[open] picnic at hanging rock

[heirring]

WHO: Wysteria, EVERYBODY, a bunch of demons, and I guess some guy named Tony Stark
WHAT: A picnic to celebrate a Riftversary goes terribly wrong. No, it has nothing to do with the rift that opens in the middle of it and everything to do with Wysteria forcing everyone to speed date.
WHEN: Mid-Kingsway
WHERE: The Scenic Vimmark Foothills in September
NOTES: Some light demon fighting and rift closing violence, will update if necessary.

PICNICKING
With the weather having only just recently cleared of its end of summer storms, taking the worst of the miserable humidity with it, it's almost a pleasant time accept an invitation to a picnic in the foothills East of Kirkwall. Posted on the Gallows notice board and distributed personally to a few close friends and enemies, the invite had read:

You are Cordially Invited to attend a Celebration acknowledging the completion of a year since Miss Wysteria Poppell arrived in Thedas. Please follow the Map on the facing page. Refreshments Provided. Games Obligatory. Gifts Optional.

And so roughly twenty blankets of varying sizes and patterns have been requisitioned (unofficially, with written apologies to the Seneschal slipped under his office oor) from the Gallows and laid in rough rows on a slightly less miserable than usual hill overlooking dark line of the Waking Sea. The refreshments? Meager. They're largely Gallows-typical fare packed in baskets, end of summer fruit and what is sure to be the last of cheaply had honey cakes before the shortage of sugar causes the market value of honey to skyrocket. But at least the wine on hand is excellent.

PARTY GAMES
--Which is a good thing, because the party games require a certain level of inebriation to be truly enjoyable. For those who'd like to preserve some sense of dignity, there are various card games and croquet (get your practice in now, Riftwatch Leaguers!); for the brave and daring, there is Snapdragon - a game in which participants snatch raisins from a shallow bowl of burning brandy.

But the main event, dubbed Tête-à-Tête, requires all partygoers to be numbered off intos ones and twos and then break up into pairs. Each pairing has three minutes to have whatever conversation they like together. At the end of three minutes, Wysteria rings a bell and Number Twos rotate to the next Number One waiting on their blankets of choice. And so on. No exceptions.

IT'S ALL FUN AND GAMES UNTIL--
The warmth of the day, the scorched fingertips, the limping conversation, and the dry Gallows rations all conspire to indulge in a not insignificant liquoring up. Which means the rift tearing open over the party is potentially more disastrous than normal. Good luck; don't get slashed by a Terror demon, and don't get caught under under new Rifters falling through from out of the fade.

Comments

[heirring]

She's not upright yet; she's had one too many (two too many?) glasses of wine to be quick about scrambling to her feet, and candidly the novelty of being frightened of demons as they vomit out of rifts has somewhat lost it's edge. Maybe that is why she seems so briefly flummoxed by the statement. She isn't standing anywhere, thank you.

(Also the egg might have been helpful. Has anyone proven that spirits have no weakness to them?)

"I can't very well close the rift from behind you," she huffs, holding her hand up (the right one, not the one pulsing and crackling with Fade touched energy). "Help me up."

[dutyful]

Ashen almost sighs, but his good nature stops him; he knows better than to sigh menacingly at gentlewomen, especially when he is here in full regalia - even if his armour might not be present. Pursing his lips, he hesitates for only a brief second before he carefully steps over, reaching down to offer his hand to take hers.

He's never touched anyone with a shard before. It's somewhat concerning.

"I feared demons," he admits quietly, "and the threat they might pose to you and your guests."

[heirring]

The hand is a hand. Her grip is sure in his. She weighs more or less what one might expect her to. There is no strange heat, nor unnatural cold, or crackling sense of energy bristling through her fingertips. Not through the hand in his anyway; the other one is pulsing, something like Fade touched tongues of fire lapping from between her fingers.

"Yes, that's all very prudent and you're very sweet, but--"

But what exactly will remain a mystery. No sooner is she on her feet and saying it than one of the wraiths comes flick, flick, flickering out toward them in grotesque curving shapes. At which point Wysteria promptly ignores her own bullheadedness and steps in behind the blond gentleman with his daggers. On second thought--

"You must get me in close. I may be able to close it."

[dutyful]

It doesn't take much to help her to her feet; Ashen might not be strong like a Templar or a Champion, but he has enough meat on him to be able to tug a young lady up to standing, to let his hand slip away from hers properly once it's done. He has no time for a lack of grace or decorum and his parents would be most upset if they thought he was taking advantage of a situation.

"Sweet?" It comes out almost as a laugh, but then she's stepping behind him and he's ready, drawing his blades and shifting to stand a little taller.

She wants to get in closer. Of course, she does. Breathing out gently, Ashen steps forward, gripping his blades in his hand and nodding his head.

"Stay close, then, my lady." And he moves, quick and sure, pressing his blade up and through the wisps, attempting to cut her down a pathway towards the Rift despite his misgivings.