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

[gramarye]

His quick smile comes close to being a laugh, but not quite -- it's more than a little self-conscious. "That's okay," he says, which... of course it is, he is impossible to offend. "But I should probably shut up before making this worse, yeah?"

[rhinemaid]

“You're all right,” she says, smiling, ducking her head briefly and laughing out smoke, quiet and incongruous given the watery sound. “I don't think Penelope has a bedazzler, if that helps.”

[gramarye]

"It does, thank you," he says with a touch of dryness, but it's still pretty sincere. Although imagine that, really. She'd be more likely to beat someone with it. With his cigarette dwindling down, he finishes it off and stubs out the remains, and then pauses, not sure where to go from here.

[rhinemaid]

“Funny what you can get used to, though,” she says, a little vaguely, into that awkward silence; it's a bit more general, just the surreal realization of sitting here and having this easy, small-talk conversation about work and life at this particular event. Like this is normal. Like these are just their lives, now.

And they are. It is.

[gramarye]

"Oh, well -- this in particular, it's terribly deliberate," he says, gesturing around them, indicating not just the event but the entirety of the city. "Dump a bunch of people into a sink-or-swim situation, force them to completely reinvent themselves, and then immediately force them into developing a sense of closure from their former lives, then make them all feel grateful for that little bit of compassion while dangling a carrot in front of them, that maybe they'll get their old lives back after all if they're just good enough. They should call this Stockholm Day."

He coughs into his hand, realising he just said all that out loud. "Um, sorry."