faderift | SATINALIA

Entry tags:

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

"You just wanna see me all bruised up again," Ellie teases, completely unbothered.

Honestly, Clarisse is going to cream her. It's just a matter of how badly she's gonna give it back.

“Maybe.” Clarisse raises her eyebrows and rests her chin in one palm, looking over at Ellie.

“You know I think it’s hot.”

Clarisse casually owns it, and really, it's not fair how that has Ellie's fingertips fumbling to keep their hold on their mug. She likes her easy confidence. The way she knows what she wants, and says so.

"I have questions," she says, in a way that's supposed to be playful. At least it's steady. "But I think we're technically at work."

"I have answers," Clarisse says—does she, though?—and gets to her feet with a little stretch. She wants more wine.

"Want another drink?" She extends a hand for Ellie's mug.

Ellie clutches her mug with both hands as Clarisse stands up, makes herself draw in a deeper breath. It's good that she doesn't seem to expect a response right away.

"Sure," she says, hiding it up. "Thanks. Whatever you're getting. I'll save our spots."

Not that there's a lack of them, really. But it's the principle of the thing.

Clarisse disappears for a couple minutes, but returns shortly with both of their mugs refilled with wine, and flops down into the seat next to Ellie again.

She’s content to sit quietly for a minute, but then she asks, “Are you having fun?”

Ellie takes a slow drink of the wine, kinda letting it settle on her tongue, considering.

She's not so great at subtlety, but: "You wanna get out of here?"

Clarisse does a decent job of not looking totally surprised. She doesn’t even choke on her wine or anything! She does have to clear her throat before she answers, but… the bonfire… smoke…

“Sure. Where do you wanna go?”

"We could sneak some of these snacks up to the griffons. I'm sure they'd appreciate celebrating too. Or..."

Ellie trails off, trying to sound casual. Take it or leave it, Clarisse. No pressure.

"We could head back to my room, get away from the noise."

Much as Clarisse likes the griffons, she's not sure she's up for spending the night with them while they attack her over the snacks in her pockets and compete with her for Ellie's attention. She wrinkles her nose and smiles behind the rim of her mug.

"I'd like to see your room."

Cute.

Ellie catches herself thinking it again, something that has her gripping her mug a little tight, feeling warm. Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's that Clarisse is so open about wanting to spend more time with her. Maybe it's because she feels the good kind of sore from skating and dancing and sitting in front of the fire.

"All right."

For once, Ellie doesn't overthink it, sometimes that's much easier when it's Clarisse.

She offers her a hand up; a few people are starting to leave anyway, they won't create a big stir by bowing out. Ellie's room in the mage tower isn't that far. She nudges the door open with her shoulder, still carrying her drink, and lights up the lamp.

The room's got a single bed rather than two, probably meant to house a couple, but there's no sign of a roommate. It has the sense of someone who didn't originally intend to stay long, so it's not strictly decorated, but she's made a lot of use of the space. There's an easel tucked in the corner on a drop-cloth, currently empty but well-loved. Eluvia is resting unstrung near the door, with quiver and a saddlebag ready to be snatched up. The bed's unmade and a little messy, and the drawers of the dresser are askew. There's an untidy stack of library books and some first-aid supplies next to the bed, and the window's cracked open.

There's a desk covered in various journals and larger sketches and propped-up canvases in some disarray, stacks of art supplies, some of them really good quality, and the case for the dulcimer Ellie was playing earlier in the evening.

Ellie's room feels like her. The unmade bed, the open drawers, the bow and saddlebag next to the door waiting for her to grab them on her way out. Even all the art stuff, the sketches and the easel in the corner—they're unexpected, but they seem like they fit all the same. Clarisse feels like she could've picked this room out as Ellie's even if it was lined up next to a dozen others.

Or maybe she's just kidding herself, and there could have been anything in here and she would have felt the same way.

She takes a seat on the bed (is that weird? too comfortable? whatever, she's doing it), holding the mug of wine in one hand, and nudges the topmost library book with her foot to look at the cover for a brief second, before turning her attention back to the more interesting things.

"I didn't know you did art."

The cover of the book is mostly plain, but she'll be able to see Ferelden: Folklore and History in a brief glance at the cover.

Ellie kicks her boots off, shrugging out of her cloak before she sits down on the bed with Clarisse, nodding as she undoes some of the tighter buttons on her outfit. It's fancier stuff than she normally wears, and clearly somebody else picked it out for her at some point. But it's beginning to pinch.

"Yeah," Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes upward. "I was super into comic books as a kid. When I could find them, anyway. So I started doodling and stuff once we got to Jackson. Then I started getting into painting-" she gestures at the easel and paints across the room, the sketches sitting out. "You can look. If you want. I was finishing up one that Derrica asked me to do for Marcus, so it's kinda messy."

She's trying to sound casual, but it's something she's a little proud of.

