Spring Ball
Tenebrae - Thursday, March 19, 2015, 8:19 PM
-=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A15: Mithralla Merchandise: Ballroom *>-=--=--=--=--=--=-
The ballroom has been craved directly out of the mountain. It is large enough to hold a hundred guests in comfort, beneath an artistic style reminiscent of the sildanyari tradition and heritage. The walls are solid stone, carved directly from the mountain. Left bare, the simple texture of the stone provides natural decoration and honors nature's creation. Although stone is an unusual material, the artist's treatment of it respects nature's source.
Regular pillars line the walls, arching high over head to branch out like massive trees, creating an intricate lacework upon the ceiling. At first glance, one might think the roof open to the sky above, but closer inspection shows clever illusions to depict an open sky.
The floor is smooth stone, carefully polished, and a simple platform has been raised near the far end of the room to provide a basic sort of stage. The acoustics of the curved roof help to bring the sounds of those upon the stage to the entire room, with minimal distortion. A large aspen tree has been carved into wall above the stage, with numerous small plaques in it's branches. The far end of the ballroom, beyond the stage, is covered with a network of stone, carved to resemble a covering of ivy and beautiful forest plants. Three small alcoves can easily been seen between the 'branches'.
It's barely even dusk, and already there are voices outside of Mithralla Merchandise. People are starting to gather, here and there. It's a perfect spring evening, a light breeze drifts down the mountainside, and finery is popping up up and down the mountain road like so many artfully crafted spring flowers. There aren't /too/ many about yet, but Jessamy's looking about her all the same as they approach the correct door, and looks over at Godwyn. "So is this it?"
A large wagon of musicians and instruments has arrived from the theaters, a small formal orchestra, several of the players still getting into their formal uniforms. As well are several wagons of food and booze from various sources, a handful of officals, both local and forgin, and a wide cross-section of the local populous. When everyone is invited, anyone might show up.
"This is it." Godwyn smiles as she gives the artwork carved into the doors a glance. "Beautiful already. And there are voices from inside, so I think we're okay. So then..." She turns toward Jessamy. "Tonight is about dandyism. Everyone here will consider themselves as first-rate and upstanding as we do. The difference is, that we must *be* first rate. Honorable to a fault. And yet..." She takes in a breath. "...we must be tactful and considerate as well. I'm sure you know all this, but consider this a pop quiz on it."
Godwyn chuckles. "For both of us, I think." She nods. "You can stick around with me if you want, for the whole thing."
Down from the Vardaman Temple lane, Silmeria picks her way toward the ball's venue. The clothier, it would seem, found a simple combination of gold and grey to be, while fitting, boring in itself. Thus, Silmeria's dress; high-collared and long-skirted, with sleeves that disappear into gold-trimmed opera gloves, and a narrow waist that flares out into a wide, pleated set of bustled skirts. The gold, used sparingly to pick out hemlines and occasional bits of emboidery, but several varied shades of gray used in a paisley pattern on the chest and back panels and overskirt, with the rustly layers of taffeta beneath a soft heather gray. Her hair is bound up tightly in a silver band at the back of her head, and from there her hair falls into a forest of ringlets threaded through with tiny silver disks.
Her gentle smile brightens considerably upon spotting Jessamy and Godwyn, and when she closes she dips a light curtsy. "Hello, you two! I see we're just in time, then?"
Godwyn turns to face the voice behind her, and her eyes light up upon recognition. She is not unimpressed by the dress. In fact, she grins. "You look splendid, Silmeria! It certainly looks like she did a number on you."
Mikilos mutters absently to himself, throwing open the doors from within, and blinking at the crowd outside. "Oh! You're out here? Come in, come in, the festivities are just getting set up. It's still cold out here. Better than it's been, but still, come in, come in!" A few papers flutter after the wizard, waiting for attention so they can be signed, or crossed off, or whatever happens to need done with them.
"Yes, of course," Jessamy answers Godwyn, eyeing the woman skeptically for just a moment before Silmeria comes up. "Speaker! You look wonderful." She pauses, brow furrowing in puzzlement as she studies the Vardamen. Something's bothering her, but she doesn't get time to figure out what it is as Mikilos comes fluttering up. "You're most kind, sir."
"I do think she just got bored," Silmeria chuckles, dimpling at the compliments handed her. "But I do admit, it is the loveliest dress I've ever been able to wear. Thank you again, Godwyn, truly." Making her way next to the paladins, she takes a breath... just in time for Mikilos to come wizarding out of the shop, which point she squares her shoulders and puts on her best smile. "Thank you, Master Mikilos, for hosting... and getting us in out of the cold. I'm sure it'll be a dance worth remembering for the rest of our lives."
