faderift | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh. She sort of knew that was what he'd meant, of course. But she's not sure if that's a promise she can make, either. If he is impulsive and makes a mistake, that she can forgive. But if the darkness were to win out entirely... Then again, she knows in that case that they both know it won't be a happy end.

"I won't leave you again. I promise, I'll be here for you." she reaches out, taking his other hand, holding them both in hers. "We'll figure things out together."

"Good. I mean-" He isn't sure what else he can say about it. He feels relieved that she would agree, that she won't leave him again. Somehow they had come back together despite their argument. It took a weight off his shoulders.

"Good." He looks to their joined hands, his shoulders dropping as he relaxes. He still didn't feel great, after all of that, but it was better. Being with her would always be better. After a moment of silence, he looks up to her again, trying to smile a little. "So, how long did it take to do all of this? The decorations and the food."

It wasn't the best transition but he was trying. The last thing they needed was to be sad all night. She'd worked hard. He wanted to celebrate that. He wanted to celebrate the two of them being together.

She watches him carefully as he goes through the motions, she can tell he isn't feeling great, still, but she knows that won't be fixed just in one night. That they're speaking again, that they're together again, that's enough.

Letting out a huff of a laugh at his segue she looks up, looking around the room before her eyes settle back on him.

"Setting it up took the better part of the last few weeks. Everything went up last night, though."

"It's amazing to me that they still find time for things like this, despite everything else going on." He supposes that's true of anywhere. You find things that make you happy wherever you can. The circumstances were irrelevant.

"I'm glad that you were able to keep busy." She wasn't the type to wallow in sadness the way he was. He's almost envious of it. Had she known they would eventually come back together? Somehow she always seemed to have faith in him that he so desperately lacked in himself and other people.

It says a lot to the depth of her feeling towards Ben that she had wallowed more in her sadness over their separation than she had most other things in her life. All the same, she had done what she always does, compartmentalized and shut away the pain, focused on what distracted her from it until she was so exhausted that she crashed into bed without having to lie awake thinking.

"You know me, I can't sit still," she replies, a little subdued. She bites her lip, looking down at their hands, shifting her thumbs to run over the back of his fingers, as far as she can reach. His hands dwarf hers, so it isn't much. "It's easier to keep myself busy, less time to sit and think. I might have decided to start drinking to get back at you." She looks up at him, her eyebrows slightly raised a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"Ugh. I'm glad you didn't and I am sorry about that." He makes a face, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. He wasn't proud of himself for getting completely shitfaced instead of dealing with his problems. He was even less proud of the fact that he'd dumped said problems on her friend. Well, he supposes she's his friend, too. Sort of. It's still a foreign concept to him - friends. He's not good at it any more than he's good at being in a relationship.

"Hopefully it wasn't as bad for you?" His mouth had tasted like something furry had slept in it and he'd promptly emptied his stomach the next morning in their bathroom, but otherwise he came out of the experience unscathed. It was a smug reminder that there were some parts of him that were still very much like his father. Ben had been irresponsible by comparison.

"I'm sorry. I know that leaving wasn't easy and I hope I never put you in that position again." He knew now what he could and couldn't live without. Watching her leave had probably been more painful than waking up and realizing she hadn't killed him before leaving the Supremacy.

"I had a headache, but it wasn't too bad," she replies with a smile, squeezing his hands in return. She'd had some vague sensations of what he'd been going through, but she'd ignored it. Maybe reveled in it a little, because she had still been angry. The smile fades a moment later as he apologizes again, and she nods.

"I know we're still figuring this out. Neither one of us has ever been in a position to be with another person like this." As much as 'like this' didn't even seem like something the average person would be involved in. Their relationship was hard for her to define, even as she'd grown more comfortable referring to him as boyfriend at the same time it didn't accurately describe what he was to her. He's the missing piece of her soul, for better or for worse.

Under the Second Moon

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