Lady Alexandrie d'Asgard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
coquettish_trees) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2018-11-04 02:28 am
coquettish_trees) wrote in faderift2018-11-04 02:28 am
Entry tags:
- alexandrie d'asgard,
- benedict quintus artemaeus,
- byerly rutyer,
- fifi mariette,
- james flint,
- john silver,
- wysteria de foncé,
- { fingon },
- { helena },
- { ilias fabria },
- { inessa serra },
- { kenna carrow },
- { korrin ataash },
- { kylo ren },
- { marcoulf de ricart },
- { marisol vivas },
- { rey },
- { sidony veranas },
- { six },
- { solas },
- { tessa mackenzie },
- { thranduil }
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
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
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.
Korrin | OTA
a) "...I think I'm turning into a wine snob. Because this? This is fucking gross." Korrin sighs, eyeing the wine in her glass as she would something stuck under her shoe. If she drinks enough, it's true that the quality of the wine wouldn't matter much...but she's a qunari and that would take a lot of bad wine. Too much.
So, she glances over to whoever's nearby and raises an eyebrow. "Who wants to make an emergency booze run with me? I don't care if I have to pack mule most of it back myself, but we're snagging something that doesn't taste like spiced vomit."
b) At various points of the evening, spontaneous displays of music encourage those present to dance and Korrin is no exception. Whether completely sober or pleasantly buzzed, she's not at all shy about moving to the beat, the more energetic the better. Even when she's less than sober, though, she handles herself without any stumbling or trodding on other feet, always careful around smaller folk. Which usually means just about everyone.
Wallflowers don't escape her attention, either. As long as she doesn't have reason to despise or avoid them, any sign of interest in joining the dance floor (however slight) will have her approaching and extending a hand with a quick smile.
"Care to join me? Don't worry, I'm more gentle than I seem."
Kirkwall
Well, shit. The week has gotten away from her -well, the past few to be honest- and Korrin realizes a little late that she doesn't have a mask for the festivities. If she were human, that might be problem enough, but it's going to be even more an uphill battle finding one that can accommodate her large head and horns. Still, she'll make an attempt. The towering Vashoth goes from stall to stall, scrutinizing whatever she can find in hopes of meeting with success the parties truly begin.
If she meets the gaze of someone familiar and friendly -or unfamiliar but at least not shying away- she quirks an eyebrow at them. "Hey, got a moment? I could use a second opinion."
Gallows A
She looks at the mug even so, as if not sure what to do with the rest. Can't just... pour it out, can she?
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"If you don't want to pour it out, just set it down. Someone drunker and with lower standards will probably claim it before the night is over. Meanwhile, I'm sure we can find something that tastes less like what my nuggalope regurgitated this morning."
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