faderift | SATINALIA 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO.

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SATINALIA 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO.

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.

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In a way, both big parties Cole had gone to at this point had been costume parties, hadn't they? For the first one, he had been put into fancy gear, scrubbed and brushed within an inch of his life, and tutored on posture and popularity, pushing him towards prattling with people.

This time, the same pale elf had coaxed him into costume - but instead of elaborate finery, this time the little ghost has wrapped himself in furs and set antlers into a headdress, crude smears of facepaint rubbed onto his pale skin to try to further sell his appearance as a Winter Halla. The antlers make him a little nervous to duck his head, but otherwise the clothes are comfortable, the simple pale tunic and pants he has on under the furs much less constrictive than the doublet he had been laced into in Hightown.

Overall, he feels just a little more at ease this time than the last, being in familiar territory. A big jug of fruit juice was obtained and laid on the banquet table, and as usual, Cole himself doesn't seem keen to eat anything that someone else could enjoy instead.

Still a little too anxious in crowds to mingle properly, he mostly hovers around the outskirts, big blue eyes watching everyone else with their usual rapt attention.

Bastien's trying—really and truly—not to do his usual thing, which is treating every party he attends like one he's been hired to work and it's his personal responsibility to ensure everyone has a nice time and/or is not going to assassinate someone. This time he's trying to have a nice time. And it's working, mostly.

But there's only so much awkward wallflowering a reasonably compassionate, slightly tipsy extravert can stand to watch. Especially given what an awkward wallflower did to their last Satinalia party.

So: "Hold still," he says, approaching with a wine glass in one hand and a string of costume jewelry in the other. (His own costume was Undead Gideon, but the hilt he affixed to the front of his borrowed Chantry robes has fallen off by now and his skeletal face paint has smeared somewhat, so now he's just a mess.)

Cole does not recognize the man who approaches him - but, reflexively, he still does as he is asked, shoulders drawing taut as he blinks owlishly at the stranger. He doesn't think anything of the costume, since many are dressed strangely here, including himself...but he does peer at Bastien with cautious curiosity, considering the cast of his inner countenance.

A pleasant person, from the first impressions.

"Why?"

"Because," Bastien says—the sort of because that drags out and trails off, like becaaaaaause, as if he did intend to actually attach an explanation after it. But the explanation is not forthcoming. He's looking at the young man's antlers with evaluative focus, instead, before lifting his long string of shining fake jewelry to drape it around the points with one decisive motion.

So that was why.

He gives his handiwork a pleased smile, then adjusts its angle to smile at the face beneath the antlers.

"Now you sparkle."

While he doesn't quite understand what is happening, the young ghost stands very still as he is decorated - in point of fact, he crouches slightly, giving the stranger better access. Once it is done, he blinks at Bastien, unable to see himself, but imagining what it might look like.

He smiles back, sweet and small and sad.

"...Thank you." The jewelry glimmers in the light as he tilts his head a little to one side, looking particularly like a curious animal in the makeup he is wearing.

"We have not met."

For once, Cole's easy to spot, for all that he looks even more ghostly than usual. Like some kind of forest spirit haunting the corners. Skittish and shy, but with an undercurrent of something off.

Ellie's never gotten rid of the weird feeling around Cole, but it's mellowed out over time into personal fondness. They both are more comfortable being invisible. So when she sees him, she can't help the small smile that makes a home in the corners of her eyes.

Shifting up to his side, she turns to put her back against the wall, leaning against it. She doesn't duck her head to look at his face, seek out his eyes. Instead she tilts her head to one side, looking out at the crowd.

"Did Astarion get his claws into you, too?"

The ghost feels Ellie approach before he even turns his head - slowly but surely learning her soul's song across his senses. She has complicated hurt, like so many, but...he likes her. They have settled into a sort of easygoing companionship whenever they cross paths.

While she doesn't look to him, he looks to her in confusion, brows furrowing.

"...His claws? No, he only suggested these clothes."

"It's a metaphor, dude," Ellie says with a smile, despite the both of them knowing that metaphors have to go through a Cole filter before they make much sense.

"But yeah, he's gone around suggesting stuff for a bunch of people, seems like."

Ellie reaches up to gesture at the hat.

"You look cute."

"Oh," he answers simply, nodding once in understanding. He doesn't know what a 'dude' is, but it seems said sweetly, friendly, kind. He doesn't question it.

