faderift | [ open: all arise! ]

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[ open: all arise! ]

WHO: you. yes, you there. you're invited
WHAT: Sonia is throwing a big party, because everyone needs an excuse to get good and drunk together right now. And dancing. There is always dancing.
WHEN: Justinian, shortly after the return of the jungle crew
WHERE: The suite at the top of the mage tower
NOTES: ♫ have some party jams ♫

The month in the jungle was a long one, made longer by the total lack of any alcohol to mitigate the experience. Utterly unthinkable. Sonia is addressing a public need by throwing a grand party -- a public service, even. Besides, it's what she does. When was the last time she got to plan a party, anyway? Granted, this is not a Denerim soiree for the young nobility, but the venue doesn't matter. Only the people and the drinks, and Sonia is assuredly rich in both. It is also a fantastic excuse not to think about any of the bad things that have happened since she was last in Kirkwall.

The decoration in the residential suite at the top of the mage tower would be best classified as improvisational -- one of those drapes tacked along the wall for ambience may be a bedsheet -- but it's the spirit of the thing that counts. One makes do with what one has. In one corner are a few tables laden with spirits, some provided by Sonia, others by generous partygoers. There are a few Barra vineyard vintages in the mix, highlights of her personal collection, a testament to the celebration she considers tonight to be. There's a small selection of food nearby, mostly for snacking to go with the drinks, though guests are free to bring whatever they like to share.

And there is, of course, music. Someone here has brought a fiddle or a flute or a bunch of pots masquerading as a drum set. Maybe you've brought your very own a capella choir. Whatever the accompaniment, there's something to dance to. Sonia makes sure there is dancing.

Tonight is not for licking wounds or swapping grisly stories of terror and survival. Tonight is for feeling alive, getting properly and delightfully drunk, and having a good god damn time.

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"Well, I would hate it if my friend thought that people were only coming to her party to steal the booze."

Athessa raises an eyebrow at him, but she makes no move to take her hand back, or reach for the bottle. "Maybe you and compromise oughta get reacquainted."

Kostos tucks the bottle in under his arm, just in case, and gives the dancers a wary look. They're currently doing something involving hopping.

"That is too much compromise," he says, gesturing toward them with his chin while they're mid-hop. "I would die."

She laughs and shakes her head. "You survived a fall from a griffon, I think you can survive a little hopping."

"It is a very specific condition," Kostos deadpans, but he's joking. And thawing. "What if I stay here to drink, and we sit, and if they play something less bouncy I think about it."

"You got yerself a deal." Better than she could've hoped for, really. At least he's staying longer than it takes to swipe booze and run.

Athessa plops herself down on the nearest bit of furniture with room enough for two and lifts her hand to pat the spot beside her, then changes her mind and pats her lap. Ya know. As a joke.

Don't push it, his flat look says, but it isn't unamused. He sits beside her, definitely not on her, and starts working the cork out of the bottle. He hasn't managed to get it out yet when he adds, "I've thought about it, and I am not dancing."

Athessa turns to drape her legs across his. Not dancing, but not going anywhere either.

"That was quick. The song hasn't even changed yet."

"He won't dance with you because he can't."

When they were choosing seats, Nikos had been overlooked. All the better, in this case. It is an understandable oversight: he's slumped very low in a chair, his legs straight and a bottle tucked in the crook of his arm, held against his side, while his elbows on the arms of the chair are his best hope at staying upright.. There's a demonic edge to his grin. This is what Kostos would look like, if he was a smug drunk.

"Secret shame. Don't press on it."

"Ugh," Athessa rolls her eyes and casts a sidelong glance of contempt towards Nikos. It's probably not even worth it to engage, but...

"Fuck off."

Relatable sentiment, fuck off. But surely it won’t be as simple as that, when Nikos is already grinning that way, and fucking off himself would now be a surrender instead of a victory, so Kostos settles deeper into his couch.

“No,” he says, to Athessa first, then again to Nikos: “No. Tell us about your dance lessons. Was it private instruction? Did you use the ballroom?”

A sibling is an enemy who knows all your weak points without reconnaissance. Private tutors, houses large enough to accommodate a ballroom, a secret love of dancing. Nikos was swigging from his bottle when Athessa made her volley. Now he is forced to take a second drink before he answers Kostos.

"Natural talent," he answers, coolly, "you fuckface. He really won't be dancing. Sorry if that's disappointing," to Athessa. Who he does not insult, less because she's not done anything and more because he has to save his energy for Kostos.

Edited (whats spelling) 2020-07-01 00:01 (UTC)

Athessa leans her elbow against the back of the...let's call it a chaise, why not, and rests her head against her palm. She's never had siblings but she'll relish having ammunition against Nikos.

"If anyone'd know disappointment it'd be you," she says, a wry twist to her mouth. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure only mages have any natural talent. Everything else takes work."

Only mages makes Kostos' jaw clench for a moment—no interest in talking or thinking about what talent he came by naturally—but he unsticks it to say, "Work and well-paid tutors."

But, also, wait. What.

He looks at Athessa, who he's rarely seen be so unpleasant to anyone, then at Nikos.

"What did you do to her?"

Far be it from Athessa to let Nikos answer that before she can.

"Oh, he just kissed me," she says lightly. "Back at that stupid party where we had to kiss whoever was closest when that song played. It was terrible."

"How fucking insulting that would be, to someone else."

Someone who, you know, was insecure and not in a committed relationship with a man who would easily take the Best Beard category in a Riftwatch superlative competition. Nikos slumps a little lower in his chair, boneless. It's nice to have moved away from dancing tutors.

"In honesty, I forgot all about it. So if you want to shut up and get back to your cuddle, feel free."

Oh, he forgot all about it. That's nice.

"Sure wish I could forget it," she mutters, looking over the back of the chaise just to look anywhere other than an Averesch twin. Should she be mad at both of them? That was a kind of unfortunate way to find out that Kostos had a brother.

Kostos looks between them—slowly, lazily, without too much interest—and searches for something to be angry about, because he would really like to be angry at Nikos for something. But it doesn’t sound like that was his fault. And he doesn’t do jealousy. So...

“If we have to look alike, the least you can do is learn to fucking kiss,” he says, because it’s the best he can come up with, and drapes an arm over Athessa’s legs, which is not cuddling. They just aren’t going anywhere.

Either unable or simply disinclined to stop herself, Athessa mutters: "Coulda told me you had a twin."

Mostly it gets spoken into the heel of her hand.

“My family is not your business,” Kostos says, also either unable to disinclined to stop himself, “and you could have noticed.”

"Yeah well I didn't," she rolls her eyes. "But ya know people usually give a shit about their friends' business."

"I'm not business," Nikos snaps, unable to be left out of this conversation, "and I'm not a fucking shitty kisser, which is actually no one's business."

Still not over that one, even though it was several jabs ago. No one should speculate on what he's good at behind closed doors but if they are going to speculate, he should get the credit he's due.

"If it's any consolation, I never tell anyone about him. Save your hurt feelings. Then again, my friends wouldn't overlook the glaring differences between us. I think that means you two deserve each other."

"Glaring differences like being a shitty kisser?"

"He can't help it. It's the scar. Fucked his face, made him self-conscious--which gets in the way."

"I was talking about you. You're the shitty kisser."

Maker's balls. Nikos rolls his eyes. "Yes. I heard your opinion. That's the joke."

And in a display of self-control, he drowns any asshole follow-up to that point by taking another huge sip of wine.

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sulahnan - 2020-07-08 02:33 (UTC) - Expand

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