skirmish mission but full battle, pitched and outright.

(Are half of them wearing... beribboned and otherwise decorated toilet seats of cloth, wood, or folded paper around their necks? Better choose your allegiance wisely, I guess!)

The island fortress has enough nooks and secluded spaces that some privacy can be found even in the midst of full-scale celebration. In seeking unoccupied places, however, every once in a while—around a corner, down a hall—shadows raise and move oddly at the corner of your vision, although a second harder look always seems to reveal only flickering torchlight.

It's a strange night.

The City of Kirkwall

While the threat of war looms here also, rather than dampen itself, the city outside the Inquisition's stronghold has turned that nervous energy outward in frenetic release.

The festival atmosphere persists all day: the markets are bright, packed with both shops and shoppers, filled with those intrepid celebrants who have already donned mask, costume, or both, and loud with the laughter of children running in wild packs to prank and pickpocket the unwary. Trickery is tolerated, if not openly encouraged and rewarded, especially if clever. Even so, the city guard is out in force, just in case someone gets a bit too excited.

Once the sun goes down, the city is lit in a way that almost recalls the events that earned Marian Hawke her title. Fires, large and small, blaze along the streets well past midnight, although it is torch and brazier rather than barricade and home, and while the streets are further lit by the bright light of both moons, one can imagine it is the second moon's light that better illuminates the revelries below.

And revelries there are, with abandon. Near every street has its ardent lovers, its merrymakers, its gleeful dancing and laughter. And, to go with them, its footpads, its drunkards, its whores and gamblers taking their games to the cobblestones. Satinalia's freedom is a little freer when what lurks on the horizon has come close enough that one can nearly catch the threatening glint of its red crystal in the darkness.

Moreso, when you live in a city that knows what it is to burn.

Comments

six | ota

[swordproof]

I. THE GALLOWS

The Gallows are suitable enough during the rest of the year, but Six finds herself impressed with the changes made for the event. It's livelier, a little brighter than the normal setup of the place. She wanders around and does her best to appear comfortable, but it's obvious that she's a little bit on edge - she avoids anyone with a glass of wine in their hands (most people) and rejects anyone that offers her one of her own.

She looks a little pale at each and every offering, truly.

The music is nicer, and she enjoys that, something like a smile curling over her face as she nods her head in tune with the music. It reminds her a little of home, of the idleness of mercenaries playing songs and laughing together at the end of a long day - but the dancing is a touch different. That's a new experience, and she stands at the sidelines, wondering. She's dressed a little more formally than her usual shirt and breeches, eyes dancing over the people as they spin together.

It's very sweet, she thinks, and there's a pang in her heart. She wants to dance, but... There is no one to dance with.

II. CITY

The city is what draws her attention most. The markets are wonderful, brightly lit and making her warm and curious, trying to make her way through without upsetting any baskets and making a fool of herself. She's tall and bulky enough that people seem to move out of her way, stepping aside as she peers over their shoulders to look at trinkets and tokens. She's looking for gifts for her sister above all else, touching things and turning them in her hands before she sighs.

Her purse is kept tucked away somewhere very safe, not that she fears anyone will touch her. She's not the easiest target.

The night comes and she wanders the streets with equal delight, dragging her eyes over the fires, the moons, the revelries. It's nothing that she's used to, nothing she has done before, and she does her best to embrace it, to accept it, to feel a little more at home than she had before. It's a party, or a celebration of sorts, she thinks, and it means she has to try and take part... Even if she avoids the merrymakers who are a little more ardent than the others, her cheeks a flaming pink.

That she has no interest in.

Gallows

[circleprodigy]

Inessa hasn't explicitly intended to avoid the wine herself, yet she knows her limit and it's not very impressive. Even that would have seen her through at least half a glass, but the quality is so terrible that even a whiff of it has her grimacing. Quickly glancing around, she finds a bush and tries to discreetly pour it out, not wanting anyone to judge her for abandoning party booze. But Six is nearby and when their eyes meet, she smiles sheepishly. Busted.

"...hello, Six. How is your evening?"

