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

Edgard sets his drink down when he sees Colin throwing up. He finds a glass of water nearby and approaches him.

"Easy, Maman, are you alright? Did you drink too much?" He offers the water.

Colin shakes his head, tears running down his face as he heaves again. When it seems to be calming down, he accepts the water with a shaking hand and rinses out his mouth.

"It's stupid," he sniffles, one hand tugging at the roots of the hair at the crown of his head. "I'm stupid, I'm so stupid..."

He wishes he was breaking down in front of one of his friends and not the entirety of the organization. It's just the garden, sure, but it feels like breaking down in front of all of Riftwatch.

Edgard's eyes widen at Colin breaking down like this. What could've happened? He puts a hand on his shoulder.

"There are a lot of things I don't know," He says softly. "but I know you aren't stupid. What's wrong?"

He notices a bench and motions to it. "Do you want to sit?"

Edgard knows he's probably not Colin's first choice of people to talk to right now, but he's not one to leave people in need alone.

Another shake of his head.

"I've gotta get out of here," he says breathlessly. "Away from all the people."

And his mind and heart are racing too fast for him to figure out where he can go besides the apothecary closet.

Edgard nods, although notes that there are not any people around right now, but himself. He guides Colin gently away out of the garden.

"I know a place where no one will be that's nearby." He leads Colin back inside into a darkened hallway and behind a door into a cramped passageway. He motions him in.

Edited (map reasons) 2020-11-02 23:41 (UTC)

Colin follows mutely, still shaking, till they are in the passageway and he can fold his arms tightly against himself and lean back against the wall. For a moment, it appears to get worse; being away from anyone else means he is relatively free to hyperventilate as he must, which he does, gasping and sniffling and coughing.

Edgard's eyes widen again and he stands there with Colin. He sees Colin shaking. He thinks of the times he's lost his breath when his mind sees the fall of the axe or the blood on his hands or all the bodies. He knows what has helped him.

"Can you try a deep breath? Take one in and hold it?" Edgard demonstrates, but isn't sure if he's helping at all. He feels helpless.

Colin nods and pulls in a long breath, squeezing his eyes shut and knocking more tears onto his cheeks. After a few seconds, he pushes the air back out. One hand shoves into his pocket and withdraws something small. As he holds it, fingers worrying at it, Edgard might see it is a small cluster of colorless quartz.

It takes a minute or two as Colin gradually calms, working down from the height of the fear and shame, before his eyes open and he scrubs at his face with a sleeve.

"Thank you," he whispers, unable to quite look Edgard in the eye.

Edgard nods and stays uncharacteristically quiet as Colin's breathing calms. Once his breathing steadies:

"It's nothing." He says making a waving motion with his hand to wipe away the thanks. "Did something happen? Did someone--" He stops not knowing how to finish that sentence.

Edgard hasn't ever seen Colin so upset and if someone was the cause of this, he'll take care of it.

The green in Colin's face has been replaced with red, his skin burning with shame.

"It's stupid," he repeats.

Edgard frowns.

"Doesn't seem stupid to me if it upset you this much." He shrugs. "Don't have to tell me, just trying to help."

He puts a hand on his shoulder again. His mind, however, is whirring thinking about who could've upset him this much.

That's the stupid part, though Edgard doesn't know it--Colin shouldn't be this upset. It makes no sense to him. He was always shy as a kid but never to this degree.

He shifts under the man's hand a bit. "You clean up well," he says idly.

Edgard chuckles a little. "It's a holiday." He shrugs. "It's not really me though." The cleaning up part, he means.

Edgard worries that he knows exactly who caused Colin to cry. He wonders if he should say something.

"Should just...take a cloth, and rub everywhere. Especially the smelly parts. Dry cloth. Don't need to use soap. It was a trick my father used sometimes when I was a kid."

There's no passion in the suggestion, just idle chatter. He's tired.

Edgard looks at this man who is clearly exhausted and nods politely to the suggestion.

"It's not really for me." He repeats. And then: "It is important to be around people who like you for who you are."

Edgard looks into Colin's face, measuring his reaction.

Colin gives him a dazed look.

"Huh?"

Edgard barrels forward, unsure if this will make any sense or even if it is his place to say anything.

"Like me, not everyone understands me and that is fine, but I try not to spend too much time around those who...make me feel bad or do not appreciate me."

Did Edgard see something? Colin didn't notice whether he observed his dance with Wysteria. Maybe he did.

"It's fine," he sighs. "I'm just a bit..."

Delicate? Fragile? Constantly on the verge of a breakdown even when he looks utterly calm?

"It's no one's fault."

Edgard thinks about Benedict asking him not to tell anyone about Colin. He thinks about Benedict flushing when he overheard their call. He worried on it then and now seeing Colin upset confirms his fears.

"It is not fine if it makes you feel bad. No one should be ashamed to spend time with you."

Edgard grins weakly. This lesson was hard learned for him, so he knows it might not be heard.

Maybe Edgard hasn't just witnessed the event, but heard something Colin has not. Colin frowns a little.

"Why not? I'm awkward. There were parties in the Circle and I never went to them. After a while I didn't even have any friends. I'm lucky just to have what I have. Looking for more...it's probably asking too much."

Edgard's heart sinks. He feels awful for this man. He pauses taking in a breath.

"It is not asking too much." He says with emphasis. "Everyone is awkward sometimes and sometimes people are assholes. But, it doesn't mean you deserve that."

"It's not about deserving, it's about being realistic. Having the right expectations."

"Well, I think your expectations are too low." So there.

He's somewhat confused now. All this over prematurely leaving a dance?

"Why? What do you know?"

Edgard raises his hands defensively.

"All I know is that you should aim higher than people who make you cry."

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