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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Sidony is, of course, enjoying the party a great deal after the nightmare of the last attempts to celebrate - she is still a little tired, a little sore and frustrated, but the notion of not taking part did not even occur to her once. She has a beautiful dress, her hair is styled, and she feels a confidence she hadn't been able to show in some time. Choosing the path of a healer doesn't lend itself to the wearing of silks and beautiful garments, but Riftwatch rarely leaves her out of her pretty dresses for too long. It's one of the reasons why she is so gleefully content most days.

Familiar faces are abound, and there's no hiding the delight on her expression when she catches Astarion at the celebration, quick to slip around the people already dancing and enjoying themselves to make herself known. Their last party together had been a rather fond introduction, so she has no shame when she offers a small, practised little curtsey, lifting her head to give him a soft, coy little smile.

Part of the fun is the flirtation, the falseness of it all, dancing around and joking because so many other people would be far more droll.

"Darling," he voice is gentle when she offers her hand. "Would you mind?"

“Mind? No, never.”

But she knew that already, Astarion suspects, given the directness of her approach. The subtle gleam in her eyes. He takes that offered hand with endearing ceremony, long curls tumbling forward as he bends, careful not to put her eye out with a circlet that honestly seems both historically inaccurate and woefully unwieldly besides.

If Andraste truly wore this damn thing, it's no wonder she had so much trouble.

“But the Bride of the Maker is very much known for miracles and misfortune rather than dancing. I’m terrified I’ll disappoint.”

"Thank goodness for that."

It's easy to step into the movement, letting herself fall into the familiarity of it all. There is so much fun to be had, especially with people still so desperately on edge from the insanity that was their first attempt. It doesn't stop her eyes from glancing around a little, though, to ensure that it is safe, to judge whether or not her hackles can be relaxed.

She's just sharp, discontented even in her enjoyment of the occasion, prepared for the worst. All her recent celebrations have been marred, after all, by some misfortune or another.

It doesn't stop her from curious interest in his headpiece all the same.

"I am certain you shall bring nothing but pride to the name, darling, of that I can vow. You will be like clouds on the floor."

“You'll have the entirety of my very best effort at your disposal.” All this talk, and yet his footsteps glide with ease even in high-tipped heels, silent as death itself even without the ebb and flow of nearby music.

“Or at least a third. Maybe less.”

He sees that peripheral anxiousness. Those looks designed for simple self-assurance in the wake of something terrible as the past few days. Something absent in Astarion himself, content in perfect contrast, and confident in his every movement.

“You have me curious now, though. Lovely as you look— radiant as starlight— what is your costume? A famous duchess? Elven goddess, perhaps?”

"A third? Consider me both touched and impressed that you would offer such a great deal," Sidony is no stranger to dancing herself, even in her lovely heels, shifting with the movement of the music and letting herself be led and guided. It's easy enough; it's how she learned when she was at home.

He keeps her anchored, almost ironically, and she lifts her head to look at him before she laughs softly.

"And if I told you I was dressed as a Nevarran noble set to be mummified would you believe me? Or would you accept it as a quiet excuse to wear a pretty new dress to a party?"

She lifts her shoulders.

"I could be a duchess, or a goddess, but I think my husband would find it an unkind match to his choice this evening."

"A Nevarran noble it is." He chuckles smoothly in return, tongue to the back of his own sharp incisors. A silent conspiracy between them, held between perfectly timed steps— his grip on her loose for the sake of grace alone, slim fingers curled taut along the small of her back.

"Besides, given the chaos of the last few days, I'll excuse you doing anything you like, darling."

And not just excuse it. Offer it an absolute alibi. Partake in it himself. So little is off the table, in essence.

"Surely the same could be said of anyone? I'm sure we're all tired and would enjoy an excuse to simply do whatever we pleased, no matter the occasion."

She can think of numerous people in Riftwatch who might enjoy that liberty, but she shakes her head with a roll of her eyes. No point dwelling. She moves with him easily, tilting her head to examine him head to - well, shoulders is the best of her view at the moment.

