February Event - Garden of Woe [Merrymeet]

[pumpkinhollow]

**Plain text version here.

GARDEN OF WOE

To Meet is Merry...

It’s a beautiful day. Normally Merrymeet is held a tad later in the month, but thanks to some predictions from Phil, the festival planning committee managed to snag a date right in the middle of a patch of lovely warm days. A false spring --- there would be another snow by the following week. But it’s the first hint of a true spring waiting in the wings. The sun is shining, the grass on the festival green is slowly waking up, snowdrop flowers wobble in the breeze, and the weather is approaching something akin to balmy. It's as if Celestine herself carried in her opposite-most sister on a warm breeze, just for today.

Partygoers trickle in from all sides, gathering at the Festival Green. Each and every soul is dressed in their spring finest. And when Juniper Sweetwater once again ascends the steps to the gazebo, the crowd falls silent. The procession is about to begin.

Dress to Impress

Generally speaking, the dress code for Merrymeet is garden party formalwear. Appropriate outfits can fall anywhere in the Classic or Lavish categories. Characters here less than 2 months are able to get free rentals if they’d like, but can buy their outfit if they wish. Everyone else is asked to please purchase their outfit (from 300-500B, depending upon complexity).

Short on Brass? Drop by Gourd en Glace before the event and grab yourself a sundae and bring it up to Venka Meridell, the proprietor who also happens to be the local tailor’s daughter. She’ll slip you a coupon for a half-price Merrymeet outfit if you’re willing to taste test one of her unorthodox new ice cream flavors. Her mother, Saraya, will begrudgingly accept these coupons. [Mod Note: Please only take this option if you have 500B or less in your ledger, we are trying to get some of these rich-ass characters to spend their damn money!]

Once you’re all dressed to the nines, please feel free to use the code below to show off your drip in the Fashion Show thread!

<img src="YOUR URL HERE" alt="Merrymeet" style="width:400px;">

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Crowning of the Flower Queen

Once Mayor Poe gives the signal, a band begins to play, signalling the entrance of the Floral Court. A hush falls over the crowd as they watch the nominees enter, one at a time and escorted by their chosen companion. Many beloved community figured were nominated this time, and competition was stiff--- the crowd is eager to see who is named their Flower Queen.

Then, the procession begins in earnest as each member of the Floral Court (Valdis, Ylva, Margaret, Lyubov, CT, Alice, Fever, Magne, Olivia, Anya, and Helena) is escorted through the festival green and up to the gazebo. Standing at the top of the short flight of gazebo stairs is Juniper Sweetwater, a poised and delicate Wood Elf with pale brown hair. Gracing each pair with a greeting of “hail and merry meet”, she places a small ring of flowers upon the brow of each member of the court, and hands each one a matching boutonniere or corsage to bestow upon her plus-one. Juniper lets each pair file into the gazebo to take their seats.

Then some of the other leading ladies arrive and do much the same--- first, Drelasa, who won third place, and then Elsie and Sally, who tied for second. Behind them is Sally’s toddler Gwen, who is “escorted” (carried) by her older brother Yellow, both of whom are invited to join as special guests. Juniper takes a moment to bestow each of the women with a slightly larger crown, and a bouquet decorated with a ribbon indicating their place and a brass or silver charm as a token of their achievement.

Finally, the last to enter is the Flower Queen herself. The music swells as this year’s Queen, Dahlia Leeds, is escorted by her Courtier, Radar O’Reilly. A murmur sweeps over the onlooking crowd of surprise and excitement as Dahlia proceeds through the parted crowd. Once one of the most beloved people in town, Dahlia has barely been seen outside her home since her fall from grace at her birthday gala. And when she has, she’s looked sallow and miserable, a husk of herself. And yet here, today, she looks utterly radiant--- aside from the fact that she is very obviously weeping, utterly overcome with emotion at the fact that so many of her neighbors and friends still accept her. Tears of surprise, joy, relief, and gratitude pour down her face in thick streams that she cannot contain as she makes her way down the aisle with Radar, both of them dressed ornately in delicate blue.

The pair are showered with flower petals as they follow the winding trail, applauded quietly by festival goers before they reach Juniper. Fluidly, she swaps places with Dahlia so that the new Flower Queen is the one stood at the top of the stairs and the prior is on the ground.

