faderift | [ 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Bastien strains to listen for a moment, too. Not because he doesn't trust her ear; he's falling into place already. But once he catches enough of the melody, he's able to pick it up himself, with humming and the occasional da da da mumbled through the side of his mouth that isn't keeping his cigarette off the floor.

He has no objections to dancing in the hall. He's surefooted, turning around her as the dance requires, but also a little floppy and languid, devoid of snappiness and propriety in a way he wouldn't be if anyone else were watching. ]

[ She'll add her own little hums and da da das to accompany Bastien's, but she doesn't know the dance near as well as he does. She's only learned it once, and never practiced, but neither of them need to worry about doing it right, so Athessa lets herself add silly flourishes here and there, trips over her own feet once and then pretends that it's on purpose the next time around. ]

[ He keeps his laughter quiet, when she stumbles on purpose, because drawing anyone else out into the hall to investigate would ruin everything. But he's delighted. At the next opportunity he adds a trip-hop of his own along with hers.

During a moment of relative calm, he pauses the humming to ask, ] What are Dalish dances like?

Depends on the occasion, but there's a lot of spinning. Dancing in circles around trees until you fall down, that kind of thing. Oh, and like this--

[ She grabs his hands and starts them both spinning, leaning back as they do so they don't knock into each other. ]

[ He goes along with it, laughing—which is hard to do while keeping a cigarette in his mouth, and it's hard to do both of those things while breathing. So after a few spins he stumbles to a halt and holds up a staying hand while he takes one last good drag. Then he puts the remnant out on his tongue, because he's a little bit of a show-off that way. ]

And do the Dalish crack their heads open very often?

All the time, [ she laughs, also kind of winded, and bracing her hands on her knees momentarily. When she straightens, she pulls her hair back from her face and points to a faint scar near her temple. ] Learned how to check for concussions real early.

[ The scar is from falling out of a tree, not from dancing, but why split hairs? Get it? Split hairs? Because she split--never mind. ]

[ While he pockets the remaining third of his cigarette, he leans in to look and makes an approving noise. Good scar. ]

Were there many other children in your clan?

[ She thinks about it mid-way through shaking her head and changes the gesture to something less certain. ]

None my age. They were mostly older, or babies.

Aww.

[ He steps away to lean against the wall. ]

Babies. Were you old enough to look after them?

Only inasmuch as I could stick toys in their faces and make sure they didn't tip over.

[ Athessa assesses Baz briefly, pacing a few lazy steps this way and that. And because I, Beka, The Writer, can't remember whether or not he's shared this information before, she asks: ]

Did you have siblings?

Nathalie, Aousten, Luis, and Élodie.

[ Those weren’t their names. But he lists them off easily, without hesitation. ]

What sort of toys did you have? Were they the same? Am I asking too many questions?

[ Knowing her, the likelihood that she'll even remember those fake names is minimal, especially while she's processing three questions at once. ]

I do get the feeling like you're trying to uncover some kind of secret, but otherwise I don't mind. Most of the toys were stuff like carved halla or little dolls. Rattles, sometimes.

[ He makes another aw sound, shorter this time, then shakes his head a little. ]

Everything I heard about the Dalish as a boy was—you know. Racist bullshit. I just like to know what it was really like. The correct details for imagining how adorable you must have been.

Oh, at least as adorable as I am now, but about...this tall, always missing a tooth, and smudged with dirt.

[ She leans against the wall beside him and scans the ceiling for what she might tell him. ]

It was a lot like camping, I guess? Like our stay in the jungle but with fewer constant threats. Or maybe the same number of threats but more familiar. Sometimes we'd stay in one place for a long while, other times we'd only settle down for a day or two to trade with locals.

[ Shrug. ]

Probably easier to debunk the racist stuff than to just run you through day-to-day life that I experienced eighteen-plus years ago.

Non, no, I know it is bullshit, and I do not want to repeat it. You have probably heard it all.

[ Cannibal savages. You know. ]

Were you afraid of humans?

[ Another shrug, both in response to him not wanting to repeat what he's heard, and to his question. ]

Mostly, yeah. Safer that way.

[ Especially as a child, it was better to assume ill will than to hope for civility. ]

[ open: all arise! ]

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