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

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.

[exequy]

He inches closer on his skates when touched, no resistance. It's the adrenaline—from the (alleged) win, from the pain—that makes him grin more than grimace in the process of exposing his mouth for her inspection. Adrenaline and a very reasonable two drinks.

"Keep healing us all like this," he says, "and we're never going to learn any lessons."

[tender]

"I think the only lesson we need to be concerned with is finding a better place for the ice next year."

Obliged, she tows him close, sways him until she can prop his shoulders back against the stone. He's on skates. His pride won't survive his legs sliding out from under him.

"What did you win?" she asks, with fingers gentle at his jaw. This is a fair amount of blood, but through it she checks again: yes, all his teeth right where they should be. And a cut, that she soothes away with a whisper of a spell, pressed to the corner of his mouth by her thumb.

[exequy]

"A," he says.

And pauses. The sensation of pain leaving is particularly odd when one hasn't quite managed to feel the pain in the first place. His head makes a jerky movement like he's caught the chills.

To finish the thought: "A mouthful of blood."

The bloodstained grin has reduced to a blood-smudged smile. He moves one skate; it moves further than he wanted it to, and it's only both hands going back against the stone for supportive friction that keeps him from going straight down.

"I haven't done this," as an excuse, "since I was eighteen."

[tender]

"I've never done it."

A break, in which Derrica presses her palm to his forehead, then the side of his head. Checking for any rising lumps, any scrapes or bruises.

"But I'm guessing you won all your races, and even received a better prize when you were eighteen?"

Her tone is very fond. Kostos' grin and the smile that follows it are so good to see, even with so much blood to accentuate it. Derrica plants one boot on the opposite side of his skates, though it's unclear whether that will prevent him from sliding away in a moment or two if he weight shifts again.

[exequy]

The skin around his cheekbone is mottled red in a way that will become a bruise, but he's otherwise unharmed. Pupils the same size. His balance is already resolving, like nothing was ever wrong with it.

"Of course," he says, a self-aware and transparent joke of a lie. He hooks a finger into the neck of her shirt. "You should try it."

[tender]

Derrica pats his cheek gently, smiling in return. Satisfied with his condition, that Kostos isn't about to keel over, she can entertain the banter. Sway by degrees in against him, still cautious as to his balance.

"Wouldn't it be irresponsible? Who would patch you all up if I were in the infirmary myself?"

Her fingers skim lightly over the patches of red. An offering, if he'd like. With the flow of blood stemmed, the rest can be left alone if Kostos wishes.