SATINALIA

[incaenstrix]

WHO: Everybody!!
WHAT: SATINALIA!!
WHEN: Backdated to the first day of Firstfall
WHERE: Gallows courtyard
NOTES: Drunkenness and shenanigans. HALLOWEENMAS!!

This Satinalia is, perhaps, less grand than in years past. Blockades are still limiting access to luxury goods, after all, so the fine liquors and dainty foods that have been featured before are nowhere to be found. And Tertia, the temporary Morale Officer, doesn't have the connections or deft touch of organizers past, so things are rougher than they've been before - the musicians are less polished, the ale a little more watered-down, the decorations somewhat haphazard.

But you know what? It's still Satinalia. Nothing can really screw up Satinalia. Especially because there are some rather lovely touches, the best of which might well be the ice skating rink. A section of the Gallows Courtyard has been roped off and frozen over with magic, leaving a (largely) smooth sheet of ice covering it. Skates are available to borrow if you don't have a pair. Of course, some injuries are definitely going to result (if you skate off the edge, you're smacking into stone instead of a soft snowbank, which can be disastrous), but hey, it's fun.

Other perks are the bonfires, with mulled wine and cider being served out of cauldrons around them, where people might sit and reflect while watching the flame. There's also dancing, of course, with the musicians basically being any band that's been recommended by members of Riftwatch - so there are lots of half-competent cousins-of-friends playing here. What they lack in skill they make up for in enthusiasm; this is the first gig for a lot of them, and they're thrilled to be here.

One thing that's missing is the Satinalia fool being named ruler. Tertia wasn't familiar with this tradition and didn't arrange it - so there's a last-minute campaign being held, in which people can either nominate others or self-nominate to be named Riftwatch's greatest fool to be celebrated.

Enjoy yourself. Exchange presents. Get drunk. Have a blast. Don't lose any teeth.

Comments

bastien | ota | will swap out of brackets np

[cozen]

i. dancing (or thereabouts)

[ There is a shy bone in Bastien's body. One shy bone. Medium-sized. So he arrives at the party dressed like a character from Les Chats, but in a homespun, relatively tasteful way. And he jumps right into the dancing, eventually trying to press people into shambling renditions of the dances of his people, but he's not anywhere near as flashy as his obvious familiarity with any given step might allow him to be.

And he won't dance alone. When there's a floor-clearing lull before he's ready to quit himself, despite the faint clammy sweat he's worked up in the cool evening air, he holds out a hand to whoever is both nearby and at least semi plausibly going to agree, fingers wiggling in invitation, eyes beseeching without going full overblown beg. ]

Please? There are only so many Riftwatch parties we don't have to play ourselves.

ii. bonfire

[ He does tire out eventually, at which point he can be found on his back by the bonfire with a cup that's all spice, no wine, staring at the sky instead of the fire. ]

Wings or invisibility?

[ —needs no context, clearly. ]

i.

[heirring]

[She isn't meant to be dancing. She'd sworn it off months and months ago, and had said as much when the subject had been raised.

Yet here Wysteria is, lingering at the edge of the dance floor and looking like a particularly hopeful and strikingly effective Nevarran mummy thanks to her darkest dress, a prodigious supply of cotton wrapping temporarily pilfered from the clinic, and the elaborate prosthetic worn on her left side. The whole effect is charmingly macabre, even as she has spent the last however long laughing at the dance floor hijinks that are all but required at any Riftwatch Only function.

She laughs harder now at the invitation.]

I don't know the steps for this one, Monsieur Cat.

ii

[laruetheday]

[ Clarisse doesn't even need to think about it— ]

Invisibility. No question.

i.

[tender]

"I miss your playing," might sound like flattery, but it's sincere.

The beat of hesitation that follows it, however, does resolve into a nod as she puts her hand into his.

"But I don't know the steps to this one."

All these years in Kirkwall, attending Satinalias where southern style of dancing was on full display, and all Derrica's managed was a handful of steps. Not out of time, just unfamiliar.

"You'll have to lead," she tells him, a condition, as her hand tightens in his.

ii.

[hornswoggle]

A contemplative hum.

"Are they feathered wings?"

