hadriel_logs | Event log: How Delightful

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Event log: How Delightful

Who: Anyone and everyone!
What: Delight's resurrection.
Where: Throughout the city, starting in the bar.
When: March 23rd-April 3rd
Warnings: Partying too hard, poor life choices, underage drinking, the worst hangovers of all time.

On the morning of March 23rd, bright and early, Delight is resurrected. Her temple is restored, and her bar appears in the city. What does that mean? Well, obviously it's time to celebrate. We hope everyone brought their party shoes! From March 23rd to March 27th, the party will be mostly contained in and around Delight's bar, with an invitation from the goddess herself. But it won't be long before she decides that's just not good enough - gotta bring the party to the people! From March 28th to April 3rd, the natural light is dimmed and replaced with flashing colored lights, fireworks, and even a few disco balls. Loud music blares through the city, making it hard to sleep, and a wide variety of trouble is available to be gotten into.

Wanna drink away the pain of being trapped in a hellcave? There's unlimited amounts of alcohol of all kinds, and Delight will be happy to supply anything that might be missing. More interested in karaoke-ing your heart out? Hit up one of the jukeboxes. Enjoy gleeful displays of your own mortality? Here's a skateboard and a ramp, have fun. There's just about anything you could desire, as long as what you desire is to party hard and make bad decisions. And hey, if you find yourself getting tired, grab one (or five) of Delight's special energy shots. They'll eliminate your need for sleep, food, water, cure an oncoming hangover and immediately relax any sore muscles you've got for 24 hours per shot! There's no down side! (Except for all the effects coming back to hit you at once when the shot wears off, but whatever.)

After about a week and a half of tequila shots, keg stands, roman candle battles, tagging the city with free spraypaint, inappropriate party games, and balloon hats made to look like rocket ships (wait... that's not a rocket ship), Delight realizes everyone's partied out and starts to wind things down. On April 3rd, she'll clean up the city, removing everything except for a few remaining fireworks and disco balls, stored in her temple. Her bar will still be around, if you can stand to even look at liquor after all the poor choices you made. Otherwise, lay in bed and try to recover from your hangover while the city goes back to normal.

► This log covers March 23rd-April 3rd.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► Did you party too hard? Please report any character deaths right here!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Dorian is content to allow himself to be led to Henry and Maketh's table, rather oddly pleased at the thought of being included. Perhaps he was a touch lonely, or perhaps just a touch bored and more than ready to to do something that is almost certainly a poor decision.

Really, he excels at those sometimes. But so long as it's fun and no one ends up dead, what's the harm?]

A delightful game indeed. As I am excellent at both alcohol and trickery, I apologize in advance for my almost certain victory.

[His smile as he says it takes most of the boasting out of it. Dorian is not a humble man - not at all - but it's clear enough that he doesn't believe a good deal of the things he says. It's all for effect, much like his carefully fashionable Theodosian clothing and his impeccable hair. He grins at them both, as there is little doubt he'll enjoy the company. Henry is a friend - few and far between, for Dorian - and Maketh clearly knows what's important. (Tequila. Tequila is important.)

He takes a seat. He's left his drink behind at the bar, but only because he anticipates drinking quite a bit more here.]

Are there teams, or is it every man for himself? And whose turn is it?

[Henry sits himself, then slaps his thigh in delighted anticipation. For better or worse, he loves challenges.]

The latter.

[He declares. There is no point in holding Dorian back -- he wants to increase the pressure on Maketh, and he's not at all concerned about the increased pressure on himself. Being reckless is hardly new of him. In fact...]

I propose that we add a new rule. An additional forfeit, if one is bested by two in a single pass. What say you?

[It is the worst idea when one is outclassed by talented politicians and courtiers. But if that has occurred to him, it does not faze him in the slightest.

Henry looks to their used shot glasses and flicks one, his expression suddenly growing puzzled. He took the last shot, but that does not provide a clear answer to Dorian's second question.]

...Whose turn is it?

[He glances at Maketh, hoping she can answer. Then his gaze flicks over to Dorian, and he narrows his eyes.]

Methinks first you should descend to our approximate level. A point, perhaps, for every shot you choose to take within a small set time. We have already bolstered our scores through previous rounds. 'Twould be fairer all round.

I like these new rules.

[Maketh grins at Dorian, pleased with the company. And oh he's clever, she can tell. And a friend of Henry's will, inevitably, become a friend of hers.] No victory is certain. Except mine. Though I shall be gracious when accepting your surrender.

[She pauses.] I believe it was my turn. Dorian, start drinking.

Oh, a chance to catch up to you? How could I possibly turn that down?

[He judges the shot glasses, then the bottle of liquor itself. He knows his limits well enough - he can probably handle three shots in quick succession, and then he ought to take a break, pace himself. Otherwise he might get too drunk far too quick.

He lines up four glasses, because Dorian is nothing if not very willing to make the occasional poor decision. Anyway, it wouldn't be fair at all if they weren't on the same playing field. He begins to pour, filling his glasses.]

Continue with your game, don't mind me. I'm an excellent listener.

[Capping the bottle and setting it aside, Dorian eyes his glasses of tequila assessingly, and then begins drinking. There's no liquor quite like this in Thedas, but he can't say he's not fond of it, and it goes down - well, not easily, but he's had worse. He takes the shots with the ease of one who has had plenty of practice.]

[Henry watches Dorian pour, then gives an approving nod -- nobody giving quarter shall make the game all the better. What fun is entirely bloodless sport anyway?]

No further alterations? Very well.

[He rests both forearms on the tabletop and proceeds to stare Maketh down. Of course, it is a much less effective intimidation tactic without armour or arms involved, but one cannot fault his commitment.]

Let us hear it, Maketh.

