faefeasts: the midwinter gala - IC

Hey, losers.

Have good dreams lately?

You're welcome.

[Her voice is a shriek of horror across the wisps. She's distraught about the library closing. Panic is bubbling.]


The library is closed and it's all your fault Felix! Apologise to Damen and his books at once!

(after this)

[Voice Wisp: Faiella/Sovan]

SOVAN. Dear heart. Darling. Where are you?

Hello, my darlings. I've been working on something since I arrived and I thought that I might share it with all of you. Please compliment them well, these sprites have worked hard for this performance.

[ There's a pause, a rustle, and then a rising chorus of tiny chatter that could be words, but they speak so fast that picking out any word is next to impossible. ]

Calm down, my tiny loves, you'll get your treats, but first....

[ Suddenly the chaotic chatter dies down into a soft, melodic hum of many in tune voices that grow into perfection. ]

Thank you, lovelies. I do hope you all enjoy this. I think we could use a little more music at this party, yes?

[ The sprites begin to sing and those familiar with the human world might find a few familiar songs in a lilting chorus that mimics human voice but with an otherworldly quality. Those fae used to such things will recognize some of the songs as Sovan's creations. Those inclined towards sweet feelings towards a particular individual might find their thoughts gently turned in the direction of that person (or persons) for whom they hold such feelings. However, the suggestion is a gentle one.]

( song list )

Who: Timore & Faiella
What: Fai comes to see if he's dead.
Where: Timore's room in the palace
When: After getting scolded by the king
Warnings: Timore being a pissy shithead probably.

( Under the words of men )

Considering what a mess there was earlier, should anyone feel that they'd prefer not to risk sleeping and encountering whatever mayhem that might entail... my services are always available.


Voice wisp → Timore and Sovan
So how many pieces did our benevolent lord leave you both in? I'd ask if I should be concerned, but I'm really not. You both knew better but apparently you were still too dense to think matters through.


Written wisp → Island
You had better not be who I think you are.

[There is the sound of people running and a few shrieks, the wail of nightmares mingling with reality, Robin's wisp is a flurry, darting to and fro, it's tendril's extended like that of a cat's whose fur is on end. Her voice is a mesh of anger and yes, fear. ]

What in the hell is going on?! Is everything okay?!

[OOC: This is during Timore and Sovan's fight, reality keeps shifting all scary like!]

[voice wisp: everyone]

I don't know about the rest of you, but I thoroughly enjoyed this venture. It was refreshing to...let go. I didn't even know I needed to let go.

What were your experiences?

[voice wisp: "hood"]

Do you still wish to meet?

[Written Wisp: Damen/Everyone]

In the interest of what we call fairness, I'm going to give to give the most recent, and most foolish, book thief the benefit of the doubt. Do return the copy of On Virtues and Lessons and you can continue to keep you skin upon your body.

Otherwise, I do have a fair amount of books to rebind.

[Merry's voice comes through...along with colors misting through her Wisp. They change. Each one different...]

Can you determine whose essence is whose, boiled down to ( colors? )

[It's hard to place the emotion in her voice but there is no mistaking how far away it seems - galactic distances even in its waver. She isn't anywhere out in space. She's still at the gala but there is a thoughtfulness that has overcome her and has made her temporarily aloof.]

What color do you see when you close your eyes and think of yourself What color do others perceive you to be when they close their eyes and think of you?

Will you participate in this?

I've included a chart that will help you name the color you see, but of course, you can use your own tools to explain.

List your name, name the color you think you are and hopefully others will choose the color they think you are. Try not to peek at what others think they are so that your answers will not be influenced. This is for...( reasons.  )

[Raana, seated on a parapet high in the Starlight Palace, sends the wisps out en masse. A single wisp goes to each party-goer. Each wisp has a paper lantern cut in the shape of a star hung around its body, and the drunken little things bobble slowly through the air so they don't lose their cargo.

When they reach someone without a lantern, they shake the gift loose and pulse gently in time with Raana's voice, soft and smokey and filled with sensual promise.]

A Midwinter gift to light your paths. The paper is made from the ironwood trees in the Seelie Queen's forests, and the light comes from the soul of a dying star, braided with moonlight and dreams.

[First: a deep breath in, another out verging on a sigh. When he finally speaks, it is with a tone of deep contemplation—not awe, but still a vague undercurrent of excitement flows through his words.]

This is different, very different. My vision. The place I built in my mind... it doesn't match. Maybe I was drawing another place entirely and not this one at all.

Where does one start?

Introductions, perhaps?

[The wisps curl and stretch, twisting briefly into shapes that were vaguely disturbing before. Timore's voice curled lazily through the air as if he were on the verge of a nap. ]

As lovely as the fires are, I wonder if the King would be so kind to put them out. A true midwinter, shrouded in darkness. It would be the ultimate mark of celebration, would it not?

WHO: The Unseelie King, the Seelie Queen, and everyone in attendance at the Midsummer Ball
WHAT: The opening fête
WHEN: The beginning of things
WHERE: The Feasting Grounds
WARNINGS: None thus far
NOTES: If the contents of your comments move beyond a PG rating, please mark them in the header accordingly. Otherwise, go wild, and have fun!

( All doors, all paths, all thresholds lead to this place )

[Her shivers are audible; her teeth chatter as she manages to get out]

It should never get this cold. If you want to find me, I'll be by the biggest fire in the biggest pile of furs. Things should never, ever get this dreary. No amount of lights are going to help. This is dreary.

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