a late autumn wasp

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

Who: Everyone!
What: A harvest festival and talent show.
Where: Howl Barrow
When: Misdi, the first of Maryden.
Notes: Players are encouraged to invent NPCs, talent acts, or have their characters participate in the show. Have questions? Need to plot more? There's an OOC post for that.

The Zygoda squats in Howl Barrow like an extravagant toad, weighted down by enough decorative architecture to make a baroque angel blush. Live colourful birds - of which an alarming number appear to be cockatoos - roost between the columns and pillars of the facade. The light-up sign outside declares THIS NIGHT ONLY AT THE ZYGODA; AUTUMNAL FESTIVITIES; AMATEUR NIGHT; EVERYONE WELCOME; HARVEST PIES!

The street beneath it has turned into a carnival in its own right; there are tents and stalls selling anything from fortunes told, candy, face paint, and odd little handicrafts. There are street performers and vaudeville artists putting on shows that invite bystanders to join in. The crowd appears to be in a good mood, happy perhaps to be able to let lose and blow off some steam in a friendly context for once. Some wear masks, others are dressed in finery, and others still look like they just got out of work. No one seems to mind either way. The theatres doors stand open, inviting those who wish to step inside.

Comments

THE OUTDOOR CARNIVAL

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

The carnival smells like cotton candy, spiced wine and rare incense. Music, chimes, laughter and loud theatrical voices fill the air. One of the more popular attractions seem to be something called "Kiss the Carp" which appears to be a huge suspended bubble of water in which a large fish swims. On the promise of being rewarded with a fortune or a trinket, one is expected to give up some coins and, as the name suggests, kiss the fish.

[sailorofthefloe.livejournal.com]

Speaking of face-painting, a local friend of Asbjørn's managed to double-book, and so his artistic skills have been set aside for less permanent uses this evening. He can be found amongst the usual chaos armed with face paints, sponges, brushes, a book for ideas and glitter. Lots and lots of glitter. He's looking a bit ruffled (http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT4G2DNcKneQSg5otYKba90jS_kzq36wKBDe9UZRihstcz1gaG4rg) and sparkly for the occasion.

He's accompanied to his left by a young, androgynous looking fellow (named Casey, if anyone should ask) offering hair wrapping services and whose own do looks like the love child of Captain Jack Sparrow and Emilie Autumn. There is another, lower table to Casey's side selling a selection of fun accessories like flower hair garlands, clip-on horns, felted pixie hats, etc, as well as a fanned out selection of fliers for The Lucky Dragon Tattoo Shop.

A finer pair of cheerful weirdos there never was. Come, and give them your money.

[thenormalsquint]

What is this stand? This stand contains everything Angela has ever loved and will love in her lifetime. Feathers, glitter, paint! Her fingers poke and prod at a few garlands before she selects one make of lilies, her favorite flower before sliding into Asbjørn's chair as soon as his current customer vacates it.

"Make me beautiful," she says with a laugh.

[sailorofthefloe.livejournal.com]

Asbjørn feigns shock, before gasp-whispering, "Impossible!" Then grins, adding, "You can't mess with perfection."

Don't mind him and his friendly flirting. He holds his hands up, making a square with his fingers. "But I am getting a fairy feel from the choice of head wear. I'm thinking butterfly eye-mask. What say you?"

[thenormalsquint]

"Flattery won't get you in my pants, Asby." And don't mind hers because that will happen more often than not with this woman.

Angela purses her lips in deep contemplation about her painted-on options and shakes her head. "I want something different. I feel like you'll be doing a whole bunch of butterflies today."

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

Since his arrival in Baedal, Dolohov hasn't seen his sober side. He's kept himself pretty well lubricated, and right now is no different. Though he isn't participating in the games (certainly not at the risk of parting with the money he has), he's watching them with undisguised interest and thinking to himself that Muggles will do anything for a the brief sensation of success.

Even kiss a fish.

After a momentary lapse in his train of thought, he returns the conversation with his companion, slinging an arm around their shoulders. "Where was I? Oh, that's it - well, he was heartbroken, of course, but it's not as though he didn't see it coming, the poor bastard. Well, we got together and decided what he needed was a new romance. And of course, he refused, obstinate git that he was. So, we took out an advertisement in the Prophet for him. 'One Hogwarts alumnus, for sale as-is to willing witch, age 17 to 90, three galleons.'"

[Open to all.]

[aldabeyoun.livejournal.com]

Njoki isn't sure what to make of the giant, slightly unnerving fish. She's fairly sure it some sort of goldfish and not likely to eat anyone's face off, but at the same time, is it really a good idea to pay a bit of money for a soggy smooch and a strange trinket?


