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

[wontturntofoam]

"Oh my goodness, this was terrible! That was a terrible decision!" Shrieky is kind of horrified by the immediacy of the consequences of his bad hand squishing life choices. He actually scoots his chair back at the same time as Fish, moving as soon as the other man declares his intention to leave. "You should stay though, there's-- I mean, there's still beer there? And you didn't do anything strange, or say anything that I was not very grateful to hear said, so I'll leave, and you should stay."

He's actually fairly certain that staying after Fish leaves will just lead to him mentally replaying this now disastrously awkward social exchange a million billion times, and feeling terrible about it. His chair moving goes gloriously unhindered by passers by, so Shrieky stands up, inadvertently looming into Fish's face on his way up.

Oh man, even he can tell that looming into the face of someone who is trying to extract themselves from a conversation with you is not going to help the situation.

[fish]

"No, no, it's—" It's your face. Hi. Fish doesn't jerk back from it, or anything so sudden, but he does remove himself from his seat perhaps more quickly than he would have done otherwise, slipping out from between table and chair without properly making room. The chair's back legs lift and drop audibly behind him.

See, this thing he's doing with his face, it's almost a smile. Sort of. See? Nothing is wrong. "It's fine, it's your table." And now to try removing himself from this place, just quickly enough that it won't stand out in the crowd.

[wontturntofoam]

Shrieky's expression in response to Fish's almost smile is ashen. He is not convinced by any of these claims that nothing is wrong, or that anything is not wrong. What he is quite certain of, is that there has been a disaster here of his own making.

"It's not my table! I was only sitting there!" This is really clearly useless by now. Shrieky covers his eyes with his hands, and exhales, not even attempting to conceal the degree to which he is mortified by whatever has happened here, "No, all right, I'm sorry, I'll see you another time."

That may have been an overly optimistic sentiment he just expressed there.