There are worse things to meditate on at the end of a busy evening than something nonsensical.

ii.

[notathreat]

Similarly spiced cider and no wine for Ellie, thanks. She's got a blanket around her shoulders, and comes to settle down next to him.

Immediately, she grins.

"Invisibility. But does it count if I can do that now?"

[bouchonne]

Invisibility.

[ By shudders dramatically at the thought of being borne into the horrible, terrifying air. ]

What about you?

ii

[thereneverwas]

Wings.

[Barrow swigs generously from the ale he's holding, having been perched in this spot for more or less the entire night-- there's no chance he's setting foot on that ice rink.]

It'd get me out of riding the griffons.

i

[untiltheyarent]

Like you need even ask.

[Decked out in her usual party regalia, La Vulpesse takes Bastien's hand with a grin.]

You're looking fine. Nice whiskers.

kostos | ota | injury cw | will swap out of brackets np

[exequy]

[ He did not lose a tooth.

But he is bleeding rather profusely inside his mouth, at the moment, where his front teeth cut into his lips when he slammed face-first into the wall. When he moves his hand aside his teeth are red, his mouth smudged. One cheek is already bruising. ]

I won, [ the race he did not stop racing in time to avoid this. ] I—shit.

[ He's still on his skates, wobbling slightly in the way of a brain-rattled man who does not realize he's wobbly yet.

He feels his nose. Not broken. So everything's fine! ]

Right? I won.

yoinks from brackets

[tender]

Upon seeing the ice rink, and considering the trajectory of the race, Derrica had taken it upon herself to occupy the stone wall opposite the finish line. It seemed the best place for a healer, all things considered.

"Yes," she answers, without any authority to make such a ruling, or even the knowledge. She hadn't been watching closely for who was reaching the far side, only who made the most explosive finish. "Yes, you won."

Is there room for contradictions? Probably.

Derrica is reaching for his arm regardless, eyes moving intently over his face as she says, "Let me see?"

No, he hasn't lost a tooth. Small blessings.

loxley. ota.

[charmoffensive]

skating;

[ Having failed to arrange for himself a dedicated costume, Loxley has instead simply worn every garish piece of clothing he owns. An orange shirt beneath a trim blue jacket, a flowing golden sash and trousers of mustard-yellow stripes. On their own, or paired with the correct items, each individual piece is an acceptable level of colourful, but altogether make for more of a riot.

He makes for a colourful sight on the ice rink, anyway, having very confidently strapped on some skates and set out as if he had ever done this before. ]

Fuck—

[ —might pass you by as one lanky qunari goes sliding past, half-crouched in a bid to lower his centre of gravity, arms out to balance.

The desire to go fast paired with a desire not to go arse over teakettle distinctly at war, but he gets the hang of it quickly enough, until he can be found hurtling in reckless loops around the rink, or perhaps you find your arm linked with his where he stealths up from behind, with anyone he is at least half familiar with. ]

dancing;

[ Dancing, later, once the immediate novelty of the ice has passed. It's been years enough for him to have picked up some local steps. There is now silver decorating his horns, pointed caps that make the curled ends come up in sharp points, and a couple of rings nearer the thicker base. ]

I can show you, [ is his invitation to whomever he might have drawn into a dance with. ] Or we can make it up.

wildcard;

[ ooc ; feel free to switch to nonbrackettes. ]

skating.

[cozen]

[ If Bastien barely scrapes into the half familiar category, perhaps he's given a leg up by the fact that just before Loxley's arrival, one of his skates hits a rough patch and looks liable to topple him over.

Maybe he wouldn't have fallen. But Bastien's certainty on his feet is a hard-won victory over a pinch of innate clumsiness, and that victory did not negotiate terms for ice skates, so maybe he would have. Either way, there's some extra leaning weight pulling at Loxley's linking arm and a grateful glance that barely has time to bring Loxley's face into focus before Bastien is looking ahead to make sure he does not run into anyone or anything. ]

You were all making this look so easy.

[ Accusatory, in a cheerful way. How dare they tempt him into trying it. ]

marcus. ota.

