OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

[baedalites]

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.

Comments

Re: Lounge and tables:

[oneborneveryminute]

It's always a good idea for those who have made themselves at home in a city - lifers, he would call them, with no intention of escape - to try and mingle with the natives as well as their cohort. Catenrat and St. Kelley's are excellent excuses for Nico to pretend to be sociable: parties held at nighttime, crowded for the most part, plenty of drinks at hand.

Well. In most cases.

He doesn't drink the bottled stuff. It's like tofurkey, he thinks. There's just enough uncanny valley (for lack of a better term) about drinking blood from a bottle to put him off it. But he can pretend to drink while and pretends to be sociable, while he pretends to be a rakish European vampire. But that's just fine, because everyone else is pretending not to be miserable about having their lives disrupted by the Twelve Point Divinity of Baedal. It's one big pretense.

It's sedate tonight, at least, but always the same pattern: Someone claps him on the back and he gives what he thinks is a winning smile. Someone pushes another drink his way though his glass is mostly untouched. Someone shakes his hand, oh, yes, having a marvelous time, bit like a wake, isn't it? Sold you that two-headed cat, didn't I, and oh, scale rot, you say?

Someone shoot me.

Lounge and tables:

[wontturntofoam]

At some point in the proceedings, someone saw fit to spill a drink down Shrieky's back, and he may never get over it. He can feel the unpleasant, sticky sensation of whatever syroupy beverage they'd been indulging in, clinging to the hairs on the back of his neck, and glueing his tee shirt to his back. While it's a completely nonsensical thought to have, just in that moment, it seems like the single worst thing ever to befall him.

He's been trying to remedy this situation, of course, by getting two pints of water from the bar, and carefully, inch by inch, dribbling it down the back of his neck. So far, it's only served in rejuvenating the sticky qualities of the drink. What he really needs is something he can use to wipe the other drink away, like... a cloth, or a handkerchief...

Conveniently, at that precise moment, he happens to spot someone dressed in such a way as to surely be in possession of the coveted item. He raised a hand, so as to catch the well dressed gentleman's eye, before asking somewhat shamelessly, "Do you have a handkerchief?"

[oneborneveryminute]

Nico by this time is lounging well back, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle, an arm tossed over the back of his chair. He can't help but watch with amusement Shrieky's dilemma: the drink down the back. The mad search for a towel. Unfortunately, the other man's eyes have settled on him like a searchlight, and Nico is stricken with the unpleasant feeling that he's going to be asked for a favor.

Thankfully, it's only the handkerchief. Still, it's rather irksome. The handkerchiefs - oh, yes, of course he has them - are for show. They're fine linen. Embroidered. His eyes drift to the napkin on the table in front of him, but there's really no escaping this sort of thing. He's already slipping a hand into an inner vest pocket, drawing out the cloth, and holding it out with an upturned palm.

"For all the good it will do you."

[wontturntofoam]

Shrieky snags the hankerchief, and gives Nico a slightly unimpressed look, because that is not the correct approach to having your handkerchief borrowed for such an important cleaning mission as this one, "Don't anticipate my failure! I have absolute faith in your handkerchief being the key addition to this process ending successfully."

He may be overstating his case there somewhat. Still, he artfully dips half of the fine linen embroidered handkerchief into his water, and carefully reaches around behind the back of his head to lift his pony tail and swipe at the sticky syrupy coating covering his neck. He's carefully kept half of the handkerchief dry, to use as a makeshift towel once he's done here.

"Anyway, thank you." This is added a little curtly, as an afterthought.