faderift | SATINALIA

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SATINALIA

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.

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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)

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."

Gela withdraws her hands instantly, snickering, and tucks them neat and tight up underneath of her arms. "A thousand apologies, friend! Couldn't help myself."

She even knocks her knee against his, to indicate that she is very very sorry. Her eyes, by the light of the fire, are bright. "Are you havin' a good evening?"

He pouts and pulls his jacket tighter to him. "I was." He isn't actually petulant; he only sounds that way. Though he knocks his knee right back. "Seems like you're having a great evening. What other trouble have you gotten up to?"

He sounds petulant enough that for half a second Gela's smile slips, and real, tangible anxiety washes up the length of her spine, dispelled instantly by the knock of Mobius' knee on hers. She might have made her a-thousand-and-first apology right then if he hadn't asked her a question to answer.

"Lots," she breathes, shivering. From the cold, obviously. "I've done some dancin'. And I was on the ice before, but I wasn't causin' trouble there," said cheekily, "honest."

That's when he finally breaks out into a grin. Sure, maybe it's a little mean of him, but it's all in good fun. "I think the ice is going to give everyone enough trouble as it is that they don't need any extra trouble on top of that."

"Don't I know it," she agrees, glancing over her shoulder at the rink. Dusk is falling. The ice is lit but not completely, and she hopes the less experienced folk have stepped off of it for now, so that they don't crash into each other by mistake.

"I think there will be a lot of scraped knees about the Gallows tomorrow."

"Busted elbows, knocked out teeth, headaches. A proper morning after for Satinalia, all told. People hocking their hangover cure-alls in the streets. People waking up in strange places or strange beds." He smiles fondly. "If only we were doing this in Antiva; they know how to really party."

"Antiva," she repeats, looking at him up and down, "Is that true?" She wouldn't have thought him the partying type. He strikes her as quiet, and of an easy nature.

"I've been to Antiva, around the same time. Missed the party, and arrived in time for the fast. My luck has always been bad."

"Mmmmmmmhm." He notes the look, smiles slyly. "They can go for weeks."

Though maybe he should be nice and shed a little light on the circumstances: "I was with this group a few months back, and there was a long party for the ruler--a birthday or something. So I can only imagine how hard they must go during a proper holiday."

Weeks! Gela can't imagine it, she thinks that she would get tired within a few days- or that something would trip inside of her, and transform her. Overwhelming situations are probably dangerous for her self-control. Right?

This thought causes her to put her cup of cider firmly down...

"What was your group doin' in Antiva? If you don't mind my askin'."

"Trying to convince merchants to stop trade with Tevinter. Kind of behind backs, trying to be subtle. Schmoozing." It worked, in the end, though frankly it's nothing short of a miracle that it did. "And spreading the good word about Riftwatch. Was funny to see the less social try to pretend to be more."

"I'll bet," she says, conversationally, "I was just tryin' to do much of the same out west. Pamphletin'... in Orlais! Can you imagine?"

In case he cannot, "We were run out."

"In Orlais, yeah, that'll happen. Maker, tell me you weren't trying to schmooze with the upper crust and their delicate sensibilities! Be happy you were only run out and not strung up."

"No," Gela says fervently, "I went to a chantry, in Orlais, with a man hailin' from Tevinter on my arm who decided to pick a fight with a chapel sister five minutes after crossin' the threshold."

And then she bursts out laughing. Because said aloud like that-

Wysteria is by no means a good skater, merely a very determined one. It makes for a funny picture, her with her feet slightly too wide as she wobbles first in one direction and then the other, with a certain undeniable propensity for stomping around on the blades of the skates strapped to her feet rather than coasting along on them. The whole attitude has the look of someone who will fall on their ass, and will be taking her neighbors down with her in a desperate effort to keep upright. But as of right this moment, she's yet to actually lose her balance completely much less cause any domino effect wrecks.

"Oh!" she cries in surprise, quite cheerful with the sudden prospect of being dragged about the ice by someone more competent. "Yes, all right."

Gela only gets one hand in return though. Her left hand, an elaborately wrought prosthetic, remains more or less idle at Wysteria's side.

"I learned a bit two years ago when we were all up in the Vinmarks. But I'm afraid I haven't practiced much at all since."