"And what inspired your choice?"

“Anyone? Oh. No. Luckily I wasn’t here for any of that nonsense and feel quite refreshed. One of the benefits of living in Lowtown, far enough from the eye of the storm.”

Demure, that reflective answer. Soft and amused, perfectly content to confess his own absence when so many of their own fought bravely— and likely suffered under the weight of— two encounters he could’ve been there for.

But he’s never been anything but transparent in what matters to him. Where the limits lie.

“Andraste? A farewell ode to the dead. He did love her dearly, after all. I think he’d have been pleased to know she showed up at last.”

"If only my heart was far less burdened by the notion of helping people," Sidony shrugs a shoulder. She throws herself into the middle of things because it feels as though her heart will break if she doesn't - which is a great deal different from the woman she had been when she had first fled Nevarra and arrived here on the doorstep of the once Inquisition.

Twisting with him, her head tilts as she offers a very soft, gentle smile.

"A lovely farewell, truly," she nods. "I am sure there are more than a handful of people who would rather you hadn't. I quite rate your boldness."

“I knew you’d understand.” He sighs almost wistfully, possibly even bolstered by the notion that he’s giving more than a soul or two in the Gallows a little sight-related grief.

Her hand earns the smallest of squeezes, punctuated by a wink.

“What else do we have but our sense of humor? Our unwillingness to let anything be a touch too sacred.”

"I grew up in a society where mummification was the norm and the most wonderful way to end your life. I doubt I could find much offense in this." While Sidony might have a natural born belief in the Maker and Andraste, she is hardly the most devout of people at Riftwatch. Her concern is with the living, not with those already gone to their deaths.

(Not unless she can use their bodies for study, of course).

"Has there been anyone who has taken it to heart? Any threats or words, my darling?"

“If I’m honest, that just sounds lovely. I’d go for it myself if I ever planned on dying.”

Alas. He’ll live forever— or do his damndest to make it so.

“Here? Thankfully no. Kirkwall proper was less than pleasant, but that’s just Kirkwall, my darling, and I tend to take everything they say or do with a grain of salt. The drunks however were particularly entertaining tonight: fairly certain a few of them might never take to spirits again after nearly falling into the harbor in shock of seeing Andraste herself.”

Fun. Good fun.

"I'd recommend it. The Mortalitasi are some of the best skilled mages that Thedas has, when they're not overrun with other things." Her latest trip to Nevarra had not necessarily been the most beneficial of experiences, not considering how poor things had been for her countrymen at the time.

At least she doesn't have to worry about it right now.

"It is often the best thing to do. Have you seen their fashion sense? It's as if they've never seen a single thread of decent fabric in their entire lives. It's truly shameful."

"Alas, we can't all be so fortunate as to be Nevarran." The most lamentable of sighs let out as he sinks into her hold, dancing strides running a touch longer to make the effort look graceful rather than gutted. A little teasing joke made without sacrificing dignity— though not one he'd be making in Hightown.

"Still, you should come out with me sometime. For fun. Let your gorgeous hair down a little, if you know what I mean."

"Perhaps not in birth, but the spirit is there all the same," Sidony laughs softly, letting herself move with him. There's no real hesitation - she might not necessarily trust him as she does people she is closer to, but there is certainly a sense of camaraderie between the two of them that is undeniable.

It keeps happening to her.

"Where, exactly, would you take me?"

She’s smart not to trust him. Astarion wouldn’t trust himself, that much is certain.

His grin is incorrigible. Whatever their rapport is, he’s clearly enjoying himself at present.

“Oh...around. A scenic tour of all the places the Kirkwall guard forgets about on the regular. Disgusting taverns, dockside gambling hovels— the red lantern district, if you’re feeling particularly conversational and want to incidentally overhear a local Templar drunkenly spilling his heartfelt woes.”

His head cants slightly, lifting.

“You know. Normal nonsense.”

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SATINALIA 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO.

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