[swordproof]

Her avoidance of the alcohol has nothing to do with the quality of it - but she feels unsure about it, no matter what, and she feels awkward about it. Her heart feels heavy as more and more people drink around her, and she's more than ready to admit that, perhaps, she had made the wrong choice coming here. Perhaps she should go elsewhere, perhaps she should return to her room, but...

Six only relaxes when she sees the familiar face of Inessa at her side, some of the tension relaxing. She doesn't seem particularly upset by alcohol being wasted, at least.

"Good enough. And yours?"

[circleprodigy]

"Trying to find my footing, to be honest. I'm not much of a partygoer, but...sometimes a change of pace can help." It almost pains her to say that, even as she has to resist the urge to retreat to the roost or library or somewhere else less noisy.

"Have you see what else they're serving for drinks? I'm in need of something else." Nearly anything else, as long as she can trust the source.

[swordproof]

"I am not either, but it seemed too wonderful a thing to ignore." It's probably obvious that she's not entirely comfortable, no matter how dressed up she might be - there's an edge of tension that prickles at her, looking around and staring at all the people. Too loud, too many drinks, too much drunkenness for her heart to bear.

She breathes out.

"I've had nothing but water," she admits quietly. "I prefer not to touch alcohol."

[circleprodigy]

A sympathetic smile forms, and she nods. Such a preference may not be a common thing in Thedas, when alcohol is often less of a hazard than water, but she's not one to pass judgment. She's not really a social drinker, anyway.

As a group nearby erupts in drunken laughter, Inessa automatically moves closer to Six and away from them. "Perhaps we can do better than water...at least cider or whatnot. I wouldn't mind company, if you're willing and not waiting for someone?"

[swordproof]

It's not the kind of thing that she speaks of often; her background is something she hides away. She is not ashamed of her more than humble heritage, but... It's better not to spend too much time thinking too hard about those memories. All she will end up doing is making herself miserable and now is not the time for such terrible thoughts.

"I would be glad of water," Six shakes her head. "But I would be glad to help you find something better, if you would like the company." She likes Inessa enough to not feel as though they'd be on edge around one another.

[circleprodigy]

"Absolutely." She picks a direction with slightly less crowding, hoping it's easier for them to weave their way through.

"So is this festival in any way familiar to what's celebrated in your homeland? Whether or not you have a second moon, of course." Masks, fools...it seems general enough to her, but if it's not, she'd still like to know.

[swordproof]

That, at least, Six appreciates. There's a calm about her as she moves away from the people, some of the tension settling from her shoulders.

"There are some like it," she admits. "Though I do not often partake. I am not usually around large towns and villages long enough to be invited to their celebrations." She very deliberately travels swiftly, to help those she can and, more recently, to protect her sister. "There are masquerades, however, though they are mostly in the hands of nobles."

Gallows

[coquettish_trees]

Six is precisely the manner of person Alexandrie has been courting all evening every time the ebb and flow of merriment takes her past a group of dancers; someone ever at the edge of it who is watching with special interest but with no movement to join, no partner to join with. So she steps up beside the woman with a bright and welcoming smile to tilt her head and offer an 'armored' hand.

"If you so wish?"

[swordproof]

It's not as if she's doing particularly well in hiding her want and her desire - she longs to be a part of all of this, to be able to slip in. The problem is, of course, that she feels a little on edge, nervous and worried about the placement of her feet and the people around her. What she has in strength she lacks in the soft movement and a level of dexterity that might be necessary for these things, but...

Blinking, she hesitates as she looks at Alexandrie, pausing before she smiles.

"I am not sure I would be the best partner."

[coquettish_trees]

"If your worry is not knowing the steps," Alexandrie gestures at the rollicking mass of people who are engaged in probably three or four different dances, "I can assure you, that is the status of all. If it is stepping upon me, why," her eyes sparkle with amusement, "I am quite quick, have not let a partner step upon me yet this life, and as you can see," she gestures to herself, "I am well armored for the occasion."

She isn't. It's entirely ornamental and would absolutely give way, but the point isn't to be truthful so much as to be amusing and reassuring. "Setting aside my qualifications, I deem you an excellent partner, as all that is required for such is the desire to dance." Her smile broadens. "Which I believe you have."

