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

[notathreat]

Some elfroot and most of a night later, Ellie's still awake -- it's been a long time since she's smoked, and it hits a little different after all these years. Not as relaxing as she remembers, but it still makes her just as hungry.

It strange, feeling hungry.

So she heads off to the tables, knowing there's leftovers from the party, close to being set aside for breakfast tomorrow. She rescues the cold ham, tugging off a glove to pry apart the slices of cold meat that are sticking together, still glazed with juice.

She's alone in her corner by the doors -- until one of them eases open. Ellie catches the moment out of the corner of her eye, straightens.

Abby.

She hadn't attended the party. Which makes her wonder why the fuck she's here now, not dressed for it.

"Something happen?" she asks, stealing closer to ask in an undertone. Because it's not about them, and could be another attack.

[armd]

Ham, that's what she wants... Abby's picking at a little bowl of green olives, popping one into her mouth. They're good and oily, but hard to take handfuls of, so she helps herself to a few more before she passes them over, spitting the pits out into her fingers.

That person is looking at her again. She draws closer. Abby glances up, irritated, prepared to tell her where to go and–

Double takes.

It's Ellie hidden underneath all that finery, her eyes lined around the edges, hair pulled neatly back from her face. Against the blue embroidery and black kohl, her irises pop. They are very, very green. Abby doesn't think she's ever noticed that about her before. She's never stared for long enough at her to be able to.

She blinks, and frowns, her gaze dipping down her outfit automatically before she realises what she's doing.

"What?" Stupidly, as she fishes for another olive just to give herself something to do, "No? Go away."

What the fuck.

[notathreat]

It's not the first time tonight that someone hasn't immediately recognized her, but somehow, Ellie didn't expect that it would be Abby. Even if she'd looked for her earlier in the evening, she hadn't thought of her in hours -- something that's faintly sobering when Abby does a double take, and the shock and recognition settles on her face.

Ellie follows her a second later, a jolt of something awful deep in her gut when she realizes that for just a second, she fucking forgot.

... only to realize Abby just-

Gave her the up and down.

It's like a small bomb going off in Ellie's chest. Bad and weird and disgusting, but also a vicious little trickle of satisfaction, bleeding like a wound. A smidgen of disturbing heat that Ellie blames on the elfroot.

It's lucky that Abby looks away from her face; she legitimately doesn't know what expression she made.

"Christ," she mutters under her breath, gropes for something to say, her tongue feeling too thick for her mouth. "Then what are you doing here?"

[armd]

She's got a very specific image of Ellie in her mind okay, one that's twisted by hate and frequently bathed in red light; the same person that drove a knife to the hilt into Abby's thigh cannot be the same one that lingers warily by the table with her in embroidered finery. Connecting the two is deeply unpleasant. It makes Ellie out to be more dimensional than she's ready for her to be.

Abby accidentally swallows the olive pit.

"Food," she says, blunt, her expression shuttering. She's taking a cloth napkin, and using it to bundle a few leftovers, starting with a soft wedge of cheese.

And then, because she can't fucking let it go, "What are you wearing?"

She doesn't look again. She adds rough cuts of bread to her stash. If something were to actually fucking happen in the last few hours of party before everybody is ushered off to bed, none of them would be able to fight in their fancy little outfits. It's irresponsible.

[notathreat]

Abby sounds personally offended by Ellie's outfit; and despite her reaction just seconds ago, Ellie does feel faintly ridiculous in something so fancy.

... and it's different, really. Under the eyes of someone from back home. Nobody ever would've bothered with wearing something like this. She glances down at it all, the embroidered constellations in light-catching threads, tiny crystals. They even make the silver and pink of her old scars look slick, almost shiny.

"A costume," she says, looking back up.

(It's a costume, more than anything it's a costume. A disguise. A mask-)

"It is a costume party."

[armd]

A body covered in scars isn't an usual sight between survivors. It would be stranger if Ellie were smooth across her sternum and collarbones, but Abby can't help but look at her again when their collective attentions shift toward the outfit. There are so many marks there that didn't come from her hands. She wonders about them. She wonders how many of them were left by her friends. If any of them got in a good fight against her before she murdered them.

It feels like the olive pit is wedged in her throat, pointy side out. Ellie glances back up too soon, and catches her before she can look away again.

"Uh huh."

There's a bit of sausage left over, so Abby takes that too, numbly adding it to her little pile. The dog will appreciate that the most.

"Better get back to it then." Read: leave me the fuck alone.

[notathreat]

Abby looks over her scars with an intensity that sends a shiver down her spine, and Ellie straightens her back, shoulders squared, like something in her expects to be hit.

"Uh huh," Ellie echoes, and eases her grip on the edge of the table, following Abby with her eyes as she gathers what she wants from what's left over.

She feels chilled when she turns away, and it stays with her as she makes her way to the windows to check them. Her skin's crawling, and the motion and purpose helps.