Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faderifting) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2020-10-24 08:10 pm
faderifting) wrote in faderift2020-10-24 08:10 pm
Entry tags:
- alexandrie d'asgard,
- bastien,
- benedict quintus artemaeus,
- byerly rutyer,
- darras rivain,
- derrica,
- edgard,
- ellis,
- fifi mariette,
- isaac,
- kostos averesch,
- nell voss,
- obeisance barrow,
- val de foncé,
- wysteria de foncé,
- { amos burton },
- { athessa },
- { colin },
- { fitcher },
- { james holden },
- { jenny lou davies },
- { jone },
- { leander },
- { mado },
- { maud van klerk },
- { mhavos dalat },
- { miles vorkosigan },
- { nikos averesch },
- { richard dickerson },
- { sidony veranas },
- { sister sara sawbones },
- { sol noon },
- { vanadi de vadarta },
- { vance digiorno },
- { yevdokiya an waslyna o bearhold }
MOD EVENT ↠ SATINALIA
WHO: Everyone
WHAT: It's Satinalia and no one dies.*
WHEN: Forward-dated to Firstfall 1
WHERE: The Gallows and Kirkwall
NOTES: *If you kill your character or an NPC please let us know so we can adjust the log description. Fire cw, use other cws for your tags as needed please! And participate in the gift meme if you want to be cool.
WHAT: It's Satinalia and no one dies.*
WHEN: Forward-dated to Firstfall 1
WHERE: The Gallows and Kirkwall
NOTES: *If you kill your character or an NPC please let us know so we can adjust the log description. Fire cw, use other cws for your tags as needed please! And participate in the gift meme if you want to be cool.
Named for Satina, the smaller of Thedas' two moons, Satinalia is a celebration of freedom, marked by wild celebration, pranks, the donning of costumes and masks—not the fine, delicate masks of Orlais, but animals and caricatures and playful horrors—and the exchange of gifts both sincere and satirical.
I. THE GALLOWS
In Riftwatch's fortress home, the dining hall—not the one recently wrecked by an abomination, the other one—and an adjoining garden courtyard have been decorated (by Benedict, thanks Benedict) in green, gold, and black, with enough torchlight to keep the room glowing once the sun goes down and a fire pit in the garden.
Dinner starts early, to leave ample time for festivities afterwards. Also to make sure everyone has time to eat, because there's a lot of food. Under Colin's direction, the banquet table hosts a spread representing many of the home countries of Riftwatch's members: coq au vin and tiny Orlesian cakes; Fereldan fish-and-egg pie with saffron and some potent cheeses on toasted bread; seafood with white wine sauce on noodles and fresh oranges from Antiva; spicy (very spicy) Rivaini curry and spiced rum cakes; a sampling of Nevarran soft cheeses, fruit, and dry-cured, thinly-sliced ham; and slightly spicy shrimp soup and chocolate-filled pastries from Tevinter. The centerpiece is an enormous and completely edible depiction of the Celebrant (aka the constellation Satinalis). It’s made of various breads—the man himself made of a lightly sweet bread rolled with cinnamon and chopped dates, his lyre golden with an egg wash, his clothes of rye, the stone he sits on of buckwheat. The constellation over him is drawn into the dough, the stars represented by clear rock sugar.
Every table is decorated with a ‘bouquet’ of delicate, edible marzipan roses, and in addition to the table wine and mead from Riftwatch's stores, there's a whole case of semi-decent Nevarran wine provided by Derrica and Athessa.
There's also a table set up to the side with plain, basic masks and a collection of paints and feathers to decorate them with, courtesy of Isaac, for anyone who doesn't have a costume or just enjoys arts and crafts. Some of the masks' interiors are subtly coated with invisible ink, slow-acting glue, fine glitter, or itching powder. Hahahahahaha.
