war table: the riftwatch cultural exposition.

[propulsion]

WHO: Innovators
WHAT: Riftwatch hosts a world's first Cultural Exposition
WHEN: Now
WHERE: University of Orlais
NOTES: OOC post

Music filters through the expansive hall of the University of Orlais. The knot of musicians here to underscore any awkward silences with gentle lute plucking and flute piping are stationed under the glow of tall stained glass windows, and seem to be playing a tune that a few people among Riftwatch may recognise resembles the Eurythmics' "Sweet Dreams". It echoes off the rounded stone walls, where small stages and displays await the curious for closer inspection.

Welcome to the Riftwatch Cultural Exposition.

The Exposition takes place over two long days. A printed program has neatly allotted everyone windows of time for presentation, in which those in attendance filter towards the designated banner, corner, or antechamber (as desired) to listen with reserved or perhaps enthusiastic interest to the otherworldly.marvels on display.

In between these presentations, a mix of academics, artists, merchants, and miscellaneous others wander the hall, chatting together, engaging members of Riftwatch in conversation. Anticipate some curiosity into not only the items or ideas you have on display, but also the world you come from, and how it differs from Thedas. And remember to keep certain innovative information under lock and key for now.

A small taskforce of undergraduates have been recruited to assist in running platters of pizza and peanut butter chocolate chip cookies around the hall, in helping to set up display stages or assist in interactive demonstrations, or to shepherd the nearby crowd closer when it comes time for your presentation, so make use of them.

NOTE: Consult the Points Distribution Chart to see what kinds of threads can earn us points and therefore results from the overall event! Honour system in place, so please only mark a Bank item complete if you progress a thread relevant to that item.

Once we have some points banked, we'll figure out how to distribute their spending, so don't spend 'em yet!

Drop any questions you have here.

Comments

[grindset]

"You could..."

Viktor, presently in shirtsleeves and seated on his pick of the two beds, is buttoning a pair of suspenders into place. His coffee mug is empty, his hair not nearly so tame, and his nerves not nearly so fervid precisely because he himself is not obliged to engage in public presentation.

"But blending in would defeat the purpose of our being here."

That he barely slept either last night was, to a certain degree, out of solidarity. Functionally, he's never seen Jayce so specifically anxious, but he knows just how to respond to it—a familiar dynamic, polished new again.

"Besides, where would you even obtain one on such short notice?"

[pathlit]

He's nodding as Viktor speaks: yes, blending in is the opposite of why they're here. Also yes, where would he obtain one so quickly? Even so, his hand leaves his mouth to gesture vaguely as he says, "I don't know. If they're the norm, then there are probably shops full of them, right?"

He doesn't want to wear a mask. Or does he? No, not really. But maybe--?

(To mask or not to mask is not the actual issue.)

Quite unapologetically, he sits next to Viktor and flops down on his back. The hands on his face do not contain his smothered groan. "How am I supposed to read the audience when they're wearing masks?"

[grindset]

The mattress shifts, and Viktor with it. He's unbothered by this woeful flailing, even somewhat approves of it as a form of anxiety release—better now than during the presentation—but there are practical concerns.

"Wrinkles," as in, maybe Jayce should sit up to avoid creating them. His actual answer: "Don't focus on the masks. Their bodies won't be hidden—they can still tell you something."

Buttoning done, he runs his thumbs under the straps to seat them more or less comfortably. Without the natural groove in his shoulder to rest in, the left one is going to slide around; he tightens it to compensate.

"If you're really so worried about your face, there's always cosmetics."

This is only three quarters of a joke—makeup is likewise an Orlesian custom.

[pathlit]

Wrinkles, Viktor warns, and Jayce responds with a soft, unintelligible noise of petulance.

Through the angular spaces between his fingers, he stares up at the ceiling and blinks slowly. Cosmetics. Yes, he saw a few faces obscured in paints and shimmers rather than physical masks on their way here.

Mel wears it better, he thinks.

“Do you think I’d look good in it?” he asks, a little dubious—and still lying down.

[grindset]

He hadn't actually tried to picture it, but now that the question's been posed, this calls for a moment's pause. The first thing that springs to mind is a small group of Orlesian citizens their own group passed on the way to campus yesterday, their half-masks with scandalously broad eye holes and open lacework veils designed to flaunt the colourful cosmetic artistry beneath. One of them had what looked like chromatic wing cases from some kind of beetle affixed around her eyes. Feathers for false eyelashes on another. No doubt they were on their way to some kind of frivolous event.

