faderift | Under the Second Moon

Under the Second Moon

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.

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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.

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Jester, Queen of the Foolish Good, is dressed in head-to-toe pink. A tea-length pink dress, a pink cloak with a deep pink lining, light pink stockings, pink boots with gold buckles--the requisite toilet seat around her neck, of course, well-painted to resemble pink marble with delicate veins of deeper pink--flower chain after flower chain after flower chain, with more flower chains wound around her wrists. Her horns are festooned with ribbons and flowers and gold trinkets--chains, baubles, little bells that jingle, merrily, with her every step.

And a crown. A great big crown, gold-painted tin with shiny red gemstones affixed here and there, its base surrounded by a thick chain of pink roses, in place of the more traditional ermine.

Her scepter is actually her Wand of Smiles, decorated with more ribbons. The worst cases brought before her will get a taste of its power, and frowns are turned upside-down as gales of laughter overtake them.

She also carries a pouch of coins, to hand out to those that please her. Some of the coins are actually chocolate. Some are real. Some are tiny stink bombs that will detonate six hours after the festivities have concluded.

Fools, come greet your queen.

Edited 2018-11-05 02:38 (UTC)

It's late, and the torches are burning low. The revelry is ongoing, and the boundaries between the Courts have grown permeable, with the good spilling over to the bad--and of course, the bad spilling over to the good in turn, to help themselves to pastries and glasses of milk.

And where is the queen?

Laying in the lawn with her belly distended from treats.

"Helena...." Blindly, she gropes in the grass to try and find Helena's hand. "Helena, are you still here? Are you still alive? Do you know what a food baby is?"

Not far away there lies an angel of the Court, her hair a pale golden halo against the grass.

Helena, in her incapacitated state, grabs Jester's hand. A gesture of friendship, solidarity, and commiseration over their poor choices. A quiet groan-wheeze as she tries to formulate words.

"I am here, Jester-tiefling. Though whether I am being alive..." That, she thinks, is for much debating. With a look down at her stomach, equally bloated and uncomfortable, Helena pats her belly. "I have no heard this saying before, but it is very good."

Jester grips Helena's hand in her own, firm and bracing despite her ailments. Solidarity.

"It is very good, isn't it? It is like, when you have had so much to eat, that you look like you are pregnant, and everyone is like, oh, is that a baby? and you are like, no, I just ate ten million pastries. Ahhh, Helena--" She sucks in a breath and lets it out again. "I ate ten million pastries. Why did no one stop us?"

"I too had the ten million." The words carry that faint strain of pain and discomfort. "But they were so good tasting, I would eat all ten million again."

Yes, that is definitely what she would do. Briefly, she considers sitting up— but no. That way lies only suffering.

And, "they probably did not stop us because you are beautiful lady who is in charge." And because Helena would have looked at anyone who tried to like she was going to take off their hand and eat that, too.

That is a lot of pink. Like an insane amount. It looks like Jester raided Barbie's Dreamhouse, but since she's pretty sure Jester won't get the reference, Tessa will refrain from making the joke. Instead she does an awkward little bow, wearing a mask with black fur to match the little black wolf she has on a leash. She's hoping the fur she purchased wasn't made from any of his relatives.

"So, uh, hi. Never met a Queen before. Not really sure what I'm supposed to say."

"Well, you start with hi," Jester says, diplomatically. "So, pretty good job. And then--"

Now she puts on her fancy lady voice. Higher in pitch, with more trills and flourishes for flavor. She holds out her right hand. Rings wink on her fingers--silver, gold, some studded with gemstones. Some of them might be real. Some of them might be cut glass. Who's to say, really?

"And then, you kiss my hand, and you say, it is good to see you, your excellency, and my, you are looking very very pretty today. Because I am. And so are you, except you definitely, definitely need more decorations. Like, definitely. And so does your dog, though he is very cute all on his own!"

"Dude, I had limited time!" Tessa scowls a little because she really does wish she'd had more time to put a whole outfit together. This celebration totally sounds like Halloween and Christmas rolled into one and you bet she used to go all out for Halloween.

But she comes up and takes Jester's hand to give it a kiss and exercise the proper platitudes.

"It's good to see you and you're looking so pretty today. Like your faves could never look as good as this." Her dog sniffs at Jester's ankles with interest. "Oh, and this is Maz. He's actually a wolf."

