[ 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

[bouchonne]

"Oh, poor little creature," By sneers in response. "Hurl yourself off a tower; that'll solve your problems."

The optics of holding a tiny man against a wall, though, register to Byerly as being damnably poor as soon as his wave of fury starts to ebb. His breath comes quickly; he tries to slow it, tries to calm himself. He forces his hands to relax, extracts his hands from the cloth.

Do you laugh at me, then, dear Miles? In your head, are you always smirking at By the filthy, By the disgraced, Byerly the pervert? Do you share the rumor with those around you? Are you one of the ones who keeps it alive?

"Rifters disappear often," he says. "Our misfortune that it's taking you so long."

[forwardmomentum]

A slow whoosh of breath exits Miles's lungs as Byerly lets go of him, and he slides down the wall to the floor, a relatively short distance, mercifully. All things considered, actually -- considering just how livid Byerly had been -- Miles is probably lucky to be unscathed.
On the other hand, maybe he read Byerly right, and he didn't miscalculate at all, in which case he will have learned almost nothing from this exercise.

"I'll be sure to mention you by name in my suicide note," Miles mutters through his teeth, straightening his shirt with a tug at the hem. He gets to his feet, a little stiffly, but doesn't make a great show of dusting himself off, because for once, he isn't interested in the attention. Yes, Byerly looks the worst of the two of them when he's got Miles up against the wall, but then, Miles had accused him of dallying with his own cousin. That's not a great look either. Getting drunk was a mistake. He decides it's Byerly's fault.