GGodwyn nods and lifts her head, just enough. "Thank you most kindly for hosting this, Mikilos. We're honored to be here." With that, she glances toward Jessamy and, with a grin, makes her way inside along with the other guests.
It's party time.
"Yes." Jessamy gestures for Silmeria to precede her into the ballroom, skirts rustling as she moves to follow. "It isn't often that we get to dress in finery, is it, Speaker?" she asks. Her expression, though, once Silmeria's back is turned, reads open puzzlement.
Mikilos smiles, directing those in need towards the small coat room (or rest room), offering polite greetings to various officals, and pointing the musicians towards the stage, as well as greeting various guests from the Adventuring community. "Well, I do hope everyone enjoys themselves. But there's always next year to try and top it."
Coal-black hair falls in tousled locks about a pale, heart-shaped face, obscuring at times dark blue eyes and full lips given to thoughtful expression. Where it cascades back in loose waves to curl at white neck and shoulders, her hair is eventually drawn into a pair of thick, heavy braids that hang down her back, coming partly undone in places and swaying past her hips. Her voice is a dusky contralto full of smoke and rough edges. Around her neck hangs a locket on a fine chain. Her hands are delicate with slender wrists fingers often smudged with black as if she's been writing or working with cinders, however clean she keeps them. When she speaks, she has a tendency to stutter if she's nervous, and to project if she's angry, and her voice is an expressive, smoky contralto full of rough edges. Standing at no more that five feet, she holds herself like she's a good deal taller, and a scent of singed roses usually clings to her skin and clothes. Bright copper bangles hang from her ears and around her wrists, making a pretty sound when she moves or gestures.
For the Spring Ball, Myrana has dressed herself in a gown of thick black velvet trimmed with raw green silk on the interior folds of the elaborately gathered and draped bustle. The high collar is buttoned all the way down with small pearls, as are the sleeves all the way up to either elbow from the slender cuffs, while under the edge of the full skirts the ruffle of white petticoats can be seen about her low-heeled shoes. The bodice is decorated with beadwork and subtle embroidery of roses. From her ears dangle glittering jet earrings, and at her throat is an opal brooch full of purple and green fire.
"It truly isn't," Silmeria says over her shoulder, beaming at Jessamy. "But personally I think that does make the rare occasion all the more special." Moving to one side as the trio gains access to the ballroom, she greets the various other guests and officials that pass by, dipping a curtsy now and again.
Godwyn makes her way through the doors and offers what pleasantries she can, before taking a look around. "Hey, girls... look up."
It's all she says before going silent for a moment.
Just above, the ceiling is painted in a stunning rendition of the night sky. "Oh wow... that's amazing."
"Thank you, sir. I intend to. It's seldom enough that we do so." Jessamy offers a smile up at Mikilos that is polite but makes it clear she does not know the man directly.
Despite her usual shyness, she seems to know what to do, following Silmeria's lead in places, mingling, and making idle chit-chat. "Doesn't it, though?" she asks of the Speaker. She's turned for the moment into the typical young woman of her age, laughing and chatting idly, until Godwyn speaks. "Wow."
Mikilos focuses on helping the musicians get set up. The group knows their busniess, but there are always a few details to address. Help yourself to food, go light on the booze. Try not to get in the way of anyone trying to +view the tree. Requests are okay, but might not get played. 'Chicken Dance' will take place early, before the kids have to go to bed. 'Freebird' will only be played once, after midnight.
Silmeria looks up, pausing for a moment to drink in the view. "Oh my," she breathes, glancing about the ballroom until she spots Mikilos. Whether or not the proprietor meets her look, she smiles in his direction, then tilts her head back up to gaze at the night sky. "A touch of magic can make for an amazing thing, Godwyn, Jessamy... Our host does live up to his reputation, certainly."
Myrana is there, speaking with members of the Arcanist's Society. Her dark hair is swept back from her face by a silver comb so that it spills down her back in loose waves, and for once she is dressed in elegant black and green, with jet and opal bringing out the stark contrasts of her natural colouring. Someone who knows her well might notice that her fingers are stained a sooty black, which might seem a little out-of-sorts with her well-coiffed appearance. One of the wizards, an elderly bespectacled dwarf, is turning one of her hands over in his own investigatively and asking rather animated questions.