[luaithre]

skating;

[ Having lent some assistance in the forming of the ice rink, mostly for a girl, Marcus eventually makes his way out onto the ice for reasons of helping maintain it. (He is not in costume, himself, unless the fact he is in casual and comfortable garments, hair left loose, is costume enough for anyone he doesn't share intimate quarters with.) That he does not strictly need to put on skates and go out there to do so, really, is a modestly tilted hand towards festivity.

Content, first, with placid loops to become familiar with that treacherously slippery feel of ice under bladed foot. Occasionally, there's a glimmer, coating over melted or worn-down patches of ice with magic that streams from open palm in pulses of bright blue light.

Otherwise, he is easily goaded into racing. ]

bonfire;

[ Because later, Marcus does exit the rink with a bright red streak of fresh blood soaking in from the inside of the knee of his trousers from when he took a harsh tumble, but he doesn't pay it very much mind. Seated, now, by the fire, he has in his hand a wooden pipe with griffon shapes carved into it, packing dry leaf into it.

The usual smell of burning tobacco follows, but it's mingled with a sweeter trace of elfroot. As ever, he is content to keep his own company, watching people or watching the fire. ]

wildcard;

[ ooc ; feel free to switch to nonbrackettes. ]

skating time

[overharrowed]

[For a man who grew up, quite literally, on the shores of a lake, Julius doesn't have a great deal of skating experience. But after watching others for a while, and perhaps one other in particular, the pleasure of it is tempting. He acquires a pair of skates and ventures out onto the ice, tentatively at first. He's dressed comfortably and practically, at least, so he's not working against an impractical costume as he finds the trick of balancing.

He'll make his way over to Marcus in a moment, when he's confident he won't fall on his face.]

clarisse | ota

[laruetheday]

i. skating

Like most things she does, Clarisse's skating is fast, aggressive, and for show. She spends a lot of her time on the rink working on hairpin turns that end up sending ice spray into the air, but manages (barely) to avoid actually hitting anybody with it.

When she isn't doing that, she's challenging people to a race across the rink, or trying to get them to play hockey against her one-on-one. The thought of possibly crashing into stone at the other end of the rink doesn't seem to bother her whatsoever.

"Come on, don't be a coward!"

ii. bonfire

The bonfire is, for her, a more chilled out experience.

It's something they always did back home, every night, no matter what, and so the routine of hanging out near the flames with a warm drink in her hand and music playing from nearby has Clarisse falling into an almost Pavlovian response of calm.

She settles into a seat near the fire and takes a sip of her wine. Huh. It's good. There's a new bruise on one cheek from an Incident on the skating rink, but she doesn't seem bothered.

"Who do you think's going to get the most wasted tonight?" Just a casual question, guys, really.

(( feel free to wildcard! ))

skating

[armd]

Nah. No, she's no good at skating, and isn't about to get out there while Clarisse is zooming around, doing tight, 90 degree angle corners. But she will be an unruly spectator- this involves gathering snow up into her mittened hands, and packing it tight, before she chucks it hard at Clarisse as she whizzes by.

Missing, obviously. It spatters across the ice.

But this gives her a heads up for the next one, which is being hurriedly made-

She's grinning when she calls out, "Show off!"

flint | ota

[katabasis]

i. bonfire
[Here is something of a yearly tradition too: Riftwatch's Commander makes a brief appearance at any Satinalia festivities—long enough to recommend a fellow division head for fool maybe, or to have a cup of wine—, and then he can be relied upon to steal a bottle of wine and disappear elsewhere for the remainder of the night. Further, he hasn't worn a costume since that first Satinalia in the Gallows when he and the rest of the Nascere pirates stuck in the harbor had crashed the party to raid it for wine casks, well before Coupe had retired from her post and he'd stepped into it.

So there must be something more than just the crisp touch of winter on the air tonight. What other explanation is there for Flint's continued presence, or for the wolf's mask, and the black fur mantle he's donned over his coat for the evening?

