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ph_logs2025-11-22 08:03 pm
pumpkinhollow) wrote in ph_logs2025-11-22 08:03 pm
Entry tags:
November Event - Double Trouble
Double Trouble
The Dance of Celestine Begins
Ah, the Dance of Celestine! A festival in reverence of the Mother of Autumn and Sky, where everyone is asked to climb to the highest available point and spend a day outdoors cooking, dancing, singing, and enjoying the fall weather. The third one since offworlders began to come to the island, and what is hopefully a much-needed reprieve after the troubled end to October. The time around All Hallow’s Eve is always difficult, but the invasion of the Dread Powers of Fear was a particularly intense and difficult time. Many more people are staying home from the event than usual.
On the other hand, it was Celestine who called many to safety on the top of Crane’s Ridge, and others still feel particularly motivated to pay her gratitude.
So as Mother Autumn’s season makes its final descent, enjoy the last few weeks of trees bursting with vivid color, catch one more good crisp autumn breeze, and chase the sky with your neighbors. Ascend Crane’s Ridge on foot or by train to embrace the great wild blue. It’s going to be a beautiful day.
Among them, however, are little red-capped toadstools with white flecks. Adorable, but well-known for being toxic, and thus meant to be left alone. Some of them curiously grow in extremely obvious rings, and the superstitious among the town will surely know better than to step within. However, there are many “rings” that are not so obvious--- sparse, misshapen, or just too large to realize they’re growing in a circular pattern.
Many will be perfectly capable of avoiding the rings, either by complete chance and without even realizing they were there in the first place, or with a bit of care. But others, whether they fall for the obvious trap or happen upon a more deceptive one, will find themselves temporarily transported. Not to a pocket dimension of unimaginable horror created by Nyarlathotep or a shard of Hell devised by a demon, but to a place of wonder, filled with pink puffy clouds and soft amber skies, waving purple grass or pastel colored sands, vibrant neon jungles or forests of alabaster trees with glass leaves. This beautiful place made of magic and dreamstuff is a slice of the Feywilds. Dangerous? Maybe. But certainly not in the same way as any place you’ve been before. Before you, a ruin. An ancient temple or castle. And apparently the only way forward is through. But you are not alone---- you were brought here with one other. And only together can you find your way back to Marrow Isle.
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For this event, all participating characters must be paired up with one other character, and inside the temple will be a magical puzzle for them to solve in order to advance. It can be any sort of puzzle, something simple or complicated, and the details of what physical actions are being taken to solve it can be sort of handwaved if you are having trouble designing something. The puzzle in and of itself isn’t important. The key gameplay element will be that you need to have an important discussion in order to complete the puzzle and escape the Feywilds. The primary concept for this was that it'd be between two characters who have existing CR and something long overdue to discuss--- repressed feelings, unresolved conflicts, long kept secrets. But it can also be used to create CR by pairing off characters who have something meaningful in common to discuss, closely guarded secrets that they need a neutral party to talk to, or might have valuable advice for the other. Feel free to do whatever you like with it, as long as it's two characters who have something of value to discuss that would further their character development.
The intention here is that each character will only have ONE partner puzzle thread, in the interest of keeping thread loads light as we enter a season of heavy travel and continue to backtag meatier events. It’s technically fine to have multiples if you have a reason for a character to go back a second time, but we strongly encourage you to keep things light--- you can always have more threads at the party itself! Be nice to yourself and to your inbox, you’ve worked hard!
Once you reach some sort of conclusion or catharsis (which doesn’t necessarily have to be positive), the characters will be deposited back on the mountainside with very little real time lost, and can enjoy the festival itself in peace. Feel free to come away from the Feywilds with some innocuous souvenir, though it should not be something large or that provides any sort of power-up. Just some silly trinket or weird food, please, and do not kidnap or bottle any gnomes or pixies. You also do not have to participate in this part of the event at all, if you’d like to bypass it. Thank you! Have fun, or don’t!
For the past few years, the Dance has been met with clear skies, but this year it gets a bit more overcast towards mid-afternoon. By the time evening draws near, a light rain dances over the festival, but no one seems disappointed. It’s not even raining hard enough to put out the bonfire, and the food booths are covered. So while some people retreat to their tents to wait out the mild rain, others dance beneath it, soaking their festival clothes and flinging raindrops with their ribbons. Besides, who would the Mother of Sky be without a bit of weather?
Among the partygoers, there is a woman. Last year, she lingered on the fringes, an outsider. This year, she seems to float on the moonbeams caught in leftover raindrops in the grass, the heart of the festival. Her gown is shimmering, as golden as the firelight, and her eyes are as silver as Silence. Starlight showers her dark skin in a thousand kisses, and the braids in her hair, once adorned with raindrop charms, have been traded out for a long, massive, fluffy ponytail that floats like cloudstuff behind her. Her coily bangs have been carefully styled to resemble swooping sideswept bangs, and a golden cuff cinches the ponytail upward.
If you want to greet Celestine, you can find her anywhere. Dancing on the grass, plucking and roasting mushrooms, or basking serenely in the glow of the fire. Would you like to ask her for a dance?
On the other hand, it was Celestine who called many to safety on the top of Crane’s Ridge, and others still feel particularly motivated to pay her gratitude.
So as Mother Autumn’s season makes its final descent, enjoy the last few weeks of trees bursting with vivid color, catch one more good crisp autumn breeze, and chase the sky with your neighbors. Ascend Crane’s Ridge on foot or by train to embrace the great wild blue. It’s going to be a beautiful day.
