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pumpkinhollow ([personal profile] pumpkinhollow) wrote in [community profile] ph_logs2025-02-15 09:27 pm

February Event - Garden of Woe [Merrymeet]

**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!

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 |
2onostromo: (ripscared2)

[personal profile] 2onostromo 2025-02-24 05:33 pm (UTC)(link)

"You're right." Her voice is a strangle of syllables. She looks down at the woman crumpled on the grass. Fuck, this is going to be tedious. Were Ellen a little more reckless, she might have snapped the bracelet in two for them to share. But she hasn't a single clue how this magic works. Far too cautious to risk it. Who knows, it might not work at all if the twine is broken. Then we'd be shit out of luck. "It's — enough to make a person sick."

One player plucks a baritone note from the gory split in his chest. Harp strings reverberate. Several guests are knocked to their knees. The lead vocalist, a woman in white, compliments his poetic agony.

And Ellen wonders in a panicked split from what she ought to be thinking about ( i.e., what the hell to do next ), if this is what war is like.

Or more accurately, loss.

Total desolation.

The kind that makes generations tremble.

Ripley stoops onto knees with a hand pressed flat on Connie's back. "If we can't do anything about them, we can address it at the source. Us. I mean— they're just bad memories, right? Bad thoughts? And what do you do when you get bad thoughts?" She says this, entirely a hypocrite, as tears continue down her face. She squeezes the bracelet. Presses it to Connie's skin. "It's— it's not easy, I know, but— I don't think we're going to shut that band up."

liesdontfindyou: (pb; skeptical)

[personal profile] liesdontfindyou 2025-02-24 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)

Shut that band up—it's stupid, really, the way those words catch on the roughened edges of her mind, throws her back to the program with its overbearing communication bands, to the endless, grating beeping that filled the air whenever you ignored them. Remembers the incessant sound piercing her ears the day she first found out what happened to Resol, remembers the efforts she went to shut it up or at least muffle it, remembers still knowing it was still going even as she lost hours to the grief.

Funny, the ways things echo.

She breathes in, out. Tries to swallow around the weight in her throat that makes it so hard to, between the waves of tears. It only gets a little easier when she feels the charm's protection reaching back out to her.

What do you do when you get bad thoughts? Ripley asks, and CT almost laughs emptily. "Wh-What I do when I get bad thoughts is lock them up in a— a f-filing cabinet in my brain and n-never open that drawer again. And that's— that's really not working."

2onostromo: (ripgrump)

[personal profile] 2onostromo 2025-02-25 01:48 pm (UTC)(link)

Ripley shakes her head, sends an aggravated look toward the band in question. If Efrain were to decide to arrive late to this party, she'll hurl a few choice words his way, demon or not. At least if he killed her she'd have said it— and anyway, death's a twenty-four hour outfit. A perfect excuse to talk one's shit.

If only she'd stop crying. Crying really dampens the zest of an argument, doesn't it?

The gutted laugh demands her attention and soon she's stooped back down by Connie's side. "And when has that ever worked?" Ripley challenges. Scans the crowd once, twice, a third, becoming ever-more dizzied. Her head pounds. Incorporeal tendrils tangle around her and keep her floor-bound. "Fuck— a dozen townspeople who can do magic and su-suddenly no one's up to it? I don't—" A note whistles. She winces. "I don't suppose getting the fuck out of here is an option, either?"

liesdontfindyou: (pb; drag hand through hair)

[personal profile] liesdontfindyou 2025-02-25 07:16 pm (UTC)(link)

"Even— even if we could m-move fast enough, leaving— leaving wouldn't stop it. E-Everyone else would— would still be h-hurting."

And in the end, Connie never has been any good at leaving people to fend for themselves, never been capable of not trying to help even if she's struggling with how. Even as CT, self-preservation sometimes lost the fight with selflessness.

If it didn't work, I wouldn't have made it this far, she thinks but doesn't say. Swallows again. Breathes. "C-Counter— counteracting the emotional— e-emotional effect might— might be the trick, but I have no idea how to do that when it feels like this."

What are they supposed to do? Try and think happy thoughts when it feels fucking impossible to think of anything but pain? Even thinking about this much beyond the hurt is hard.

2onostromo: (riphands)

[personal profile] 2onostromo 2025-03-03 05:54 pm (UTC)(link)

Fuck everyone else, she wants to say but clamps it hard between her jaws.

It's an easy thing to say. She's learned the hard way that waiting for others to come to their senses puts your own life at risk. That stubbornness, bravery or lack of common sense can't always be fixed. And although Ripley doesn't blame her posthumous crew for their faults, they hadn't made it easy for anyone.

Easy doesn't always mean right. It wouldn't be right to leave these people.

So snap the fuck out of it, Ellen.

She cards a hand through dark clouds of curls, as if doing so might shed the bad thoughts from her mind. It doesn't. They're persistent, cruel. They laugh at her as she struggles, an animal caught by its leg. And soon enough she's the one that's laughing. Her's, a hopeless, exhausted kind of noise. "This is ridiculous. D-Demons with one foot in the fucking therapist's door. Soon we'll be— we'll be lined on shitty sofas talking about our problems like some kind of— mystical AA."

liesdontfindyou: (pb; drag hand through hair)

[personal profile] liesdontfindyou 2025-03-12 08:53 pm (UTC)(link)

Despite herself, despite the overwhelming sorrow, the mental image draws a startled laugh that blubbers beneath the wet emotion that keeps its stranglehold on her. "O-Oh, god, please, I am n-never setting foot in a therapist's— anything. I-I don't even let Neil therapise me, and he's— he's the first therapist that doesn't m-make me feel like I'm losing m-my mind just being in the same— same room as him."

The Counselor has done immeasurable damage to her perception of that particular profession, though the other military psychologists before him did little better.

She breathes in, out, shakes her head at the mental image of the town gathered around in a circle telling stories of their struggles like that'd help.

"God. Fuck." She drags her hands over her face. "This is so— fucking stupid."