—Well, the last one makes some sense; it's cold. See also why he's presently warming his hands near the bonfire, one held out toward the ambient heat and the other enjoying the residual warmth coming through a pewter tankard filled with mulled wine. Every now and then, he swaps which hands is occupied with which, the assortment of rings on his fingers glinting as gold animal eyes might in the firelight.]

ii. dancing.
[The music is, at best, slightly off its rhythm. But there's something to be said for enthusiasm shortening the distance one must travel to accomplishment, as this is the second time this particular band with its cheerful but entirely mediocre drum player has come up to play and the ranks of dancers on the floor and would-be partners on the fringes has only grown in response.

(Might it also have something to do with the fact that there's been time for third and fourth drinks to reach the head, and for some people to tire of risking life and limb on the make-do ice skating rink? Maybe. Who can say.)

One finds themselves subject to unlikely partners in such circumstances. Which explains how in one of those sweeping line dances where hands are constantly changing how one might suddenly and unexpectedly find themselves being traded from one partner and into Flint's possession, then subsequently swept deftly away on the new leg. He might be a surly old wolf, but apparently he makes for a startlingly able dance partner.

Or, later, when some other band has rotated in to relive the Enthusiastic Drummer from his duties and subsequently the tempo and tenor have both suffered a change: Flint, an idle participant in the knots of conversation bordering the dance floor, sighs, sets his cup down, and offers a hand to someone nebulously game to be victimized by the music.]

We might be better off facing it directly.

iii. wildcard
(ooc: Feel free to ditch the brackets if you'd prefer.)

gwen;

[katabasis]

[At some point in the evening, Flint does grow sick of the company and extracts himself from the festivities. But rather than disappear into the central tower and deal with all the stairs between him and the division offices, he instead makes his way down to the Gallows slip where Gwenaëlle's eyesore of a houseboat is blighting the landscape of otherwise respectable smallcraft which compose a majority of Riftwatch's quote unquote fleet. The string of assorted boats have yet to be hauled out and stowed away from the winter. Lined there now in the houseboat's shadow, their various rigs rolled up and tarpaulins drawn tight from gunwale to gunwale, shifting against their springlines at the behest of the night's weather and the pull of the tide, they look very like nervous ducklings crowding for the protection of their mean mother's wing.

Hours later, having spent the time splitting a considerably better bottle of wine than those on offer at the party while treating themselves to the skewering of some fucking awful collection of poetry recently published out of an ordinarily respectable Orlesian press, Flint set his empty cup aside. He draws the black fur mantle back about his shoulders, and together he and Gwenaëlle make their way out into the night so they might continue discussing the last of their conspiracy theories regarding the poet's nepotistic connections for the length of the walk to the central tower's stairwell.

It's late. The air has taken a cutting turn. The bonfires have died, and there is no more sound of musicians clanging inexpertly away. Anyone wishing to continue the festivities has clearly either retired to warmer rooms, or has crossed the harbor and into Kirkwall proper. The skating rink, evidently satisfied with its evening of blood sacrifices, has been entirely abandoned.]

Ellie | OTA

[notathreat]

It's been more than a year, so Ellie can hopefully get away with wearing the same fancy clothes twice, with her hair falling loose around her face for once. Unfortunately she is also in those fancy clothes while she laces on borrowed ice skates. On the first few passes she wobbles unsteadily around the rink, obviously familiar with the concept but without much practice, and could probably use a bit of instruction, or maybe literal support to keep from falling on her ass more than a half-dozen times.

Either she skates up to someone's side, or catches herself on the stone at the sidelines with a loud oof as the air's forced out of her.

"... do you know how to stop without running into something?"

Later, happily bruised and with her pants somewhat crusted in ice fragments, Ellie finds her way over to the dance floor. Perhaps surprisingly, she knows how to dance passably well in a ballroom style, but more importantly, both how to lead and how to follow.

"If you want, I can teach you?" she offers to anyone looking apprehensively at the dance floor (who might reasonably want to join), especially new people. "Don't worry, I'm wearing boots."

If it's a friend she's danced with at any point before, she'll grin as soon as they lock eyes and hold out a hand. "Lead or follow?"

Later, when the performers begin to flag and get tired, when everyone's started to get boozy, Ellie briefly disappears and comes back with a dulcimer. (And she will give her jam band buddies a glance or two to silently invite them to join her, if they'd like. No pressure.)

