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Entry tags:
- alexandrie d'asgard,
- bastien,
- byerly rutyer,
- derrica,
- ellis,
- julius,
- kostos averesch,
- nell voss,
- wysteria de foncé,
- yseult,
- { athessa },
- { fitcher },
- { ket perrino },
- { miles vorkosigan },
- { poesia },
- { richard dickerson },
- { sidony veranas },
- { sister sara sawbones },
- { sonia barra },
- { vanadi de vadarta }
[ 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 ♫
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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Athessa exhales softly and leans back against the wall, resting her head against cool stone and closing her eyes to listen to the muffled sounds of merriment just beyond. They've changed the subject on the surface, but just underneath it's the same topic. The same thing keeping Athessa from embracing the concept of love as a boon rather than a burden, from seeking it out willingly rather than having it strike her like a snake lying in wait, is the very thing that makes Matthias believe that anything could happen. Anything is possible. He--and Laura by extension--can do anything.
It makes her feel weak to realize that where she sees fear in uncertainty and is hobbled by it, he sees: ]
Hope.
[ Such a small word for such a big feeling. And it's what she cited as one of Derrica's prime virtues--one of the reasons Athessa loves her. ]
It's like being locked in a room, long enough that you know every inch of it as instinctively as breathing. You know the walls and the ceiling and every creaky floorboard. And one day the door opens and you can either stay in your little box that's bright and familiar, or you can wield hope like a fucking torch and walk outside and see what's out there. Hope says it's something better than where you started, says there's possibilities out there.
[ Sometimes being just a person is enough. She hears herself saying it and she despises her own voice, because what difference is there between wanting just enough and deciding that staying in a locked room is better than seeking something better just beyond the door? Is she so different from that 17 year old girl who walked away from her first love, seeking something more than the hand she was dealt?
When did she become such a coward? ]
Like all you gotta do to be happy is go out and find it.
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She's right. She's absolutely right. Hope, like a candle that becomes a torch, like what's outside a room, possibilities that you can't even conceive. His eyes--already bright--get brighter, and no sooner has she finished does he rush in with--]
Yes, [and it's practically breathless,] yeah. Exactly.
[He snakes his arms around his legs so he can pull them in close, trying to hold in this feeling lest he explode.]
That's what it feels like. And some of that has got to be Laura. I think 'cause she's different, everyone I knew before, they were like me, a bit, and she's not, she's different.
I think we could be something. You know? I dunno what, exactly, but I think I'd like it. Right now it's enough that I just get to spend time with her, and be with her, and, all of it, but we could be something. No matter what comes next. I don't know what comes next, no one does, but I reckon that means I ought not to dick about and wait for-- well, not, dick, like that, erm, I mean, wait about, that sort of-- Well, yeah. That's what I mean. With Laura. Not that I want to rush off to some chantry and say vows, or anything, just that... that.
[And then, abruptly:] Hope is sort of awful, isn't it. I know I shouldn't. I could end up dead tomorrow. Tonight, even. The world's shit. But I don't want to. I want to have it. Hope, and Laura, and--friends, and, and all of it. I wonder if that's not why I'm still here at all. But that's not fair to the people what died, s'not as if they were hopeless, or anything. I dunno. I can't work it out.
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Athessa opens her eyes and lets her gaze drift aimlessly over the ceiling. ]
I think you've worked it out better than most, actually. Better'n me, by far. Any of us could end up dead tomorrow, so fuck shoulds and shouldn'ts. There shouldn't be a war on but there is. Shouldn't be a locked door between us and what's possible. I reckon if you and Laura can be happy, then that justifies trying for it.
[ She tucks her feet in to sit cross-legged, dropping her elbows onto her knees and idly tracing the lines on her palm with her fingers. ]
End of the day, that's what we're fighting for.
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[Satisfied, Matthias settles his chin onto his knees instead and looks out across the corridor at the wall opposite. There's a pleasant warmth in him now, the noise of the party a distant wash.
After a moment, he adds, with rue self-deprecation:]
'Course, now I have to work out what that means. Happiness. Can't just walk up to Laura and say, oi, let's be happy.
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[ What would that even yield? A weird look and probably the question: "How?"
Athessa finds the joint again and breathes in the smoke, feeling it prickle in her throat and burn pleasantly in her chest. It's a warm feeling, familiar and comfortable, which is what she'll need before heading back into the fete. ]
no subject
No, I don't think so. Like come off it. What would you say, if someone walked up to you and said that.
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[Well. He pushes his face down into his knees again, then resurfaces with a stupid grin.]
An idiot. Sorry. This is stupid, innit. Maker's balls. What're we even talking about anymore. I'll shut up, all right? I'll-- work it out. Somehow. And shut up.
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Not like a eureka style inspiration, but the begrudging inspiration that makes you work on yourself. A slap in the face with her own faults and the beginning of an idea that she might learn to accept. ]
What if shutting up stops you from working it out? [ Ever think about that? ]
Maybe you should ask Laura what would make her happy and go from there.
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Having briefly fixated on sussing out what that expression on Athessa's face might mean, Matthias very suddenly changes course as realization dawns on him. Talking is, at last, the answer. He needs to talk at Laura. No--to Laura. Of course. It will also be very difficult but if he starts talking and does not stop, he will eventually get to what he wants to say, so--]
Yeah. Hey, yeah. [Inspired, he scoots away from the wall and starts trying to climb to his feet, wine and ale and weed all conspiring to keep him clumsy and on the floor.] I can do that! Thanks, Tessa, that's-- ow-- [as he twists his knee a little; he slaps a hand against the wall to give him better leverage as he untwists--] --brilliant, thanks. I'll do that. Right now.
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Good luck, then. [ Maybe it's time to recontextualize her old nickname, eh? She doesn't mind it as much when someone like Matty uses it. It feels like acceptance, rather than being reduced. ] Remember to breathe between sentences.