Led through the mist by the milk-light of moon, all that was lost is revealed
As you approach the main gathering area for the Dance of Celestine, you’ll notice that there are many mushrooms around this year. This shouldn’t surprise anyone who was in the safe zone that was here last month, as it quickly became apparent that mushrooms would sprout wherever the goddess spent any significant amount of time. Since greeting people as they arrived was very much at the top of her priorities, the areas where people might arrive are naturally covered in the things. Chanterelles and morels, boletes and oyster mushrooms, even chicken of the woods on nearby trees, a delicious selection of edible mushrooms can be found all over.Among them, however, are little red-capped toadstools with white flecks. Adorable, but well-known for being toxic, and thus meant to be left alone. Some of them curiously grow in extremely obvious rings, and the superstitious among the town will surely know better than to step within. However, there are many “rings” that are not so obvious--- sparse, misshapen, or just too large to realize they’re growing in a circular pattern.
Many will be perfectly capable of avoiding the rings, either by complete chance and without even realizing they were there in the first place, or with a bit of care. But others, whether they fall for the obvious trap or happen upon a more deceptive one, will find themselves temporarily transported. Not to a pocket dimension of unimaginable horror created by Nyarlathotep or a shard of Hell devised by a demon, but to a place of wonder, filled with pink puffy clouds and soft amber skies, waving purple grass or pastel colored sands, vibrant neon jungles or forests of alabaster trees with glass leaves. This beautiful place made of magic and dreamstuff is a slice of the Feywilds. Dangerous? Maybe. But certainly not in the same way as any place you’ve been before. Before you, a ruin. An ancient temple or castle. And apparently the only way forward is through. But you are not alone---- you were brought here with one other. And only together can you find your way back to Marrow Isle.
For this event, all participating characters must be paired up with one other character, and inside the temple will be a magical puzzle for them to solve in order to advance. It can be any sort of puzzle, something simple or complicated, and the details of what physical actions are being taken to solve it can be sort of handwaved if you are having trouble designing something. The puzzle in and of itself isn’t important. The key gameplay element will be that you need to have an important discussion in order to complete the puzzle and escape the Feywilds. The primary concept for this was that it'd be between two characters who have existing CR and something long overdue to discuss--- repressed feelings, unresolved conflicts, long kept secrets. But it can also be used to create CR by pairing off characters who have something meaningful in common to discuss, closely guarded secrets that they need a neutral party to talk to, or might have valuable advice for the other. Feel free to do whatever you like with it, as long as it's two characters who have something of value to discuss that would further their character development.
The intention here is that each character will only have ONE partner puzzle thread, in the interest of keeping thread loads light as we enter a season of heavy travel and continue to backtag meatier events. It’s technically fine to have multiples if you have a reason for a character to go back a second time, but we strongly encourage you to keep things light--- you can always have more threads at the party itself! Be nice to yourself and to your inbox, you’ve worked hard!
Once you reach some sort of conclusion or catharsis (which doesn’t necessarily have to be positive), the characters will be deposited back on the mountainside with very little real time lost, and can enjoy the festival itself in peace. Feel free to come away from the Feywilds with some innocuous souvenir, though it should not be something large or that provides any sort of power-up. Just some silly trinket or weird food, please, and do not kidnap or bottle any gnomes or pixies. You also do not have to participate in this part of the event at all, if you’d like to bypass it. Thank you! Have fun, or don’t!
Our long bygone burdens, mere echoes of the spring, but where have we come, and where shall we end?
Once you arrive at the party on the peak of Crane’s Ridge, you find that the short, step-like layers of the mountaintop are dotted with tents, left up here in a large storage area specifically for this festival. It’s fairly commonplace for people to spend the night here, as the festival runs late into the night so as to honor Mother Celestine under the light of her immense cosmos. There are also booths all around, cooking and serving food, preparing drinks, handing out handmade flower crowns and long ribbons on dowel rods for dancing with. And in the center of it all, a massive bonfire. Celestine, after all, is the goddess of the hearth among other things, and so the fire roars throughout the night. Musicians play and sing folk music, and people dance. All is well.For the past few years, the Dance has been met with clear skies, but this year it gets a bit more overcast towards mid-afternoon. By the time evening draws near, a light rain dances over the festival, but no one seems disappointed. It’s not even raining hard enough to put out the bonfire, and the food booths are covered. So while some people retreat to their tents to wait out the mild rain, others dance beneath it, soaking their festival clothes and flinging raindrops with their ribbons. Besides, who would the Mother of Sky be without a bit of weather?
If dreams can’t come true, then why not pretend?
The rain clears up just in time to catch the tail end of the sunset cutting rich orange slices through the remaining clouds. Towels are distributed, and festivities continue undisturbed under the starlight. The three pastel moons of Concorde can be seen playing peekaboo through whatever cloud cover lingers. Cadence is full, in all her rosy glory, and Endurance and Silence are both crescents at opposing ends. Two thin smiles of light in waxing blue and waning white. Stars glimmer passionately overhead, as if they are just as thrilled to be dancing with you as you are with them.Among the partygoers, there is a woman. Last year, she lingered on the fringes, an outsider. This year, she seems to float on the moonbeams caught in leftover raindrops in the grass, the heart of the festival. Her gown is shimmering, as golden as the firelight, and her eyes are as silver as Silence. Starlight showers her dark skin in a thousand kisses, and the braids in her hair, once adorned with raindrop charms, have been traded out for a long, massive, fluffy ponytail that floats like cloudstuff behind her. Her coily bangs have been carefully styled to resemble swooping sideswept bangs, and a golden cuff cinches the ponytail upward.