Regardless of whether anybody joins, she'll play a few softer, slower songs to round out the evening. Good for slow-dancing to or just to play in the background of a conversation. If someone wanders over to talk to her between songs, she'll ask:

"Any requests? Can't promise it'll be perfect."

[Or wildcard me, baby.]

fine twist his arm.

[propulsion]

She is finishing up a tune on her dulcimer when a presence invites himself to sit adjacent, the thrum of lute strings heralding Tony's arrival. His jacket, by the by, is a bright red crush velvet with golden trim, and his sunglasses are probably unnecessary as the hour slips later, but it's all about affect.

He is also wearing a dope hat.

"You know," he says, strumming something in a customarily idle fashion, "no one's really given a lot of thought to what happens if we start introducing anti-bacterial and anti-viral technologies to the world. I mean, we've circled it. Because what if we bring about a superbug that wipes out the whole world. Not that you'd know anything about that."

Small joke, and whether it's in poor taste is something Tony clips right by as he continues with, "But you know what infecting influences rifters might have that we've thought about even less, implications-wise? Christmas music."

Gela, OTA

[sprent]

i. skating

Gela does not own anything nice enough to constitute costumery, but she does wear her favourite skirt (which should count considering she's patched it over many times with bright and different colours, the result aggressively cheerful against the dull white of winter). She is out onto the ice the moment she spots it, to go round and round the edge of the rink, her hands clasped behind her back.

Until she sees somebody reluctant to join in, or having trouble with their first few steps- then she's by them in a flash, ice spraying in a little arc when she stops. She reaches out with both her hands, gesturing in earnest. "C'mon. Around with me, up you get-"

ii. bonfire

Once she has exhausted the ice- it does take a while, she has been at it for maybe an hour- she comes to toe her skates off near the fire, get the warmth back into her hands. She has accepted a hot cup of cider to drink and it smells sweet and fermented.

Gela's cheeks are chapped red, and curls of hair have escaped from the loose knot at the back of her head to frame her face. Looking about, she notices that the unsuspecting person closest to her has left their neck exposed! Her mouth curls with mischief. Abandoning a skate that is still half on, she reaches over, and lays her freezing cold fingers across the skin there.

iii. wildcard

(Insert own or get me to write you something! So fine w switching to brackets x)

[favoriteanalyst]

The poor fool with his neck exposed is in for a treat when the cold fingers brush. Mobius jumps practically a foot out of his skin with a yelp, slapping a gloved hand over the area and rubbing.

"Andraste's frozen tits, get your hands to the fire!" Like right now, woman. "You'll stop a poor old man's heart that way if you don't lose those fingers to cold first."

Jude | OTA

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Though Jude doesn't take his chances on the ice rink, he's never been one to stay away from the dance floor, especially when the line dances get going. He watches a round or two before jumping in himself, a huge smile on his face, throwing himself wholeheartedly into it.

By default he'll lead, guiding his partner deftly through the steps, but if he encounters a surer touch, he's happy to follow.

Somewhat later, when the snacks are on offer, he'll make his way to the table to get himself a plate. He's not shy about it either, loading up with seconds when it's time. "You gotta try this cheese tart," (or crumb cake, or spiced sausage, or any other morsel) he insists to the person next to him, whether he knows them or not. "Need this person's number."

Jude cannot physically get drunk, but a drink in hand to finish the night out sounds like just what the doctor ordered while he settles down next to the bonfire. People he knows are offered a welcoming head tilt, and if they choose to sit down: "is it everything you hoped for?"

Later still, once it's become dozy and cold, Jude's shifted at some point. While gigantic wolves can't talk back, they do make excellent listeners, and even better pillows on cold nights. Failing that, he's always willing to field the curious stranger.

[hassaran]

Yseult is late to the party, which may partly explain why, when Jude comments on the crumb cake, she is momentarily delayed in responding by the need to finish knocking back a shot. (The liquor has been wisely located directly beside the snacks, in hopes that those inclined to drink will not forget to also eat.)

