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

[eruit]

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."

[the_cleric]

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?"

[eruit]

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."

[the_cleric]

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!"

[eruit]

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?

[the_cleric]

"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."

[eruit]

Is that meant to explain everything? Is Hanzo supposed to understand what a disguise kit is - other than the obvious - and how it is intended to help him play whatever part this Queen has in mind for him? His eyes dart around, scanning the room for Helena, but he finds nothing. There is nothing to help him now, and he purses his lips as he's dragged - is there any point in trying to break her grip?

Probably not. She might be stronger than he is.

"Twins?" Hanzo wrinkles his nose. "I do not think you would wish to be my twin."