faderift | MOD EVENT ↠ SATINALIA

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.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"We should be taking them from the faces of Division Heads. Bu-ut," she tips her head, and the loose fall of bear pelt and fur shifts with the movement, "no one will be able to tell. There are so many masks. Then we get a reward for them, and then we put them somewhere very funny. Where do you think that should be?"

Edgard lowers his voice conspiratorially with his eyes wide. "We could put them on animals or statues or on people's backsides or on people while they are sleeping or--" He will likely keep coming up with ideas until Doki stops him.

"All good ideas." Doki selects another piece of cheese toast and crunches into it. "I like the one where the masks are on asses. Do you think we could do that sneaky? I am very sneaky. Am I that sneaky?"

She gives Edgard a once-over, still with the plate of toast angled away so he does not have a chance to get at it again.

"Are you?"

Edgard has enough experience to know where his strengths lie.

"I am probably better at being the distraction." He widens his eyes at her. "I distract, make conversation, trip them, whatever it takes. You," He motions to her. "be sneaky."

"Mm," Doki says, thoughtfully. She cocks her head and crunches another bite of toast. Then her face splits into a big wide grin.

"It's good," she agrees. "That is what we will do, Clean Edgard. And everyone will be very distracted by how you look also, which will be very good. But we should go into Kirkwall and do this. We should not do it here. You do not shit where you eat, you know this saying?"

Edgard cocks an eyebrow.

"I do not know this saying, but it seems like good advice." He glances at another toast, but doesn't take it. He holds his hands up palms down and perches his face on them.

"I am ready to be very distracting." He grins.

"Good." Doki shoves the rest of her toast into her mouth and points to it as she chews. "I must first finish eating," she says, as she crunches and chews, "and then we will go. Unless you are having a very good time at this party?"

"I am having a very good time." He taps his nose. "Your idea seems like a better time."

He sits down and puts his hands in his lap.

"Eat up."

"I do not need your invitation."

With nine slices of toast left, Doki demolishes her next one in two bites. The second piece she folds in half and eats whole. The cheese is very pungent, and puts a funny taste on the roof of her mouth. It is good.

She sits down across from Edgard as she takes a surprisingly delicate bite from her next piece.

"Do you go to parties very much?"

Edgard watches her eat, impressed. Look at her go.

"Don't choke! I can help you out if you need it.." He eyes the toasts. They really do look good.

"I don't go to parties much at all. But, it is a holiday. Do you go to many parties?" He leans forward, still looking at the food instead of the person he's talking to. He's betting on a no.

"You have already eaten too many and I will bite you on the hand if you try to eat another."

She bares her teeth at him to show him what he will suffer should he make this attempt. Flecks of bread give her an even more unsavory appearance. She gives it enough time to make an impression, then she snaps another bite of toast and sets back to chewing.

"I love parties. I always go to them. They do not always let us in, but we do not let that stop us. If you find a very good one, people will be very drunk and very stupid, and those are the best."

Edgard laughs at Doki's ferocious display and holds up his hands.

"I won't eat them, I promise." And he means it, although they still look extremely delicious. Part of him wants to see if Doki really would bite his hand, but he masters the impulse.

"Drunk and stupid is best, I agree. But you have to be careful to not become drunk and stupid." He grabs his drink roughly hand over the top of it and takes a long gulp. It's hard to say if the irony is lost on him.

Certainly the irony is not lost on Doki who has, several times, looked at her friend New Edgard and thought very seriously about rolling him. Mostly she has not yet because she still does like him, and because she is fairly certain he has little worth her taking.

So.

"You cannot hold your drink, Clean Edgard? That is a very big surprise to me. I can turn ale into blood and it makes me stronger. Because I am Avvar. You should have been so lucky as to be born in a clan."

"I can hold a lot of drink." Edgard says touching his chest. "But, there is always a line. Perhaps not as much as you."

He grins at his friend who he trusts because they made a pact, Doki. He pours her a drink and sets it next to her.

"I would have been lucky to be born in a clan. I know that being in a group is good, at any rate."

She pauses in her toast eating to take up the drink that her friend (yes, sure, why not, when in the Lowlands) has poured for her. She takes a big gulp, and smacks her lips approvingly when she is finished.

"A clan is better even than that. You may be asking, Doki, if it is so good, to be in a clan, then why are you so far away from your clan? Well, do not ask that. I will not answer it. What is your group? It is Riftwatch, or aught?"

Edgard squints mulling over this question.

"I wasn't thinking of Riftwatch, although that must be what my group is now. No, I was with others before, thieves." He sweeps his arm outward.

"We worked together easily and trusted each other. So, not much like Riftwatch. I won't ask about your clan, I'm certain you have a good reason."

"That is a kindness. It is a very bad reason, but."

Another big bite of toast. She chews. With her mouth full-- "Where did the thieves go? Are they still out there, thieving without you? Have you had a big change of your heart and you are now living honestly and the thieves, they could not make this same commitment? You must tell me. It is Satin-all-ia. You see? All. Secrets are told, to," Doki puts a hand on her chest, "friends."

Edgard looks at Doki, takes a long drink, and then is quiet for a long moment.

"They are dead." He says simply.

Doki absorbs this information as she dunks her cheese toast into her drink. She lets it soak for a moment, two.

"Your fault?"

It isn't an unkind question. It isn't a question that carries with it judgement--she has been running away always, even with the iron Avvar core that she has. This is only a question. How does a group die but one man get away?

Edgard doesn't answer at first and then drains his drink. He looks away at some of the people dancing and laughing. He answers her while still looking away.

"Yes."

He breathes in suddenly, quick, like it hurts him a little.

"Not on purpose. But, yes. My fault."

"Mmm."

It's a non-judgmental hum. Doki dunks that last corner of the toast piece into the cup. It goes mushy instantly, and she shoves it in her mouth.

"I don't think I want to be hearing about this," she says around the soft bread. "What does it do to know? You are here now so, the rest of it, what happened before, purpose or no purpose--this is nothing to me."

Edgard stares at Doki. He doesn't really know what he expected, but not that.

"Thank you." He says feeling oddly comforted. "It is probably better to think about things happening now." He's thought this often enough, even if he's terrible at it.

"I won't ask you anything either. Unless you want me to."

"If you do ask me things, I will only be telling lies. If you like to hear lies, you can ask!"

There is just one piece of toast left. Doki shoves it in her mouth, this time without dunking it in her drink--she drains her drink next--licks three fingers and swipes them across the surface of the plate, to catch up all the crumbs and grease and things.

She belches, and then stands up, pushing back the bench with her knees.

"Let's go and take masks."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

MOD EVENT ↠ SATINALIA

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