The resulting mental image—frilled collar, broad-brimmed hat and all—is so outrageously unlike Jayce that, upon picturing it, he's compelled to fold his lips all the way in between his teeth until the urge to laugh settles.

"Mmm," relaxing his mouth, gently clearing his throat, "a little around the eyes, perhaps."

[pathlit]

He knows that sound, but can't bring himself to annoyance. A little around the eyes only punctuates his wistful recollection of deeply rich hues and gold. Hazel and gold and poise.

She wouldn't humor this whining, he thinks. Then again, he probably wouldn't be whining in her presence, anyway. They weren't... like that. They weren't like this, comfortably vulnerable in each other's presence. Oh, he and Viktor still withhold, still possess pockets of privacy, Viktor more so than he, but Jayce has never felt more at ease with another. So his thoughts wander -- to Viktor, adjusting his clothing beside him. To Viktor, who will deftly avoid attention and, so, shouldn't he wish to wear a mask?

To Viktor, with bold, multichromatic pigment lining his eyes.

To Viktor, who doesn't require any cosmetics to highlight the warmth of his amber irises.

To Viktor, for whom Jayce cannot remember his appearance without the bags beneath his sockets.

"... yeah, maybe," he eventually mumbles, with no intention of doing so. "There's the dinner afterwards..."

And in that statement, a question Viktor ought to recognize: Will you be there?

[grindset]

Viktor does feel the figurative tug on his sleeve, and turns his face toward it.

His own patience for whining is finite; he'll commiserate, but never coddle. Taking a moment to purge some anxiety with an aim to get the mind back on course, provided there's room for it in a given timeline, is perfectly respectable. (If there's no room for it, his patience evaporates, especially for himself.) Self-indulgent languishing, on the other hand...

"What was that? I can't hear you from up here."

(In one of his pockets of privacy is the design for a mask he has yet to build.)

[pathlit]

Up here. Ha ha.

His palms slide down the lines of his jaw, fingertips resting on the underside of it with the barest pressure. "Are you going to attend the dinner?" he asks, glancing in Viktor's direction with a faint smile.

[grindset]

Up here, a whole slouchy torso's length away. Practically miles.

Jayce fails to attend his prompt to sit up, which is fine, but does put Viktor's own sense of responsibility in some peril. To likewise flop himself back is already tempting enough without being irradiated by comfort at such close range—even now he's conceding to it in part by leaning back on his arms.

Of the dinner,

"You know how I feel about those."

[pathlit]

Eyes closing, chest rising with a deliberately slow inhale that is held for a few seconds, then released as an elongated, "Mm-hm."

Nothing fills the space that follows. Queasy agitation has already nearly settled, quieting in the simple act of lying beside Viktor. His pulse beats gentle beneath his fingertips. He still misses Mel deeply.

He hopes they can avoid war between the two cities -- they, Mel and the he still in Piltover, the he who exists outside of this dream, the Fade -- whatever the chosen label of the phenomenon that resulted in his presence here.

Softly, he says, "I'll bring you the sweetest atrocity I can find."

[grindset]

From Jayce's point of view, whether he's looking or not, Viktor merely accepts this in silence. Past the angles of shoulder and neck and sharply curling hair, he can't see the small smile it brings about, nor the slow fade of that smile across the seconds after. From his point of view, Viktor simply sits there for a time, and then his thin body moves with a sigh.

"For a minute, I actually forgot where we were."

[pathlit]

"Liar," is automatic and casual. "You don't forget anything."

[grindset]

Viktor turns his head to cast an inscrutable eye upon him. He's not smiling—but he's not not smiling, specifically. Sometimes he looks as though he's never even heard of smiling as a concept, nor does he care to learn what it is. This is not one of those times.

Are they okay enough that he can say this? He thinks so:

"Except you."

[pathlit]

Barely a beat passes wherein Jayce registers the statement and spreads his hands in the immediate space above, eyes rolling. "Outside the influence of nefarious magic," he says, in the tone of fine, there. "Besides, the first one didn't completely succeed. Some of me still managed to stick around."

With a playfully haughty smile, he adds, "Guess I'm just that unforgettable."

Teasing, of course.

[grindset]

Of course—and he is glad to receive it. However,

"They did nail it on the second try."

And the two of them found each other nonetheless.

Whether there's a pause after this, or Jayce quips off some further retort, Viktor now considers his body's fondest wish—to become horizontally oriented—and ultimately decides he must deny it for the good of them both. If he falls asleep, he suspects Jayce will do the same, and to arrive late to their own expo due to pure laziness would be very embarrassing.

And so, he gives Jayce's foot a light tap with his shoe, come on, and stands.