If you want to greet Celestine, you can find her anywhere. Dancing on the grass, plucking and roasting mushrooms, or basking serenely in the glow of the fire. Would you like to ask her for a dance?
For help looking for a partner, check out the sign-up sheet!
QUESTIONS/COMMENTS/CONCERNS
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Agent South Dakota | RvB
[ Closed TL for a puzzle with North and a separate open for the party itself once it's ready. ]
I always say that I don't need you, but [NORTH]
South knows nothing about mushrooms, or fairies, or any of this magical bullshit that this town is apparently full to the brim with, and so it should come as zero surprise to herself or anyone else that she ends up in some weird, magical bullshit dimension after not looking where she was putting her feet on her way up the mountain.
Strange, pastel skies and odd purple foliage in shades that are all-too reminiscent of the familiar stretch off in all directions—deep orchid and royal, dark and rich. Directly ahead, there is some sort of crumbling structure that South couldn't tell you the base architecture of if she tried, but she can see high walls and branching turns in deep grey stone that stretches further than she can reasonably see without a helmet's sensor suite.
And in the open space ahead, an all-too familiar piece of equipment she's run up against at least a dozen fucking times in her military career. A fucking wall boost? Seriously? Who the fuck is that... for... oh, fuck, of fucking course.
With a heaving sigh, South looks over to her brother and goes: "Well this is fucking stupid."
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Can't you tell that this is all just a contest? [RIPLEY]
cw: alcohol, possessive/jealous behaviour, generally unhealthy thought patterns
Don't you want to drink wine and watch girls dance, that's what North said to try and encourage her, before everything... before everything after. Comes back to her now in an uneasy twist of her stomach, already half-way through a glass of wine and watching the festivities without really feeling like a part of them.
And it only gets worse from there.
She hears CT's laughter before she sees her, a sound that makes her stomach do a flip and the back of her throat burn, but it's not hard to find her after that. See her on the other side of the bonfire, arm wrapped around a spindly, taller woman's waist and practically plastered up to her side. They're a little dishevelled, CT's hair settled in a way South associates with the aftermath of spar, and if that wasn't cue enough South watches as she bounces up onto her tip-toes to kiss her. Not some quick peck, either; it lingers, hands on waists and around necks and when CT drops back to flat feet she's grinning, tapping the woman on the nose as she talks.
Then, she's off towards one of the stands offering out the drinks.
It's not a pretty feeling that curls around South's insides, in that moment. Jealousy, envy, whatever you want to fucking call it, she doesn't know the difference and she doesn't care and she doesn't want to even think about it but it doesn't fucking matter what she wants because the feeling is there anyway. It's there, and it's loud, and downing the rest of her glass only serves to ignite the blaze that propels her to her feet like combustion propels an engine.
She's up in the stranger's space before she has the clarity to stop herself. "And who the fuck are you then?"
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How did I become so obnoxious? [OPEN]
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Cassandra de Rolo | Critical Role
[for Neil] is this plato's heebie-jeebies or just existential blues?
Followed by: oh. This is the Feywild.
There's a path at her feet, paved with lovely multicolored stones, fringed with velvety purple grass and nodding silvery-gray flowers, leading through gently humming trees toward ... some structure that she can't make out.
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[OTA] the elusive butterfly has just tiptoed past my door
Rain, rain, go away
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Rain
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Sorceress | Dragon's Crown
After the horrors of last month, this festival is a much welcomed thing for Sorceress. While the Goddesses of this world may not be entirely the same as the ones back home, they are similar enough, and with them being the ones who brought everyone here to help save this world, they do deserve some form of worship.
So Sorceress decides to go to the Festival, dressed in her usual outfit but this time with a Victorian style coat. It is getting colder out, after all. She sits near the bon fire, fiddling with the rod she's been handed and a flower crown sitting around the band of her witch hat.
It's nice... to be out where the energy is calm, people are having fun once more, and everything feels... relatively normal.
[ Double Trouble - Closed to Martin
Goddesses, how had she not seen the fairy ring as she was walking along? That's one of the oldest tricks in the book. Of course the celebration needed something else to it. She couldn't have just had a nice time.
As Sorceress takes in the bizarre landscape around her, she sees someone else is here with her. A tall gentleman with strawberry blonde hair. Poor fellow. They'll need to find a way out of here somehow though so she cautiously approaches him. "Ah... hello. Seems we both... didn't watch our steps, did we?"
Double Trouble!
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the festival!
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Radar | puzzle time! [closed to Dahlia]
He just basks for a little bit, face upturned toward the sun as he listens to the jungle grasses whispering around him and insects whirring among the trees.
And then his ears catch a wisp of someone familiar, closer to the ruins.
"Dahlia!"
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She turns at the sound of his voice. "Radar!"
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Grace Holloway | Puzzle | Closed to Gerard
The walk from the train is pleasant enough. One of the younger ladies helped make her plain-jane outfit look a little more festive by weaving a few bright red leaves into her fancier updo, and a concerted charm offensive won her a borrowed tartan shawl from a regular at her shows, so she doesn’t look completely frumpy. (She’s getting spoiled here, expecting her clothes to be all fresh.) A gentleman even offers an elbow for part of the walk when it’s particularly steep, Grace carefully testing her footing with her cane.
As they get closer, though, the ground evens out into lush grass, and Grace lets the gentlemen off with a smile so she can tug the shawl a little closer against the hilly chill. Her foot’s already halfway down when she hears alarmed voices behind her.
“Miss —!”
The end of her step finds her somewhere else, because it turns out she is an idiot, who should’ve asked why everyone in the group kept swerving around with no explanation.