Not long after most people have filtered in and found seats, the mostly-annual tradition of choosing the organization's own Satinalia Fool—usually arranged in advance, sorry, but there is a war on—is upheld, with little warning, by an apologetic Bastien. Volunteers (or those volunteered by their tablemates who don't do a good enough job demurring) are subjected to a few rounds of voting by applause. Some people applaud for their favorites, some for their least favorites, some for their crushes and some for comedy, and in the end Byerly Rutyer and Wysteria Poppell emerge as co-victors. That makes them co-rulers for the remainder of the evening. Or possibly the remainder of the week, by Antiva Rules.
Once the wining and dining are in their dying stages, the music starts. It's informal, at first, with Riftwatch's amenable musicians filtering over to their instruments as they finish their food (or bring it along with them), but once there's a critical mass, they coalesce into a tune that can be danced to. The next hour or so passes with a mixture of peasant reels and formal court dances—the latter mostly by request.
Eventually, after a break for a white druffalo gift exchange, the party disassembles into unstructured mingling. For anyone who wants to stick around, there's more alcohol, smoking in the garden, card and conversation games at the cleared tables, and a game of musical chairs with the rules altered so anyone left seatless has to take a drink and keep playing.
II. KIRKWALL
But across the harbor, the city is rowdy and reveling and will be all night, so making a break for the ferry instead won't be considered rude. The excitement in Lowtown spills out of the taverns and into the streets, with masked celebrants on their worst (but mostly harmless) behavior while street performers of all stripes provide entertainment for tips. The alienage has its own party—not because the gates are locked, but because the elves who aren't working generally don't consider throngs of drunk humans to be a good time—with a bonfire and shadowplays, and friendly outsiders might be allowed, especially if accompanied by an elf.
Hightown is quieter, but mainly because there's enough room in the mansions there for various parties—ranging from dignified, religion-tinged feasts that absolutely require an invitation to a word-of-mouth orgy at a particular mansion that only requires looking sexy and disease-free at the door—to be tucked away inside.
III. AFTER PARTY
Late in the evening, there's an outcry at the docks after an over-excited amateur fire-juggler lights fire to a partially-wooden warehouse full of wooden crates. By the time there's an organized effort to put out the blaze, it's roaring, threatening to leap to neighboring structures—including the warehouse and stables Riftwatch maintains on the docks—and visible from the Gallows. Any assistance from Riftwatch members in containing the fire will be noticed and appreciated by the locals, and just in case, it might also be wise for people to move the various horses, harts, nuggalopes, dogs, and any particularly stupid cats further away from the fire until it's under control. Which it will be, eventually, leaving a blackened ruin of the warehouse where it started but only singing one of the walls of Riftwatch's property.
However, for better or worse, someone took pity on the ferryman and sent him home at midnight rather than making him wait around all night, so everyone who'd intended to go back to the Gallows can either draw straws for who has to play ferryman to get people back to the island and then get the boat back to the docks, or else just pile into the stables and warehouse for an impromptu slumber party.
Sol Noon | ota
[ Noon is a large, congenial presence that hangs around for a bit. He eats and drinks heartily and is not even a little bit shy about leaning over to tablemates (or tablemates at adjacent tables) and offering a cheerful: ]
A happy Satinalia to you, friends! Can't remember the last time an outfit fed us this good.
b. Kirkwall | Lowtown
[ He goes to Kirkwall, of course. He knows too many there and has missed the holiday more than once. He laughs and drinks and is there to be the big burly son of a bitch when mischief starts to turn into something less harmless, wading into the thick of the crowd to pick up trouble makers or trouble getters and deposit them separate from the crowd.
One particularly raucous man gets tossed onto the low roof of a tavern. ] And that's enough outta you, lad!
c. After Party Slumber Party
[ And so of course he's there for the blaze. Fire fighting isn't an unfamiliar job, but it's always a little more thrilling than one would like to cap off a night with. Not quite as sober as he would like, Noon elects to crash out in the Riftwatch barn.
Someone may walk in the next day to discover a large lump of a man sleeping peacefully on the floor of their mount's stall. ]
d. WILDCARD.
down for prose or action spam, i'll follow ur lead.
a
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c.
Yevdokiya an Waslyna O Bearhold is crouched down just out of arm's reach of the peaceful lump of man on the stable floor. She wraps her arms around her knees and she watches, cat-quiet. Her preserved bear headpiece is long gone. Now she is sweaty and sooty and sticky and so, so quiet as she completes her long observation of the man-lump.
