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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Without full context of what a gas mask might be, or how unlikely a feat using it as smoking paraphernalia is, Derrica's left to laugh softly at what she's sure is absurdity as she watches curls of smoke escaping from Ellie's mouth.

"You should put that in the suggestion box for the Provost."

Who would likely take it as some sort of challenge, Derrica assumes.

But it's not an urgent thing. She considers for a moment, then reaches to take the joint from Ellie.

"I don't usually," is the answer to unasked question. "But tonight is supposed to be a celebration."

Evading two attacks one after another feels like a feat, even for them. Derrica draws in slowly off the blunt, turns it between her fingers, and then offers it back, breath still held.

"Actually, probably should. I hear some bards out here use poison and smoke. Would help if we had some emergency protection-"

But that's work talk, and she cuts herself off, shaking her head -- and her eyes follow the way Derrica takes the blunt, lifts it up to her face. The ember is a bright red point in the dark.

Ellie takes it, and their fingers touch. She turns it over in her fingers, dragging her eyes away.

"Did you always celebrate it? Satinalia?"

It is work talk, and it is something they'll have to remember for tomorrow. They've had two days of demonstration as to how close the war has come to them. Anything that helps—

But tomorrow. That's something for tomorrow.

Right now, there is the lingering warmth from Ellie's fingers and the question she poses. Derrica gives it due consideration.

"Yes, most years, if I could," she answers. "In Dairsmuid there would be festivals and dancing, and we'd exchange little gifts amongst ourselves in the Circle."

It sounds like a small thing. But Derrica knows now that it was likely such a rare thing. Southern mages had likely never—

But that's something for tomorrow too.

Smoke escapes her mouth as she speaks, and she expels that last of it in a little breath before continuing, "When I was sailing we usually had an extra ration of rum and maybe a better supper than usual. And dancing. But not always gifts, unless we'd docked somewhere at the right time," she finishes, curling her hands around one knee. "Did you celebrate it where you're from?"

Ellie watches her face as she speaks. The name of the place, Dairsmund, the look in her eyes as she says it. The way she talks of sailing instead of piracy, a how she holds herself in the cool air.

Ellie draws on the joint, holding it in without coughing this time, tasting the difference. Less... earthy, more tingly. Strange that this both heals and disorients. Elfroot.

"Not quite the same thing," she says, thinking. "We had Christmas, in Jackson. About the same time. There would be lights in the trees, lots of singing. Good food. Presents, mostly for the kids. I didn't really have it growing up."

She breathes out the last of the smoke and passes it back.

"... my ex, Dina- she's Jewish. Different traditions. She didn't mind Christmas, but we'd celebrate Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and Hanukkah. Gifts, food, fasting, praying..."

Ellie pauses, then looks up at the night sky.

She can tell Derrica.

"And her son's dad had other holidays. So we visited his family for those, too. I used to joke that JJ got invited to all the parties."

What Ellie is saying is easily understood. This is some precious, painful piece of herself she's offering up. The tenderness in the way she says these names is so very clear. Derrica's gaze doesn't waver from Ellie's face, watching her as she speaks.

You must miss them Derrica thinks to say, and stops herself. She knows very well that statements like that are like putting fingers on a bruise. Of course Ellie misses them. If she didn't, her voice wouldn't sound this way.

"Would it be alright if you told me what JJ is like?" might be painful too, in a way. Which is why Derrica amends, "If you want to."

They can talk about something else. They can always talk about something else, if Ellie wants. Derrica never wants to draw something from Ellie that she would rather not speak about. And especially not tonight, when they're meant to be celebrating.

Derrica knows; she always seems to. Sometimes even before Ellie does. The question brings out a long pause, a hurt that knocks her breathless.

But maybe less, a little less, than she'd feared. He's all right, somewhere beyond the Rifts. He's safe and happy, surrounded by people who love him, and that's what matters.

"He's um-" Ellie licks her bottom lip. Watching different stars. "Walking and talking, by now."

Ellie pauses, again, and it's like a physical push, deep in her chest.

"When Dina had him he was so little and wrinkly, like a little potato." She laughs, under her breath. Remembering. "So I called him that. Potato. Little spud. Screamed a whole lot, liked to try to eat your fingers..." a small smile settles on her face.

"He'd always go quiet when I sang to him, just- little stupid songs I'd make up. I'd take him out to the stables and the paddock all the time so he could see the sheep and the horses. He loved riding with me. When the lambs came, he was obsessed."

"You had a farm."

Had Ellie mentioned that before? Derrica can't recall, and it feels like something new. And she aches over it for Ellie, aches that she's here when she could be there. It sounds like a good place, a home with a family Ellie had pieced together for herself.

She reaches to take Ellie's free hand, lace their fingers loosely together in silent comfort.

"I'm sorry you're not with him," Derrica tells her gently. Ellie is here, trapped into this war for who knows how long. It is a hard thing, even without a child waiting for her beyond the rifts.