"Is that from the kitchens or the bakery on Steer Street?" she asks, looking up to make acknowledging eye contact while pouring another. The bottle and the liquor are both dark, glinting amber in the firelight as it tumbles into the cup. She tilts her head back to drain her cup again, then corks the bottle and replaces it in unorganized the collection on the table. "I've heard good things."

mobius | ota

[favoriteanalyst]

It takes a while for him to muster up the courage to try skating. Mostly, at first, he simply wanders about, chatting. (Or, chatting with those that would do so with him, at least.) He's sporting new thick leather gloves for warmth and a necklace that bears a wolf's tooth on it, and for the most part he seems to be having a fine enough time. Where he'd been starting to look particularly scruffy, he now looks more clean-shaven, though with the bite of cold he's starting to wonder if maybe he should just let it all grow out. He'll offer up drinks and company for a time. He's careful with the mugs, but these aren't anything easily breakable, so he only really needs to worry about spilling a hot beverage on himself (or Maker forbid anyone else) for now.

Until such a time as he decides fuck it, it's time to try this skating thing. He is, of course, not in the least bit a natural, and falls plenty, and flails plenty, and knocks into everyone in his path on a way to balancing or to stopping without smacking into a wall. Apologies if he accidentally pulls you down or grabs you unexpectedly.

The dancing is nothing he really starts, but it becomes something of a when in Antiva situation. Hard to be around the bonfires without being pulled into some kind of whooping dance, a flail of limbs, a busting out of some more traditional moves or being taught things that are brand new. He's not half bad when he lets himself go, though he'll never win any competitions. Blame it on the drink!

It's as fine a Satinalia as any. When things start to wind down, one might find him settled more contemplative before a fire, mouth moving silently as though in prayer or simply popping a squat to catch his breath.

chatting

[thereneverwas]

"How're you holding up then?"

As per usual, Barrow isn't wearing anything particularly special-- he's bundled up for the cold, but there's no costuming involved aside from that. He's also far more sober than he'd no doubt prefer, but the evening is young.

byerly | ota

[bouchonne]

i. dancing

[ No great surprise: Byerly arrives in a costume coordinated with Bastien's, likewise dressed as a chat from Les Chats. And he saunters around the party, his fake tail dragging behind him, sashaying up to people with a meow meow meow - and Maker, the whole effect is so incredibly excruciating, and yet there's not a sign of self-consciousness or embarrassment in the man. Either he is extremely passionate about Les Chats or he is fully in on the joke. Or both. Or neither and he just loves seeing people cringe.

He also loves dancing. He's on the dance floor any time he's not skating - which is to say, almost always - leaping and gamboling with great vigor. He's energetic enough and quick enough that it's almost inevitable his horrible tail will get stepped on - and whenever it does, he turns with a laugh and a grin and seizes the hands of the person who's stepped on it. ]

You monster! You mangler! You murderer! My poor fifth limb. I'm injured and might die.

ii. ice skating

[ By skates with the vigor and expertise of - Well, of a Ferelden who adores being the center of attention. To no one's great surprise, the combination of growing up in cold weather and persistent narcissism has given Byerly a grand ability to skate most elegantly; he can go forwards, backwards, even do little hops and twirls. If he spots someone similarly skilled, he'll approach them and offer his hand - ]

Shall we show them what talent is?

[ - or, for someone less skilled, he'll offer his arm, making himself available to lean on. ]

iii. bonfires
[ He stays out late into the night, sipping on cider - unspiked. That's right; all this behavior all night long has been perfectly sober. Somehow even more embarrassing for that fact. ]

What do you think? Will we have another of these next year, still in this place?

ii.

[notathreat]

Byerly clips in at just the right time, scooping Ellie's arm up. She's going a little too fast, and would've gone crashing into one of the low walls for lack of other handy support.

By's intervention means she can angle herself and lean against his shoulder a little bit, gripping tightly as she steadies herself. They even look a little bit like they meant to do it that way.

"Thanks. How the hell are you making it look easy?"

sidony | ota

[indissection]

ICE SKATING.

[ Sidony is not an adept master of skating upon ice, given her upbringing, but she is determined to make a real attempt to ensure that she enjoys some measure of the holiday. It's been a rather difficult few weeks for her, so trying to drag some joy out of something that is intended to be blissful seems the least that she can do.