“Hail and merry meet.” Juniper curtsies. “Today, just as I was two years ago, you have been chosen by the people of our town to be the Flower Queen. It is my honor to present you with gifts befitting a queen.”

Another townsperson passes her a basket, which Juniper presents to Dahlia. It contains a number of spring-themed treats--- honey harvested from last spring’s flowers, a bottle of specially crafted sweet festival wine to be consumed on the summer solstice, a candle embedded with dried flowers, a blend of lavender and bergamot tea, a charming floral soap, and a necklace with a pressed forget-me-not inside a clear pendant. There is also a medal hanging around the wine bottle shaped like an orchid bloom, engraved on the back with text. “Flower Queen 16:55 - Pumpkin Hollow - Dahlia Anastasia Leeds”. Juniper then passes the somewhat heavy basket off to Radar to carry--- after all, it’s the Courtier’s job to attend to the Queen!

Then, Juniper pins a boutonniere to Radar’s lapel, and beneath it, a medal of his own. “Floral Courtier - 16:55 - Radar O’Reilly”.

“With this sprig of Serannai’s glory, I bestow upon you the honored duty of Courtier to the Flower Queen. Assist her as she needs and ensure that she spends this day as free and joyful as a spring breeze.”

Lastly, Juniper turns back to Dahlia and takes up a crown of flowers, larger and more elaborate than the others, holding it aloft for a moment before resting it upon Dahlia’ss head.

“With this crown, I pass my title on to you. May it bring you felicity and fortune, so that you may share it with the earth as you put seed to soil.”

Before letting them go, Juniper leans in, beaming and grasping Dahlia’s hand tightly with the warmth of someone who has known her their whole life, and whispers, “Congratulations!” Then, she takes a step back, hurrying delightedly off into the crowd, leaving Dahlia to stand and look over the crowd of her friends, her neighbors, her loved ones, so many of whom have still chosen to embrace her. For a moment, all she can do is stand in awe.

Applause rings out over the crowd, music swells once more, and Merrymeet officially begins. Congratulations to Dahlia, and all the members of the Floral Court!

Eat, Drink, Be Merry!

It doesn’t take long for lunch to be brought out, courtesy of some helpful volunteers and the Oak & Iron’s diligent cooking staff. Salads full of spring greens, fresh bread with herbs baked in, puff pastries with fresh cheese and asparagus, egg tarts, chicken sandwiches, and crispy little hashbrowns formed into cups to look like bird nests, each with a devilled egg sitting inside. There are also dozens of little desserts made with flowers and spring berries, like cakes and custards, and even heart-shaped macarons.

And while there is wine being passed around the table, there is also tea. But this isn’t just any tea, and these aren’t just any tea pots. The pots are clear glass, surrounded by ornate silver fixtures, so that you can see the color of the tea and the leaves steeping within. Some are regular tea leaves rolling around in ball strainers while others are blooming floral teas perched in the center of the pots. And best of all, these teapots are enchanted courtesy of Dr. West, looking like chubby little tea puppies walking around on four short metal legs. They meander around between dishes on the tables, bumbling up to partygoers to offer their contents and tipping forward with surprising grace to pour tea into cups. They are helpfully labeled with tags tied to their handles, explaining what they contain.

While a few contain typical tea blends, others are marked as containing enchanted teas, provided by Aeryn Sallek. The enchanted blends are as follows:

Party Enhancer - An energizing and sweet lemon hibiscus tea that makes the drinker able to dance longer, sing louder, eat more, and worry less. Turn down your inhibition and turn up the fun! This is a great tea for people who want a little party boost without getting drunk.

Liquid Courage - Feeling too shy to dance? Nervous about asking that beautiful person to spend the day with you? Want to go for that first kiss but struggling to work up the nerve? This smooth lavender black tea will help!

Romance Reagent - For those looking to be a little more flirty or emotionally open, this rose milk tea has a higher concentration of the “emotional acuity” potion to help you be open with your true feelings and get your cuddle on. And this denser dose of potion will even have the added effect of making you a little more suave, as well.

Sultry Spice - For those looking to find someone nice and invite them somewhere more private. This warming apple spice tea literally just has a mild aphrodisiac in it.

Enjoy any of these with your meal to turn up the mood! While these teas are clearly labeled, it's up to you whether or not you actually read them. Accidents can happen!

Eating isn’t all there is to do, of course. The other primary activity is dancing!

