SATINALIA 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO.

[deuselfmachina]

WHO: All
WHAT: A second crack at celebrating Satinalia, because we deserve nice things.
WHEN: Mid-Firstfall
WHERE: The Gallows, in the gardens.
NOTES: n/a

It's twilight when Second Satinalia is in its fullest swing. The weather is unseasonably warm, and so they've made use of the gardens as the site for partying. Carefully placed lanterns shine through the odd tree or hover over bushes that have since lost their flowers.

However, decoration makes up for the lack of springtime flora. The space is decorated in shining garlands of gold and silver ribbons, paper flowers, and hanging ornamentations that flip between moons and suns. (If they look a little used, it's because these are second-hand decorations from slightly more affluent Satinalia parties been and gone, borrowed or donated.) There is also a firepit, providing a source of warmth and light.

In the invitations that went out, everyone was encouraged to come in costume as they'd intended to, but noted that for those whom their costumes were ruined or they would simply like to wear something different, there will be masks available, along with some costume pieces—fake jewelry, big hats, faux-velvet and harlequin coats, and so on, though they must be given back, s'il vous plaît. Florent will also offer his abilities in face painting and makeup prior to the party beginning, and will talk you into going spooky in case more skeletons come and they need to blend in to throw them off. (He can be found with his own stylish paintwork, a skeletal design in silver and white and grey.)

Everyone has also been invited to bring along some food and drink if they have it, as their budget is run a bit thin, but there will definitely be enough wine to go around, and some fruits and sweet pastries purchased from the market that day all offered on a table.

There is some music, a few local musicians (who have been promised, variously, tickets to shows, or work opportunities with certain prominent Orlesian playhouses, which may or may not be legitimate) set up with a fiddle, some percussion instruments, something that resembles a very elaborate xylophone, all playing a diverse array of up tempo tunes that allow for a bit of dancing in the more open area of the garden, but otherwise suffuses the shadows and fractured conversations with pleasant noise.

Drink, be merry, don't kill anyone.

Comments

Dante

[rebellionyell]

Dante deliberated over his decision to attend, noting that the last celebration around this particular native celebration had been upturned by a series of unfortunate events. What were the odds of lightening striking the same place twice? Not that he wanted chaos to erupt, but fancy parties that involved any degree of dressing up, that was the sort of aesthetic his parents would have enjoyed.

Presently he was sequestered in his small quarters, door open to give the illusion of sociability. He wasn't averse to a conversation, but he was also a bit lost in his own thoughts. There wasn't much of interest in his room, nothing that he felt anyone would risk themselves over to attempt to try and take while he was physically present. There was a sword heavily bound tucked away in one corner. On the wall a pair of blocked off guns were hung, little more than decoration at this point. They had the inscriptions Ebony & Ivory on one side and For Tony Redgrave by .45 Art Works on the other side. The only other thing in this room that seem to be worth anything at all was a photograph of a woman in a gilded frame on his small bedside table. She was very pretty in her fineries, the glaring opposite of Dante, but there was also something haunting about her as well.

Finally decided he rolls out of his bed, if something happens, he probably shouldn't miss it especially if it means saving a few lives (and knocking in a few undead skulls would beat a dull evening staring at the walls). Smoothing his clothing out and throwing on his duster he did a pirouette on the heel of one foot and then addressed the photograph.

"What do you think, are we gala ready? Yeah, I know it's not what you would have picked, but I'm a little too old for the short-shorts and the frilly tunics of ye olde yesteryear," does he always talk to himself?

--

In the event that an opportunity to take a jab at Dante's stylistic choice was missed a second chance is readily available at the celebration to have another crack at. He had no intention of bedecking himself in most of the provided costume pieces, unfortunately considering he stood out enough already. Fake jewelry? Pass. Big hats? He has big confidence; a big hat would just give him an ego. Fake velvet? Discount dad is that you? Harlequin coats? Reminded him of a clown he once slapped on the nose. Still, he wasn't a terrible sport, opting to borrow a black half-mask that did things for his eyes though he wasn't sure what kind of things.

