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

[ Richard winds his hand through the back of her chair to grip it as Sister Sara climbs up next to him, anchoring all four legs to the floor. He keeps it there for a moment after she’s settled, sloth heavy in a sigh when he reaches back for the bottle at his elbow instead. ]

I know.

[ Might as well pour himself another glass. Carefully. ]

How are you feeling?

[ She gives his hand a slight pat before he moves it, silent thanks since there's no call to be emotional about it.

His question gets a sigh of her own, more akin to a huff. ]

Impressed we all managed to get out without losing at least a few limbs. Relieved to finally had a bath that's not in an infested stream. You?

Much the same.

[ Bottle set aside, he sizes up the band of wine left lingering in the bottom for a long moment before he moves on to square his glass in front of him, between both of his hands. It is clear from the exaggerated care he takes to center the foot on a loop in the table grain that he is quite drunk. ]

Warm water is a luxury I won’t soon take for granted.

[ He turns the glass, very slightly. ]

I didn’t take you for the partying type.

Could say the same for you. [ Then she shrugs. ]

Only now and again. I don't mind this kind of party. [ she gestures widely to the messy groups of people spilling into each other. ] Folks I know, folks I've treated and not died with.

[ It's perhaps more open and earnest than she might normally be, a sign of her own drunkenness. Her normal grumpy tone slides back a little when she adds. ] Orelsian parties are mostly nugshit.

Mm.

[ Messy groups of people spilling into each other. Richard follows her gesture, is reminded of the general state of things, and promptly lifts his glass to take another ill-advised sip. He watches them as he drinks. ]

I didn’t intend to stay.

[ Now here they both are hours later, in this den of overwhelmingly human debauchery. ]

The party in your dream was Orlesian.

Ain't feelin' social?

[ Not that she was one to talk. She made a face at the reference to her dream. ]

Yeah, and it was nugshit. Only less nugshit cus I had somebody else there encouraging me to start shit.

[ Which is more or less her way of saying thanks. ] Ugh... dreams.

[ Richard Dickerson does not dignify the question of how social or antisocial he might be feeling with an answer. He doesn’t look back at her at all until she doesn’t quite thank him for his assistance in that affair.

Strange how little his expression has to shift for the blue of his eyes to take on a markedly more devious intensity. ]

Without overturning any tables, it’s hard to say with certainty that this party isn’t another one.

[ Another dream. She’s welcome. ]

[ She makes a face at him. ]

They wouldn't have had rotgut in a dream. [ she's pretty confident about that. ] No cause to break up this party though, not after how nugshit the jungle was. [ She takes a drink of wine and sets down her cup with a solid thump. ] Reckon we could steal half the bottles before any of these Dusters notice, though.

You’re probably right. [ On both accounts. Stealing wine from a work social isn’t a particularly classy thing to do.

Richard thinks about it, distant again while he considers their odds. Riftwatch has a crime wave in progress to muddy the waters. Sister Sawbones is small. He has a long coat. ]

Are you able to tell which bottles are worth taking?

[ She gives his question some serious consideration, looking sidelong at the table holding the bulk of the party's alcohol. ]

Reckon I can do all right. Mostly only set foot in dive bars to stitch up Dusters, so if it's something I don't recognize, it's probably fancy.

[ Clearly sound methodology. ]

Can you see up onto the tables?

[ It’s a legitimate logistical question. Dick hooks his wine up under the bell, brings it in for a sip, and pauses to give it a swirl instead. ]

I could pass them down for you to inspect.

That'd work.

[ She can sort of see over the tables. ]

Can say we're discussing the differences of quality from your world if anybody asks.

[ It is decided.

Richard fumbles a loose cork down into the mouth of the bottle he’s already drained. Doing so requires his full attention, and a held breath, which he releases all in an acrid huff upon pushing the bottle over to Sawbones next to him. ]

We can trade this one in.

[ To obfuscate the open theft, presumably.

He pushes to stand, escapes the table without falling over his own feet, and uses the back of his chair as a crutch to lean against as he twists sluggishly out of his coat. Elbows, how do they work? ]

Edited 2020-07-21 08:11 (UTC)

Good plan.

[ She manages to grab the bottle without knocking it off the table and climb down from the chair without falling over. Already on their way to a successful caper. ]

This- [ She says, with a badly feigned air of sophistication and gesturing with the bottle like it's a club. ] 's clearly not a vintage that's representative of... Quality. So we gotta research.

[ open: all arise! ]

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