Local musicians will be playing throughout the day for group and couple’s dances, including a local partner dance called the Sunrise Waltz and a classic maypole dance. Feel free to dance the afternoon away with partners, friends, new acquaintances, and more!

There’s also areas to catch your breath and chat with friends, a chocolate dipping station, flower sprouts in tiny pots as party favors, flower garland braiding areas, and plenty of wine! Additionally, there are a few flower-filled tents on the festival green with private seating areas for couples to catch a few moments alone. You’re not supposed to, but if you’re quiet and don’t mind a bit of risk, it wouldn’t be hard to sneak a little naughty fun into your day in these little tents.

And of course, there is the planting ceremony later in the day, so feel free to join Dahlia and Juniper at the edge of the green for this short tradition! With an apron thrown over her dress and a short spade, Dahlia takes a moment out of the festivities to plant a tulip bulb in a half-empty row near the gazebo, right next to the one Mary Dahl planted the year prior, and Juniper herself the year before that.

...But Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Ballad of the Damned

Would any event on a cursed island truly be complete without some sort of unscrupulous paranormal activity? Truly, nothing is sacred (except maybe the Dance of Celestine, once), as yet another of Dahlia’s infernal relatives arrives bearing “gifts” to put a damper on her special day.

As night begins to fall, the afternoon band is finally given time to rest and retire to the party themselves, intended to be replaced by a Council-approved evening band. However, said musical group is waylaid on their way to the stage, and replaced with an act far stranger.

On the left part of the stage, a man with pipes embedded in his chest begins to sing a low note, accompanied by a deep, rich harmony as though his chest were a pipe organ. Perhaps it is. On the right side, an older man who almost looks human, save for the exposed “ribcage” full of harpstrings. And at the front, a pale woman dressed all in white with a veil covering all but her mouth, who sings like an angel over the music of her companions. The man in charge and his large sitar are conspicuously absent.

When Sonata begins to sing, two things begin to happen. The first is that black, thorny vines emerge from the slumbering ground, encasing the performers in thick foliage with gaps only big enough for the sound of their music to escape, and thorns big enough to ward off any interruptions. The second is that anyone who can hear the music will find that the sound floods their mind with memories of grief, pain, loss, and loneliness. So intense are these memories and emotions that even the most strong-willed can barely keep from weeping, with only a few exceptions.

Those with protection from demons will find their suffering great, but not debilitating, and Father Mulcahy’s boon from Mortanne and personal experience combined are enough to offset the more soul-crushing effects of the somber music. However, these things alone will not be enough. With the infernal band protected, the Domain of Sorrow’s Song will continue leeching anguish from the party-goers for their master for as long as they can. The only way to combat them is to cut off their source of power through self-imposed joy--- a challenging task, given the situation.

Luckily, a friend from outside the barrier interested in helping his daughter has sent some friends to help you get started.

March of the Bizzyboys

Five Drainfolk in red uniforms find themselves in a forest. Little teal-furred monkey-folk with long hair and longer tails stand amid pink trees and a gaggle of little fuschia butterflies. Their names are Vibiano, Grujaja, Bananathaniel, Alexei, and Patty--- mysteries, until recently, revealed a few letters at a time. The wind sings like bamboo wind chimes through the pastel branches.

The butterflies swarm together, forming the shape of a person, and from the flock emerges a strange man. With chitinous hands and a face covered in dark pink wings, he steps free of the fluttering mass and onto a stump, wearing long fur robes, and he smiles a toothy smile.

“Hello there, Bizzyboys! I am King Olwylder, Archfae of the Court of Red Butterflies,” he says with a sweeping bow. Then, he leaps down from his makeshift stage, his own enormous wings splayed out behind him. He lands crouching, diminishing his impressive height to get onto their level. “I have a very important favor to ask you.”

“You see, some old friends of yours, as well as my beloved daughter Elsie, have been caught up in a bit of trouble. I need you to go to a little town called Pumpkin Hollow for the evening and help them out. Afterwards, you can stay there a while, or not, if you prefer. But during the flower festival they have going on, I need you five little darlings to do me a very, very important favor, and do what you do best. I need you to solve a mystery. Can you help me?”

Once all five Bizzyboys have agreed, Olwylder shakes each of their fuzzy hands and thanks them profusely, covering their red uniforms in pink flowers before sending them on their very merry way. They ride to Pumpkin Hollow on the back of a black horse, driven by a man with no head, and fan out in search of their old bosses as well as Olwylder’s daughter.

