[closed] harvestmere is for lovers

[heirring]

WHO: Val, Wysteria, & A Bunch of Rubes
WHAT: A perfectly uncontroversial fundraiser
WHEN: The first day of Harvestmere
WHERE: The Asgard Estate in Hightown
NOTES: If you received one of Wysteria's invitations at the beginning of September Kingsway and your character would have agreed to show their face, then here's what they signed up for. With thanks to Ceeeee/Eppy/Beka for the NPC profiles; if we run out of comedy NPCs to match up with, ping me at prosodi and I'll cram in a few more.

Per certain written invitations judiciously dispensed in earlier weeks prior, on the very first day of Harvestmere a bizarre conglomerate descends upon the Asgard Estate in Hightown. And while it's true that the state of the household might be somewhat controversial—it being appointed in a very Tevene fashion in accordance with the taste of its proprietor—, for almost a full hour it seems the evening will proceed in the manner that similar benefits must: doomed to be somewhat stilted, punctuated with rather too much polite laughter and the occasional tactless question, but generally inoffensive for all involved. While the members of Riftwatch and the invited would-be benefactors mingle over respectably appointed boards of hors d'oeuvres and various (entirely optional) dances are led under a string quartet's guidance, Wysteria plays at the role of host in an effort to see that everyone is acquainted and in good spirits be it emotionally or in the liquid sense.

However (for there must be a however), the evening takes rather a sharp before dinner.

At some point, the music recedes and everyone is ushered into an adjacent room where a series of chairs are arranged. One might be expecting someone to play whatever charming instrument is near the front of the room, but alas. Instead, Miss Poppell gives a very charming introduction to the evening's main event - a small auction, the lots of which "You should all be well acquainted with by now, but will secure your seating arrangements for dinner," - and surrenders the floor to Monsieur de Foncé so that the bloodbath may begin.

Each attending member of Riftwatch (excepting Val, Wysteria, and Leander who somehow landed being Wysteria's personal guest rather than a victim of their machinations) will be called up in turn and introduced either very faithfully according to a description they provided or one written for them, and auctioned to the highest bidder. Very stealthy members of the company (or indeed a selection of especially mortified guests) may have an opportunity to slither out a side door once the bidding starts, but it may honestly be less embarrassing to just go with it. Surely everyone's had enough to drink by now to ease any potential sting, correct?

Once the bidding ends, everyone will be shown to dinner where everyone is arranged according to the auction's results so that the "lot" is seated to the left of whomever won their bid and forced to either endure or enjoy their company for the duration of the meal. Afterwards, the party—or whatever remains of it, given various escape attempts or whatever surprise pressing business or headaches might have been claimed in an effort to beat a more polite retreat—retires back to the first room for dessert and drinks, a few rounds of cards, and the last exhausted dregs of conversation before at last winding to a close.

Entertaining? Debatable. Gauche? Perhaps more than one might prefer. But no one dies, so it hardly can be called a disaster as far as Riftwatch interacting with the public goes.

Comments

[heirring]

"The man does have something of a focused and businesslike demeanor, I grant. But he is quite patient. I believe you might work him up to it by degrees."

—Is tossed off the cuff with very little deviousness. Her own sip at her held glass is almost entirely to do with appetite.

"And have you found anything effective to combat that problem? I confess, I find the idea of glyph work over, say, enchantment in certain instances very inviting. The element of flexibility appeals. But—" A pause, as if a thought has only now just occurred to her. Whatever it is is tucked hastily away. She has asked one question already.

[sarcophage]

Whatever it is, he's not letting it get away that easily. Licking his lips after this last performative taste, like a cat over a bowl of cream, catching the thread with a single claw and gently tugging—

"But?"

[heirring]

Ah.

Well.

"It is somewhat off topic," she delays by way of explanation. "A fairly useless tangent in relation to the clearing of chimney's in any case. And it may be a silly thought entirely, given how a mage might usually be expected to operate in the field of combat."

Here, a person might be expected to pause and allow their hesitation to be either encouraged or dismissed. But Wysteria soldiers nobly on of her own accord.

"I only wondered if the size of the glyph plays some role in the capacity of its charge and the duration for which it might expect to hold it. There is very little in the reading I've done regarding the specifics of dimension, standard or otherwise, either because it is irrelevant to the scholar in question or because it is meant to be a matter of course for the intended audience."