faefeasts: the midwinter gala - IC

[With very heavy sarcasm.] So it's super awesome to realize that all of you are psychotic assholes. By which I mean not awesome at all. Who knew that your King making us be honest would make everyone into jerks? Wow.

Honesty? Up until now, I've believed that I've been perfectly honest with everyone...

[Voice Wisp → Everyone]
So I figure since the darkest part of the night seems to have passed, whatever that means here, we're probably getting close to the end of the party, yeah? Maybe some of you fairies want to give us hints about how we can get your boons. Wouldn't that be a fun game?

[Voice Wisp → Fiach and Ranvir]
The Raven and I have a proposition for you, Shadow.

[Voice Wisp → Stell]
On the topic of boons, I'd like to give you some of my paintings in the hopes that it paves the way toward one. Just going to be up front about it.

[His low voice is raspy and every now and then it cracks and drops one of his syllables. You can hear the yawn he's holding back almost escape in his pauses.]

I have had it with this Pamela. It's a terrible story. I know most consider putting your nose in a book at a party a waste of time, but you are wasting time on top of wasting time reading this bundle of tinder. Write a letter to someone who cares, Pam.

Anybody have any recommendations? Nothing too recent or I won't be able to open it. A gentleman never reveals his age, but I'll say I'm younger than Shakespeare.

Even though I've grown up here, I don't think I've spent half as much time in the maze as I did awhile ago.

...Is it really always like that? Or how much was the alterations made for the "entertainment"?

[Stell's writing is cramped, a bit hesitant, but continues nonetheless]

Is it just me or does it seem like people have spent more time bewailing the ball so far more than anything across the wisps? It's not been all terrible. At least, as far as things go, this has been an almost tame gathering of Fae. No bloodshed so far yet that I know of.

Babes, I am so sorry.

I kinda got distracted by being a dude. But if you're still offering, cute girl, musical instruments, I am still a yes for both?

I'm hanging out in the ballroom. The musicians are kinda neat. I mean, I rock out much harder, but still, neat. Old-school.

Let me know?

[This is of course written after her tea-time with Halis, because writing it during would be rude. It is written in an elegant, flourished hand, accented by her unmistakably propensity for perfection.]

Stell and I are taking a poll, for educational purposes of course. If any of you would be so kind as to disclose whether or not you like this particular change, along with reasons as to why or why not, along with any striking changes one notices save for the very obvious... we would be much obliged.

We may ask further questions to broaden our research, thank you!

[Added a bit later.]

And do feel free to stop by the maze for some refreshments once you finish, thank you!

[Added quickly after.]

Any humans would be wise to stay away from the black tins, however. Thank you!

[If this was a voice wisp it would be almost unbearably cheerful under the circumstances. As it is, it's still much less frantic or disturbed than most of the recently transformed mortals]

I knowe that for some the change is a thing to bee distrusted but I find this forme is unexpected yet not unwelcome. I could play you a Cleopatra rarely liyke this. Even Juliet which I have not been for some yeeres now could be done to perfection. I was much younger than and fairer and I will have you knowe my death seene was onse the talk of the citie.

I do not enjoy being a source of amusement for the king or the queen.

Is there someone I might appeal to in order to be left out of such games in the future?

[The voice is practically booming, quaking with incredulous anger.]

What. The actual. FUCK.

WHY DO I HAVE A PENIS.

[The voice is definitely male, however it rings with a feminine touch, proper and the edge of panic threaten to surge through in flaring octaves as the pitch adjusts.]

We must all remain calm. Yes, indeed. Calm and collected and surely this isn't so bad. Yes? There have been worse games, one cannot forget the asexual experiment a few centuries ago. I still cannot get the images of spores out of my head.

Nonetheless, would any of the switched mortals care for some clothing to adjust? I am quite certain that the new gentleman would prefer some slacks befitting their new hipless figures, and the now ladies some gravitational support. Some tea, perhaps?

[The writing is almost a bit frantic. At the very least, it's definitely rushed and definitely not as well thought out as usual. He is speaking and the wisp is merely helpfully transcribing it all, word for unthinking word.]

How in the name of--

How--

Fuck.

How on earth do women deal with all of this bloody hair? Christ, if it's always this difficult I can see why bobbing is so popular. Scissors. I need to find some scissors. Enough is enough--

[His voice keeps cracking, as he's straining to speak in his usual register.]

I understood the masquerade. I-I mean, I didn't understand it, but... It seemed a more legitimate experiment. Certainly a more entertaining one. At least.

This... [clears his throat] This is just inconvenient.

So does this thing happen often? Like one minute you're eating a fruit tart and then suddenly you go from having a vagina to having the most awkward food boner ever?

I- I- I- oh.

As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives,
Each wife had seven sacks,
Each sack had seven cats,
Each cat had seven kits:
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,
How many were there going to St. Ives?

Okay, how fucking drunk am I? Wait, no alcohol doesn't make shit this cool.

WHO THE FUCK GAVE ME AN LSD ROOFIE? Party foul guys. Party fucking foul. I gotta say though, this is one fucking badass trip. You should see the email. It's like a firefly or something that turns into paper.

Also whose party is this and whose bed am I sleeping in how am I getting home?

You know, humans have this sort of shit down, and you have got the nerve to say you're the superior lifeform or whatever? You faeries ever been to a fucking shopping plaza? There's these big maps behind plastic or plexiglass, see, and on it, there's also a dot labeled in big as fuckall letters 'YOU ARE HERE'. Can we get one of those? Please? And can we put it in the library, 'cause that's really where it should be and it ain't.

Oh. And by the way, not that any of you assholes asked, could we maybe write a 'What to Expect When You're Expecting Sex Faeries to Hold You Captive' pamphlet and put them in the library, too? Fucking useless, this library. Just has a mess of books.

[What was once elegant cursive writing, is now hurried strokes of ink across parchment, smudges from fingers brushing against the wet paper.]

I need to know. Please tell me who you are.

[His writing is cramped and spidery, seemingly striving to take up as little space as possible on the paper so that there will be room for everything he might think to say.]

What exactly is the purpose of broadcasting one's thoughts for all to see? Does anyone truly care what another is doing or thinking at any given moment? Why this fascination with sharing? How many details are truly needed? I ask out of pure academic curiosity. It's a pity I never focused on anthropology. This would be fascinating to study. If stories had mentioned that Faerieland had its own glowing telegraph system, it might have explained quite a few things. Perhaps that was how Lanval's fairy lady knew to ride in and save him at the end of the poem?