"Yeah. Sheep, a couple of horses. We had a vegetable garden. A chicken coop. I built a fence around it."

Drove the metal stakes deep into the earth while her arm healed up properly, working until Dina was too close to delivering to help.

Ellie's hand is loose in Derrica's, soft and sick with guilt and longing.

She takes a long drag off the joint, letting the smoke curl up and around her head. She looks up at the stars.

He's better off, she wants to say, wants that bitter self-hatred to settle and stick, because she's so used to hating something. But there really isn't anything left to burn.

"Yeah," she says. Very quietly. "Me too."

What is there to say?

There is quiet instead. Ellie smokes. Derrica folds her hand between both of her own, thumb stroking lightly along her knuckles. The scale of all that Ellie's lost feels so vast. Derrica doesn't know how to alleviate the pain of it.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, a little twitch of a smile working sadly across her face. "I've made you sad on Satinalia."

Second Satinalia, whatever that counts for.

Derrica doesn't have to -- there's nothing that really can but time, and work. Good work. And finally, slowly, Ellie is starting to realize that.

She curls her fingers around Derrica's to squeeze, emptying her lungs, and shuts her eyes.

"Nah," she says quietly. "I was thinking about them already. It kinda-" she rolls the joint over in her fingertips, looking at the ember of light in the gloom.

"... it's nice. Getting to talk about him to someone."

Because she hasn't.

"You can always talk to me," Derrica reminds her. "I like hearing about it."

And Ellie had smiled when she was talking of it. This was a good memory. It is a gift, Ellie letting Derrica share it with her.

"Does it help you?" she asks, tipping her head towards the joint.

"Cool," Ellie says, choking it out softly. She can't quite look her in the eyes yet, but it's still an important step, one that will be the first of a long journey. It shines light down the tunnel, lets her know there's somewhere to be that isn't here.

She considers the joint, then shrugs, handing it back to Derrica.

"Yeah, actually," she murmurs, leaning back on her hands. "I get- what's it called, phantom pain? In my fingers, and my arm. This keeps them from getting too stiff."

Cool is enough acknowledgement.

The offer is there. Ellie will find it a comfort or she won't. Derrica knows it's worse to pry, to try and dig the hurt out of Ellie.

That isn't what she's here for.

She lifts one hand from Ellie's to take the joint. Her inhale is more of an afterthought, just because it's expected, because Ellie offered and Derrica likes the little brush of their fingers and the act of sharing more than she likes the smoke itself. She still holds it through the deep burn in her chest for a moment before tipping her head back to exhale a muddle of smoke that might have been an attempt at a smoke ring.

"Is it worse now? In the cold?"

A question that comes solely because Derrica wants there to be some fixable element to what Ellie is describing, even if she suspects there isn't.

Ellie can't help a little smile; Derrica's always trying. It's endearing, but at the same time, she's in a place to start to worry about her, to sense the pattern here.

There are reasons why some people compulsively take care of others. She has a horrible suspicion she's starting to piece together Derrica's.

"It's not so bad now, this is barely cold," Ellie says with a sideways grin, watching the way she blows the smoke rings. Definitely not somebody who does it all the time. She feels honored.

"Once it starts snowing like crazy though, yeah. I feel that shit in my knees, too."

"Kirkwall's a bad place to avoid the cold."

The tail-end of the statement muddled by the joint. A minor pause follows as Derrica holds in a breath, relinquishing the joint. Her grip on Ellie's hand shift, lacing fingers together as she twitches a smile, exhales a second, formless stream of smoke.

"Once we spent a month or so in the Vinmark mountains around this time of year," Derrica says. "Lucky for your knees, I think we'll need to stay close to home this winter."

Home. A word that doesn't quite fit the way Derrica says it. Kirkwall is something to her, comfortable, but not quite home. And she doesn't think it's home to Ellie either, though Derrica thinks Ellie's a little more at ease here than she was when they'd first met in the Gallows.

"I'm used to Wyoming," Ellie says with a laugh, easily lacing their hands together. The contact feels good, and it's starting to be a normal part of Derrica, something that Ellie looks forward to. "It's probably closer to the Vinmark Mountains. And at least it's not fucking raining all the time, that was the worst part about traveling."

That was probably the most annoying weather as far as Ellie was concerned.

Home, Derrica says, and Ellie nods, thoughtful. She squints and she takes another pull, holds it and lets it out her nose. Finally, she's feeling relaxed. (The paranoia is there under the surface, but some part of her trusts that the others are sober enough.)

"What were you doing out there? Hunting Venatori?"

"Nothing so exciting."

Wyoming is a mystery; Derrica has so little context for it that even the comparison to Vinmark Mountains doesn't quite cast light upon it.

But she has the gist. It's enough that she continues on, rather than stopping to try and coax details from Ellie.

"We were doing little jobs for Viscount Bran. Closing rifts, helping villagers, whatever else the area needed. It was pleasant, actually."

Even considering that Derrica had fallen through ice into freezing water. This detail is shrugged away, though it prompts the question, "Can you ice skate?"