“Son of a mother-fuckin’ — shit,” Grace spits, rocking to a stop with her sensible boots buried to the toes in pink sand. The trees are gone, the lush grass is gone, and in their place a stunning landscape of spiraled stones and strange thin plants stretches before her.
Grace turns a cautious circle, taking it all in. Diffuse light filters down from a honey-yellow sky studded with pink clouds, glinting off of rocks in hues from palest peach to deep maroon, gracing the edges of golden plants that remind Grace of nothing so much as the kelp in the forests that flourished around Rapture, nourished by the heat and light emanating from the undersea city at a depth where they usually wouldn’t prosper. That doesn’t explain how these plants are staying upright in thin air, though, nor why all the stones look worn into rippled shapes like river rocks. Behind her, the landscape rises up in a steep, sharp slope that she definitely doesn’t want to climb.
Damn it all to hell. Grace should’ve been asking more questions. Is this a known place? Like that thing under the island? Is something gonna come flying over one of the rocks to tear her head off? Is there quicksand?
Grace allows herself ten more seconds to marinate in irritation, then shakes it off and scans more carefully for signs of life. Discouragingly, the only available path seems to be the desolate, sandy one forward. The other option, of course, is staying right here.
She starts walking.
—
The odd thing is, after ten minutes of walking on soft, dry sand that makes Grace work to keep her balance, she really ought to be getting sweaty, even with the shawl folded and tucked under her arm. But no, she’s not sweaty at all. If she didn’t already know something was deeply off about this place, that’d be a dead giveaway.
At least it’s awful pretty.
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Another twenty minutes sees Grace starting to really get peeved. Yes, she prefers this to getting ate, but that’s a low bar.
I really wish I could get out of here and get back to the festival, Grace thinks.
And, as though she’d just missed it the last time she turned her head in that direction, Grace sees a dilapidated monument, hewn out of bright crimson rock. The edges are crisp, every corner laid perfectly, some of the stone done up like those Egyptian-style pillars, or maybe like the Athena’s Glory building. Quite a few slabs have fallen out of place, carvings worn away by sand or wind or something else, but it still looks stately. Like a temple.
It’s a nice look. There’s absolutely no reason for something so intentional to be sitting out here in the middle of nowhere. Grace props a hand on her hip and glares at the thing.
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The voice comes from behind her and to the side a bit, a familiar man's voice, sharp but casual with a British accent.
"Grace fucking Holloway!" Gerry greets her with a grin, hand on her shoulder. "I thought you got on the ferry a year ago! What the hell are you doing back here?"
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Ellen Ripley | Alien (1979) | Closed to CT
Apparently, not being transported to some alternate dimension is too much to ask. Apparently, wanting to have a nice time with the person whose house you've been staying at (the circumstances of which have coincidentally evaded all mention) is too much to ask. The intention was to be around people. Enjoy the holiday. Shake off whatever remnants of the Lonely still lead her down unhelpful thought-paths. The last few weeks have been spent in good company, albeit a little stressful. Paranoia had fallen over the house like a thick sheet of dust, and Ripley has done her best to collect it, do away with it, help in any way she can.
They take the train. At one point her head finds Connie's shoulder. These small passings of affection come easily, thoughtlessly. The result of days spent in a comfortable tangle. She's made a point of not asking too many questions. Not the right time, what with the Eye and a new, unfriendly face in town. They don't need to put words to... this. This, whatever it is.
She tells herself this, and buys it less and less. Apprehensive to know what they are, where they're going, if this is actually anything or if she's miscalculated somewhere. Can it. Not now. Just enjoy yourself.
And she was— the woods are nice and the weather's mostly clear— until she stepped wrong and got transported god fucking knows where.
"Connie—?" No no no, not again. Ripley rounds on the balls of her feet, alarmed— finds her. "Oh— thank god." Then, settling enough to take in the change of scenery; "...What the hell is all this?"
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It's been an eventful and yet somehow strangely uneventful few weeks. So much and yet so little has happened, since the miniature apocalypse left the town intact but draped beneath a heavy blanket of exhaustion, change and trauma renewed. Left CT changed more than most, a decision that had made sense beneath the pressure of the Eye and everything it represented feeling less clear-cut on the opposite side, paranoia bearing down and all the fresh inputs overwhelming and as if that's not bad enough now South's here and—
And the single point of clarity in the middle of it all: one Ellen Ripley.
Connie feels... unfair, some days, for the way Ellen has to sooth her like an agitated animal, when it's so much her own fault that she's so constantly on edge. It was a choice, to let some eldritch thing into her head, let it change her, and for all the benefits, she feels the cost most strongly in the worried wrinkles in Ellen's face every time she almost loses it.
She tries to make up for it with care in turn, but it still feels... well, she's just glad that Ellen hasn't seen fit to pull away.
They both need to get out more. Quit spending so much time ruminating, which seems to be half of what they do between her ever-present need to work and remembering to eat and playing with the cat and those moments where Connie lets herself indulge in the closeness she still struggles to define. (To let herself define.) Of course, it can never be that easy, not in this town.
"I'm here," she says, instinctively, not the first time she's said those words in the last week let alone the last three. On the same reflex, she holds out a hand, even as her brow knits and her eyes flash gold in that way they do, now, sometimes. "I— think it's fae?"
A blanket of dark stars on a bright backdrop, inverse of how it should be. Some vague structure spreading out ahead and either side of them, where they seem to be standing on a platform in otherwise open space. Any other surfaces are hanging in open air or along the walls, untethered from the ground.
