faderift | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

"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.

"It's a party. I'm holding up fairly well." Hasn't been snubbed too much. Hasn't had much chance to fumble anything out of his hands. "So long as there isn't some unforeseen disaster that happens, everything should be fine."

He holds up a mug, new gloves sported. "Thank you, by the way."

"Course." Raising his own mug, he taps it against Mobius' cheerfully.

"That's the thing about unforeseen disasters, and all. You don't foresee them," he muses, "but, in fairness, I do think we're overdue for an easy time."

"From your mouth to the Maker's ears. Maybe everyone should consider putting down their arms for the winter, take a breather."

"Would that we should be so lucky." Barrow drinks.

"It's already too late for that, knowing us. And as I'm fairly certain I'm not the only one whose dreams have been fucked lately, I suspect we won't be in the clear for a while."

Mobius considers this, the reasonable and rational take, taking a moment to lean back and watch the sky, breathe deep the cool air made warmer by firelight.

"I can take the evening for a holiday and pretend otherwise."

"Good man." A decisive nod, and, after a moment, Barrow lifts his mug again.

"To pretending otherwise."

"To pretending. And hoping we can stop pretending someday." Because he can keep that hope tucked close, even if it seems very far away.

The gloves suit him, Jude thinks as he wanders over with a plate in hand. He's dressed in a knit sweater, trousers and boots after the local fashion, but hasn't attempted a costume this year. Maybe this is his costume. Local human. Ha.

He offers the contents of his plate with a wordless smile- there are a few smaller cuts of crumb cake on offer, and it's better than the kind he makes, so he's finding the people he likes and insisting they try it.

What makes it out of his mouth though is a low, questioning sound when he reaches out to touch his fingers to the wolf tooth around Mobius' neck.

"You got that for me?" He's not wearing it, but it has been traveling in his pocket.

"Ooo," to the tasty offerings. Don't mind if he do! When all else fails, food is always a good comfort to fall back on. He's halfway through a divine bite of cake when Jude's fingers touch the tooth.

Mobius glances down, briefly, then back at Jude who is definitely not wearing his which is okay. It's okay. "Yeah." Around a mouthful of cake before swallowing it down. "Got us matching ones. More or less. I know I'm not exactly pack, but I like what we have." Whatever it is that they have. The bond they've got between them.

"Oh," he says, so fucking eloquently. Because it's a lot to suddenly understand at once.

"You had me out here thinking that humans just- went around giving each other their teeth-"

But it's a pack-bonding thing, and suddenly that makes all the sense, and he digs it out of his pocket to flip over and look at in the firelight.

Mobius chokes a little. "Giving their teeth--no, Maker, that isn't--"

Which is when he groans and buries his head in his hands. "Oh. Fuck. Gave a wolf wolf teeth. No shit that must seem weird. I'm sorry, I didn't even think about how weird that must be."

A low, rolling laugh bubbles up until his shoulders shake, and he reaches out to lay his hand across Mobius' back while he gets a handle on himself.

"Had this huge mystery on my hands," he says, sounding wheezy as he rubs his hand across the space between his shoulder blades. Both comforting rub and a little shake, how dare.

"You didn't even sign it. This's been tearing me up all fucking day."

"Thought I was being clever," he insists, lamely. "And that it'd become obvious when you saw-" with a little motion to the selfsame tooth around his own neck.

"At least I made your day that much more interesting, what with a whole mystery to solve. I just hope it didn't read as a threat on your life?"

"God's honest truth, I thought it was," Jude admits, wheezing through his laughter. "Was wracking my brains trying to figure it out- I'm hunting you?"

His shoulders are shaking now, and he has to draw a deep breath.

"This is so, so much better."

SATINALIA

mobius | ota

chatting

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chatty and belated as fuck

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