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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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.

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.

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.

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?"

"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."

"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."

"Oh, I plan to. Once I've some of the footwork patterns memorized, I have every intention of finding myself a partner who will let me trample all over his feet for a few hours." She laughs. It's a bright, shamelessly good tempered sound - as if it isn't rude or silly to laugh at one's own jokes.

"You should too. I'm sure you'd be quite handsome about it, Lady Six. You have very upright bearing and that helps with these sorts of things, you know."

Six sees nothing wrong with her laughter and it seems as though some of the hackles that had risen from being trapped with so many strangers settles, her shoulders relaxing from their tense, raised position. At least she has no reason to distrust or dislike Wysteria, who seems like a nice enough young lady for Six's tastes.

"I am sure there would be gentlemen more than happy to dance with you, harmed feet or otherwise." She's nice enough to look at and Six thinks there's nothing to be said for her nature, which is... Decent, if a little imaginative.

The rest makes her eyes widen a moment, a touch stunned.

"I do not think so. I do not dance, not like this."

"Oh I'm sure. There are all kinds of gentlemen all over the place willing to dance with anything under the age of thirty. A woman can always find a partner so long as she keeps her standards low enough." Wysteria shoots Six a conspiratorial sidelong glance. Men are stupid, it says.

Ha ha, funny joke. What a spectacular wit she is.

"And no? You must tell me all about what kinds of dancing they do in your home then."

Six wrinkles her nose.

"I have not had any offers," she admits, as if to counteract the point. She knows well enough why she hasn't, though; she has not had a drink, she is dressed formally and without skirts and she looks as though she might snap any man who asked her to dance in half. She's hardly the most beautiful woman here, and most others seem quite content to take part while she is better suited for the sidelines.

Shaking her head, she offers Wysteria a smile.

"I am more interested in your home."

"Mine?" Wysteria snorts. It is distinctly unladylike. Now why on earth would anyone want to know about that?

Obviously, because she is a stranger and because she is--frankly--strange, she knows. That much has made itself infinitely clear in the last few weeks. Oh Wysteria, you speak so properly. Oh Wysteria, your clothes are very strange. Oh Wysteria, you have no idea what you're talking about because everything you know and love is very different from everything in Thedas. Oh Wysteria-- and so on and so forth. Is that better or worse than when people don't ask at all, she wonders.

"There isn't much to tell, really. Or rather- there is, but I'm afraid most of it is dreadfully boring. But if that's really what you want to talk about, then I suppose I won't refuse you. What would you like to know?"

Luckily, Six is not the kind of person to care for the ladylike nature of businesses. Femininity had eluded her for the last twenty years.

At least her curiosity is borne of a wish to understand other worlds now she has the chance rather than because she thinks the woman strange or unusual. Many people here are odd to Six, but she had not been around many people before she had arrived here, or at least not many people who were not soldiers or warriors. Being around people and speaking to them regularly is an event in itself.

"There is nothing wrong with boring, sometimes." But Six turns her head, looking out at the people around them. "Is it very different to this world? Do you miss anything?"

She exhales with a puff of her cheeks. My, that's a broad question, isn't it?

"It is rather different. Most of our knights are very ceremonial, for one." Ha ha. Funny joke. Once she recovers from being pleased with herself: "Honestly, I don't know that I'd describe a single thing in Thedas at all like what you might find in Kalvad. There are things that are close - the Chantry seems very like the church if you don't look at either of them very closely, and magic is-- well, Thedas magic is recognizable. And so on. But most of it is quite alien indeed once you give anything a proper examination. Except for the people, I suppose. People look very much the same. Which is a relief, I suppose. I wouldn't want to stand out more than I already do. Imagine if everyone in Thedas had three arms or something like that."

A laugh, all bright and silly. "On the plus side, it does make for a very good adventure. And it means I don't have much cause to miss much of anything from home, except for maybe my own shoes and clothes that fit me properly. And my studies, of course. But I find that the novelty of the unfamiliar is quite grand, don't you? At least for a short while, and there's so much that's strange in Thedas that I imagine it will keep me occupied for some time."

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Under the Second Moon

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