She decides to move--almost soundless as she does it, barely a scuff of a boot, a born hunter-turned-petty-thief, her--and leans in to try to size up his belt and purse situation. Has this mark already been hit? Did someone beat her to the prize? Is he worth it?
Carefully, she reaches forward.
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Sister Sara Sawbones | OTA
[ Very occasionally, Sawbones is called upon to preform more route Chantry duties. Which is why she's in her fine Chantry regalia with it's gold embroidery, doing her level best to at least not look annoyed as she travels with a few other Hightown Sisters from one fine house to the next, collecting alms for the poor this festive day.
Any memeber of Riftwatch she happens to see at one of these fancy parties or in the streets, she will make eye contact with. Whether she's attempting to communicate the need for a rescue or the plea to Not Be Themselves Right Now, it's up to the individual. ]
b. Lowtown | Later-ish
[ A rambunctious crowd is all well and good unless you also happen to be very small and dressed in eye catching colors. Sawbones is both of these things. So it's maybe not entierly a surprise when a helping hand intended to assist the Sister from almost being knocked over turns into being swept up onto the shoulders of another person entierly. From there she is passed to another and another and really there's only so much a dwarf can be expected to bear with dignity. ]
Oi! Put me down, you sun blind nugfucked mud eating-
c. The Docks | Even Later Still
[ Soot smudged with her braids falling out, Sawbones has given up on things like propriety and image. She finds a slightly out of the way spot to chuck off her fancy Chantry robes, her under dress modest enough. Less inclined than others to sleep somewhere she isn't sure about, she'll cool her heels on the getty, intending to wait til the morning ferryman arrives.
She'll spend a good deal of the night glaring out over the water at the Gallows if someone doesn't intervene. ]
They better not have eaten all the food.
d. The Gallows | Morning After
[ What's up, got a hangover? Here's a tiny dwarf in a fresh, clean habit carrying a pot of coffee and a bowl of suspicious looking glop. ]
Come on, sit up, you'll hurt your back lying like that.
WILDCARD
down for prose or action spam, i'll follow ur lead. also hmu if you want some gallows party prompts, time isn't real
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How did I get here, [he asks nobody.]
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The Masked Lady | ota
Even when most might remove their mask to wipe sweat from their brow or get a better look at someone, hers remains held fast to her face as she kicks and twirls, playful eyes glittering from within and impish smile visible below, enticing one to dance with her. If they can keep up.
II. for Bastien
Late in the evening, when it's looking more like morning and most people are beginning to pass out or at least lounge around making drunken conversation, Bastien will feel a little tug on his sleeve from a dark corner.
"Help me," comes Fifi's tired giggle, "I can't get this fucking thing off."
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A little laughter with that sympathy, as he joins her in her dark corner, but not too much. A funny predicament is still a predicament. He reaches up to tug on one edge of the mask. Gently and experimentally. If she can't get it off, he certainly isn't going to get it off just by pulling on it, and he doesn't want to hurt her.
vance / ferry / threadjacking welcome
[ That’s not his mask. It’s not clear whose it was,
But it is clear (by the sway in his step, the swagger of his words) that he’s absolutely shitfaced beneath it. That hasn’t stopped Vance from planting himself in the middle of the little ferry, shirtless with an oar raised in his fists, to announce: ]
All aboard!
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Barrow | ota
There's work-provided food and music to be enjoyed, and one would have to be a fool (the regular kind) to not partake of what's freely given. Barrow does a bit of dancing, a lot of eating, and a fair amount of general merrymaking, raising his cup to anyone who will raise it back.
Of course, he also makes off like a bandit with the Secret Druffalo beard oil, which he squirrels away for someday when he actually has a proper beard.
II. Lowtown
The Riftwatch festivities are all well and good, but everyone knows the real party is across the water. With such infectious energy all over the city, and everyone here and there challenging everyone else to drinking games and arm wrestling and betting on stupid things, over the course of the night Barrow finds himself three sheets to the wind and ready to make some terrible decisions.
