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

"Outsourcing amusement? Very Ferelden."

Val takes a particular moment to close his eyes before he passes a hand over his face, overcome by this moment. He sighs, hugely.

"Is there," with great pain, "a likely candidate? Or will you disappear upon this enlistment? You are very boring. Have you been told? I ask for a game. You beg off. What is there to do at this party if we will not have games? The dancing? Do you dance, or have you taken an oath against that as well? Where is the life, monsieur?"

"I don't find drink amusing."

It's a fairly mild statement, considering the aspersions being cast upon his character. But he does gamely glance around the room, looking for the nearest person to enlist in this venture.

"If I'm such poor company, maybe you're better served by trading me for another partner altogether?"

Is Bastien in arm's reach? Maybe he can keep up with this situation.

"What is it that you find amusing?" Val asks, instead of taking him up on that offer of alternate companionship. Perhaps he would be better suited. Unfortunately for the gentleman, questioning someone is an equally engaging pastime. "Surely there is something."

Unfortunately for the both of them, the person actually in reach is an already blasted teenager, just returned from a thwarted mission to start a fire.

"Dude! You guys play beer pong here too?"

And thus Bastien is saved from being summoned. Which might be good news for Ellis. Or he might have invited a different trouble into his life. He'll find out shortly.

"It's Orlesian," is Ellis' explanation, though his expression is speculative. Jenny Lou rather small. How much can she feasibly be depended upon to drink? Val was generous in filling these cups.

"Chope à Biere," Val agrees, his nose wrinkled a little--but with amusement. This arrival is welcome, to help combat the chilliness of the corner of this party.

"But you are familiar? This is good. This man," and he has by now circled around to Ellis' side of the table, so he can slap him on the upper arm, "does not have the heart to play. And the heart, it is needed. His aim remains to be seen, but what is the aim without the heart behind it?"

She points at Ellis. Double finger guns. "Fucking nice, Orlesians can party." She swings to point at Val. Also double finger guns, "I understood like half of that, but fuck yeah, I'm down. The big guy here is shooting, yeah?"

"Aye," is the patient response, before Ellis stipulates, "One game, and then I'll cede my place to Jenny Lou entirely."

Or to whoever else was passing by if Jenny Lou couldn't hold up her side of this partnership. Ellis is choosing to take her recognition of the game as a positive sign.

Pleased at this development, Val claps Ellis' arm, this time in a more friendly manner.

"One game," he allows, "unless of course you enjoy yourself so well. I suggest you do not underestimate the power of this game."

He goes back to his end of the table, and produces his rubber ball yet again with a flourish. "We know the rules, yes? The ball is bounced to land in the mug, the mug will then be drank and removed. The mademoiselle will be the, what would we say? 'Stander'. She will do the drinking on the behalf. If the shot is called and it lands in the mug that was called, two mugs will be drank--but if it lands in another, then the mademoiselle must drink one of yours. This will reward your bad aim, my friend. We do not reposition these mugs until there are three, and only three, that remain.

"And," with another flourish, he tucks the ball back into his pocket and stands back, his hands up. "I will be magnanimous, and let your side go first. It is only right."

Jenny Lou copies Val's arm clap, on the other side though and it's probably more like patting.

"That sounds about the same," Jenny Lou says, with confidence that is entierly liquor based, "Let's do this!"

The dual arm claps seem to have exhausted Ellis' tolerance for casual, friendly touch. He takes a step to the side, putting a respectful amount of space between himself and Jenny Lou before reclaiming the momentarily abandoned ball.

"Step back a little," Ellis tells Val, less because he thinks he needs the space and more because it feels sufficiently dramatic.

However, the accompanying bounce is lackluster in spite of his preparation. The first bounce is too high, and it follows a magnificent arc directly to the floor beyond the table. Ellis makes a little shrug motion with his hands, uncertain if he pursues the ball or if Val does. Do Orlesians have rules on that too?

With drama appropriate appropriate to the moment, Val had stepped back the little that he was requested. There is equal drama in the way that he watches Ellis' shot fly past him, and the way he follows the rolling ball until it comes to its natural stop. Only then does he look around at the opposing team. His laugh is more triumphant than unkind. Perhaps it is difficult to tell the difference, but there is a difference.

"That was a shot, monsieur. I will wait to take my turn until the ball has been recovered. I would not want you to miss seeing how the game is actually played."

The throw gets an audible oof from Jenny Lou, who waves at Ellis to stay where he is.

"I'll get it. Tall dude, you stay and see how he does it. And make sure he doesn't do nothin' funny, cus we're def still gonna kick your ass." She points at her eyes and points at Val before disappearing to locate their ball.

It seems to Ellis that there isn't all that much room to do something funny. The rules are simple, after all.

But he does as bidden, sweeps a hand over the cups in invitation. Go on, Val. Do your worst.

[ open: all arise! ]

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