[ open: all arise! ]

[vorbratta]

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.

Comments

[nonvenomous]

She was relatively unharmed.

[ This is why Richard doesn’t tell stories in the oral tradition. ]

Any more pervasive drama already made its way into the public eye via crystal.

[ Fitcher’s glance catches him with a cocked brow -- his pause isn’t judgmental, per se, but it is keenly aware. How can she slap?? ]

What happened beyond the Gallows?

[unshut]

I was saving this story for Bastien, so if you hear me repeat it later tonight you must act shocked and not as if I am an irredeemable fiend for gossip.

[Luckily, Fitcher has a certain fondness for many oral pursuits and so will make up for the shortfall between them.]

You must know of The Honorable Fox, that little public house in Hightown commonly frequented by what little Kirkwall possesses in the way of respectable gentlemen. I have long suspected the proprietor - a tetchy thing by the name of Graves - to have had some arrangement with the Carta with which to satisfy the tastes of his clientele. I am most delighted to report that Graves was an even more enterprising sort than I could have anticipated and was caught acting as the middleman for some minor lord - since conveniently gone away on holiday - and rigging a number of high profile goat races in Lowtown under the moniker 'Lucky Todd.' The Kirkwall racing circles are positively aflame with the controversy.

—As was The Fox until a few days ago. Its husk might still be smoking, if you care for that sort of thing and are up for a field trip.

[nonvenomous]

I had no idea goat racing was so deeply entrenched in the local culture, [ Richard says, just politely enough to indicate that he both a) regrets having asked and b) is already wary of having to pretend to be shocked by this story later. ] How was he discovered?

[ He pauses on the stair -- one even more important detail to clarify before they brave the party proper. ]

How does one rig a goat race to begin with?

[unshut]

Dosing the poor things with a paralytic seems to be the popular theory. But I'm hardly an expert.

[Deeply entrenched to a gambler, maybe; is it possible she's racked up enough of a debt in Kirkwall's proper gambling houses to resort to underground goat racing? Who can say.]

As to how the gentleman in question was discovered - why, it was by his benefactor of course. Dear Todd thought he might short change the man, the gentleman in question discovered the accounting error, and saw to it a series of sabotaged goats were swapped with lookalikes. Which naturally wreaked havoc on the betting odds, which drew attention to Lucky Todd himself who came up woefully short. Hence the destruction of the tavern by the hands of vindictive layabouts who didn't get paid out once they discovered the nobleman at the top had skipped town.

[She pauses, a thoughtful look overcoming her. After a moment, Fitcher sighs and confesses to him with an air of extreme disappointment:]

There's a joke in there about outfoxing, but I haven't found my way to it yet. [A wave of the hand. No matter.] And then there is the usual gossip from abroad. Queen Anora looking for a husband, bickering out of Nevarra, some business about trade on the Waking Sea.