Oh, right. Duh. Clarisse kicks her own boots off and leaves them next to the bed for someone to trip over later.

Her eyes are drawn to Ellie undoing the buttons on her outfit—it was a good outfit down by the fire and it's an even better one up here, alone, in the light of Ellie's room. She's almost tempted to ask if Ellie wants any help with those buttons. But after a moment, she stands up and looks through some of the sketches Ellie has sitting out, gradually makes her way over to look at the thing she's working on for Derrica.

"These are cool. You're good."

Ellie loosens the buttons at the wrists of the white underblouse, followed by the ones at the neck.

... she caught Clarisse's look. Deliberately, she slows down, rolls her sleeves casually up to her elbows as she gets up to come up to Clarisse's side. It leaves her tattoo bare, and in the better light it's easier to see the slick acid-burn scars beneath it.

"Thanks."

The sketches are messy, but beautiful. Mostly charcoals, some with colored pencils. One is a fawn, curled up in the grass. Another is Gwen's houseboat, docked down by the harbor. Others are horses -- and specifically the painting that Ellie indicates. It's done in blues and greys, a dapple-grey warhorse. Familiar, probably- it's recognizable as Kevin, the warhorse belonging to Marcus, who lives in the stables Clarisse is currently overseeing.

There are other drawings. Cliffsides, landscapes. But some are of people. Viktor bent over one of his projects with a rapturous look of attention in his eyes. Mobius, with that quirk in his mouth that means he's telling a joke. Some of the people in the sparring grounds, just sketches of movement and bodies and expressions.

... and one of Clarisse. It's- simple, almost deceptively so. But she's caught her in a moment of quiet repose, sitting and taking a break with Maimer across her lap, watching something. She caught an in-between expression on her face. She's interested, engrossed in whatever she's watching.

She looks like she's about to break into a laugh, or a smile.

They are really good—Clarisse gets lost in looking at them for a few minutes, looking at the sketches people she recognizes and seeing them from someone else's perspective.

When she sees the drawing of herself, she goes still. Lips pressed together, the tips of her ears going red. She's looking for something... off about what Ellie's captured, something that makes this a joke, and when she doesn't find it, she has nothing to say.

For a few seconds. Then she shoves Ellie, muttering, "Wow, you stalker."

"Oh, please."

Ellie laughs, shoving Clarisse right back. She's strong, much stronger than she looks, but it's still not a contest. Instead she digs her fingers into her side.

"You don't want me to draw you?"

A grin's starting to make its way over her face, her eyes bright.

Yeah, she'll tease her a little.

"Shut up."

Clarisse squirms around Ellie's fingers poking her. She's smiling, too, but her face is still red.

"I don't know. Nobody's ever done it before."

Ellie lays off, thoughtfully looking at the sketch instead of Clarisse, still grinning.

"Really? Never? Then when you get some armor I'll need to do a portrait or something."

Nice and regal, actually. Like one of those Greek statues.

"Yeah, never." Clarisse stares at her. "Is that a thing people do? Sit around and draw each other?"

Like, genuinely asking. She looks a little bit alarmed by the concept.

Ellie catches a snorting laugh in her throat.

"Okay, not really." Just straight up admitting that. "But there were a bunch of those in museums and stuff. Portraits. Except most of 'em were of a bunch of stuffy looking old guys in way-too-tight pants."

Ellie shrugs.

"If I'm going to do stuff of people, then it might as well be a hot girl in armor."

"I know what portraits are, dumbass," Clarisse says, but she shakes her head, grinning.

"Okay. You do one of me in my armor—" which she doesn't have yet, still, but details shmetails— "and what do I get out of it?"

Ellie elbows her with an eyeroll, turns right back around to flop down on the bed and scoot over to make room to lay down next to her.

"You get a portrait of you in armor," she says, like it should be obvious. Ellie stretches out on her side, pillowing her cheek in one hand. "To hang up somewhere. Like an asshole."

Okay, it sounds a little stupid.

"What do you want?"

The face she's making over the thought of hanging up a portrait of herself in her room to just, like, look at. She can be a little arrogant, sure, but that's another level. Right? Like "I'm Henry VIII and I just beheaded my fifth wife" or "I'm a Greek god and I'm about to starve while I stare at my own reflection" or something.

"See, I was thinking you'd keep the portrait and I'd get paid for doing you the favor of posing for it." Paid in what, she's not saying out loud, but after a second she gives Ellie an obnoxious little smile.

Ellie bursts into laughter at the look on Clarisse's face, doesn't even try to stop it. Okay, so there's definitely a line there- and one more thing she knows about her friend, now. (She'd suspected there was a limit to Clarisse's ego, but it's still nice to have it confirmed.)

Said obnoxious smile has her cheeks pinking up because of course it does. And because Ellie really can't resist rising to a challenge:

"The armor's coming off either way, so you'll have to get creative."

SATINALIA

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