[swordproof]

"It is both, I think," Six admits, something like pink on her cheeks. It's not as though this is something she had ever entertained - she had never been asked before and it was not an event for mercenaries or Paladins. Even when she and Adrian had happened upon a party in their time together they had never indulged - romance was for after her training was complete. His death had stolen that from her as well.

At least Alexandrie gives her reason to smile, even if she cannot laugh.

"I will try," she says, voice careful. "If you are content with allowing me a fumble, as I adjust."

[coquettish_trees]

"I shall allow you two," Alexandrie proclaims magnanimously, offering her hand again while sweeping her other out towards the dance in a gesture of invitation.

[swordproof]

Six can't help the way she laughs a little, a soft noise that escapes her throat before she can do anything else. Shaking her head, she steps forward and takes Alexandrie's hand. "As long as you are sure of yourself."

[esquive]

They'll be joining a frankly ridiculous mixed bag of dancers once they make it onto the dance floor - ladies and rich gentlemen in fine silks and elaborate masks dancing with or among young men and women in their best of two pairs of clothes, two sworn enemies from the Light and Dark courts dueling by way of a comically dramatic dance. Among the assorted fray is a soldier too, clashing yellow flowers stuck in his ginger beard. He's sweeping about some red handed girl from the Inquisition's laundry, and must say something to her because all at once she's laughing loudly as they romp their way enthusiastically about the margins.

[swordproof]

The people are a mix and she finds herself a little confused by it all, at least at first. Alexendrie is to be her guide, she's well aware of that, but it doesn't make it that much easier for her to bear. At least she is not wearing her armour - that would have made all of this a terrible tragedy and there's something calming about that... Even if she might feel a little braver with her metal and her sword on her back.

She begins to move with Lexie, careful and frustratingly focussed on her feet, brow furrowed, until she spots a familiar figure. She didn't expect to see Marcoulf here and her eyes widen, flicking over his features for a moment, almost stomping on Lexie's toes as she does. The flowers in his beard attract her attention and something like a smile settles on her face, warm and fond as she looks at him. She's glad to see him, despite the awkwardness of their previous interactions, and some of the tension in her shoulders falls away at the familiar presence of someone she trusts.

I.

[heirring]

Wysteria marks the woman immediately from across the courtyard. It's difficult to miss her, of course - she's tall and just faintly broad about the shoulder and dressed like a boy but lovely in the face. She is, Wysteria had thought while listening to the conversation happening to the right of her with only half her attention, the very definition of a gracious lady knight.

Which, officially, she has decided is the very best part of Thedas. The rest- strange magic and demons and dragons and intolerable men and lovely young ladies and Kirkwall's great black cliffs and an entire library of books that no one else in Kalvad has ever read - is debatable, but this? This is wholly lovely.

It takes her ten minutes of studying the woman from a distance for Wysteria to decide the she absolutely must hold a conversation with her. So she promptly sets aside her mostly empty wine glass, then makes her way about the margins of the yard until at last she's reached the woman's side.

"It's lovely music, isn't it? Have you done much dancing yet?"

[swordproof]

Her discomfort isn't something that she hides particularly well; Six is practically drenched in it, standing to one side with her arms crossed over her chest. She had done her best to make herself appear as though she was at ease with it all - fancy clothes that she had spent a few coin on, fitting almost properly and most certainly designed for a more male figure than her own - but it doesn't seem to be helping.

Nothing can quite remove the look of uncertainty of someone who has no idea what to do at a party.

Luckily, she is not quite overwhelmed enough to not note she is being watched, but she says nothing of it. It wouldn't shock her to think that some people thought it odd for her to be here, for her to be standing, Anchor shard bright in her palm and her attention wavering as she takes the world in. Each person that passes and offers her a drink makes her feel quite uneasy and she has to swallow the urge to step away and flee in the other direction.

She does not have to touch it, she tells herself, and that calms her rather racing heart, even as she tries to fix herself and stand a touch taller. She is a Rifter and must appear above it all, to prove that they are not to be feared. The young woman, at least, offers a distraction, and Six tilts her head as she recognises the voice.

"No, not much. I do not have the feet for it, my lady."

[heirring]

Behind the strip of emerald ribbon serving as her mask, Wysteria's face lights up as the sun on a spring day.