Godwyn gives a nod before refocusing on the event at hand. For a moment, she doesn't notice anyone she recognizes besides the two women with her... then she sees Myrana, and grins. "Ah, I figured she'd show up." They'd talk later, for sure. "Come, let's find someplace we can hear the music a bit better."
Abrahil has arrived.
Stjepan has arrived.
"Oh, my darling--I'm so sorry! Why, you wouldn't believe the traffic out this way! Oh, it must be one of those...those things again, it's ever so hard to catch a cab, I--oh, OH! My stars! Oh, you look dashing! Just marvelous...oh, I'm so sorry I'm late!" the warm voice comes from a wobbly, tiny creature. Dressed to the nines and sparkling like a miniature meteor, the elderly gnome does his best to wobble into view. He supports himself dashingly with a cane (though most times it hides ever-so-demurely behind his stomach), moving as he will. Abrahil looks delighted to see the khazad speaking with Myrana...and wobbles up to them both. "Oh, my dears, I am so sorry!"
Stjepan found himself a good jacket and pants, a shirt with big lace collar and wrist puffs, and polished his boots. It's... something. The thing about the lace is that it's scaled to his size, so it's big. Big, I tell you. He walks in, trying to be dignified. It's clear, though, he's not entirely comfortable with this whole thing.
"Yes, he does." Awe is clearly written in Jessamy's tone as she stares at the magnificent creation for several moments longer, then looks around as the room begins to fill. With more unfamiliar faces ... and suddenly, her expression changes, and she turns to Silmeria. "Silmeria, I thought you had a date."
Mikilos makes his way over to Abrahil and Myrana, nodding politely to the former before turning focus to the later. "Is everything okay? Did you need more space in the prep room? We could move one of the walls back a little." The elf blinks, spying her blackened fingers. "...what happened?"
"...He fell ill," Silmeria sighs, shoulders drooping a bit. "It's too bad, really... I get the feeling he'd've loved this. So, I'll just have to tell him everything I see tonight," she says, marshaling a smile and turning to find a good spot to listen to the music, as Godwyn wished.
Stjepan stands there for a moment, looking uncomfortable, then goes to find a wall to hold up. This will also serve as a likely location to scout for refreshments and plan his raids. He just changes his mindset to something more familiar!
Godwyn glances toward Silmeria for a moment... and a conversation they had rises to the forefront of her mind. She says nothing as they take their seat just near the stage, next to one of the walls.
Once they settle in though, the Sentinel places her right hand on Silmeria's left shoulder and squeezes. "We'll be here for you all night, Speaker."
Jessamy hasn't spotted Stjepan yet; her attention is on Silmeria. At the description, she simply snorts and places her fists on her hips. "Ill? A likely story. He likely ditched you." Her expression softens, and the arms drop to her yellow-gowned sides. "I'm really sorry, Silmeria. You deserve better than that."
Several people from the Orphanage arrive, with a handful of kids in tow, quite late, and rather fewer than expected. Details are scare, but it seems there was an Incident, and the rest of the children are grounded. Possibally forever.
Abrahil begins to reach for the elderly khazad's hand, and then pauses...and reaches for Myrana's, instead. He beams up at her, and then Mikilos. He's clearly delighted, though terribly flustered. "Why, it was the oddest thing. I was off to get my regular cab, you know...and oh, well, you know Missus Mackelbeth down the way? Well! Oh, the poor dear...she was having a time of it, I suppose. ...just celebrating the spring in her usual way, on the skis with the rooftops--why, she must be 80, I thought, but they're all spry now, aren't they? I--and oh, why, I just had to let her have my cab (she'd fallen, you see)...but then, you know, there wasn't to be another one for just hours. Well, at least not one that..." and on he goes. The elderly fellow gestures animatedly, as a set of tiny, rounded popsicles sticking out from a beachball. Anyway, it's a terrible tragedy. The tale, that is. Not the bright orange on his suit.
Myrana smiles down at Abrahil and says with some embarrassment, for the Khazad wizard is still pinching at her fingers to see if the colour changes with blood torpor (or something similarly wizardly): "Oh not at all, dear Brindlegear," she says fondly. "What a marvelous waistcoat! Isn't it-- er, isn't it a bit heavy?" So many sparklies. "But you're quite on time. Ah, no, everything's alright Mister Mithralla; they're just arranging the last of the first wave. I stepped out once everything was under control."
Glancing down at her hands, Myrana shakes her head. "Its alright--" about to say more, she is interrupted by the elderly (and quite deaf) Khazad exclaiming upon catching sight of Abrahil. "Ohh!! Abrahil!" He says. Loudly. Very deaf dwarf. "Look at this!" And he pinches Myrana's hands with his big stone-rough fingers. Myra sighs, and gives Mikilos a long suffering look over the heads of Abrahil and the deaf wizard.