Hopefully he has company.
[OOC note: I'm thinking he's not going to remember basically anything that happens here, so take that as you will. if you want to handwave something that happens in this time, hit me up on plurk or discord!]
III. After Party
Luckily for perhaps everyone, especially those who might have to haul him around otherwise, Barrow is able to stay on his feet pretty well even when completely tanked. He is also able to maintain relative calm and presence of mind when it comes to hauling water, bending down over and over to fill buckets that he can pass to others for helping put out the sudden warehouse fire.
He won't remember it later, but that's fine.
i, perhaps only briefly
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isaac / warehouse slumber party / threadjacking welcome
He leans close,
"Would you like to hear a ghost story?"
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She lists over drunkenly in Issac's direction, "Fuck yeah."
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Jenny Lou Here To Cause Problems Davies| Ota
[ She wasn't hadn't really put much thought into the whole costume aspect of this until the day of. Fortunately, she already has a pretty good one on hand. It's hard to even pretend to be a chill adult once she gets it on and as soon as the reels start she's on the floor, winking when she breezes past someone. ]
Hey baby, nice costume.
b. Lowtown
[ She's on a roof. Does she know how she got on a roof? Eh. But it is pretty sweet being up out of the crowd and there's more than a few other spry rascally types caterwalling over the rooftops with bottles of wine and mead. She falls in and out with the loose groups, a constant swirl of motion that's more inclined to just bounce off bodies than try and avoid them.
And also occasionally shimmying back up to another rooftop to catch her breath. ]
c. Slumber Part part 10
[ Somehow she missed a whole ass fire. And also the whole damn ferry. ]
Dude. [ She looks over at the person next to her. ] You wanna go see if we can sneak into a Hightown party?
a
At Jenny Lou's remark, he meets her gaze, vaguely affronted or perhaps just surprised.]
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Colin | OTA
USAGallowsColin knows his place in parties like this, which is why his costume is "caterer." It's not a brilliant costume, since he is the caterer, but he did throw together last-minute edible masks for himself and the kitchen staff made out of latticed bread from leftover dough. During the "rush" as most everyone is sitting down and eating, he is buzzing about making sure there's enough of everything (except for the oranges and chocolate--they are the most expensive eats and therefore in limited supply).
Once demand slows down as bellies are filled or dancing becomes more interesting than eating, and once the kitchen is cleaned up, Colin can finally join the party. He sits at first at a table, fetching himself a late dinner, but once he's had that and a cup or two of white wine, he could be persuaded to join in a dance or two.
When the crowd starts to be overwhelming, he can be found getting some air in the garden.
II. After Party
Since he'd already needed to be on this side of the ferry, Colin helps at the docks, at first carrying water but ultimately setting up a spot to treat people for burns and smoke inhalation. Perhaps you need his help for that reason, or perhaps you know he lives in Hightown and you'd rather wheedle a guest room out of him than sleep in a warehouse. Either way.
III. Wildcard
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It's pitched low, from a different place in the mouth, but they've spoken so long together (never mind the pet name) that Colin will certainly know the dapper young nobleman eyeing the rum cakes for Alexandrie.
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jone of denerim | ota.
Lowtown 2
"Satinalia!" he announces.
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Gallows 3
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LOCKED TO LUCIEN.
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I RETURN.
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amos burton | ota.
b1
"Space guy," she says, both greeting and identification. Then: "Imma pet those dogs." Which is the only warning Amos gets before Jenny Lou flops down on the other side of the two mabari, holding her hand out for sniffs.
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Edgard OPEN
Edgard has not worn a costume or mask for this event and instead opted to bathe. He did not enjoy it and is regretting his decision. However, with the mud and grime washed away, Edgard is reborn a stone cold fox. It turns out that under all that muck, he is a striking man. Others may recognize him or they may not. (So far the only person who's seen him this way is Benedict and even still he put a smidge more effort into scrubbing this time.)
Either way, you can find him eating great quantities of food or drinking and becoming quite drunk. Perhaps, he will be drunk enough to dance?
