multiversallogs | OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

Who: Everyone!
What: St Kelley's evening
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Veerdi evening.
Notes:
(1) The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread.
(2) All mementos will appear overnight in some part of your character's apartment.
(3) Dance!

St Kelley's is one of the more sedate occasions in Baedal, at least as holidays go. It passes more or less unnoticed by the majority of the population as many of them feel it doesn't concern them. It's not their holiday; it's for the others. Those with severed ties and broken hearts. The temple and church preach that it's a time for reflection or for glorifying the generosity of the gods. It's one of the few days on which no one looks askance at first generation Citizens mourning their missing loved ones publicly.

As night rolls around and floating lanterns are set to sea, the Apache in Mog Hill prepares to accept guests from the newer cohorts. It's something that happens every year, making it a practical tradition. The alcohol will be cheaper for first timers, and the music will be kept at a reasonable level.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"How perfect that we should be so like-minded." It's small talk; it doesn't really mean anything, but it's as natural to her as any bit of useful artifice. (And she really does appreciate the cigarette being snuffed out, regardless of whether or not the gesture was intentional.)

"You look just lovely, of course." There's the subtle sense (a kind of flickering awareness) of the less-human appearance beneath the glamour, but she means it honestly -- in part because of that fact. (The things she finds beautiful these nights sometimes surprise her, but as they make life more interesting, she's not inclined to complain.) "You ought to tell me what I've missed."

I died, she thinks but doesn't entertain actually saying; it's the sort of thing that stays on a person's mind for a while, that, but it's not the sort of conversation she's presently interested in having. Her interactions with Anna in the past have always veered sharply and interestingly between an easy-breezy kind of faerie camaraderie and that which is sharper and darker, which suits her by nature and gives her a kind of context to view future conversations filtered through-- playful monsters.

"I got my harp, finally," she says, sitting back down and making room on the bench she's acquired for new company. "Erik paid off the rest of what I owed on it and I have it at home, now, it's-- gorgeous. It's a concert grand, so it's taller than I am."

She sits beside her, still a politely maintained distance between them. But she actually claps her hands together with something like glee at the mention of the harp; her soft spot for artistry in general is inevitably transparent to anyone who spends any length of time with her.

"That has to be the most wonderful thing I've heard in at least three nights. I think my favorite part is that I'm picturing it as a sort of great golden beast sitting in your living room. My favorite part will be the music, I'm sure, once I've heard it."

It is about then that Ivan wanders up, still smoking his cigarette. "Good evening," he says as he joins them; he presumes Ilde will tell him to go away if she wants a private conversation.

At this point it can be safely assessed that it was deliberate when Ilde put her cigarette out-- she takes Ivan's, inhales, and then puts that one out as well. Through her exhalation, "Speaking of my belongings, hello, handsome." She is the best girlfriend, where 'best' means 'sassiest, to a point'. "Anna, this is Ivan; Ivan, Anna. We were just talking about my harp-- I got new furniture for my music room, actually," in an aside, mostly to Anna, "a friend of mine was giving it away."

There's a flitted smile of relief and a quiet "thank you" at that (because, really, the cigarettes, must we) before she settles into properly acknowledging the presence of the man Ilde has so helpfully identified as some manner of beau.

"And I trust that all your friends have excellent taste," she concludes, before extending a really rather too-pale hand with an easy smile. "A pleasure, Ivan."

It's not quite true, actually. There's a certain quality to the man that's simultaneously a bit familiar and a bit threatening -- not that strange sixth sense moment of another Kindred's predator's taint, but with a feeling of the monstrous all the same; something in the way he holds himself, maybe. It's not enough to throw her off, really (it's not nearly so bad at that instinctive and panicked need to either run or else rip out someone's throat that came with the predator's taint and meeting other Kindred for the first time, after all), but it's enough to make her do the internal equivalent of raise an eyebrow.

He takes her hand and presses a chaste (if mildly cheeky) kiss to her knuckles with easy grace. "Likewise. Ilde's friends usually have better taste than she does, as they nearly universally disapprove of me." His smile is small and wicked and mostly for Ilde's benefit.

It's probably not all that shocking to discover that Ilde's taste in men both monstrous and suspect; she makes a faint noise in the back of her throat that's more exasperated acknowledgement than anything else and leans against Ivan as though he'd come expressly for the purpose of being treated like mobile furniture.

"Hasi likes him," she tells Anna, as though this renders everyone else's opinion irrelevant. Perhaps it does!

For all that they've spoken all of twice, given that Hasi is one of that select category of people who've gained something like near-instant adulation from Anna, her opinion really does hold more than its fair share of weight.

She also enjoys that Ivan kisses her hand; flattery will get you everywhere, half-cheeky or not.

So she tucks the discomfort more or less to the side -- she'll ask Ilde later, she decides, if there's not an answer by the end of the conversation. (Curiosity can only be delayed so long.)

"Well, Hasi's taste is nothing if not impeccable," a light smirk, "so, if you ask me, he can stay. At least long enough to inform me of what I'm sure are a number of charming and wicked qualities, that I might decide for myself your taste in men."

"You are very gracious." Ilde draping herself over him is, evidently, nothing new. "What were you ladies discussing, before I so rudely interrupted?"

"My harp," she supplies, reflexively pleased by it; she doesn't imagine that Erik had been trying to buy her affection (he hadn't-- he'd thought, fairly, that she could do with something good after everything else), but in fairness that's mostly because the lessons of being outrageously spoiled growing up take longer than this to dissipate. Of course she should be given the things that she wants.

She doesn't much complain, when she goes without, but the fact remains that Emery made her a bit of a princess and captivity was not a maturing experience.

"You'll come and hear me play, Anna, won't you? I'd like that."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything." Her smile is flattered and indulgent. "You simply give me a time some evening and everything else in my schedule will simply have to settle for being rearranged." Flattery begets flattery -- that's part of the fun of it.

Ivan suppresses the urge to suggest he make himself popcorn.

"It is a fine harp; it would be a shame not to show it off now and then."

OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

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enjoying the "playful monsters" desc, jsyk

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