faefeasts: the midwinter gala - IC

[The Seelie Queen’s mirror flickers once with golden light before becoming a void of darkness punctured only by three lights. Eyes, perhaps, though it’s impossible to say for sure. The Unseelie King speaks from beyond the glass, his voice a low rumble.]

And so another feast comes to a close, oh Glorious Starfall, oh Song of Creation, Maker of Worlds. Have you determined what new thing you will give me?

[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!

Who: Timore and Sovan
What: They gonna fight
Where: Dreamland
When: After the sleep fae get excited and Timore hits too low
Warnings: Language, violence. Eldritch abominations.
Note: Half this fight is gonna be in dreamland, half of it in the physical world. You can catch sight of any of it if you'd like, but it's eldritchy as hell in the opening tag, so if that's not your thing, turn back now.

( oh, this my weapon, this my loam oh, this my blood, this my bone how do I wake my spirit cold? most people die but others just go )

[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?

It has been some time since her wisps traveled to him, though it is really no time at all. This one arrives in the Unseelie Court without much fanfare, a flutter of green light that pulses steadily, bright and dim as it awaits opening. When it’s touched by the recipient, and only the recipient, the wisp shakes and unravels, becoming a slim slip of shimmering parchment.

Her penmanship is fluid, and still ornate, large loops of lettering in a dark ink.]

It is time, my king. Will you be ready for my arrival?

[The wisp comes as she’s rising and leaving her quarters, pulling on a dress made of dawn’s light. It wraps itself around her, warming her, invigorating her, and leaving her hands free to pen a note to her King.] Are you ready to return to your own bed? [The wisp is seemingly amused, though a few ink splots dot the parchment as her pen hovers, wistful. She will miss this. She will miss him.]

[When he speaks, it's a bored drawl.] I think you could all stand to be a little more honest and open with each other. [With that, every attendee at the feast will feel the compulsion to eat a delightful little cake that will, in turn, compel them to be honest.] I wonder what we'll learn from each other.

[With a voice utterly laced with amusement.] I do hope you all had quite the time.

I know I certainly did.

[her voice is low, cool, and slightly distracted.]

I am not impressed.

I expected the palace to be in ruins by now.

I think that's quite enough, don't you?

[And with the King's words, his spell ends. In various states of dress and undress, regardless of circumstance, those attending the feast find themselves returned to their previous gender.

When the King speaks again, it's in his low, knife-edged voice.]

Your Queen and I hope you enjoyed yourselves. [There are twin implications: that they did, and if anyone might have taken offense to his spell they had best not complain about it.]

[Across all fairy, the feast’s attendees suddenly find themselves with a glass in their hands. The size and shape of it depends entirely on the holder, each tailored to the fae or mortal holding it. Each glass holds a mouthful of a drink. Those with clear glasses can see the liquid is clear as well and stagnant like water.

The wisps turn startling shades of blood orange, the color brutal against fairy’s gloaming. From each wisp issues a voice like ice and fire, filled with dark and dangerous edges.] Raise your goblets in a toast, revelers, and drink to the glory of your Queen.

[A compulsion to drink seizes each attendee, and they can no more refuse their sip than they can stop breathing. As soon as they swallow, the changes begin. Within moments, each guest finds their body changed.

Laughter floats from the wisp, still razor sharp and deadly, but feminine instead of masculine.] Your Queen and I do hope you find this diversion amusing. Or, at the very least, entertaining.

I find myself lacking in amusement. Surely there are those who seek to entertain, and yet I find myself bereft of their company. Or perhaps this is the Seelie court's definition of revelry.

A pity.

[His writing is striking and bold, the letters like slashes on the page. There is a hurried quality to his writing. He must have something to do.]

Tell me, my children, did you enjoy my masquerade? My Queen and I found you indescribably amusing.

WHO: The Seelie Queen, the Unseelie King, and everyone in attendance at the Midsummer Ball
WHAT: The Start
WHEN: The beginning of the ball
WHERE: The Seelie Palace
WARNINGS: None. We’ve only just begun.
NOTES: This is to start us off but also feel free to respond and mingle in the comments if you’d like. If the contents of your comments move beyond a PG rating, please mark them in the header accordingly.

( She glances at her King, a flick of iridescent eyes. )

[Wisps are generally not able to travel this far, this quickly. But the sender is not simply any fae, and neither is her receiver. When the wisp arrives in the Unseelie Court, a near second after it left the queen’s hand, it’s a flutter of green light, pulsing steadily brighter and dim as it awaits opening. When it’s touched by the recipient, and only the recipient, the wisp shakes and unravels, becoming a slim slip of shimmering parchment.

Her penmanship is fluid, and still ornate, large loops of lettering in a dark ink.]

The time has come to feast and fête. Shall I be awaiting your arrival for Midsummer?

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