Silmeria's back stiffens faintly at Jessamy's prediction. "...I'm sure you're quite mistaken," she says, a faintly frosty edge to her voice. "Regardless... let's just enjoy the dance, hm?" Patting Godwyn's hand, she turns her attention to the music, brightening visibly as the children trickle in.
Stjepan finds a drink, and holds it carefully between three fingers. Very carefully. He scouts for food, looking for something he can actually gather up and pick at without getting his ruffles dirty. It's all rather elaborate, and he can be hear muttering something about no wonder humans are so skinny."
Godwyn has disconnected.
That frosty silence hangs between the two of them for a moment, but Jessamy spreads a hand in mute apology. "Yes, let's." She looks around the room again. "Look, it's Stjepan," she points out the giantborn to Silmeria. "He does look terribly uncomfortable, doesn't he?" she adds, behind a hand.
Mikilos chuckles quietly. "Ambassador Brindelgear," this is a formal event, after all "might I suggest, in the future, a simple teleportation spell? Or perhaps a conjuration of transport? Not all are suited of course, but I'm sure a touch of creative effort could find a range of potential solutions. Regardless, you're here now, and very welcome." He nods firmly to the elderly Khazad, including his welcome with the gnome's, before sharing a bemused look with Myrana.
The tables have been set with a range of options, the drinks a little heavy on wines and ales. A single table has been set with pies brought by some of the local ladies, while another holds the catered dishes: Pickled deviled quail's eggs with crimsonfish roe and wild chives, Tuna tartare with smoked eel roe and slivered radish and wildflowers, and Peppered owlbear salametti with dill chevre.
Silmeria blinks, following Jessamy's line of sight, and purses her lips, caught between amusement and dismay. "He does," she murmurs, "perhaps we should try and help, d'you think? ...And I admit, i'm curious as to what's on the table, there." Raising her eyebrows in inquiry, Silmeria smiles at the Lancer, her earlier displeasure apparently put aside.
Stjepan has disconnected.
Oh, there are sparkles. There are sparkles, as though Abrahil'd reached into a dragon's bag and found some glue, smacking them on by the fistful. They shine and shimmer...just like the warm light from his eyes. Which turns to startlement when the khazad gentleman begins to--
He forgets Mikilos' question, and adds hurriedly: "Oh! Oh, my dear. Why, I just remembered--oh, why, it's been a coon's age since we--" and here he gives a wobble, a bit of a dance ji--no, it's a wobble, but perhaps at one time, many years ago--it would have been fit for the stage. ...wobble. "--Cut a rug! Oh, why, you recall--oh, has been some time. Not as well-dressed an event as this is, to be sure. Why, it was little on the...," he says to Mikilos. "Oh, it was shortly after the Oxleys...well, no need to speak of -them- and...Oh, oh dear...you'll have to excuse us," he stage-whispers to Mr. Pinchy, before turning a distressed look to Mikilos and float-leading Myrana away. ...well, sort of. Towards the food. There is a lot of bobbling involved, and it may perhaps be that he is not a gnome at all, but a round object bounced about like a string by the hand of the person whose hand he holds. A sort of fleshy yo-yo.
"We really should," Jessamy answers. Somewhere in the press, they've managed to get separated from Godwyn, and now Stjepan vanishes into the crowd as well before she can find him, and she stops for a moment, looking bewildered. "I'd hope he would ask me to dance ... but I'm not certain he wouldn't step on me instead," she tells the Speaker mounrfully.
Stjepan has connected.
Myrana follows along after the Goodyear Abrahil quite amiably, rubbing her hands just a little bit, though she hadn't been getting pinched -terribly- hard. When they're a safe distance away, she leans down and whispers: "Thank you; I didn't really want to shout, you know? But he means well."
Stjepan does, in fact, look quite uncomfortable, holding the tiny and lovely food samples between his fingers. They're lovely, but they're /tiny/. He works very carefully.
"There he is," Silmeria says, patting Jessamy's arm and pointing out the be-ruffled Giantborn, who had just managed the astonishing trick of being a Giantborn and disappearing into the crowd for a moment. Now you can get him to ask you to dance... Come on."