Once presentable Dante chooses to socialize on the perimeter of the party, not avoiding people (granted he wasn't used to mingling among so many), but keeping his eyes and his ears open for anything that could go sideways. He'll drink with anyone offering and dance with anyone with enough interest (and enough rhythm) to keep in step with him or the reverse considering his lack of formal dance training.

[arkitect]

The perimeter is definitely where Emet-Selch seems to prefer to be, for a decent amount of this party-- for the most part, he's just watching as well, keeping an eye on the festivities (and maybe joining in here or there, just not too terribly often.)

Dante's face isn't a familiar one to him yet, which is what leads him to be loitering in the same area. His outfit is slightly on the fancier side, cloak hanging off his shoulders, with golden scaled accents; there's a wine glass held in one gloved hand, the glove itself bearing the emblem of Tevinter. There's little better excuse to steal some of the enemy's aesthetic than a second Satinalia, after all.

"Is this your first gathering here?" he asks, taking a moment to look Dante over. "Either that, or we've simply missed each other thus far."

The latter can certainly happen, in an organization of any size-- but he's feeling things out a bit. Seeing if this person recognizes him at all, for one thing; it'll be a lot more convenient if the answer is no.

[rebellionyell]

It's not very often Dante meets someone he can have an eye-to-eye conversation with, not entirely rare just incredibly unusual, but this world seemed to be filled with unusual. Dante has seen plenty of demons in his time, so his interest in them hardly went beyond slapping them around. Elves, dwarves, and enormous ab people were all new to him and that included mages and templars as well and part of him couldn't help but to wonder when he managed to roll wizard in some random table-top game.

"Something tells me you'd be difficult to miss," it was honest, the other man stood out, not in a way that was obvious, but in a way that was accessible if one was doing more than casually observing. Dante was sizing everyone up, and if they happened to engage him in conversation he put in double the effort, "but you're not wrong, fresher than a daisy. I haven't quite got the hang of the cultural norms yet."

Not that Dante put much store in that sort of thing, but still.

[arkitect]

It's rare for him to meet anyone of a similar height, as well-- but it's much easier on his posture, for one thing, so he's absolutely not going to complain. Emet's mouth quirks in a little smirk at that first comment, glass raised briefly to him.

"I expect you will learn them, one way or the other... though I do suggest that you not make it the hard way. Such things are sometimes difficult to overcome later."

[rebellionyell]

"The call me low key, though I hear someone has already capitalized on the name," he's awful, he really is, "so I guess I'll have to settle for Dante."

Which he follows up with a slight flourish, bowing and all artificial manners.

"I'm not particularly interested in starting trouble as long as I'm allowed to be myself without being slapped with a pious bulwark," meaning he's expecting something to happen at some point, because as well intentioned and laid back as Dante is, it has come to his attention that he's not entirely welcome.

[arkitect]

The flourish is matched with a bow on his own part, one arm held behind his back, the other hand pressed against his chest. "Emet-Selch," he offers in turn, "of the Research Division." He straightens his posture before continuing, though he moves a little slower than one might expect. "I have not been here as long as others have, mind you, but if you require a resource... well, you could certainly do worse."

It might be needed in the future, but that's just a guess based off the man's general attitude.

"If you find that 'being yourself' tends to ruffle feathers, you may fit in just fine-- or you may end up causing more trouble than you expect. We will have to see which."

[lumelume]

Unfazed by the chaos of the last week (or at least appearing to be), Mado comes out for the party with his full capacity for enthusiasm-- which is a lot, but he's learned by now that people prefer he not get it on them.
Sometimes drumming along with the musicians, sometimes dancing, and only occasionally drinking, he occasionally casts a glance over at the unfamiliar face of the silver-haired wallflower, eventually making his way over with a friendly grin.

"Haven't seen you before," he says cheerfully, "are you new to Riftwatch?"

[rebellionyell]

"Haven't seen you before is my middle name," Dante said lowering his stance like a dog in the presence of a small yet lively animal, interested, but not wishing to trample on it. Parties were very often hell for him as was adapting to the variety of personalities involved with attending them, "but you do have a keen eye, I'm fresh as a daisy. You?"

[lumelume]

"That's a long name," Mado replies in a tone that suggests he might not realize it's a joke, his eyes bright and mouth smiling in such a way that it clearly makes no difference whether he does or not.