"Maz. Hey, Maz," and once Tessa has released her hand, Jester reaches into her skirt pocket to produce a crumbly doughnut, which she holds out toward the wolf. "Do you want this? Because it is really good, man, like really. Hey, how did you get a wolf to be your pet? And why aren't you wearing a wolf costume? Oh, my gosh--"

Inspiration strikes like lighting. Jester's eyes go round and wild with excitement.

"You have to wear a wolf costume!"

Maz doesn't have to be asked twice. He leaps forward and snatches the offered treat before Tessa can even open her mouth. The action makes her scrunch up her face behind her mask.

"Sorry about him. I've got him in training. I found him out in the wild all alone and took him in." She adjusts the mask around her eyes as Jester comes up with her grand idea. "That's what this is supposed to be; I just didn't have the time to do more. Plus I didn't want to like, traumatize him by dressing fully as a wolf. I would've maybe done a shoulder wrap and a tail?"

Apology not necessary: Jester is psyched that a wolf puppy ate some slightly stale doughnut from her pocket. She makes a little eep, but like a pleased eep, as she pulls her hand away just in time.

"Why would a wolf costume traumatize a wolf?" Like, please. She snorts, and then holds her hand out to Tessa. "Come on. I have some really great costume stuff you can borrow. And Maz can get a cool costume too! Like he can be a different animal or something!"

Tessa takes her hand, but feels she'd better explain herself as they go.

"Well he saw his whole pack get skinned, so I figure me wearing a wolf skin all over me would freak him out; I dunno." She shrugs, since it's not like she can read the little guy's mind.

"We should make him a sheep. For the whole 'wolf in sheep's clothing' joke."

The Rifter, and tiefling, who looks like a Qunari, who is a morale officer for the Inquisition is the best Queen of Fools Alexandrie has ever seen. She's just giving herself a pat on the back for making sure the Inquisition took part in that particular bit of revelry when there appears the woman herself. She's starting a grand sweeping curtsey when her hands meet exactly no skirts to spread, remembers she's in armor, and delightedly takes a knee instead for perhaps the very first time, gesturing grandly with each title she bestows.

"Your most august majesty! Mistress of Mischief, Lady of Laughter, Princess of Pink, and Rightful Queen of all Fools, I glory in your presence."

"Oh, my goooosh--"

Jester has to take a minute, first, to glory in her own presence. Like, a lady-knight? Kneeling at her feet? What is this holiday except the totally best holiday that anyone ever celebrated? Wow, wow, wow wow wow.

Moment over, she draws herself up to stand, tall, and queenly, and works to compose her face. She holds out her wand with great authority, and taps the lady-knight on her shoulder--once on the left, once on the right, once on the left--and then, very gently, on the top of her pretty head.

"Arise, Lady Knight, Champion of the Queen of All Good Fools! And let me see your outfit, oh my gosh, you are sooooo well-dressed--"

Alexandrie adopts a deeply solemn look for the occasion—after all, it's not every day one is knighted and dubbed a Queen's Champion, even if it is with a beribboned wand during Satinalia. She stands when bid, presses a gauntleted fist to her heart in acceptance of this deepest of honors, and then breaks into a wide smile and does a pivoting turn so she can show off what she'd had made for the occasion.

"I am ever so glad to hear so! I have been waiting ever so long for the opportunity to portray my gallant sister. But your horns! The little bells! The clever court you have created!" She sighs happily, pressing her hands to her cheeks, "Ah, cherie, you were born to be Queen."

Giggling, Jester turns her head--first to the left, and then to the right, modeling the bells and also letting them chime, quiet and cheerful. She puts one hand to her cheek, coy and shy.

"Do you think so? Because I am pretty sure that I was born to be me. Jester. But I like being the queen, this is great. Wait, do you really have a sister?"

The chiming is delightful, and so is the look on the woman's face.

"I do indeed!" Alexandrie replies, "If you wish you meet her, you may keep an eye out for..." she taps a thoughtful finger on her chin, "a many-layered white gown, I imagine. Perhaps with gold accents. A mask of some sort to match. Perhaps even a parasol, despite the darkness." They hadn't let each other see their costumes. It's more fun this way.