"It's such a wonderful party, you know. ...I'm so sorry I'm late," Abrahil whispers aside, again, to Myrana, before reaching up to--oh, no. No, wait. ....he leans down (tips), and gives a tap of his wand against his sort-of waist. The wand sparks and fizzes...and just-like-that, he bobbles a little higher, enough he could reach over and examine the hand more easily. "Oh, oh my dear! Your HANDS!"
...and then Abrahil turns a bright, bright cherry-red. His fingers fly to his face. An elderly fellow, he could be a sort of peanut, with a balding form atop, and a rounded bottom where the arms and legs barely stand out at all. A peanut which right now looks mortified. Mortified, and looking about, "Oh, oh dear. Oh--Have you -seen- a doctor?" he whispers urgently, while attempting to give a reassuring wave towards their host.
"But ... what will you do?" Jessamy cranes her neck at Silmeria, although she lets herself be led to the food tables where Stjepan is, easily enough. "I don't want to leave you all alone..." She stops and looks around, by Godwyn has managed to disappear into the crowd as well.
Stjepan is easy to find, just look up. He glances over towards Abrahil's sprakle-show, takes a half-step sideways, then surreptitiously brushes his hands off on his thighs. He looks around, smiles affably at Jessamy and suspiciously at Silmeria, and fingers a ruffle.
Mikilos continues around the guests, greeting each briefly, shareing a few words, and generally trying to be a good host. And then he's cornered by one of the professors from the Society, who apparently didn't quite graps the concept of -dwarven- ales. A little tipsy, she insists the elf join her for a dance. And of -course- it's then the band strikes up the universally famous 'Chicken Dance'... well, the orphans are highly amused.
"I'm sure I'll be fine," Silmeria chuckles, propelling Jessamy forward with a light nudge. "And I've.... eggs and fish? to pick through..." Pausing as the music spins up, she looks out over the dance floor, struggling to keep from laughing outright. "...Perhaps you should wait until the music changes to actually ask... hello!" Dipping a light curtsy as they come up on Stjepan, she nudges Jessamy forward once again, and breezes past to look over the foodstuffs on offer.
"Well they don't -hurt- or anything," says Myrana the tiniest bit sulkily, as one who will quite willingly go through a great deal of trouble to avoid doctors. "They were just -like- this this morning. I'm just so pleased to be away from the Oxleys for an evening; I've decided to worry about it later. Won't you try the tartare? It's really quite good." She smiles in greeting to Stjepan and Jessamy when she sees her and Silmeria beyond her, helping to stabilize the gently rotating Gnome.
The muscians outright refuse to play the Macarena. Not because they think it's a bad dance, but their artistic integrity insists someone know the words...
Jessamy looks uncertainly after Silmeria for a moment before mustering a smile for Myrana and then turning towards Stjepan. "It's so good to see you here," she tells the giantborn, looking up at him. "Are you here all by yourself?"
"...are you sure it isn't from the breads? Oh! What of the beers, you know? Or the...oh, I'm sure it's something...oh, dear. I just hope we can get to the bottom of it...why, I know we will!" Abrahil pats his friend's hand. He puts on his best smile, of course, though the worry wobbles through like two beams of light.
And then the 'Chicken Dance' kicks up. He looks quite torn for a moment...quite torn, before: "Oh, oh dear...why, hellooo!" he says, waving to the other guests. He continues, of course, to float. And do his best not to look at Myrana's Terrible and Witchy Fingers.
Stjepan nods towards Silmeria, "Hello." He bows a little, though he doesn't loooooom like he could. He's trying, he really is. A nod to Jessamy. "Yes, I am and it is. You're looking very ye-- sunny tonight."
Silmeria dips a curtsy in return, grinning. After a moment's pause to glance up at the giant ruffled collar, then back down to Jessamy, the Vardaman chuckles, shaking her head and making her way to the buffet table.
Mikilos is not a great dancer. But he is fairly nimble, and can follow a beat. Which for a Chicken Dance with a tipsy partner, is really all you need. And a good sense of humor really helps, so all is well. The magus switches partners a few times, dancing with several of the orphans, and a very serious Khazad who doesn't quite get the joke.
Jessamy freezes for only a minute, but then laughs. "I thought you wanted to see me in a gown? Yes, it's very bright, but it's just lovely and I don't get to wear this sort of thing very often at all." Not having any interest in the Chicken Dance, she opts to fold her hands in front of her instead.
Stjepan squints for a moment. "Well, what is the appopriate things to say to that in a venue such as this with tiny foods such a this? It is very bright, and if you like it, what's wrong with calling you sunny?" Eyebrows arch over his ruffles. Humans.