"As a daisy!" he gasps, delighted by the comparison, "no, amico, I've been here for... a year? The better part of one?" He cocks his head-- also rather like a dog, come to think of it-- as he tries to remember.
"Times moves swiftly in a place like this. You'll be settled in no time, I'm certain of it!"

[rebellionyell]

"I'm a disappointment to my family and my parents hated me, what can I say?" The humor in his voice belies the statement at large. Dante was very much loved, by his mother at least, he suspected his father as well, and underneath a thousand layers of stubborn pride and bitter sibling rivalry maybe Vergil did as well. Of course, he would also argue that lacking Vergil's drive for constant chase for power was probably a never-ending source of disappointment for his twin, but that was neither here nor there.

"I consider myself to be pretty adaptable," Dante had to survive on his own as a child and surviving meant utilizing his skills to carve out a decent living and eventually a business. It had ups and downs, but success wasn't the same thing to everyone, "granted I'm adjusting to a few things here and there, but once I've settled some things, I'm sure I'll feel right at home."

hi I was traveling and now I am BACK

[lumelume]

"Oh," comes Mado's gentle reaction, with a smile perhaps as sympathetic as it is pleasant. "Well, you will be in good company, amico!" It's nice to know one is not alone in being completely disavowed by family, even if, unbeknownst to him, it was a joke.

"What is it you do?"

[illithidnapped]

“Oh don’t be so stubborn, no one’s ever too old for that.”

There Astarion stands in the open doorway, having slunk in like a stray cat through an open window, perfectly content to take the absence of a locked door as an invitation. Still, it’s his voice that’s most recognizable, now draped in sheer fabric and possessed of long, heavy golden curls that tumble down past his shoulders.

If it wasn’t for those red eyes and sharp teeth, he might be unrecognizable at first glance.

Almost.

“But I suppose the empty pockets of a fledgling Rifter are your curse at present.”

[rebellionyell]

"Short-shorts on a grown ass man, not a good look. I'm not a fashion guru and even I know--" Dante said rounding on his visitor, expecting one thing, confronted by another, and entirely perplexed by what he should be doing with this information. It hadn't occurred to him that Astarion could pass for androgynous despite being objectively attractive, but now that he was confronted with it his brain had to quickly catch up and overtake whatever inclinations his instincts had to a nubile, scantily clad someone standing in his doorway.

His brain quickly caught up to him, but not in time to show the betrayal of his initial interest. He recognized the voice of course; that intonation was very specific. Still, it was easy enough to laugh at himself, "--Astarion? Don't scare me like that, for a moment I thought I was gonna have to fall in love."

Dante heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief for both of them, nice recovery.

"Ohoh, is that a burn? I may never recover," why yes he is a lowly peasant, but whether that bothers him or not is unclear, "I have other assets aside from my lack of wealth and we make it work, don't we?"

He punctuated this last by giving the top of the picture frame an affectionate pat.

[illithidnapped]

He sees that look— and not with the razor-sharp eyes of an apex predator, either, given that even the blind might have had no trouble noticing the catch that’d snaked its way up into Dante’s cadence once he’d turned on his heel, however brief.

To Astarion, it’s a compliment. And considering the way painted lips twist a few degrees higher as he folds his hands loosely in front of him, he likes those.

But maybe Dante knew that already.

“Lucky for us both I’m not looking to devour your heart tonight.” Attention trailing towards that frame as he speaks, inhuman eyes measuring exactly what it’s guarding. “My appetite’s a little more mundane this evening. A little less raw.”

But setting that aside, his inhale is quick. A wordless segue between subjects.

“Anyway, from what I hear you might be able to at least pluck up something donated to the festive cause on your way in. Or simply get yourself painted and be done with it. Who knows? It might suit you.”

[rebellionyell]

Dante suspected that brief observation would be taken as a compliment and not as an offense, something to be noted for later. He'd learned quickly that the best way to relieve a bad mood was to always find that very thing that a person enjoyed and then go completely ham. He knew that genteel compliments had some kind of positive effect on Astarion, but he couldn't promise not to take advantage of the information if the need arose.