She'd inquire if Jester had any siblings in return, but it doesn't seem all that merry to ask Rifters about friends and family in their former worlds

"No way--she's here?"

The bells jingle more sharply when Jester whips around to stare around them, as if Lexie's pretty sister might be hiding somewhere nearby. She must be pretty, if she is Lexie's sister.

"She is Good, right? So she better be wearing a toilet seat, too. And some flowers. Oh my gosh--what if she is not? We would have to ambush her, definitely, definitely."

"Ah," sighs Alexandrie mournfully, "despite wearing my countenance, I suspect Geneviève may retain her rather more upright nature. While she is unfailingly Good, I imagine she may have some quarrel with a toilet seat as accoutrement. Which means..."

A pause for dramatic effect.

"We must absolutely ambush her."

Hanzo looks tragically uncomfortable.

He had come mostly because he had not wanted to be trapped in his room and because there was the promise of alcohol, which is often more than enough to encourage him to wander around. He did not expect the roses and the flowers and his nose wrinkles a little, lifting his hand to cover it from the smells and the intensity of it all. It's been a long time since he was at a party - the dinner party didn't count - and he feels a touch claustrophobic.

More than a handful of people have told him that he must greet the queen and he does so with a frown on his face, as severe as ever. His arm is on full display and he tilts his head, watching her, eyes flicking up and down before he breathes out.

"Greetings."

Jester gasps, when she sees who is speaking to her. She sticks her wand in her armpit and holds it pinched to her side, so she can reach out both hands to Hanzo for him to take.

"You're here!"

Like she's been expecting him, counting on him, to be here. If he doesn't take her hands right away, she'll snap her fingers, repeatedly, to get his attention.

"But where is your costume? Your mask and all your decorations and stuff?"

There's a long moment where Hanzo can't do much more than stare at her hands - what is this Qunari's obsession with hand holding, especially towards someone so clearly from Tevinter? - but he does eventually reach out and take her fingers into his own, albeit with a touch of a furrow in his brow.

"I... Am."

Hanzo seems utterly bemused to say the least, his attention dropping to her fingers before he tilts his head up to look at her again. He's not sure what to do about it either, other than try and respond to her questions in a timely fashion.

"I did not think that it was a necessity."

Pleased, Jester swings their joined hands back and forth a few times. The bells in her horns make a little jingle each time, jostled even by small movements. And she shows no interest in letting go, even when she puts on her thoughtful face, eyes narrowed with friendly criticism.

"I mean, it is not necessary. It is fun. But don't worry, I can totally help you. Technically I am an expert in disguising people, and making costumes for Satinalia is sort of like disguising people, you know? Technically. We have all kinds of stuff you can use, to make your costume! We collected a lot of stuff, man. Come on, come on--"

She drops one of his hands but keeps firm hold of the other, so she has a way by which to pull him off toward some destination she clearly has in mind.

"I'll take you there!"

Hanzo is baffled by the two of them sitting together like this, as if they are age old friends. It is in the nature of the Qun to ignore and shun those from Tevinter, if not outright attack them, but this one - Jester? - is different. She is staring at him and making him wonder, something uncomfortable flooding through him, settling in his stomach. He does not like this and he does not like where it is going.

"An expert," Hanzo says, voice low and unsure. He's not certain he wants to be dressed up or wearing anything fancy, not even by someone who might be something of a expert. He's spent ten years on the run and he doesn't think anyone can truly hide what he looks like or who he is, but... If this is just intended to be a fun event...

There's no way to tug out of her grip though; Hanzo sighs.

"As you say." What else can he do?

"I have a disguise kit," Jester says, as she leads him along. She would part a crowd on a quiet day. As the Queen of Good Fools, everyone gets the merry hell out of her way. Their path weaves between food tables and games, revelers and drunks. Their boots crunch on strewn flowers and confetti that litters the hard-packed earth of the yard like so much colorful snow. "A disguise kit, plus I am an artist, you know? And I have magic. I could make myself look like anyone."

She shoots him a mischievous look over her shoulder. "Technically? I could even look like you, if I wanted to. We could be twins."

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eruit - 2018-11-15 22:51 (UTC) - Expand

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Under the Second Moon

Jester || OTA

closed to Helena - the aftermath.

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