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Agent Carolina | Red vs. Blue | OTA & closed prompts, on request
Our Long Bygone Burdens / Strong Are the Shoulders That Carry | OTA
She had told someone recently that 'self-isolation gets you nowhere', and through every impulse to ignore her own advice, Carolina joins the town up the mountain. She hikes. Avoids the train, for no particular reason than that she likes to move. Needs to move. Let the cold-sweat slough down her body, let the leaves pass in flashes of amber and burnt orange. Forget what happened last month. It doesn't matter anymore. It's over. (Is it? Is it, really?)
Whatever the occasion, you can never be too safe. Which is why she's dressed in simple armor, with a massive hammer attached at her back. After the Fears, it's the only two things that ease her nerves. Maybe the only thing keeping her body from falling apart. The only thing saving her the agony of tearing herself limb from limb, like a dog's cone. In the Stranger, she had fashioned herself into a metal war hound named Allison. In the Slaughter, Allison fought with tooth and gauntlet-claw, vicious. Here, she's... much the same thing. Don't think about it.
Those who tire easily on their own hike up the mountain might find her approaching, aloof-yet-friendly expression on the knight woman's face. "Need a lift?"
And later, sat by the fire. Under the rain. It plink-plink-plinks off the solemn, no nonsense woman's armor, music made lovely manifest by metal and drizzle. On request, she might pick up her war hammer, approach the nearest tree and give its trunk one hearty thwack to make rain come spilling from the orange canopy. Something to dance in. Something to wet one's hair. The plink-plink noise drops an octave as the heavier droplets hit her shoulders.
Another thwack and she sets her hammer aside, holds out a hand. Something playful shifts in those green eyes. "Wanna race?"
And deep in the evening, when the party has died down to a quiet babble and the sky melts from blue into black. Carolina pulls her rolled-out cot to the open gape of her tent and lays on her stomach, watching the fire. Maybe you're camping too. Maybe you join her.
Eventually she sleeps— and fitfully. Those who camp beside her might hear, through an open tent-flap, Carolina in the throes of an awful dream. Embarrassing.
Wildcard!
Having something else in mind? Hit me!
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Leon S. Kennedy | Resident Evil 4 (Remake) | OTA
Leon looks... better, than he did earlier in the month. Not by a lot, and in some ways he looks worse - haggard and sleepless still - but he's making more of an effort to keep it together, at least. He's been assured that people are paying attention, and will nag him if he lets himself start slipping away again. As such, he decides it's probably good for him to brave the crowd and shove down the nagging fear of what if it all goes wrong again and make his way up to Crane's Ridge for the Dance.
After all, one of the goddesses is going to be present in person, so how bad could it go? And he's pretty sure he owes her a big thanks, for keeping some if not all of them safe, during last month's... everything. If not in words, then in his presence at her celebration, at least.
Early on, he spends some time loitering at the edge of town, near the train station but not going inside, just watching people board with a thoughtful look on his face.
"Hey," he says, nodding to whoever happens to get his attention. "It's a nice day out. You want to walk with me instead? Seems like a shame to miss out on the fresh air."
Later on, after arriving at the festivities, Leon engages in the time-honored tradition of wallflowering aggressively in the background. He stays... well away from the cooking fires, or at least the ones roasting meat, but otherwise seems content to stand around with his arms folded, trying to look stern and on his guard but occasionally slipping into a softer smile whenever he thinks no one is looking.
Of course, his heart still hammers in his chest if he gets to thinking too hard about all the things that could go sideways here, but he tries his hardest to ground himself if he starts spiraling in that direction. Soon enough, the evening wears to a close, the clouds parting to reveal the sunset over a group of people largely none the worse for wear. Leon relaxes - just a hair - and says, to no one in particular so much as himself;
"Glad I made it this year. Think we needed this."
Walk with me!
Stefan had brought a book from the library for the train ride, but he knew himself. He'd get distracted by something out the window, then lose the mood for the book, and sit there, increasingly bored and unsettled. Better to hike than to end up pacing the aisle. Or trying to, at least - at a broad-shouldered six foot six, train cars often didn't give Stefan much space to deal with his restlessness.
"I think I've seen you around, but we haven't talked," he said, extending a hand. "Stefan Richter. I came in this summer, from 1930."
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wallflowering
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The perks of wallflowering
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fever (dark urge) | baldur's gate 3
(closed - phil.)
There's unpleasant ones, sure - and for a moment, she thinks the Fears are back - but this one doesn't feel awful. More like a complicated knot of magic that requires more delicacy to unpick. A fun trick, not a waltzing into danger. There had been murmurs of fairy rings, and clearly they were based in something. But the sky is soft pastels, and nothing's coming to attack them - this crumbling ruin looks like it's been long abandoned. Nothing dangerous, just a door into something else, an entry hall that leads in, a switch in the path that seems...loose. Huh. Must need more weight to open up.
"I saw something like this in a basement once. You just have to weight it down firmly enough and it unlatches."
Waving Phil over, she points at the spot. He weighs more than her, so this should work. With no obvious keyhole, this must be how to open the other door. It's at least worth a shot, right? Try to move forward, not bash their heads against the metaphorical wall on trying to get out.
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(open - dance.)
night
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bonfire
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Rain
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rain
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bonfire
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Bonfire
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bonfire
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Stefan Richter | City of Heroes (Praetorian Earth) | OTA: Today Can Be Halloween If You Believe
He'd heard the traditions had started with the Irish, but the past couple years in England hadn't been up to the caliber of what Stefan had been used to back in the States. Halloween was a particularly raucous and often destructive holiday in Shroud City, with pranks growing ever bigger each year. The gang had all been other Americans, but few of them had cared anywhere near as much about Halloween as Stefan had.