"Seems a fair price," she says with a bit of a surprise after been clapped on the back by a stranger who must've lost his usual companion. "But does he have any skills? Match the furnishings well?"

Annnnd...tenses, I has them

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

He doesn't appear to notice that Njoki isn't the same person he arrived with; instead, he nods agreeably. "It was a fair price. You can get a unicorn horn for seventeen sickles. Three galleons for a pureblood wizard is a bargain."

He laughs uproariously and goes, "We had ten inquiries the first day. All it took was a little firewhiskey in his system and he was amenable to anything. Merlin's balls. As far as I know, he's still married to a mouldy old hag in Bulgaria."

Extracting a flask from his coat, he takes a long swig, then blinks at her and holds it out, offering to share.

Tenses! For victory.

[aldabeyoun.livejournal.com]

Njoki has many excellent qualities, one of which is an exceedingly strong constitution and a dubious sense of self-preservation.¹ "Cheers," she says accepting the flask and taking a swig, "Next one's on me, eh?"

"They could be happy as clams together. A great sea of children, all running about, laughing over the funny story of how their parents met." Her own laugh is a short, sharp bray that shows off her slightly too sharp teeth.


-----
[1] See: Letting a frenzying vampire into her apartment because it seemed like 'a good idea at the time'.

THE STAGE

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

The Zygoda's stage is wide and sturdy with many colourful lights and sets available. The thick curtains have been drawn and painted banners that declare things like AMATEUR NIGHT, MERRIMENT and DEFY WINTER have been hung about the place. There is a volunteer music section and two theatre people (one needlessly enthusiastic, one more blasé - both played for comedy) organizing things and helping acts on and off stage.

[goodeintentions]

Aimery had dressed down but forgone a mask, figuring his not being in a suit would be enough to make himself if not disguised then at least not as stuffy and proper looking as usual. That was a decision he reconsidered a dozen times before he went on stage, and he almost didn't even follow through on that thanks to his nervousness about his voice.

But he managed. Despite the bitter, self depreciating content of his song, he played it the same way his father and Guiraut had, all jesting playfulness, using his hat to wave or gesture when appropriate, and making it clear the audience was welcome to laugh at or with him, whichever they'd rather so long as they were entertained. Maybe the basic accompaniment the volunteer band played for him didn't quite fit the tune of the song, and maybe his voice was a little higher pitched than was suited for it, and he wasn't sure if his accent enhanced his translation or made it more difficult, but Aimery felt he lived up to his lineage quite well. He was no troubadour, yet even with a lack of practice he was a passable joglar.

It was a strange feeling, that. Liberating, perhaps, to sing a subtly revealing song for an audience of strangers. He could see why his father loved it, but once was enough for Aimery and he was happy to exit the stage and reclaim his seat when the time came, albeit with an awkward smile that was some mix of embarrassed, proud, and breathless.

[gunsnotvoodoo.livejournal.com]

There is no way Loki is passing up a chance to jump up on that stage and do a little entertaining of his own. Especially not with Bartleby around to haul his ass away before he embarrasses himself, the audience, and the entire Kingdom of Heaven.

The volunteer musicians aren't expected to do much more than keep a beat and keep up with Loki, who launches into an enthusiastic rendition of King of Rock (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qXzWlPL_TKw). Yes, he even performs both parts. It's a sight to see.

THE SEATS

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

A theatre that caters to many different people and species must offer many different forms of seating and the Zygoda does just that. Steps have been taken to make sections available to the disabled. There is even a tub or two for the more aquatically inclined. Most of the seats offer a pretty good view of the stage, and there are quite a few people here, cheering or booing (mostly cheering) the various goings-ons on the stage.

SNACK TABLE

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

The lobby has been filled with tables and the tables have in turn been filled with plates, crates and bottles full of pie, fruit and beverages. There are no helpful signs or other indications detailing what has gone into pies or drinks, but what is life without a bit of a gamble. It appears to be a self serve sort of deal, through there some staff looking individuals trying to keep things clean and mirthful.

[gifted-hands.livejournal.com]

Tadhg's attire shows that he has been clothes shopping at some point: twill trousers in a dark chocolate brown, a suede vest (http://www.vestsbycharlotte.com/images/vests/20m-faux-taupe-suede-vest.jpg) over what looks suspiciously like a poet shirt (http://thedarkangel.com/img/photos/2008_11/447_-_poet_shirt_500x500.jpg). What he's sporting on his face (http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y61/karihan/RP%20Whossits/Autumn_Green_Man_Leather_Mask_by_me.jpg) makes it fairly obvious that he visited the craft tables in the carnival at some point. Soooo he's only halfway to looking like a Ren Faire escapee. His sister would be proud, or at least less obvious about facepalming.