The five original Bizzyboys, played as guest NPCs, arrive at Merrymeet just before the band begins to play, and are immune to all of its effects due to the blessing of King Olwylder and sheer adorable whimsy. Threading with one of them can help you acquire the self-made fun you need to break the spell yourself, which you can then spread to others! These delightful shenanigans have been graciously provided by five helpful players, so please thank Liz, Sid, Mira, Maniette, and Kai for their assistance in making the magic happen! Once the event ends, it will be up to each player whether their Bizzyboy remains in PH or heads back home.

| CONTENT WARNINGS: altered states of consciousness, mildly dubious consent, grief, depression, mood control |

Comments

[liesdontfindyou]

"Believe me, we all wish the Insurrectionist War would end. Most of my military career has been fighting Insurrectionists, first at home and then with the Project—before it lost its way. I've never liked it. I've always been— torn, between how much I understand why people revolt against the UNSC and the fact we need to survive the Covenant for any of it to even matter. But fighting the Insurrection still feels like... I don't know. Doing the Covenant's job for them."

She's said those words before, once, a long time ago. Talking to a friend at the program, quiet and careful not to be overheard. Sympathy with the Insurrection was a dangerous thing, even if you ultimately agreed that their priorities were skewed in the circumstances, that they had to be stopped from destroying UNSC targets for the sake of humanity's survival. You had to be careful who you shared such sentiments with.

She shakes her head, shaking the thoughts off.

"Occasionally there's malfunctions, but they're uncommon. Sometimes you'll drop out of the slipstream early. Very rarely, an engine might— sort of cause an implosion? But it's very rare. Like, 'engine fucked beyond all belief' rare, in the latter case. I've never even experienced a Slip Termination. Pilots also don't actually manage the calculations themselves, that's down to the AI—that's what the main non-strategic job of a military AI is supposed to be."

You know, rather than being shoved into a body and tricked into thinking they're human. Or even being tortured repeatedly to make more AI like the Alpha was—who, by the way, still had to do those calculations while being actively fragmented. The Director was playing with fire in multiple ways.

[2onostromo]

She fought against the Outers.

The words are a muted whisper in her mind; should have guessed that enlisting in the military would entail fighting its backyard threat. But it all sounds rather complicated, doesn't it? Someone born in the Outer colonies, viewing first hand the cruelty and unjustness with which their labor is demanded. Friends, family and neighbors resigning themselves to agriculture or ore-digging until their bodies give out. Maybe joining the Insurrectionists seemed too much of a lost cause. An instant death, not worth any amount of valor. Or maybe her criminal charge had wedged her between militaristic pillars she simply couldn't escape from.

A real conflict of interest, no?

Again, Ripley's natural instinct is to pick her brain about it. To ask questions that maybe aren't appropriate for a party setting like this one. Perhaps the look she gives CT unbidden says as much; head cocked, eyes round and curious, lips pouted. The kind of expression her crew might groan at, for they knew they'd be subjected to her incessant asking.

But she's smart enough to know when to drop things. What to pin to the neat board in her mind.

"That's quite a lot of trust to put into a computer. We were plenty reliant on them too, but when you say the risks out loud it sounds so much more..." She makes a gesture with her hand, wincing. "Stupid? Bound to fail? Our technology was so cumbersome in the end. Like every design had been implemented without disaster in mind. You should have seen the self-destruct initiative in the Nostromo." A dry laugh. "It had, frankly, a ridiculous number of steps for how quickly things needed to be done. I'm sure that wasn't deliberate, but it still felt like I was being laughed at, somehow."

[liesdontfindyou]

CT recognises that look, almost like looking in a mirror and seeing a slightly distorted reflection of herself looking back. How many times did a look like that make Wash joke about Connie's Question Time, or make the other agents bristle after Connie became CT and it inevitably meant she was about to ask something that would rock the boat?

It makes the corner of her mouth quirk and she gives a quick, "Another time," as acknowledgement, before continuing on.

"Like the worst reflexes test in history?" she says. She can only begin to imagine what the self-destruct protocols looked like on any given UNSC starship—probably at least as bad as the Nostromo's. "We've had a couple centuries for the technology to become commonplace enough that I bet most soldiers don't think about the risks at all, and even less civilians. It's like those statistics about being more likely to get in a crash on the way to your flight than on the flight itself. You put your faith in your pilot and start being scared if they start looking scared."

