multiversallogs | a late autumn wasp

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a late autumn wasp

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.

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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.

Edited 2011-11-02 10:01 (UTC)

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.

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?"

"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."

He pokes his tongue out as a reply to the first, then he considers her request. "Hmm. How about ivy leaves? Sort of a play on the pagan Green Man image. Only you'll be the Green Lady."

"I don't have to make you match, mind you. I'm just in the mood."

This time, Angela grimaces playfully. "Well, if you must. It would be cruel of me to deny the muses of another artist. Do what you need to do."

So dramatic, this woman. It's a wonder she doesn't carry around her own fainting couch.

"I promise it will be dazzling," he says with a grin, because apparently Asbjørn enjoys treating people's faces like a six-year-old would making a greetings card.

"Right." A sponge is grabbed and he dabs on some pale, shimmery looking paint. "I need to keep your hair out of the way. Do you mind if I use my hands or do you want to wear an alice band?"

Only nobody will let a six-year-old have so much access to glitter, right? Hopefully.

"Whatever makes life easier for you," she replies, closing her eyes and leaning back into the chair. "Except for making me look like Medusa's twin or something."

"Alice band then," he says, passing one over. "Medusa would be seriously cool, although we'd need a better head piece for that. Green dreadlock falls or something."

"Medusa would certainly be not," Angela retorts with a strained laugh as she tries to keep her head still enough for the band to slide into place. "I'm not trying to be celibate for a whole year again. Looking like Medusa will just lessen my chances at a one night stand."

Far too much personal information for a woman to tell a man she's only met less than a week ago, but really, what is anything personal to Angela? Certainly not space or words.

"I don't know, with some people around here it could actually increase it." There is dabbing of paint, etc, as all this is going on. "It's none of my business, but why celibacy?"

Is he making a face? Maybe. Sliiightly.

"Lean market," she replies through clenched teeth, this time trying to stay still so he can paint in peace. "Very lean market with people who were too young or didn't play for the same teams I did."

Or they were all vampires, exes of her friends, or generally untouchable. Or just plain not interested in her. That last part Angela doesn't like to think about.

"I'm guessing this would be in another place like this," he says, swapping sponge for paintbrush. "'Cause to be honest, I would have moved."

Not unlike when he did leave home at eighteen. There's not a lot of anything in Finnmark, let alone people.

Edited 2011-11-11 17:28 (UTC)

"Yeah, well, in that place, moving wasn't an option except to go up or down a floor or to the other side of town," she replies, trying not to laugh. Indeed, the City was truly a dead end like Baedal.

"I could only dream about moving."

"Tell me about it. I was kind of done with city life for a while and then this place dragged my sorry butt here. I'm a country boy at heart, who knew." He puts down the brush for a smaller one.

"Not that this place is completely bad. I've met a lot of cool people here I never would have normally. That's something at least."

"Yeehaw."

Oddly enough for the social butterfly Angela is, she hasn't met too many new faces, but that's okay when compared to the old face of Claire. One person can make up for a strong lack of many. "It seems... okay, if not a little dated technologically. No curses really does help."

"No, we have our own speciality of weirdness here." He seems to be concentrating on some little details right now. "Then again, I'm not Mr. Normality back home, so. Like attracts like in this instance."

"Normal is boring, anyway. Who wants to be it?"

Certainly not Angela, though at first glance, she looks it. She was normal at one point, and then she was born.

"Are you done yet?" Because sitting still for more than five minutes is hard.

"Don't rush me, or you'll end up with Medusa after all."

After a moment or so, he does put his brush down and picks up a mirror. "Okay, if you hate it, we can wipe it off. Don't hurt me."

He's clearly his own worst critic. Angela is a shimmery pale-green around the eyes, with pretty little leafy vines coming out the corners,looping around in little twirls to make an eye mask. "What do you think?"

Taking the mirror into her own hands, Angela carefully watches her newly developed face, turning from side to side before breaking into a smile.

"I love it." She reaches out and pokes him gently in the belly. "And you said you couldn't make me beautiful."

His is the happiest of faces! "Aw, well I'm glad you're pleased with it. I've got of my own leaf work going on in places."

There's a moment where he searches his arms and then remembers, oh wait, the neck. Someone is losing count.

Angela laughs at his inability to find his own tattoos. "Maybe your next one should be a Post-It of where and what you have."

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a late autumn wasp

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