"Sunny's just fine, Stjepan." Putting on her best smile, Jessamy unfolds her hands and reaches for one of his. "You really do look terribly uncomfortable, you know. Are you all right?"
Stjepan waves a ruffle at her hand. "How the hell do you people wear this? I could choke someone out with this accidentally."
Myrana picks up one of the purple pickled eggs with a non-committal sound. Her hands really do look... odd. Alarming maybe. She is determined to have a loverly time, and while the chicken dance is going she occasionally just rights Abrahil when he seems to be tipping too far one way or another by a surrepticious tug on his coattails or a tap on a shoe. She was thinking about dancing, but this is just as good.
Mikilos laughs and applauds with others as the silly dance ends, a little ditty playing between as people shuffle off towards food and drink. A fresh dance will start in a few minutes, likely something a -touch- more formal.
Abrahil bobs along. He's occasionally brought back to the table--and oh, what a delight -that- is! A few of the desserts vanish here and there...that is, one from here and one over there. As the dance draws to a close, he brings his hands together in applause! "Oh, wonderful! Oh...why, I didn't know you danced!" to Mikilos, and then the gnome's ears pinken. "Oh! Well, I mean...oh, I've just never seen you! Have you given it a thought to combining it with a little, you know..." and here he wriggles his fingers, delightedly.
"I had to learn how to wear these, too," Jessamy agrees,, plucking at her skirts with one gloved hand. "It just takes practice."
"A little finger wiggling," says Myrana over her wine.
Stjepan nods, then gets a serious look on his face. "Ridiculous costumes aside, we need to talk about our friend on the airship." He takes the offers hand, and starts for the door. "...and also about a certain ex-employer of ours."
Mikilos smiles to Abrahil. "On occasion. Formal dances were the main form of social gathering back home, so learning a few steps was a requirment. I tried a minor enchantment of dexterity once in aid... I was new to such spells, and it didn't end well." The elf ponders a moment. "Though I do have a book somewhere that speaks of magic uses that substitute full body dance moves a somatic component to their castings. I'll have to track it down again later."
The relaxed and lighthearted demeanor Jessamy's wearing fades away, and she nods slowly. "Yes, we should." She turns to look for Silmeria, to see if she can see the Speaker. "I'll be back in a little while," she calls, her hand taken and expression saying that this is business.
Stjepan stalks out, looking immensely happy as he pulls at his collar. Freedom. Freedom!
Jessamy has disconnected.
Stjepan has left.
"Oh! Why, if you do find it, why, I would be so interested! Why, it seems such an artful way to do things. ...oh, perhaps you know. You know, we do some things like that in the theatre," supplies Abrahil, getting into the topic. "Oh, though it's mostly ropes, and pulleys. Why...we were going to do a...you know the production with the faerie prince? Oh, it was one of those tales...oh, just a classic! ...but it called for wings," he confides.
"Aren't you afraid someone might accidentally transmogrify the audience?" Myrana asks. "One overexuberant wiggle and POFF! rabbits everywhere in hats and gloves."
"Oh! Why, it's only happened...well, oh dear. It did happen the once, but oh! What a time we had...why, it just so happened that the catering that day was a salad, and you know Alexandria...oh, we do favor our heavier foods," self-conscious cough, "Why! I imagine if it hadn't have happened, we'd have had quite the leftovers, you know." Abrahil snatches one of the pastries, and passes it onto a plate. "Are these from--oh, I can't think of it at the moment. The--oh! The Isles?" he asks. He waves occasionally at various guests, apparently always happy or cheerful enough to say hello. So of course, he does.
Mikilos nods, frowning midly. "I'm familiar with the piece. Saw a production of it a few years back, the Prince charecter set with celestial wings... apparently the whole production was set as a political satire... I honestly didn't follow most of the implications, not being active in politics at the time." He glances mildly at Myrana. "Well, a little while as a rabbit wouldn't be so bad... the next generation of attendees has to come form somewhere, you know." He manages to say with a straight face. "Oh, the prayer is about to start." The magus motions to the stage, where a Sylvanori priest of Dana is stepping up.
The ceremony is a touch on the rushed side, to fit with the sounding of Midnight, and thus the comming of the new day, and new season. A simple call to the Goddess for good health and well being unto all.
"Oh!" As the ceremony starts, stars light up in Abrahil's eyes. Or perhaps Suns, given the time of year. He reaches out to grip a nearby hand (it turns out to be a tablecloth, though he doesn't seem to mind)...and can barely stop himself from applauding at then of it.