[2onostromo]

Ripley blinks. Oh, that face. It always took another person to realize she'd started making it. A groan, a remark like 'what now?' or 'can't you cut us some slack?' usually does the trick. (And for the record, most times she couldn't. Slack is a privilege). "Right."

Of the Nostromo's self-destruct protocols, worst is an understatement.

A button marked “PRESS IN EMERGENCY” releases a cabinet cover. A large red lever can be found inside... Unscrew the second cover to reveal two additional red levers, and pull them both in the correct sequence.

Open the floor-mounted panel on the opposite side of the room, containing the emergency destruct controls.

Was there any reason this panel needed to be clear across the room? Because wasting time is fun, apparently.

A series of buttons are to be pressed. If you're wrong, you're shit out of luck. Precious time wasted. After that, four bolts are screwed into collapsable towers which rise from their panel at a snail's pace. Why should they move any faster? You aren't in a rush, are you? Four buttons to press— again, in a vaguely specified but vital sequence.

You've got five minutes to reverse it and ten to make it to the shuttle before the ship goes ka-boom.

Ripley shakes her head. "And if your AI starts acting up, then you know you're fucked. Like the captain cracking under pressure. Or god forbid it makes decisions against you. Suddenly the heart of your entire ship twists sideways and you're... Well, fucked again. At least with people, you've got a chance. Bad liars, mistakes, emotions— you can take advantage of all of them. There's no arguing with a computer."

[liesdontfindyou]

"Ah, see, I'm actually very good at arguing with computers so long as they stay in the computer. That's most of my old job," CT jokes with a wry little smile. She hacked the ship's Dumb AI, FILSS, more than once to stop her paying attention to certain things. Smart AI are a different story, but still. "But, really. I just hope what happened at the Project stays contained to the Project. AI are far too woven into our lives, especially in the military, to stop using and it seems to me the Director's new methodology for creation is why... well. Everything happened."

AI created from snapshots of living minds, seemingly causing better retention of more emotional memory from their origin, is clearly not progress that's worth the potential risks. Even if it must take a sick mind to do everything the Director did with it.

(Of course, CT also doesn't known that a few years down the line humanity's AIs do end up becoming a massive, combined threat.)

CT shakes her head and dips another strawberry, chocolate ending up on her fingers. "But with how many spacefaring universes seem to have issues with the things— I don't know. Seems like humanity is prone to building its own problems."

[2onostromo]

"That's a shame," she says, lip quirked into a smirk. "We probably could have used your expertise. It's never fun when you're the only one arguing. Mother didn't make for a very good adversary, either. What with her matronly voice and all. Kind of made you feel like a bratty kid."

And that's what they were, really. Infants taking their first breath from inside egg-shaped pods. Naked, innocent, covered in slime. Enveloped by the sterile opalescence of Mother's synthetic womb. She knew everything and they knew nothing. As in-control they might have felt, pushing buttons and shepherding the ship to and fro, she had the final say.

And Ash, like her leech. Her virus squeezed from conception into life. Did they communicate without our knowledge? It's a question Ripley tortures herself with, one she can never know the answer to. Maybe for the better.

Eyes fix absentmindedly onto the chocolate-covered fingers CT brings into her mouth. She usually wouldn't be gawk so brazenly, but this tea's really gone to her head.

"Do you think anything will change? I mean, when— if you ever think about the future, do you think we'll learn? We've been so prodigal up until this point, not just in your experience but in my world too. There has to be a point where we focus our time into something... Good. Not arbitrarily good but genuinely beneficial for everyone." She shrugs, nibbling her lip. "Or maybe we'll die off and something smarter— better will take our place."

[liesdontfindyou]

Does CT deliberately take a little too long licking the last of the chocolate off her fingers? Hard to say.

"I'd like to think we'll learn. That maybe if we survive the war, against— all odds, we'll take a long hard look at what we had to do to get there and learn... something. But— I don't know. I'd like to think that."

She's just not sure what state an entire generation raised under the shadow of war are going to be in to do anything but learn how to survive in the light.

"I think— I think you have to believe there's good at the core of humanity, otherwise what's the point, you know?" She huffs a laugh. "Which is rich, coming from me and my trust issues, but..."

She gestures loosely.