"I have some experience with heart skewering, heart devouring does sound worse, much harder to heal something you no longer have," it's often difficult to tell whether he meant what he said literally or if it was double-speak for something else. Though odds were good that most times he was speaking in literals, "I can't imagine your appetites being mundane, of all things."

The photograph was a faded and it looks as though it had seen better days, but there was still vibrancy in the gold of the woman's hair and the red of her silk scarf. The red scarf seemed to communicate something about Dante's choice in red drapery as well and the gilded frame that normally wouldn't be on brand for Dante, meant that this was special and quite possibly an item he valued more than anything else. And he did.

"Painted? Yeah, that would be horrific, for everyone involved, but you know it is a costumed party so I could..." for a moment, very brief, his icy-blue eyes took on a bright red serpentine appearance, the whites going black and then it receded as easily as it came, "...well body paint is definitely out, but hand-me-downs, I can't promise anything, but I'll look."

As if absolutely, nothing had transpired Dante turned his back to Astarion not looking at anything in particular, but he could pretend to be considering the position of Ebony and Ivory on his wall.

"So, how'd you manage to sneak in here anyway? It couldn't have been easy in that getup."

[illithidnapped]

“Oh.”

A very soft oh, in fact. A noise of interest, as easily spotted as the reprise of Astarion’s initial fascination when he'd been thoroughly studying the wound in Dante’s palm only a week or so ago.

If Dante can change his own physical appearance on a whim, does that mean he could theoretically change more about himself? It’d stand to reason, given what Astarion knows about cambions and incubi.

But it does lead to imagining what Dante might look like without that decidedly human mask in place— if there is one at all to begin with.

“Talent, for one.” He puffs proudly, flashing a rise of jagged fangs.

“I’d make for a damned awful spy if I couldn’t manage that much— and an even worse vampire besides.”

[elegiaque]

Styled part fire hazard and part indecent exposure, Gwenaëlle is hard to miss despite being more than a foot shorter than Dante and slight enough that the corset and chandelier combination has made her waist small enough to get hands around, if only someone could actually reach it. The mask throws her off, briefly, a fucking forest of tall pricks with white hair, but when she gets closer she's more sure that she doesn't recognize him.

Hm.

Interesting.

“You're new.”

[rebellionyell]

Dante is a fan of theatrics so he can appreciate being dressed like a walking fire hazard, he just never anticipated something quite like this would come sashaying his way. He looked like a rube by comparison, but Dante wasn't comparing...he just though it was too bad Dr. Faust didn't make it through with him, glittery scarf and a stylish Stetson would have boosted his fashion points for sure.

Well, he hasn't had the opportunity to dance yet, but he couldn't be certain anyone was ready for those moves.

"And you came here to dominate," Dante pointed out, "or at least that's what my mother would say, more poof, more dominance...but she was referring to petticoats and panniers, not chandeliers."

[elegiaque]

Gwenaëlle obligingly performs what would probably have been a pirouette in skirts with less wrought metal involved, so he can better appreciate the full effect—the illusory flames flickering and pulling against the air as real ones might, casting light and shadow gleaming against her skin and the soft leather of high, stocking-styled boots.

“I've got those, too,” she says, coming to a stop and perceptibly wincing at the way her chandelier carries momentum with it a moment after before stilling, too. “Satinalia is meant to be a little bit more creative.” Thus the ear-cuffs that filigree elven points where points are not, presumably.

She studies him. “'Being a rifter' alone probably would have served, about five years ago.”

[rebellionyell]

Dante did his best, polite, bravo clap as she twirled in what looked to him to be the singular most dangerous piece of costuming he's ever laid eyes on. He wouldn't describe himself as a gentleman per-se, but the least he can do is reach out and steady the chandelier concoction before it threatens to do any more than just a moment of mild agitation.

"Yeah, I'm beginning to see that. It reminds me a little bit of Carnival where I come from," he indicated by addressing the celebration at large, "extravagant costumes...masks."

He's never been to a Carnival, but he's seen the pictures and the crowds the events attract. His presence in that sort of crowd would do more harm than good so he usually avoided that sort of thing.