Gallows Chaos
Just past the height of the party, when many people are still reveling in the merriment, drinking and dancing, an extremely drunk Edgard sprints to the middle of the dance floor and shrieks,
"HAPPY SATINALIA!"
He pulls out an odd small whistle, takes a great inhale and blows it which releases a high pitched unbearable noise. If that wasn't enough, a flock of very agitated seagulls, followed by a great deal more less angry gulls, descends upon the crowd, eating the food, bothering the guests, and causing general chaos.
Edgard stands with his arms extended, covered in gulls, laughing wildly.
Wildcard
[I love you and I'm up for absolutely anything at any time.]
general partying.
A wicker branch crown sits on her head, and it's tilted slightly to cover one eye. She grins at Edgard with open pleasure, rather than her usual manic joy. "Dance with me!"
The music is just speeding into another song, this one a faster pitch than before. She tugs him toward the dance floor, apparently not really caring about his answer. So, still Jone.
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Chaos
lol
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general partying OBVIOUSLY
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Richard Dickerson | OTA
[ Gallows Courtyard ]
Between torches, there are swaths shadowy enough to comfortably host a balding, bearded man in a half-skull mask while he nurses a cup of wine. The mask is simple black burnished with gold that catches torchlight along the carved edges of false bone, without feathers or filigree. His coat is black. His cloak is black.
The open air and night sky make it easier to avoid attention while still feeling a part of the festivities. For now.
He turns to depart while the night is still young, and leaves his wine behind, barely-touched.
[ Hightown ]
The party is packed downstairs.
Raucous conversation roars dull beneath the wind up of a band currently featuring the homeowner on fiddle, hoots and cheers and whistles rising after the odd drunken flourish.
Richard is in a massive office on the second floor -- a slender, bearded gentleman in a fine hooded cloak and a half-skull mask setting a prybar aside to draw a lockbox up out of a freshly-cracked desk drawer with gloved hands. The window is open. Both doors are closed -- one of them to the tune of sensual moaning, and the muffled knock of a bedframe on the adjacent wall.
He ignores it in favor of tilting the box up to examine the lock.
[ Afterparty ]
Across the water, a warehouse belches fire and black smoke into the night sky, choking starlight and licking brilliant orange across the wave peaks. Brushes of heat carry with the stench of it on the wind. It’s the kind of fire that smells dangerous at a distance.
But Richard’s view is safe enough from Lowtown, where he’s seated criss-cross on the corner of a rooftop at the water’s edge with his satchel full of ill-gotten goods and a bottle of stolen wine.
He’s had time to trade his disguise for a cap with earflaps.
The mask still rests at his knee while he twists dagger to cork, empty eye sockets gawking at the volcanic haze hanging overhead.
Gallows
He comes to rest near Dick after a dance, removing the mask to wipe his brow on his sleeve, and smiles over at him in a tipsy haze, likely not recognizing who he's looking at.
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Hightown
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afterparty
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Afterparty
Re: Afterparty
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james holden | ota
WILDCARD
c-ish.
He sees a human mulling about roughly two feet below him, and the urge takes him-- it is the season for pranks. Mhavos doesn't truly have the right spirit for pranking, of course, there's no malicious intent in it. He just takes a bit of cheese from the food he's holed himself away with, rolls it in a ball, and aims it at the stranger's head.
c for....cheese?
a missed pun opportunity, rip.
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C
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LMFAO HER COSTUME NO — 1/3
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no i lied 3/4
i'm done
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a.
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Lord Alexander | ota
[ There is, among the guests, an obvious member of the Orlesian peerage. The walk graceful and confident, the clothing of a heavy expensive weave and fashionable cut...
The mustache impeccably curled beneath the half-mask; a bright copper that matches its small jaunty companion of a beard and the hair at the nape of the neck, slicked up into a smart feathered beret that matches the rest of the ensemble.