Pale eyes follow her hand as she gestures upward, sticking up there a moment as if he's trying to see his own antlers before dropping again towards her face. A little smile twitches on his lips, and he tries to remember his manners, seem social. Practice, practice.

"...Thank you. You look very nice."

Simply spoken, but sincere, his own spindly hand gesturing to her gown.

"Thanks. Astarion though the night sky would fit me."

Ellie's not sure whether it's because she's getting used to Cole and his mannerisms, but he's starting to seem more like an awkward young guy than something otherwordly, and she grins back at him.

"... much rather be watching it right now, but- well. Gotta make sure this party doesn't-"

She bites her lower lip. Well. He knows.

"It - it does. The stars suit you."

The ghost boy knows well that he makes people uncomfortable - but the longer he spends practicing, the less likely he is to loom like a threat in people's minds. The grin is nice. It's nice to be smiled at. His own smile widens a little in return, a sad, flinching thing.

Especially at the insinuation that she leaves hanging, to which he nods.

"Yes. But it seems safe so far, I hope."

Astarion finds him later. After the music's died down into something hushed and drowsy. After he's had ample time to watch Cole make his own way throughout the map of the evening itself, rather than rushing in to ensure the wayward little spirit doesn't somehow manage to make a scene. Though Astarion supposes in truth, if Cole had fumbled here or there along the way, he likely would've made certain no one present would've noticed in the slightest.

—or at the very least remembered.

Blessed Andraste, chosen Bride of the Maker, reaches from behind to fit his arm around Cole's furred shoulders, drawing the tangible spirit in close. He's sitting atop the end of the refreshment table, not at all minding the rudeness of the gesture.

"Having fun, darling?"

By that time, Cole's makeup is smudged from forgetfulness of him wearing it - his antlers still glittering with fake jewelry, courtesy of Bastien. For once, the night has been relatively peaceful...and this time, he did not get accidentally intoxicated, either, nursing only one drink so he would not seem strange for skipping the table completely.

He feels Astarion long before he is grabbed - and so he does not jump as he is pulled backward, allowing himself to lean into the pale elf with a little smile and bowing his head a little so his antlers do not pose a hazard.

"Hello, Astarion," he murmurs, proving his practice at people. Greetings are important. "Yes. It has been...nice. I like your costume." Still stilted in conversation, but he is trying, has been trying - the compliment is sincere, even if he has no idea that the outfit is meant in satire.

His chin finds its way around the edges of those horns and the accompanying, glittering crystals to settle in the pale, downy nest of Cole's hair— a damned miracle, honestly, given the jaggedness of Andraste's supposedly holy (and very sharp) crown where it could easily tangle in close quarters.

If nothing else, Astarion's exceptionally good at controlling exactly where contact settles in.

"Delightful, isn't it?" The party? His ensemble? Cole's? The company itself? Who can say for certain— because Astarion's absolutely not telling.

Maybe it's just all of the above.

"And no attempted murder this time, either. Which I'll admit, keeps this celebration from reaching a high score, but otherwise...well. Could be worse."

A pause, and then:

"Have you danced with anyone yet?"

It's with implicit trust that Cole holds still so Astarion can weave his way in - it's nice, being cuddled up to this way, as strange a thing as it still is for the wayward spirit.

"Yes," he agrees, though he doesn't know what he is agreeing to. It has been nice, all of this, a relative calm after a couple of storms. He doesn't speak to the pale elf's comment about the lack of violence, letting it slide past as a jest, whether or not words were earnest.

But at the question, he hums softly in the negative.

"No, I haven't. I've mostly been mingling at the edges, in wait, watching. Trying not to Hear so much."

For that, curiosity seeps in at last. Something Astarion had never thought to ask the spirit— something he wouldn't otherwise consider had they not grown so uniquely close over the last few months, strange a trip as its been.

He exhales low for a moment longer, just before, tone ever-so-cautious:

"Does it hurt you? —listening, I mean."

The question is strange, to Cole's mind.

"Hurt?" It's an echo of the word, a parrot's chirp, spoken like he's feeling the concept out. It takes him a moment or two to come up with his answer, but then, softly, honestly -

"Not like the sting or stab of steel, or even the break of a bone, but...yes. It does." But he doesn't sound like he minds, because - he doesn't. It's how he helps. It's what he knows. "I have never not listened. It's like blinking or breathing to me, but the blinking and breathing still feel brand new next to it."

A soft sigh.

"It's who I am."

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SATINALIA 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO.

Cole | OTA

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