MOD EVENT ↠ SATINALIA

[faderifting]

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.

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.

Comments

Colin | OTA

[keenly]

I. Party in the USA Gallows

Colin 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

[coquettish_trees]

"Ah, with that mask, he has truly become mon chou!"

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.

[keenly]

"Um." Wow. She looks amazing. Sounds amazing. He smiles. "Um, it's, it's bread, not choux, but. I mean, you, um, sorry, I didn't need to correct you."

It's possible the crowd is getting to him a bit. That, or he needs to eat and/or drink more. Even he isn't sure what's what, as busy as he has been.

"You look really wonderful," he adds.

[coquettish_trees]

[ Lady Alexandrie would perhaps play at being cross to be corrected, or demurre and flutter coquettishly, preening for the compliment; but where the Lady is all brightness and effusive words and tiny lively movements meant to catch and keep the ear and eye, the Lord is concentrated and efficient, all that energy kept inside his frame like a coiled spring.

And so it is a slight half-bow from the waist, the smile that accompanies it modestly pleased.

(She'll break a little, though, lean in to whisper as she normally does): ]

It is great fun, although I have not been so tightly bound since the winter of 9:41 when such a silhouette was briefly coveted; I remember now why I was so unfailingly piqueish that season.

[keenly]

Orlais rebelled against breasts? [He considers this briefly.] Well. Too late for me to get a dress made for a five-year-old fashion.

[coquettish_trees]

Ah, but five years late in Orlais is fashion forward for Kirkwall.

[ There's one more impish Lady Alexandrie smile before she straightens up and resumes her lordly masquerade. ]

You will have time, I hope, to enjoy the festivities yourself?

[keenly]

[He nods.] Once the dinner rush is over, yes. Oh--I have your present, my lord. I can give that to you then.

I

[altusimperius]

Once Colin has found himself a little time to eat, Benedict winds his way over and settles across from him with a glass of wine, smiling a greeting and removing his mask so he can wipe his forehead and get his hair out of his face.

Strangely, when the mask comes off, its shadow seems to remain: which is to say, the entire area it occupied on Bene's face is now blackened, and he seems none the wiser.

"People are getting crazy," he remarks, "but I think the worst of it is moving to Hightown."

[keenly]

Colin doesn't stop eating, but his gaze does lock onto Bene's face for a moment, taking in the effect of the inky prank. All in all, not the weirdest thing to happen tonight.

"Did you see Edgard with the gulls?" he asks as he sets aside an empty bowl and starts peeling his orange.

[altusimperius]

"What? No. What'd he do?" Raccoon Bene sips at his wine.

[keenly]

"Um, I'm not completely sure. He blew a whistle and they were all over. I acted fast enough to save the chocolate pastries, though. That stuff's hard to get. Don't need it all going down some bird."

The first peel he gets off the orange he holds up to his face, inhaling the fragrance deeply. He has been looking forward to this orange all night.

[altusimperius]

"Shit."
It had taken Benedict a while to get ready, naturally, but only after he'd gotten all the decorations set up, which explains how he might have missed it.

"Glad you saved the chocolate, though." He watches Colin inhale the orange with amused curiosity.

[keenly]

Colin sighs as he continues peeling the orange.

"Fortunately they had no interest in these," he says, already more relaxed than he was before he sniffed the fruit. "Have you ever been to Antiva?"

[altusimperius]

Now Bene is just watching Colin commune with the orange, focused mostly on that.
"Hm? No." He shakes his head idly. "My father went that way a lot, and my family would go to northern Orlais occasionally, but I didn't travel much till I came here."

Is he gonna make out with it? What's going on here.

[keenly]

Even Colin doesn't like food that much.

"The merchantman I was purser for made port there sometimes. I never had long, but everywhere we went, I made sure to sample as much food as I could. That was when I had my first orange. I've missed them ever since."

[altusimperius]

"You like oranges," Bene observes gamely.

[keenly]

"I love oranges," Colin corrects him. "I love food. It makes me feel happier and it deserves to be savored. That...feeling of being happy, it deserves to be savored."

He sets aside the rest of the peel and pries a wedge out.

[altusimperius]

Bene's smile grows wider. He continues to watch him, partway between amused and charmed.

"Makes sense."

[keenly]

Colin bites into the end of the wedge. Between what his lips, tongue, and teeth are doing to the orange and the little moan he makes as the juice bursts into his mouth, it's probably very hard to believe he doesn't like food that much.

[altusimperius]

"I feel like I should give you some privacy."

[keenly]

Colin's eyes open wide and he promptly removes the orange from his mouth, blushing brightly.

"Sorry. That was...weird, wasn't it."

[altusimperius]

Bene just grins, waggling his eyebrows. "On the contrary, I think it made me a little hard."

[keenly]

The blush deepens. He tries to start eating the orange again but is suddenly finding that everything he does to it resembles a sex act. At last he pops the entire wedge in his mouth and shakes his head.

"You've ruined oranges now," he half-chuckles.

[altusimperius]

Bene just grins at him, enjoying the struggle. "Don't stop on my account," he insists, chin on his folded hands.

[keenly]

What is there to blush about? There are some things they haven't done together yet, but it's not like they have secrets from each other. There's still some red on his cheeks when he decides to lean into it, prying free another wedge and swallowing the one he's chewing on.

This time, he's slow, deliberate, and very obvious, and he maintains eye contact.