He is, at this moment, bent in an exacting half-bow and sweeping a courteous arm to offer you the seat at the table he was about to occupy. If the ] I insist! [ with which the seat is offered is a resonant tenor that bears distinct resemblance to the voice of another Orlesian noble you might know whose eyes also sparkle a merry blue when she's partaking in a bit of mischief, well... what of it? ]
II. Wildcard
( or something else if you like! Going to mostly be tagging out~ )
I
Ah no, serah! I wouldn't dream of it!
bastien. wildcards & prose & threadjacking all cool.
Is it Orlesian patriotism? Is it—given that the simplicity and white paint makes it look a bit skeletal—Orlesian dissent? Is it an homage to Les Chats? Is it a continuation of a long series of jokes he's privately making to himself about his name?
Oui. ]
i. earlier
[ It isn't his party, but Bastien's been involved enough in the planning that it isn't not his party, either, so he's busy enough fussing over the arrangements and making people vote for a Fool that he winds up bringing half of his dinner, uneaten, with him to the collection of instruments.
So when he isn't playing—when there's a break, or when some of the others are playing something that sounds just fine without his cello or his lute—he moves out of the way to watch the dancers and snack off the rest of his plate. But it's perfectly possible to distract him or draw him away from it, especially since it's already gone cold. ]
ii. later
[ By some miracle, he managed to keep hold of his orange this whole time without having it stolen. Now he's eating three-quarters of it, one segment at a time, while the remaining quarter has been skewered on a stick and so he can hold it near the fire.
Apples cook. He's curious.
And speaking of curiosity, if anyone joins him, he says: ]
Choose a letter.
iii. even later
[ It's early morning, the fire is down to embers, and the warehouse floor might not be too hideously uncomfortable. But there's also still some shouting—not the panicked fire fire sort—and music emanating from the city, and foot traffic on the steps up the cliffside, visible by the torches some of them carry.
So Bastien puts his mask back on, leaving a sooty hand smudge on the white wood, and gives whoever's standing closest to him a look that very obviously involves raised eyebrows, despite his eyebrows being hidden by the mask. You can just tell. ]
ii
Q.
[ She is absolutely going to try and steal a segment off the none-toasting half. ]
How come you're toasting your orange.
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ii
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i.
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i. dance dance dance
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i
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later
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puts hand over timestamp
wysteria. threadjacking, prose/brackets etc welcome.
[One might be forgiven for not immediately recognizing the breasts— er, the young lady dressed in sapphire blue behind a grey (as a stand in for something silvered) half mask. In combination the sunburst of yellow painted dowels at her back and the Orlesian twist of her hair, she is unquestionably meant to be a very particular version of Empress Celene. Namely, one with a significant measure of skin on display above the edge of her bodice trim. The display is marred only by a long horizontal scar somewhere between clavicle and everywhere else.
It's hardly unseasonable. It is however scandalously rare, and Wysteria - having elected not to be offended by her role for the evening -, cuts a surprisingly striking figure both as—
(i.) —She argues cheerfully with her table mates over dinner, decrying that,] Lady Eades may very well indeed be an accomplished alchemist but she cannot write her way free of a paper bag. Take for example chapter two of her treatise on field equipment for the modern footsoldier—
[It's hardly the only boisterous debate she can be baited into.
(ii.) —And as the dancing starts, where she lingers on the sidelines until a particular stately tune is struck up by the band. And while her first few dances are devoted to a particular gentleman dressed to as a chevalier in matching jewel tones (poor Mr. Ellis), after the first few rounds she's perfectly amenable to other partners. On especially lively dances, the careful drape of her skirts reveals a shockingly high slit and a brilliantly red garter ribbon.]
later.
[As the dancing begins to wind down, Wysteria is helped up onto some chair or bench. Generously described as shrill at the best of times, her voice carries well enough in the hall as she makes her decree: Everyone is to be conscripted for warring armies, so if they would please divide into two equal groups of scoundrels and honorable men and women (and so on and so forth). The latter are knighted with a candlestick, and the former are left to grouse until both armies have an opportunity to "war" on the dance floor. Maybe it's dancing. Maybe it's flirting. Or harmless pranks, or a chaotic descent of birds.
(i.) Wysteria observes from her perch, but may be swayed into conversation by any non-combatants near at hand during the skirmishes.
