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]

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.