"Oh! I know that voice!" She very abruptly takes one of the woman's hands in both of hers. "What joy to have my suspicions so thoroughly confirmed! You must be the woman I spoke to the other day through the crystal. Isn't that right? You are the very picture of how I imagined you must be, my gods. My fair lady, you really must remind me of your name. I've been haunted by the lack of it for days now. --And as I'm sure mine has been of my consequence, let me remind you of my own. It's Poppell. Wysteria Poppell."

How very gratifying this all is.

[swordproof]

There's a moment where Six just seems a touch astounded, her eyes widening as she gazes down at Wysteria, not sure what to do with herself. She had never looked at herself and thought she was anything akin to something anyone might picture, but...

"I am." Six can't tear her eyes away from their joined hands, a little taken aback by the attention. She feels a little as though she has been caught off guard by someone who knows too much, or is asking for too much, and it's not something she knows how to deal with without panicking. "I - You may call me Six. It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Lady Wysteria."

It doesn't change the rather startled look on her face.

[heirring]

For a split second, something in her face pinches slightly - is she being made fun of? What kind of name is Six meant to be? And then she elects that no, it simply must be a designation of some kind. After all, she is herself only a sixth rate magician. If she's learned little else since falling out of her dream into Thedas, it's that these things are sometimes done very differently indeed.

"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine. Six - is that a rank or title? And Wysteria is perfectly adequate, by the by, though I suppose Miss would suffice if you have a fondness for those things. Everyone here is so lovely and informal and so fond of each other's first names, so I don't see why we shouldn't be the same."

She still hasn't let go of Six's hand.

[swordproof]

Slowly, over time, Six is beginning to realise that people will stop accepting her given name as an actual name and will begin to question the origin of it; why should a person be called 'Six' when that is clearly a number? Was she the sixth child with particularly cruel parents? Only some of that is true, but she manages to bite her tongue, at least for now, ignoring the reality of her true name to focus on the one that means something to her.

"It is no rank nor title. It is simply my name, my - miss." Formality comes easier to Six than she would like to admit; years of travel and being at the behest of lords and ladies to aid and guide the people means it is easier to 'my lady', 'my lord' and 'ser' people than it is to consider using their forenames, even if it has been given.

It seems better to keep a distance, too, in case they mistrust her for her faith. That, too, she is beginning to learn. Her eyes glance to their hands but, without pause, she looks back up, saying nothing.

"Is - do you enjoy these gatherings?"

[heirring]

"Oh, parts of them. Or rather, I've always likes certain pieces of parties from home, but I can't say I've ever been anything quite this" --with a wandering eye to the Dark Court-- "decadent. Most of the society gathering I've been to have either been weddings or holiday get together populated largely by old women and grandfathers. Significantly less fun to be had at those, I can tell you that much. In which case, the dancing is always very nice and the food is usually quite good. The company varies and the end of the evening is always dreadful and takes far too long to be finished."

But she can't really imagine this particular party winding down into dull, droning conversations in some dusty drawing room. Boredom seems like a very avoidable fate indeed.

At last, Wysteria pats Six's hand and mercifully releases her.

"Do you plan to do any of it? Dancing, I mean. I haven't quite figured out the steps myself, though I've been watching rather carefully and I think I may have it down with a few more rounds of observation."

[swordproof]

"I admit that I have not been to enough to make a judgement." It was not where she was invited when she was younger and mercenaries do not attend weddings, feasts and the like. She had been more welcomed as a Paladin, but she had not accepted much in the way of invitation, not when she was still trying to find strength in her bond with Sarenrae and aid her sister. "I do not think that I would anticipate enjoying all parts of the event either." The Dark Court in particular.

She can almost feel her blush, but she hopes that her tilted head and the darker sky hides the flush of her cheeks, uncertain of herself in the middle of all these people, drinking and merrymaking in a way that has her knotted from head to toe.

Wysteria is sweet enough to dull that edge, however, and Six feels courageous enough to turn back to her.

"I haven't considered it." She has not been asked, she means, and she does not intend to entertain any drunkards. "But I see no reason why you shouldn't partake, miss."