That is until at some point she rises to declare, "Orlesians, to me!" at which point Byerly Rutyer, playing self-serious Division Head for the evening, finally sees fit to intervene by quote, unquote, 'dragging this diplomatic incident to the dungeons.'
(ii.) Once out of sight of the party, Wysteria frees herself from her agreeable captors, gathers her skirts, and makes her way across the Gallows toward the Mage Tower and her room. She's retiring early for the night, though may be waylaid en route.]
wildcard.
[Dancing, dragging innocent bystanders unwillingly into conversation, being caught as she retires early for the evening, etc.]
later, i
"Enjoying your battle?"
In contrast to Wysteria's costume, he's dressed plainly, an undecorated dark mask grasped loosely in his hand.
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4 ellis
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early ii
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Byerly Rutyer | OTA
[ For Satinalia, Byerly is dressed as - well - himself. Sort of. He only decided on his gimmick a few hours before, yet somehow managed to secure a serious suit of the sort a rich man would wear to the opera, a cape, a bunch of medals and a sash going across his chest, and a mask that actually looks kind of like Byerly but with a face carved into a scowl. He spends the evening stalking around self-importantly and berating people for being excessively merry. ]
This is a grave occasion. How dare you give a gift that's so obscene?
[ At one point, he even arrests Wysteria - after her mock-war causes chaos - and has her dragged off to the dungeons. (Apparently. Not really. It's a pre-arranged signal for when she's tired of participating.) Afterwards, he spends a while longer stalking around ominously and berating people... ]
ii. Kirkwall
[ The serious no-fun-haver costume is dropped once the party moves out of the Gallows, though, because By has no desire to play the fool and get kicked in the arse repeatedly over the course of the night by drunken louts who want to lash out at any authority figure, even a fake one.
So, apparently inspired by Alexandrie, he steals away to his room for a while before everyone leaves. He swaggers down a bit later in full drag - wearing a corset with padded hips and breasts, a full skirt, a dark wig of tumbling curls falling past his back, his beautiful eyes emphasized by smoky make-up. (The mustache and beard, however, are still in place, making an odd contrast with his pouty red lips.) He looks quite beautiful.
Lowtown is the place for him. He can likely be found, at various points of the night, sprawled in a stranger's lap, or flirting outrageously over cards, or dancing gracefully, or giggling, the drag bringing out something decidedly coquettish and bubbly out of his usual droll sardonicism. ]
iii. After party
[ Byerly is among those who spend the night in the stable. He can be found bedding down, makeup smeared, hip- and bust-padding used for a pillow, cheerfully drunk and high, in a very good mood, amongst all the others. ]
ii, before he gets on the ferry
For the record, though no longer wearing a mask himself, Bene's eyes are ringed with ink where it clearly was. If he's aware of this, he's being remarkably confident about it.]
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iii.
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after party!
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sidony | ota
after party.
"Things were going too well," he says. No undead army, no dragons. But apparently fate needed to be sure they suffered somehow.
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Mado | OTA
a. Jamming
As one of the musicians providing accompaniment to the dancers, Mado takes his job seriously. He's visibly excited to have access to real drums, capable of being both restrained and energetic on the slower pieces and absolutely losing his mind on faster ones, finding seemingly endless subdivisions for steps as frenetic as it pleases one to dance them.
His shirt is off by the end, the scarf normally used as a belt now tied around his forehead to keep his mop of hair out of his eyes, and he is the very picture of happiness.
b. Mingling
His shirt is back on (for now), and Mado disappeared at some point to paint his face, mimicking a few of the cat motifs he's seen prowling around the party without necessarily knowing why. He exuberantly leaps into any conversation that happens near or to him, otherwise flitting about the edges, drifting in and out to listen to people and simply absorb the atmosphere.
And, of course, he eats roughly double his weight in party food, but that's not too much really-- and he's earned it by now, hasn't he?
II. Kirkwall
a. Roving
Much like in the Gallows, not knowing anyone too well means Mado is likely to simply glom onto any group of people that seems particularly interesting and doesn't mind his presence-- if required to prove his worth, he sings them along or provides stories, but otherwise simply trails along, beaming.