This year looked like it was going to be another dud. Stefan had been considering Halloween plans as the appropriate season came around to Marrow Isle, but that was before the living nightmares started. The date came and went, marking the end of two weeks of blood, filth, and horror. Or at least, others told him it was two weeks. He'd lost track of time, lost a lot of things.
But that just made Stefan more determined to have something of the holiday to call his own. Pranks wouldn't go over well after all that had happened, and he didn't feel up to them either. But if nothing else, he was going to have a damned pumpkin. More than one.
And so he can be found sitting out on his front steps, knife in hand, starting to carve out a jack o' lantern. Late or not, he wasn't going to let Halloween be forgotten. A few more pumpkins sit beside him, waiting to be carved if anyone wants to join him.
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She covers her mouth with one dainty hand, giving a chuckle as she observes the scene. King Halo feels inclined, no, compelled to ask the obvious.
"Are you planning on carving all of those pumpkins by yourself?" She asks, clearly amused.
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Front Steps
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Zivia Birnbaum | OC | OTA
At the Dance itself, she's helping to run one of the refreshment booths, serving rosemary bread and onion rolls, carrot muffins and pumpkin cupcakes, hot cocoa and cider and warmly spiced tea. "The cocoa's dark," she tells people, "no dairy in it, but there's cream if you want to add some."
And as the night falls, you might find her by one of the bonfires, having joined a crowd of people singing. It's folk music, after all, and the songs are easy enough to learn -- and maybe, if anyone seems interested, she might teach them a song or two from her world.
[Tag Zivia at her refreshment booth, at the bonfire, or anywhere else at the Dance! If your character encountered her in the Lonely during October, feel free to have them respond to her approach, or to a stone call if they aren't present. Have a wildcard idea? Hit me!]
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For now he'll just wordlessly stand near, he doesn't want to interrupt her singing, he'll simply be taking everything in.
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Refreshment Booth!
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Campfire songs
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By the Bonfire
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Edgar | Snowpiercer (2013) | OTA
He isn't sure why he's going to the Dance at all, except that he hates the idea of staying back on the ranch by himself, and he hates worse the idea of asking anyone to stay with him. So he's here, eating too much, drinking too much, trying to engage with anything at all that isn't his own thoughts for thirty seconds together.
He's probably going to be lousy company tonight. Come talk to him anyway.
[Tag Edgar on the train or up at the Dance! Please, he needs distraction so badly.]
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There's a couple more draped over his sweater sleeve, because he's been handing them out to anyone who doesn't yet have one on — and when he spies a
new victimstranger, he heads over with a lopsided, dumb grin."Hey, looks like you're missing something," he greets, holding up one of the crowns in gesture.
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Shen Qingqiu (Yuan) | SVSSS | prompt closed to Lev/Lyubov, but wildcards for the Dance are welcome!
The pink clouds and purple grass are all perfectly lovely, and there's even a subtle scent in the air that gently encourages thoughtful relaxation and introspection. Shen Qingqiu finds himself sighing nonetheless, glancing over at his lover and giving them a rueful smile. "So much for our uneventful walk up the mountain, hm?" He raises Lev's hand to his face and gives their knuckles a gentle kiss before tucking it back into the crook of his arm.
"I suppose we're meant to go inside?" he muses, gesturing at the ruins. "I don't sense anyone else within, but please do stay close to me, dearest."
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Lev examines the clouds overhead with some mistrust before answering Qingqiu.
"I think so, nu?" he says, not taking his eyes off of the sky. "Ah. I think those are like, not no stormclouds, but ... even if they're decorative, I should feel less exposed were we to head for the ruins?"
Maybe it's the aftermath of the Fears' onslaught, or maybe he's just having a bad sort of week. But he's been a little more on edge than usual, a little more inclined to assume the worse of a situation.Maybe not the worst, but certainly the worse.
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A golden woman, shimmering in the firelight. The crystal beads adorning her gown catch the glow of the hearth and shout it back at the world around her as she dances. A slender hand catches that of a new partner, and the towering woman grins, starlight in her eyes.
But it's also possible to catch her later. Her own roaring flame temporarily tamed, she roasts food over the flame, always getting it just perfect. But seldom does she eat it herself, preferring to give it away to those nearby. A perfectly cooked mushroom or sausage slides off a skewer and onto your plate before you can protest. A cup of coffee or hot cider finds its way into chilly hands.
However you find her, Celestine is a blazing, ethereal presence, joyous in celebration at the height of her kingdom.
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He hates it. The hearth that felt like home, the stars that lit the way, the way Gaeta knew her the instant he saw her -- it all feels so distant. And he has no idea if it's the Web's doing or just his own guilt.
He certainly looks guilty enough when she presses the coffee into his hands, staring up at her with a mix of uncertainty and hope. "Hi," he says, and instantly wants to kick himself for how inane it sounds.
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Long Bygone Burdens [North Dakota, OTA]
North wants to hang out, but South's pretty quick to go off in search of wine and he loses track of her quickly. No problem. He's just feeling a little vulnerable after all that, but South will be South. It won't take her long to get into a fight with someone, he's sure. (Several, he'll find out later.) He'll catch her in a bit.
Besides, North has priorities of his own--- food. Not just eating it, of course, but learning how to make some of it for future meals. If someone's cooking, North's looking to get involved. "Whatcha making?" he'll ask any stranger as if he's known them forever. "I'll help if you wanna show me what to do."
After that, well---- he's no dancer, but this is a dance. Might as well try. He offers a hand to someone who looks friendly. "I got two left feet, but I'm digging this music. Wanna jump in?"