She can even ignore the magic used to make it; her feelings towards the use of magic is a little less stern than they had been a few years ago, thanks to friendships and the clear, clever use of it.

Borrowing some ice skates makes her nose wrinkle, but she takes it in her stride and gives it her best go. She's wobbly, a little childish with the way that she moves, unsettled on her legs, but it's clear that she has no intention on giving up. She pushes herself off the edge and has her arms opened out wide - so she is absolutely prepared to run into someone if she isn't careful.

Eventually, when she is chilled and a little too red-faced to deal with being on the ice any longer, she steps aside and begins to tend to those who have found themselves a little hurt thanks to their adventures. ]

BONFIRES.

[ Despite being beside a fire and looking as though she ought to be a little less well dressed, Sidony is still wearing some finery, letting herself enjoy a moment to dress up and act as though she is more put together than she actually is. She has little else to spend her money on, so she might as well use it to make herself feel better when her confidence is at its worst.

Settling down, letting her skirt fall around her, she stares into the fire for a long time.

If someone comes to disturb her, she reaches out and welcomes them with a smile, offering some of her wine without too much hesitation. That, if nothing else, may speak more for her change in character: she is not often one to share something quite as dear to her as her own drink. ]

DANCING.

[ The dancing has always been her favourite of the celebrations, and she is quick to lend herself to the event with almost gleeful abandon.

There's a sad little part of her that feels sour to be here alone, to not be able to share it with someone she cares for deeply, and she buries that somewhere deep in her stomach. Now isn't really the kind of celebration for sadness, and thus Sidony focusses instead on the fact that she can finally allow herself to smile, to let lose, to bask in the joy that is the freedom to dance.

Anyone who does dance with her will notice that she is missing the middle fingers of her right hand, and burn scarring stains the forearm skin going up towards the shoulder. She doesn't comment on it: simply does her best to continue to dance despite the injury. ]

WILDCARD.

( Do whatever, I will match! <3 )

Bonfires

[armd]

(Abby is not dressed fancily, but she has made an effort to look neat and tidy. Most notably her hair is not in its usual style: with the aid of a few ribbons for decoration, she has managed to pull it into a sort of braided circlet ringing her head. Shorter strands about her temples didn't make it into the final product, but they frame her face instead, wispy and pretty. Despite her efforts she feels scruffy next to Sidony, but not for the first time.

The offer of wine is accepted, Abby staring into the fire as she brings the cup to her lips. The mood feels a little sombre here, and quiet. It's nice. A moment of respite sorely needed, before Abby tries to join in on the dancing.

After a moment, she finds she has to break the silence to ask,) Aren't you cold? (She has a jacket she could offer.)

d r u m m i n g

[lumelume]

Mado's prime directive at every Riftwatch party is to play in the band, and he does so at this one with the usual gusto. He's at every instrument that even passingly resembles a drum with a rhythmic, animalistic fervor, stopping only to occasionally take a drink or bite of something or grin at a friend.
At some point his shirt comes off, but he finds it again before the party ends, at which juncture he simply shifts into a dog and trots away as though he were never here.

josias | open

[dastardly]

An opportunity to observe the majority of Riftwatch interacting in one location together is not to be missed, but the celebration itself is hardly what Josias is used to. Back home, Satinalia would last a full week, with fasting to follow, transforming the festivities from a bit of fun to a ruthless competition over who could hold the most lavish and decadent party possible.

He'd never been one of the competitors. His father's household had handled that, Josias coasting by association as usual. But looking around the sparse affair Riftwatch has to offer, he can't help but feel a little homesick.

It may even be observable in his manner, as he drifts around the edges of the courtyard. A drink in one hand, seemingly untouched, it's clear he's well-practiced in showing his face at gatherings like this without actively getting involved at all. Lingering just long enough - at the bonfires, near the band, watching the skaters - to be polite, then likely disappearing without anyone noticing.

[cozen]

Bad news—or good news, maybe: Bastien is, among other things, a professional noticer. A professional noticer with fantastic timing. Just as the polite length of time to observe the skaters is winding down and (if the pattern holds) Josias will be stepping away to wander somewhere else, or perhaps to leave altogether, Bastien arrives at his elbow with his own drink in hand.