For someone as obnoxious as he can be, he's fairly unobtrusive and unexpectedly conscientious of the people with whom he's trying to ingratiate himself.
b. After Party
As there was little use for him during the blaze, Mado seemed to vanish into thin air for a while; but he resurfaces again in the barn, which no one saw him enter, and listens raptly to discussions of the fire and any stories being told.
III. Wildcard
He might've been spotted anywhere throughout the night, with anyone. It's hard to say.
II - b.
In a moment when Mado is between rapt attention, the address comes thickly, from some dark corner of the barn. A shifting of fabric and an irritated grunt precludes Nikos leaning forward to benefit from a nearby shaft of moonlight. He is sooty and sweaty and still a little drunk. He has no mask. He never had a mask.
"You," he says. One hand is planted on the floor of the barn to maintain his balance. He points with the other, crooks all his fingers in a summoning gesture. "C'mere."
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LOCKED TO ATHESSA.
Mhavos is deeply glad he isn't down there. Up on a rooftop overlooking the Alienage, Mhavos sits in darkness, watching the elves in their homes, and wondering at the world under starlight.
When he hears someone behind him, he doesn't move to strike. He only turns very slowly, letting his eyes catch in the half-light.
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Athessa has changed out of her fancy costume (save for the indigo gradient on her face and arms) and is wearing a simple black shirt and trousers gathered at her waist with a belt, far better suited to scaling buildings and clamoring around on rooftops. She hadn't expected to find Mhavos here, neither had she expected to wander toward the Alienage of all places, but as soon as she started to do the latter, she saw a shape and followed it to the former.
"Hey," she says when she sees the lamplight flickering off his eyes. (To see in the dark is to be seen in it, too.) She approaches carefully, not wanting to be seen by the other elves below, and sits down beside him. "Seen any bats out tonight?"
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for derrica & leander.
But on the other hand, abs.
So his shirt is hanging loosely from his hand, obviously, while he walks alongside Derrica. Behind them, there's still the occasional shout, but it's the shouting of exhausted people frustrated with someone's lagging or incompetence, not panic over the possibility of more loss.
Ahead of them is Leander, with wagon-and-straw box seats. ]
Move over.
[ It's the friendly flavor of brusque, at least. ]
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A moment to consider Isaac's insinuations, before forcibly setting the echo of his voice aside. ]
Leander, [ Warm around the syllables of his name, masking uncertainty at his reception of her. ] Have you been here long?
[ She doesn't say We missed you at the party.
For a moment she seems content to stand close, adjacent to Kostos, excess adrenaline keeping her on her feet as she reaches up to pull some pins from her hair to let down the last of her updo. ]
covers timestamps with my hand
nell | open, threadjacking/whatever format welcome
[ Satinalia is all about comic reversals, so naturally tonight Nell is dressed like a Chantry Sister. The costume is alarmingly authentic-looking, right up to the headdress, and though it is designed to involve a knee-length surcoat over trousers, one suspects they were probably not intended to be skintight leather, and there is certainly meant to be some sort of shirt worn beneath the outer layers of coat and wimple.
But there isn't, so instead there's a wide stripe of pale skin on display down the center of her torso as Nell lounges, cross-legged and an arm thrown over the back of the next chair over. She has a comically large ceremonial-looking goblet in her other hand, from which she's drinking wine in between dispensing blessings on request, complete with a surprising amount of actual quotes from the Chant, if one's familiar. ]
later
[ Later, smudged and red-faced from proximity to the fire, she's brushing ash off her costume and looking around at those tidying up and making to bed down in the stables. ] Any takers for Lowtown? Come on, it's still early! I know a place we might be able to drink for free. How do you feel about arm-wrestling? Or drinking out of a boot?
wildcard
[ hit me ]
earlier.
Now he's sitting to the side of her, eating seafood pasta and listening to her dispense her blessings.
At a moment when she's between pilgrims, he says, ] Do you hear confessions?
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athessa
leander
[ It's nothing special. Just a pomegranate. She holds it out to him. ]
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colin
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