As the night draws to a close, he could go back to his farm, but he doesn't want to leave without South. So he picks a tent and commits to camping. He's used to it by now anyway, and the space still smells of petrichor and campfire and food. He sits in the entrance of his tent, gazing up at the stars as he gears up to sleep.
camping
She doesn't really mean to abandon him. It's not a conscious decision so much as it's several warring impulses where 'glue to North's side' loses to the sheer force of 'drink until I can't think about what just happened'.
Drinking spirals into bad decisions spirals into an compounding regret. It gets late. She still doesn't want to go back to the farmhouse on her own. Doesn't want to lie there staring at the wood-grain above her makeshift bed on the couch and be alone with her thoughts.
So she looks for him. Finds him, finally, sat in the opening of one of the tents, and drops down to sit next to him without a word, leaning up against his side with her head on his shoulder.
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dancing.
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Dancing
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Alex Chen | Life is Strange
The mountains are, admittedly, not Alex's favourite place. Not since that night with the blast that killed Gabe, not helped by her own fateful fall into the mines at Jed's hands. Bad memories. Ugly emotions.
But these are not those mountains. And if anywhere in town is going to be awash more with joyous gold than it is drenched in the colours of grief and terror and rage after the long, slow march of recovery this month has been... it's here, isn't it?
And she's right about that. There's splatters of other emotions, of course there are, but the ridge is bathed in the light of people's merriment and Alex lets it infect her, too.
She dons a flower crown. She even waves one of the ribbons around for a while, though she breaks into laughter and falls back to the edges of the space, embarrassed by her dancing, after a while. She drinks some wine and eats good food and she flits about talking to people, small talk and simple things. Finds surface level thoughts of things that make people happy that are easy to pass off as coincidence to bring up, to encourage.
It's nice.
And when her legs are tired, but she's still riding that golden high, she sits down and pulls out her guitar—her guitar, the one Gabe got her, turned up miraculously in her apartment. And, braver than she'd usually be, she plays, and even sings. Modern songs, mostly indie bands. She might even take requests.
[ Empathy info/opt-out. ]
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At the end of the song she applauds, and moves closer to say "Okay, I was not expecting Radiohead here. Nice."
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Grace Holloway | Dance of Celestine | OTA
That takes a while.
Afterward, with equal determination, she does a circuit around the various booths, the head of her cane held in a very firm grip, gait swaying back and forth as she doles out compliments to the different stalls. Someone weaves flowers into her hair along with the red leaves she already worked into her updo. A stall providing roasted nuts wins her attention, and she sits down on a bench to watch the dancers and methodically demolish the whole paper bag.
That also takes a while.
Only by the time she sits down with the singers and musicians does it seem that she may have been tense before, because she seems to relax bit by bit, her warm voice spooling out clear and rich as she learns the songs.
The night goes late, but it seems not even a festival can currently induce Grace to sleep outside. A group has gathered, full of people intending to take the train back, and Grace loiters with them, sitting on another bench looking worn thin, but content enough.
Songs!
Having spent most of the day tooling around the various stalls and practically machine constructing numerous flower crowns for not just himself but everyone else, the glambot finally joins in on the singing and dancing. The dancing less so, considering how large he is compared to everyone else.
What catches his attention the most is one woman's voice, and the tall, leggy robot scoots a bit closer to her in awe, sitting on the log next to her's. Mettaton doesn't interupt her, waiting until the song finishes, then claps eagerly.
"Oh, that was absolutely lovely, darling! You have a beautiful voice!"
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Capochin | Great God Grove
[ Closed to Susie ]
What Capochin finds is not like any temple he's ever seen. And he's seen all sorts, from stone sepulchers to colorful fabric tents, from schoolhouses to abstract sculptures, penthouses to maintenance vans. But this place... it looks a lot like a ruined apartment complex. Hollowed out by some natural disaster or dilapidated with improper funding and neglect. He's seen it before, but never presented with such a strange air of reverence.
Frowning, he looks around. "Hector? Pokey? Cari? Where is everybody?"
-Long Bygone Burdens-
[ OTA ]
Well, the puzzle detour wasn't ideal, but it surely could have gone worse.
In decent spirits from a (presumably, based on OOC discussion about the thread) heartfelt conversation with a struggling but brave young lady, Capochin reunites with family quickly and enjoys the party.
He'd volunteered to help with cooking weeks ago, and is too late to the party to help with cooking station set up, but he jumps into making the food eagerly. A wok-like skillet over an open flame, filled with oil, is a decent place to whip up some arancini, and grills set up over the flames can be used to make panini sandwiches. Not bad at all! "Eyy, you want any? It's good eatin'! C'mere, bring ya plate. You gotta get some insulation on ya, winter's comin', no better way to do dat than wit' cheese."
The rain comes, and Capochin's instinct is to recoil and hide. But there's something about this rain that feels... safer, somehow. Gentle, not meant to hurt him. He isn't afraid of the rain, per se, but even after as long as it's been, someone born in Drain never stops associating it with that creeping dread of potential loss. Plus, you spend enough time in a uniform that involves leather pants and you learn real quick not to stay wet. Still, this is different. And Capochin resists his knee jerk, giving in to the call to stand under the sky and let himself enjoy rain for the first time in his life. He might enjoy some company out there, sitting on a stone and gazing up at the sky.
Later, Capochin can be seen huddled around the bonfire. Too arthritic to dance for long, and chilled from the rain, Capochin lets the festival's hearth chase the ache from his bones over a cigarette, bundled in a blanket. "Some festival, huh?" he asks serenely. "I think dis might be my favorite one."
bygone burdens (rain)
In this weather, it's easy to miss a small blue monkey monster, and Noelle is a bit preoccupied, so she doesn't notice that she's picked a rock nearby Capochin until they've gone a few moments sitting there.