His sideways look says, Caught you. But what he says out loud is, "If you had to be from some other country besides Antiva, which would you choose?"

Tertia | open

[incaenstrix]

i. bonfires
[ The organizer of this event is - no great surprise - rather bashful about having organized it at all. She spends most of her time by the bonfires, a cup of mulled wine in her hand, listening to others talk but not talking much herself.

Not that she's having a bad time. Far from it! She smiles a lot, and generally seems relaxed and happy and engaged. But even when she seems interested, and even when there's a little flicker in her eyes like she has something to say, she keeps her mouth shut. ]

ii. wildcard

bonfire!!

[cozen]

[ Bastien begins sitting on the other side of the fire, but he glances at her, once or twice, and when he comes back from refilling his cup he sits next to her instead.

Leaning halfway in (but not in her space, Maker forbid), he whispers, ]

Morale seems improved, I think.

Glimmer | ota

[sparklequeen]

i. ice skating

[ Admittedly, Glimmer is not very good at this. She's never really one much ice skating before, even with having a whole ice kingdom to visit and she's awkwardly moving around the rink, skidding and fumbling. In fact, she might end up stumbling into someone else at full force and send them both crashing to the ice or into the edge of the rink, which has all sorts of unhappy complications. ]

Agh! Sorry!

ii. bonfires

[ Glimmer is hanging around the bonfire, sipping on mulled wine. It's been a long year here in Thedas and there's something a little melancholy about it. So far from home, so far from almost everyone she knows. So if she's looking a little mopey for Saturnalia, that might be the reason why.

She might be encouraged to join the dancing, though. Go on, give it a shot! ]

bonfires

[sprent]

(Ah, but moping on Satinalia won't do any good! Gela is here by the bonfire for a drink to quench her thirst from dancing so much; she cups her mulled wine in her hands to warm her palms, and flops next to Glimmer in heap of skirt and curly hair. Her blouse is laced at the front, and she digs her fingers into the top few strings to loosen the neckline, get a bit of fresh air.)

Hello! (Her voice is warm, her smile bright, genuine,) It could be the light, but I'm thinkin' I've never introduced myself to you before. (She holds out one hand, pink from the heat of her cup.) Seen you around here and there, of course; m' Gela. Happy Satinalia!

Richard Dickerson | OTA

[nonvenomous]

Dick Dickerson is watchful from the sidelines, darkly-dressed, a pair of gleaming eyes narrowed over mulled wine at the bonfire’s furthest reaches. He hasn’t bothered with a mask and he doesn’t linger, difficult to find in the seconds following a craned look around to his position or -- worse still -- a catch of eye contact.

Given time, he will reappear in another pocket of shadow at the party’s outskirts. In and out until he’s had his fill. It’s still early when he vanishes for the last time.

In the spaces between, he’s prowling the Gallows halls with his stickfigure scribble of a black cat, the pair of them following a loose circuit through the kitchens and up through the towers.

Here and there man and familiar stop to listen before he tests a door to see if it’s locked. Careful, quiet.

After all, why shouldn’t he pry? Think of what might have happened last year if he hadn’t gone through everyone’s drawers.

Eventually he lands in the heated baths, taking advantage of the event to soak alone with an oversized cup of wine, a book, and his cat clinging to the side of the pool like a leech. She purrs where she’s flattened herself to the stonework, her ears flattened against the wet, her buggy eyes bulged shut into contented slits.

bonfire.

[charmoffensive]

With no mask and no specific costume to speak of, Loxley's choice of instead just wearing every clashing, garish item of clothing he has should be an active impediment to his ability to slink through the shadows.

And it is, which is why he turns invisible.

It's on extremely quiet feet that he approaches Richard, smiling to himself, very certain he has gone undetected (if not discounting the possibility that the other man might pretend at not noticing) and it is with great confidence and relish that he claps his hands down on Richard's shoulders from behind with a rushed, "Happysatinalia," mostly urgent so as to get the prank done before laughing gives him away.

Colourful silks and silver qunari skin resolve back into view, a ripple of visual distortion that fades faster than it took to conjure.