Myrana stiffens, turning quite pink. "Mikilos!" She chastizes, mortified. "I should think Alexandrians would at least be-- be SENSIBLE rabbits! Anyway I'm sure its very difficult to be up to anything untoward in theatre seati--" fortunately she is cut off by the arrival of the priest, and so instead has another drink of wine and pays attention to -that-.
Mikilos applauses politely as the prayer comes to a close, and gestures, his robes blossoming into bright flowers, just in time for spring. Smileing, he blinks innocently at Myrana. "Perhaps. Though I've been meaning to learn some polymorph spells myself if you'd care to be certain."
Tonight the magus is dressed in formal robes. While similar to those of the Society of Magic, the cut is slightly different, the flowing stlye more suited to Llyranost nobility. A patterned green, the material shows layer of small flower buds. Should your eyes focus upon one, it seems to shift, growing, straining, just about to burst into full bloom... but not quite yet. A silvery circlet sits upon his brow, the small gemstones shifting from blue to violet, depending on the light.
"Oh!" Abrahil says. He waggles his finger at the sildanyari, you know. "Now, don't you go threatening to turn people into bunnies, Master Mithralla! Why, oh--just think of what would happen to the fashion industry, you know! And the hats!" He pauses there, and then beams at them both, before turning and floating away. He snatches a sweetcake past the lady in the black dress, and wriggles his fingers in helloooo, m'dear! before bobbling on by. Perhaps to find his prune juice.
Abrahil has left.
Sandy has arrived.
Applauding, Myrana smiles at the ceremony, and then 'ohs!' appreciatively at the showmanship of Mikilos' robes. "Very pretty, mister Mithralla."
Setting down her wine glass, she gives him a mild look through narrowed eyes and gestures to the dance floor away from the apertif tables. The suggestion, joking as it was, still has her slightly pink in the face. "I think your chances of survival are better out there. Would you like to dance?"
Silmeria has left.
Myrana just happens to finger the bracelet about her wrist as she asks, looking innocent.
Mikilos smiles and quirks a brow. "Why yes, I would like to dance. Did you have something particular in mind?"
There's a flash of light as Sandy suddenly appears. She has a slice of cake in her hand, and a fork in one other.
"WHAT THE HELLS, MYRANA?!" She snarls, glaring at her.
She is, in fact, dreessed up in ridiculously Myranaesque clothing.
"Whatever they play next," says Myrana, who in true Sorcerer fashion doesn't know WHAT they CALL the dances, but manages nonetheless to KNOW all of them. "And we make Sandy engage in cultural events."
Mikilos mmms, and nods, supressing a smile, far less susprised than perhaps he might be. Bowing politely, he steps up to the new arrival. "Lady Sandiel, would you care to join me for this dance and get it over with, or wait to see what even worse sceme Myrana has planned?"
Myrana picks up her wine glass now that she doesn't need a free hand to rub her bracelet, and looks entirely too pleased with herself as she takes a sip. An evil sip.
"What? Dance? I am not dancing with you, Mikilos. I will step on your bloody toes! Repeatedly! And I can't even DANCE in these things. I'm wobblier than Myrana after a pint of ale," says Sandy, dourly, glancing her direction. Yes, she's calling her a lightweight.
Myrana gasps. "I've got a perfectly stable gait thank-you-very-much!"
Myrana says, "You ought to dance, Sandy!"
Myrana says, "That is a dancing dress I lent you today!"
Mikilos nods, and offers Sandy his hand, as if she'd said yes. "There's plenty of healers present, I'm sure my toes will recover. And if you really have trouble, you can always lean on me in a demure ladylike fashion." Really, it's a struggle to maintain a straight face.
GAME: Sandy casts Maze. Caster Level: 20 DC: 31
"MYRANA! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!" Sandy points a finger at hr, invokes a spell... and Myrana just VANISHES. POOF!
Sandy whirls around to Mikilos and says, "I'll do it to you too, you know!"
Mikilos tsks mildly. "And I'll find my way out in a few moments. Again." He sighs, and frowns mildly to where Myrana was. "I'm sure she'll be back in a few minutes." He forwns a moment at Sandy. "Would it help if I cursed your shoes to enchanted uncontrolable dancing? I'm pretty sure I can manage it. Without any side effects, I mean."
Meanwhile, Myra is wandering around a hedgemaze swearing and grumbling and kicking over lawn gnomes.
They keep coming back.
Anyways, Sandy then promptly kicks Mikilos in the shin. "You will do no such thing, Mikilos. Or I'll turn you into a bloody newt! I swear I will!"