"What are you saying, the shiny newness of being excreted by a rift has worn off and now we're just a bunch of ordinary dingbats sucking up the oxygen? I can't live as a small fish in a big pond! Where will I find the meaning of my life now?"

Fucking drama queen.

[elegiaque]

In order to make eye contact all the way up there, given the masque she's wearing, Gwenaëlle is obliged to tilt her head up; so he can see the brief narrowing of her eyes as she decides whether or not she's going to object to his putting his hands near her candles. (There's no true heat, when he's close enough to feel it.) “Excretion is such a fecal word. It's really more like a—well, a carnival show where some two-bit who couldn't make it on the stage fires balls out of her cunt.”

Long after the last person has forgotten Asher Hardie's name, Gwenaëlle is determined, they will still remember that someone called the rifts torn open sky vaginas. This, because it might be difficult to tell, is indicative of having decided not to be mad; it is also what passes for friendliness.

The dress is a good metaphor, is what we're saying.

“Does the side-show have a name?”

[notathreat]

The guy's built like a brick shithouse, the kind of shock of white hair that Ellie's starting to assume means something mortal-adjacent. Given that one of her closest friends is a two hundred year old vampire with blood red eyes, and the other is a sparkly pink magical princess, Dante isn't exactly something that gives Ellie pause.

For her part, other than the outfit she's wearing, Ellie is unremarkable. Perhaps a few more scars than most, and a shade younger than the rest of Riftwatch. She stops in a very precise spot -- just barely out of Dante's reach, like she's perfectly judged his range, and gestures to the drink table, just past him.

"Grab me one?" she asks, then tilts her head at him. There's nothing genteel about her voice, and she doesn't sound like a local. With her gloves on it's impossible to tell if she has an anchor shard, but two of the fingers on her left hand are pinned off at the knuckle. Missing.

"Haven't seen you around before. Out on a mission, or just get here?"

[rebellionyell]

It appears that everyone is quite fancy by comparison to Dante, someone who has evolved stylistically throughout his lifetime. From an edgy shithead teenager, to moody repressed young adult, to something out of a spaghetti western, and now his final evolution old-enough-not-to-give-a-shit. He isn't above theatrics, but he doesn't see the need to draw attention to himself either, that will probably happen eventually.

As for what defines remarkable, well Dante's standards a probably different from most people. Remarkable doesn't have to mean extraordinary beauty, someone this young with a collection of scars and one or two old injuries that he's quick to pick up on and quick to normalize has, in his opinion, lived a life. That is interesting.

On to her game Dante plucks up one of the drinks she's nodding to, not a pinkie out kind of person, but he is a pain-in-your-whole-ass kind of person. He moves to offer her the drink, but dangles it just out of reach, "as a responsible adult I have a proof-of-age policy kiddo."

Responsible adult. Two words that ought never be associated with Dante, but after giving the girl a shit-eating grin he relents and gives her the glass letting her know that he plays as well.

"I was shit out of a Rift a few days ago...maybe longer? Not that I remember any of it, I wasn't conscious for the ride."

[notathreat]

Ellie half reaches up to accept the drink, then finds it dangling just out of reach. She goes through a journey with her expressions. Disbelief and mingled amusement and anger, a spark of steel in the back of her eyes that doesn't quite leap out, become a naked blade.

All that tension breaks with a snap and teeters, then tips to good. Her smile is sharp as she reaches up to pluck the glass from his fingers.

Kiddo.

"Oh, please. This is Riftwatch. Nobody here is a responsible adult."

Ellie takes a swig from the glass, laughing under her breath.

"If you were here for the last couple of parties then you might be a contender for shittiest welcome."

[rebellionyell]

"Excuse me you are in the presence of the most responsible adult anywhere," right, not very convincing after he just yielded the alcohol, but he at least makes an effort to sound indignant. For his part, however, Dante isn't drinking, not that he doesn't enjoy drinking, but his body has undergone several changes since he arrived and whether or not he wanted to get drunk considering the stories he's heard so far...well, he'll save it for another time.

"Unfortunately, I missed the last bash they had. I heard it was unforgettable," honestly it sounds as though he would like to have been there to see it.