One hand will work fine when she can already stand by her own; Gela will be the rudder, so that she doesn't capsize herself (or anybody else). Because Wysteria already knows where she's from she tells her, "I used to skate a lot at home, in the winter. Every winter, almost, when I had the time."

She's held the hands of many skaters without confidence before! And so she guides Wysteria neatly around a bend in their makeshift rink.

"Besides, it's not the skatin' that's the hardest part." Ha! "That's the ice."

Happily, Wysteria is a fine audience when it comes to dreadful jokes or at least has some considerable practice with pretending to, given all the hours she spends in Tony Stark's aspirational company. She laughs, ha ha, as they make their way around the bend. Yes, all right. Well played.

"I wasn't aware skating was so popular in Nevarra. Did you have a lake or a river for it? The Minanter is so wide, I can't imagine that much of it freezes."

Allowing Gela to pull her round has already minimized most of that impulse to stomp her way across the ice.

See? She's doing better already, and Gela is barely dragging her now that they've picked up a little speed. They are doing lovely loops around the rink together. "The Cumber river froze deep enough away from the crossin', enough to skate on. South Vale side.

Have you been to Nevarra before? The winters can be very cold."

"Just the once, but north," she says, carefree or foolish enough not to give her wobbling feet two much study as they spiral along under Gela's direction. "Nevarra City. I can't say I particularly noticed the cold, though it was around this time of year. To be fair, we'd other matters to worry about."

Given the general assault of the city, the hoards of walking dead, and the various mad old magisters and cursed dragons pirouetting about.

"I heard much of the company went rushing off to Cumberland this summer. Did you go with them?"

"They were goin' right as I was arrivin' here," she admits, smiling through a sudden pang of anxiety, "I thought I should stay back and find my feet before tearin' off."

This isn't quite true, and isn't technically a lie. She feels safe in it, and then she remembers that Wysteria already knows that she is from Nevarra, and awkwardly adds, "I didn't leave my hometown on good terms, so I- it was better for me to stay behind in the Gallows, I think. But I heard the Conclave went well for you."

"Oh, I suppose that's true so long as we consider a delay on any resolutions 'well.'"

This has something of a dismissive air to it like some idle sweeping motion of a hand (if Wysteria had one to spare to such an activity). For her part, she might have preferred to return from Orzammar to proper news rather than just the threat of it. This vague business of no real decisions and no real rules made or unmade makes to rather difficult to gauge in which direction one might lean toward in order to best dodge their effects.

But this, it seems, is a worry for another day and not at all the reason why she'd inquired in the first place. There are more pressing matters than some ineffective Conclave to tend to, namely:

"Is that why you came to Riftwatch? Because of the circumstances of your having left Nevarra? It wouldn't be the first time, you know."

"Well it's not a condemnation," Gela offers, but Wysteria's hand does a flicking motion in the air, so she allows the subject to drop. Besides, she's got some dodging of her own to do now! She's said this before but repeating it always makes her a little bit anxious but Wysteria did not know the river Cumber, so she won't know enough to poke holes in whatever Gela chooses to say, a small relief.

"I don't know if I should find that reassurin' or not..."

In some ways, it is! "At least you'll have all of us here, I have to thank you for that."

"Oh, yes indeed. All together we make for a fine little united party of scoundrels and ne'er-do-wells. So you should find it reassuring, I should think," she says as they scrape along. "Unless of course you're the type to have terrible dreams, or—well, I suppose that's nearly everyone these days, isn't it? But no, I think this is all good news. For all that we've had every color of traitor and murderers, to my knowledge no one in Riftwatch has ever posed a danger to another."

Here, a brief pause for consideration. Then—

"Unless of course you're concerned for your reputation. In which case, no. I would not be at all reassured and would recommend you find your way back to Nevarra as quickly as you're able."

But this must (mostly) be a joke, for Wysteria laughs directly after having said so.

Every colour of traitor and murderer- Gela blanches, visibly unsettled, unsure how Wysteria has pegged her this easily. She forces herself to laugh once she catches the joke, a nervous giggle bursting out of her.

"Oh," she says, relieved, heart beating hard, "No, I- honestly already have a bad enough reputation without bein' with you lot, so I'm not too worried about that." That's her little joke, but it doesn't make her laugh so much as try to change the subject: "Do- our allies think that poorly of us?"

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SATINALIA

Gela, OTA

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