[2onostromo]

Is she doing that on purpose? Why, Ripley has half the mind to ask, but ultimately keeps her curiosities to herself. Why ruin a perfectly good chance to stare? ...Not that she's staring or anything.

Right, war. The future of their worlds. She asked that question, didn't she?

"Eh, trust issues are what keeps people on their toes. But I get what you mean. If we can learn how to create complicated AI and open wormholes voluntarily, then surely we've got a chance at giving our mistakes a good look-over. And if not," She scoffs. "Good riddance. We'll just have to start from the beginning, I guess. I hope whoever survives doesn't mind spending a couple thousand years as land-dwelling sarcopterygians."

God, stupid.

"I think I'm going to mingle. Catch you later?"

[liesdontfindyou]

CT laughs at land-dwelling sarcopterygians and shakes her head, lets it cock to the side loosely with a smile. "Yeah, sure, catch you in a bit. I should probably make the effort to actually socialise at one of these things, for once in my life."

There's no guarantee she won't simply fall back on Enforcer more at future events, better make the best of this one and actually swing in on her friends and the like.

"If you don't see me anywhere on the green, I'll probably be taking a break at the head table."

[2onostromo]

Ripley concedes to the same sentiment, waving and sauntering into the crowd to socialize. The instinct isn't what you might call natural, but she's done enough talking in her life to make up for it. Friends and strangers alike are drawn into conversation, some to dance, some to weave garland. She spots Crichton across the Green pounding down some kind of beverage. And on the opposite side, Dahlia accepts a hundred congratulations, her smile never wavering.

The chatter is, if she's honest, a little exhausting. She balms this with another cup of tea. This stuff's caffeinated, right?

Afternoon begins to creep into evening. The sun crawls down from its highest peak.

She's off to find Connie. One dance, then I'm gone; her self-negotiation. She has no idea that once evening falls in heavy shadows over the Green, she'll be roped into staying for much longer, but that's beside the point.

Ripley spots her exactly where she says she'll be; the head table. Connie's head is partially turned, looking off as if listlessly imagining her own Irish Goodbye. Her nose even scrunches a little.

She attempts a quiet, stealthy approach. Rests a hand on the back of her chair.

"Sick of talking already?"

[liesdontfindyou]

Always on alert the way she is, CT hears her coming, but doesn't show it. She only glances up at Ripley once she feels the hand behind her, blowing a strand of hair that's slipped from its place in her braid out of her face as she does.

"You don't become an infiltration specialist by being a social butterfly," is mostly a joke, but there is only so much mingling she can take in one go. "You had your fill too?"

[2onostromo]

She cocks her head, sarcasm prepped like gun-fire. "What, you've never infiltrated a party before? You know, play the part and hope some g-man spills a bit of classified information if you smile at him enough?"

No, probably not. Space isn't a great place for parties like these. Never mind a war-torn one.

"Think so. I don't have enough stamina for things like this. Spending your time with the same five or six people doesn't exactly set you up for success." Mischief tugs her brows upward, then. "But, I'd be an awful courtier if I didn't ask you to dance at least once."

[liesdontfindyou]

"Not at the Project, at least."

She supposes the cult meeting counts, in a way, but the odds of detection were rather stacked against her with whatever abilities Chloe Albright and possibly others had.

She smiles, amused and a little lopsided. Teases, "And to think I would've let you off the hook," as she slips her feet back into her shoes under the table. "Buuuut since you got there on your own..."

She offers her hand, again.

[2onostromo]

"Didn't you have any faith in me?" Ripley asks, feigning hurt. She takes her opposite's hand and leads her out onto the Green, which has thankfully cleared out some. The less people, the better. Maybe then she won't make such a jackass out of herself.

"I usually find my way." With the swagger of a person who has no real idea what they're doing, but might try to convince you otherwise, Ripley gestures for her other hand. "So, you know anything about dancing?"

[liesdontfindyou]

"Oh I have faith in you," she says, and does not elaborate.

She follows, offers her other hand as Ripley gestures for it. "A little. My moms taught me a little, years ago—before the only school dance I ever went to. Besides that, only the night out or 'dancing in my room' variety."

Not that she's spent much time in clubs and the like, but she got a taste of the normal college experience before she had to work twice as hard to combine military service and classes.

[2onostromo]

CT earns herself a squint for that.

"And how'd the school dance go? They teach you enough to survive the night?" The other woman's hand fits into hers and they're off into the crowd. There's a scar stretched across her palm, slightly raised. Ellen feels it but says nothing.