<OOC> Sandy brb real quick. Dog out time. :)
Mikilos mehs, still far less concerned than perhaps he should be in the face of such threats. Espically seeing as how Sandy has already proved she can make good on them. Though he does rub at his shin. "Newts are honestly pretty dull. I've never understtod why they're the traditional creature to curse someone into. Anyway, we both know you're going to end up dancing eventually. You might as well not make a fuss about it first. Heck, you might even enjoy yourself."
"No. No, I will not," says Sandy, firmly, petulantly. She does not like this. But everyone is staring at her. She looks marginally /more/ upset.
"I am going to turn Myrana into a clone of her gods damn cat."
Mikilos ehs. "Wouldn't it be better to turn her into something she wouldn't enjoy? She loves that little ball of green fluff."
Myrana stumps over a hill of perfect yellow buttercups and looks down on the pile of lawn gnome corpses.
"HRMPH!" she says.
And BOOP! she reappears.
Myrana is smoking purple smoke slightly, with black hands and a frown. "Sandy!"
"Yes, but I don't... ALREADY?" Sandy whrils with a floof of skirts to face Myrana.
Myrana puts her hands on her hips. "I'm very good at mazes!"
"This from the lady who can't find her way through the city streets without a bloody broom!" Sandy jabs a finger at her.
"W-- well that's what I did!" Says Myrana, offended. And indeed, she stuffs her broom away into a doubtless extradimensional pocket.
Mikilos says nothing. Just hands Sandy a glass of wine. Elvenblossom wine. It looks like water, smells like perfume, and kicks like a mule.
Sandy takes it. Then downs it.
Just like that. Girl can drink like a champ, really, but then... everyone knew that.
"Well I'd like to dance with someone," says Myrana. "And not the crazywoman who sent me to a lawn decoration hell." And pulling down her eyelid and sticking her tongue out at Sandy, turns, and goes and literally just takes the hand of the nearest handsome man and hijacks him for a dance. It is either his bewilderingly unexpectedly lucky day (lets be honest) or the day he lives to regret /deeply/.
Mikilos mmms mildly, and offer Sandy another glass. "Do you really intend to just stand there and let her out-dance you? With those terrible shoes she's wearing, no less?"
Oh, sure. The /one/ way that will actually get her to dance, Mikilos succesfully tries. Put her in competition with Myrana. "She can't. There is NO way she can out dance me." She snorts.
Myrana has of course, kidnapped a minor nob of some sort, because Mikilos invited everyone, and Myrana has a fashion-dar that picks up on Nice Waistcoats the way a gnome's nose picks up on Accellerants.
Mikilos nods to Sandy, agreeing. He's agreeing, not argueing at all. "Of course, of course. No way she could out dance you. What with he out there, dancing, and you here, not dancing. Now, I'm sure -some- people might misunderstand, and think you can't do it. But I'm fairly sure that's just the minority. Barely anyone. Only a few dozen people stareing right now. Sure it'll all be forgotten by morning."
GAME: Sandy rolls perform/dance: (9)+12: 21
Sandy growls at Myrana, of course, and then kicks Mikilos again before marching off to find someone, ANYONE, who will dance with her. Some unlucky sod is being danced with. Or lucky, depending on your point of view. He is probably terrified.
GAME: Myrana rolls perform/dance: (12)+13: 25
Mikilos stays well back and lets the two ladies have at it. Hopefully they won't scar the other guests too bad. "No no, that's just a rumor ambassador, I'm quite confidant her Ladyship has never killed anyone like that. Well yes, of course other ways, she is a celebrated member of the Adventuring Guild, you know. Few bandits and villians allow themselves to be taken alive."
Almost as if to spite Sandy, Myrana Jn'Rajh actually.. seems to be having a lovely time! Fate has favored her for once, and her dancing partner is pleasant and light on his feet, and the two of them seem to be talking pleasantly. Way to go, Sandy; Myrana probably will end up with a date after all this. Of course, the Oxleys will chase him off, but she's allowed to enjoy herself for one evening at least.
Sandy, on the other hand, is miserable. But she dances halfway decently while miserable. She looks mildly upset about this as well before eventually breaking the dance off and sabotaging Myrana's efforts by mazing her again.
Mikilos positions himself by the door, seeing various guests as they depart. The hour is getting late, and while the magus seldom sleeps, others do.
Myrana dissapears with a BLIP! right in the middle of a spin, causing the poor young man to look completely flabberghasted and look around in bewilderment. Which is good for him in the long run, cause Myra would have probably gotten a very expensive dinner out of him.
Myrana has left.