"That does sound nice, actually." Even with the cold- getting to do something direct. A little fighting, a little helping. It sounds like Derrica. She wonders who the "we" is, but that goes by the wayside at her question.

"Not well," Ellie says with a snicker. "But I tried a few times. You?"

"I'm alright."

Upright on skates, all one can ask for.

She gives a little squeeze of Ellie's hand, drawing up one leg onto the bench and shifting position slightly as she continues, "We should try to find some time, if it gets cold enough for it this year. We could bring Matthias along. And maybe Holden."

Derrica would have included Astarion, but surely Astarion isn't interested in cold or unnecessary exertion.

"We'll probably get to that sooner than a trip to the beach," Ellie says with a grin, running her thumb across Derrica's knuckles. She pauses momentarily, watching the way the vapor rises from their mouths, and shifts.

She pulls her hand out of Derrica's gently, in favor of wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to her side.

She scoops up her hand again once she's there, holding on -- and it's really much warmer this way.

That, and her time with Astarion has made her realize just how very touch-starved they all are. Derrica's constantly reaching out, and Ellie's finally beginning to realize that it's not just for her benefit.

"Think they'd like that," she says softly. "Especially Holden. Dude desperately needs a vacation."

It is warmer this way.

Though there is a moment, very briefly, where Derrica feels some minor spark of uncertainty. This is good. It is easy, being close to Ellie. It is easy to link their hands together in the privacy of the garden. It is easy, but that doesn't mean it isn't weighted down with everything else behind it. Ellie is trusting her with this closeness.

Thinking on it keeps her quiet for a moment. This close she can smell the smoke mingling between them and the minty scent of the Gallows soap.

"He does," Derrica agrees softy. She doesn't reach back for the joint. Derrica uncurls by degrees, turning in towards Ellie within the circle of her arm, one knee against Ellie's thigh. "But I don't think he's very good at them."

However—

"Ellie?"

Easy, thankfully, and close. Derrica doesn't pull away, but she can feel her tense and hesitate, and Ellie goes still, holding her breath without realizing it. The soft blue glow shimmers over her heart, but doesn't take her out of sight before she remembers.

She's overstepped somehow. Fuck.

"Yeah?"

"It's alright," comes first, even without understanding the full meaning of that flicker of blue. The way Ellie tenses in return telegraphs her reaction, and Derrica needs to dispel that first.

This is good. It's only—

"Can I ask you something? About what you want?"

Wanting is bound to be a complicated thing. After all, they had only just spoken of the things Ellie had left behind. A woman, Dina. A baby that Ellie glowed talking about. And then there was everything else.

And there was Derrica, who cannot be sure her instincts are leading her in the correct direction. Wanting doesn't always lead her towards the right thing. And she cares so deeply for Ellie, understands that it means something for Ellie to reach for her this way. It's precious. It shouldn't be risked.

There it is -- frank and blunt in a way that Ellie can fully appreciate, and she closes her eyes for more than a breath, letting the breath press out of her lungs. She looks down at the joint in her fingers, shifts up enough to lay her ankle across her knee and stub it out on the bottom of her boot.

She could try to dodge the question, but. They both know what Derrica's asking, and it's important, or she wouldn't.

There's heat in Ellie's ears, and she presses her lips together, her fingers slack in Derrica's grip.

"Nothing. Really." She says it quietly. "Just- y'know. This. Whatever this is."

Ellie takes a deep breath again, and reaches up with her other hand, rubbing at her cheek, the joint dangling from her fingers.

"I, um- sorry. It's not that you're not gorgeous, but I- I'm not ready for anything. Anyone. Not- not saying that you are, but-"

Fuck, she's fumbling.

"Sorry for making it weird."

A question Derrica might have asked before they'd smoked. Maybe it's a little unfair, choosing now. But it feels necessary. They are so close. Derrica could so easily wind closer. She'd like to.

She knows that's not quite wise, not without some clarity as to what the pair of them are doing.

Whatever this is could become such a muddy, indistinct thing. Derrica has learned to map out the edges, especially when she is so aware of the places Ellie could snag herself on.

Her hand comes to catch Ellie's slack fingers up, bracket her fingertips between their laced fingers and her own palm as Derrica turns in more completely. The space between them narrows, but is preserved. Derrica doesn't close it, just resettles herself, all of her angled in.

"Please don't apologize," she tells Ellie. "You never have to apologize for being honest with me."

This is important too. It matters what's true to Ellie. Derrica doesn't want her to curtail that trying to please her.

"I like what we have. Our friendship. It's important to me," Derrica says, before shaking her head a little, clarifying, "You are important to me."

And after a beat of quiet, Derrica resting their joined hands over the bend of her knee, she asks, "What does anything mean, when you think of it?"

SATINALIA 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO.

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rereads tag, observes typo with frown

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thanks for patience, brain is mush

who among us does not have mush-brain i ask

gently places a bow on this