"Funny, I can't picture you as a 'dancing in my room' kind of individual. You do that here, too?"

She supposes every kid gets the fun wrung from them at some point, no? Like a sad, damp rag jammed into the shape of a functioning adult.

[liesdontfindyou]

Her head nods to the side. "Well, my girlfriend at the time didn't seem too unimpressed, so I think it served me well enough."

There's a grace, to how CT moves as they take off and dance. It's not the grace of a dancer, or even a competitive gymnast, it's something else. It's a fighter's grace. A freerunner's grace. An spy's grace.

"But, no, that was more— a youthful thing." Simpler days, simpler joys. "What about you? Secret second life as a dance extraordinaire?"

[2onostromo]

A girlfriend, huh?

"Seems so."

The manner in which CT moves surprises her; one-two-three step, muscles responding to the point where feet touch ground and react accordingly. Distinctly opposed to the sloppy-yet-carefree movements from their fellow guests. There's nothing carefree about her— at least not where gravity's concerned. Grace requires an aptness that carelessness simply doesn't allow. And she's got it.

Why, Ripley can hardly keep up.

Piloting will do that to you; a lifetime seated before a control panel, meandering through hallways or slipping languidly into a cryopod to sleep. Rarely are you struck by urgency. Rarely is there a need to jump into battle. The mind stays one step ahead of digital readings and environmental response, but the body goes out of practice. ...Well, except maybe the hands and eyes.

She chews her lip. "What, it's not obvious? No, ah, my school was a little austere. There were ceremonies and all, but they were mostly academic. Dinners and things like that. Everyone kind of got accustomed to keeping their distance from each other, what with the breakout."

[liesdontfindyou]

"You're not doing so bad. Pretty good, really," CT says, and means it. So long as she's not treading all over her heel-sore feet, then Ripley's dancing is perfectly good enough for her. "But that makes sense. Though— breakout?"

[2onostromo]

"People just... Got sick one day. A virus, if I remember right. Someone brought it into the colony and for years we had to take preventative measures. People had their suspicions that it was calculated, but there's no conclusive evidence of that. Things quieted down, but no one was particularly eager to be close to each other." She shrugs. "So, no dancing for me."

[liesdontfindyou]

CT winces sympathetically. "Damn. I mean, that makes sense. I find it hard to imagine, Resol was— well, the opposite, really, but it's not like I know nothing about what something like that does to a population."

War, disease. They leave their mark. Shape a society.

"But, hey," Connie says, deliberately a little lighter. "Never too late to start. This probably won't be the last event around here with dancing, sooo..."

[2onostromo]

"Right. It's weird. One of those things you don't really think about until you do." And even then she's barely peeled back the subconscious consequences to a lengthy quarantine. That loneliness which presses stubbornly on her chest? Her tendency to form contentious workplace relationships? Surely that's not a symptom of anything, no way.

"How lucky are we to have landed in a place with such a lively nightlife?" Ripley teases. Her arms settle at the shorter woman's shoulders. "It almost makes up for the demons."

[liesdontfindyou]

CT laughs, nose crinkling faintly. "Pumpkin Hollow: the most happening place this side of Concorde! The demons might be a nuisance but we've got dancing. Put that on a travel brochure."

Quietly, she appreciates the weight of arms at her shoulders and the solid warmth where her own wrap around her dance partner. You really don't realise just how touch-starved you've been until the rare moments of contact you do have—not that she's thinking of it in so many words.

[2onostromo]

"Stupid," She laughs, shaking her head. "What's a vacation if you aren't also wrestling demons every once in a while?" At least she doesn't have to worry about that tonight. Those dreams were enough nasty business. "Call that tourism. All we need now are some crappy Hawaiian shirts."

The music slows to an instrumentation Ripley could probably fall asleep to were she not standing. Her tea-induced caffeination ebbs off, leaving behind only trace amounts of bravery and tiredness. Her arms are a heavy, comforting weight on Connie's shoulders. Really, she ought to thank her for keeping her upright.

[liesdontfindyou]

"Crappy Hawaiian shirts and those novelty t-shirts with overly specific tourism slogans on. Those are a must." Not that she's ever been on a real vacation herself to see the touristy novelty shops in action, but she's seen movies and such. Enough to imagine.

This is... nice, actually. Taking it slow.