At the moment, he's surveying the array of food with the air of someone laying out a plan of attack. Every so often he inhales deeply, nostrils flaring as he tries to decipher what might be in what.

[thenormalsquint]

Dog-free for the afternoon, Angela wanders around the festival, looking at the various styles of the new city she's found herself in. She's been staring at things long enough to decipher who's decorated who so far and she recognizes the man under the jewel-colored mask, this time with more normal looking eyes. This is good for her and quite possibly bad for him, but when since has Angela cared.

"He wants this," she says, pointing to a small hand pie filled with some kind of stewed fruit. It looks innocent enough unless Tadhg has something against fruit. "Well, actually, I want it, but I want him to taste test it first."

[gifted-hands.livejournal.com]

"Oh you do, do you?" Tadhg chuckles and picks up two of the pastries, making a show out of sniffing at one of them before taking a bite. Suddenly his eyes cross and then roll back. He makes a gargling noise as he starts to pitch forward--

--only to catch himself before falling into the food. Turning, he offers the second pie to Angela with the sweetest of smiles, because he can be a rotten púca sometimes.

"Dried apricots and cherries stewed in ... red wine, I think? It's very good." He takes a second, larger bite and chews enthusiastically, slightly chipmunk-cheeked by the mouthful.

[thenormalsquint]

"He does nothing for your business image," Angela reports to the elderly lady that's schlepping the pastries, handing over a few coins for two pies before taking the one offered to her. "Personally, I would hire a new ad guy."

The grandmother rolls her eyes at the two clowns at her stall and waves them off grumpily with a few foreign words that sound suspiciously like insults towards somebody's mother. Ah well. Not the first time somebody called Angela the spawn of a whore. Probably won't be the last.

For his trouble, though, Tadhg gets Angela poking at those puffy cheeks of his. "Adorable, really."

[aldabeyoun.livejournal.com]

It is a universal constant that all version of Njoki throughout time and space love pie. Bad pie is a tragedy, but good pie is something to be rejoiced over and consumed with great joy. At this particular moment, Ki is eating some sort of fruit-like pie that is orange(ish) and neither pumpkin or cape gooseberry, but somewhere between the two flavours.

[goodeintentions]

Aimery, too, had a fondness for pie. There were all kinds of variations and improvements, but the basic concept of them had survived enough to still remind him of the more pleasant aspects of 'back home' in Warwick. He had decided to limit himself to one slice at the most, maybe two, but it all just looked and smelled so good.

He wandered the table for a bit, undecided, until he found one that was a delightful off-orange color with the most pleasant smell. Except he didn't know what was in it and getting it and taking a slice only to toss it away would be terribly wasteful. So he looked around, eyeing the people's plates until he spotted a one that held a slice of the same color. Even before he recognized the bearer, he was headed over, his face a picture of polite inquiry, "Pardon my interrupting, but that pie. Is it any good?"

[aldabeyoun.livejournal.com]

"S'not bad. It's orange, but doesn't taste of orange. I can't tell you what it is or tastes like, but it's not too sweet?" Njoki looks down at her plate and stabs a piece of pie off to eat. It would be better with a cup of coffee or maybe a pot of tea, but you can't have everything. "Might be persimmon?"

[goodeintentions]

"Persimmon?" Aimery made a small thoughtful noise, a soft hmm as she are her bite of pie, then gave a firm, agreeing nod. "I shall give it a try then, thank you."

He half turned back towards the pie table but stopped himself, deciding pie could wait until he confirmed they had, in fact, met. "You attended the Luthor birthday party about a month back, yes? You had a... Columbina mask, if I recall?"

[manyshapes.livejournal.com]

Raven has been wandering through the festival, mostly people-watching at the moment, although she might check out one of the fortune-tellers later, just for fun. Right now she's contemplating the spread of food, trying to decide whether dishes that look familiar probably are familiar, or just cleverly disguised that way to lure in the unaware.

[goodeintentions]

Maybe a second plate wouldn't hurt, if the tenders didn't recognize him, so Aimery found himself once again surveying the buffet with a keen eye. He wasn't the only indecisive one either, it seemed, from the number of people wandering the line looking hungry- one wearing a familiar looking scarf. Aimery grinned and tried to play his winding up standing next to Raven as pure coincidence, but his voice was plenty cheeky as he asked, "Miss, could I bother you a moment for some advice?"

[manyshapes.livejournal.com]

Raven recognizes that voice instantly, and she turns her head toward him with an equally cheeky grin. "Only if you'll give me some advice in return."

Then in a spontaneous fit of happiness at feeling like she almost has friends here, she gives Aimery a quick hug. "I saw you sing, you're really good!"