Tonight, the urge to be polite wins out over Noelle's shyness. "Hi. Sorry. Didn't see you there. You're...Kris's boss, right?"
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At the fire
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cooking.
Re: cooking.
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All That Was Lost
Bassira Hussain | The Magnus Archives
It really was too much to assume that any given festival might be normal, wouldn't it?
There wasn't anything obvious on the trek up the mountain. It's a crisp afternoon--- nothing that can't be warded off by long sleeves and layering--- and it's likely one of the last few decent days of fall before winter makes itself known at last. Basira hasn't been hiking meaningfully in years; she'd used to make an occasion of it, a weekend out of a year, kept to herself for quiet contemplation and an escape from it all, until her world became something that didn't see fit to give her that time anymore. Perhaps it's the nostalgia that let her guard down.
As far as strange things that happen here, it could be worse, at least.
The forest trail turns to strange obstacles, with the trees still looming overhead, scattering bright orange and dark brown leaves onto carved wood puzzles. The upward curve of the trail is gone, but the forest seems to funnel to a point that certainly feels like escape. The change in scenery is enough that, for a moment, she doesn't catch anything else amiss; she just lets out a short, stressed breath, finds Daisy at her side, and moves to take a step to find a way out of this.
Of course, it's not so simple as that (since when is anything simple here?); a red ribbon snares her, tying left hand and wrist to Daisy's right, keeping a matched set just that much more tangled together than they typically are.
"...That's new," is all Basira can think to say for a moment. "Didn't think these things went for escape-room scenarios."
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Daisy's guard isn't what it usually is, either, even now. The worst of the early days post-minipocalypse are over, the days where dragging herself out of bed was impossible and her self-control felt like it was hanging by a single thread, but getting her out of the Estate to climb the mountain today is still a milestone. Good to get outside, again. To put feet to dirt and exert herself, ground herself in the world. Try to be around people without worrying she's going to rip out their throats.
It makes her very aware of the other people on the trail, behind and ahead, but not of much else. Until, suddenly, they're somewhere else, and there's a tug at her wrist when Basira reflexively steps to take point.
"Uh, yeah, this is... different," Daisy says, furrow in her brow. She looks down at the ribbon around their wrists, carefully moving it to see what range of motion they've got. "Smells funky. Definitely not the island proper."
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Drelasa Veloth | Morrowind | A Song For Celestine
The year prior, she had danced in the bonfire on impulse. This year, she has come prepared.
Beneath her robes, her body is draped in elaborate strings of bells, fashioned in metals of the highest melting temperature she could find. Granted, there wasn't much time between her return and this, but it's quicker and easier to forge bells when you can sculpt and test the metal by hand. When the time seems right, she steps into the fire, and begins to dance and sing.
"Alma am ur-calhnsan,
Falme iam beshvii
Gher ohm silvarur baldefuur
Barlori molag am hla-molalsi
en sinvag ara
Visha asuhl gahkho
Beli, beli, alda'hiram molag
Lakor morash luvahr
lournag muhrahn-bal louriif
Beli, beli, silvar morh
Leysha osuhl en almese
Sut osuhn huirf adur hla
er udir am vamidium."
"Mother of the dusk months,
Hold our fears
In your starry hands
Let candleflame
and glowing ash
Carry them away
Sing, sing, dancing fire
As wood below
weeps amber tears
Sing, sing, stars above
Hear us and pray
For we below are small
but full of hope."
Her hands are outstretched, raised to the sky, movements only in part a conscious choice, in part how the moment moves her as an instrument.
Join her dancing nearby, if you like, or sit beside her once she's finished her performance.
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"That was beautiful," she says honestly. "I've never seen anything like it."
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Hector | Great God Grove [Closed to Anzu]
All at once, Hector realizes that the crunching of leaves beneath his boots has stopped being so, and his heels have started to click against polished floor.
He whirls around, instantly alarmed. This place is brightly lit— not so much as that sunny mountain-side, of course, but the lamp's glow around this hall does the job just fine— and the view out the windows, a scenic, rolling countryside of downward sloping hills spilling towards a distant elegant city, don't look anything like where he'd just been. No look down any of the other hallways gives him any answers, nor does the austere door behind him. (Its heavy-looking lock doesn't offer anything to assist, either.)
When he turns on his heel to try to continue looking around, he finally catches eye of someone else— and, having expected that least of all, he staggers backwards hastily.
By the time he realizes that he knows this face, his fur is already fluffed up like an alarmed cat, leaving him looking thoroughly ridiculous as he tries to pat himself down to smooth that fur down.
"M— Mister Anzu! Peas louise, yew can't sneak up on a guy like that!" Even with the fussing, he laughs it off, albeit nervously. "Say, do yew, uh... know what's goin' on here any better d'en I do, by chance?"
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Anzu, who jumped about a foot upon seeing Hector, leans on his walking-stick, trying and somewhat failing to feign casualness and calm.
"Ah, nu, darling," he says. "Mine apologies for scaring thee, but ... ah ... I ... really, I literally just walked in here. I know about as much about this place as thee."
He glances out the window, unhappily.
"I had, ah, stopped to let Leyb and Qingqiu catch up with me," he confides. "Feh. They took their time, so I resumed walking— but when I came under the canopy of a tree, I was rather suddenly here. I recall not no shifts in atmosphere, nor any indication that I was walking into a Silver lacuna or ... ahh. Nu. Maybe something akin to a Silver lacuna. This place is rather short on otherworldly places of origin explicable to me, nu?"
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