[Maketh leans back with a smile. This part, at least, she feels perfectly at ease with. This whole moment, really - Henry at her side and tequila within easy reach. And now Dorian, man who Henry knows and respects - and therefore one she will soon respect as well.

Well. Maybe. It depends on how drunk they all end up.]

Do you know what a turret is? No? It's an automatic weapon, set up with a sensor. Fires over a hundred rounds per minute. We set them up on Lothal to establish defensive perimeters. And our worst trouble with them wasn't the rebels, but the cats. The loth-cats. They were only this big -- [Maketh demonstrates with her hands - about the size of a house cat, or a little bigger] -- but they hated the turrets. Something about the sensor lights. And the damn things would attack them! And-- [she leans in close, eyes wide] --they'd win.

Or, when I was in training, I saw my instructors kill a dragon.

Gentlemen! Which one is true?

[By this point, Dorian has finished his fourth shot. All that alcohol in quick succession is going to make itself felt very soon, but for the moment he's still relatively level-headed. He hides a smile at Henry's single-minded focus, and turns his thoughts to the puzzle presented.]

I've no idea what a turret is, but I've seen enough cats with murder on their mind to believe that story easily enough.

[The other is believable enough too - at least in Dorian's experience - but the first is more entertaining, and that's really what matters here.]

That's where my vote lies, in any case.

[Henry's mirth at Dorian's comment ruins his stare, so he relinquishes, laughter in his eyes.]

You are excited by your savage cats, but not by dragon slaying? That beggars disbelief.

[It may well be the trap. Of course, the problem with Maketh is that it is difficult to pin down her angle of deception and her layers of bluff. Henry nudges her closest foot with his.]

I think your enthusiasm is real. [Mostly he cannot fathom how one could consider dragons mundune.] Your loth-cats, then.

[Oh no. Maketh's eyes widen in drunken dismay. Has she lost her touch? No.] You have me. It was indeed the cats.

[She gives Henry a fond nudge with her boot.] But I shall regain my lead, I assure you.

[And now to the drinking! Two shots for her. Maketh tips her head back and drinks them down without nary a hesitation. Oh, that's good tequila.]

[He laughs in both entertainment and pleasure. That, and the effects of the alcohol hitting his system, are leaving him feeling very nice.]

Off to an excellent start, I would say. Who's turn is it next? Henry?

[If this weren't such a very serious and important competition, he might have some questions for Maketh about her story, because Dorian is nothing if not curious about new ideas and concepts. But that can wait for time when he isn't intent on drinking them both under the table.]

No doubt you have some delightful stories.

Hm... It occurs to me that I cannot recall what I have told the both of you.

[Henry abruptly says, as though he's only just considering that flaw. He tilts his head at both of them in turn. Then he bumps shoulders with Dorian.]

And let us not forget that we must decide on a forfeit for Maketh.

[He says with a smile, before he drums his fingers on the tabletop. Right, his turn.]

Know you jousting? 'Tis an excellent, knightly sport. So I am aggrieved to say that my first time competing in a joust was a calamity. Not only was I knocked out early, but I was unhorsed at that. While not a dangerous fall by jousting standards, my landing was rough. By the time of the following feast, I was bruised all over --[he touches his jaw and runs his fingers up the lower part of his cheek]-- even upon my face. The physical proof of my earlier failure could not be hidden. A milksop Neville felt the need to make comment, after which I had choice words of my own to share. Thereafter our exchange became heated. Only the quick intervention of my uncle – who pulled me aside and then smoothed over ruffled feathers – spared me social disgrace too.

[It is his lie. He has always performed well in the joust.]

Or. Taverns are useful places to overhear rumours. In France, one tavern in particular is favoured by mercenaries and those who seek their services. I was there chasing word of a certain matter, and in my pursuit I met an English mercenary. He was a beast of a man – six foot seven, at least, and as broad as two men. [He is not even exaggerating.] His hair was a rare shade of red. There was... something vaguely familiar about him, though I was certain we had met not before. He proved a wild one. 'Twas not long before he started a brawl. Let it not be said that I am afeared of any man, regardless of his size. That mercenary left the tavern with a broken nose, and I an unmissable black eye.

When I saw Prince Edward next, he asked me of its cause, and I shared my tale. He laughed for a long time, only to say to me, “So you have met my young kinsman, Hal.”

[This is indeed the flaw in Henry's strategy of teaming up with Dorian - they might easily turn on him - but as it stands, Maketh doubts any of them are quite sober enough to make use of it. She props her chin up on her palm, grinning. She really does like this game, seeing what her opponents will spin and what they will eventually reveal about themselves. It's a shame she'll forget most of it by morning.] You would strike a member of the royal family. Well?

Ah, that's right, a forfeit. Perhaps something quite embarrassing, like - singing a song for us.

[It is, perhaps, not terribly creative, but they might as well start out small. Dorian doesn't know Maketh well yet, and he'd rather wait before pushing her too far beyond her comfort zone. For now.

He smiles, considers Henry's stories. Both seem plausible enough, but Dorian is quite in the mood for flattery, it seems.]

You ask us to believe that a knight as skilled as yourself fell from his horse? No, that's quite beyond plausibility. I won't believe it even if you say it's true.

[Henry laughs, and spreads his hands in concession.]

I have fallen here, yet my pride has been cushioned.

[He pours himself two shots, then nudges Maketh's foot twice this time.]

Get singing, Maketh. And be sure that it fits our setting.

[She must have an equivalent of godawful tavern songs. He knocks back his shots in quick succession, then grimaces and rolls his shoulders.]

[Maketh sighs dramatically, then pushes herself upright - only wobbling a little, she's proud to note.] As promised. Though I will have my revenge.

[Thankfully she's drunk enough that embarrassment has become a foreign concept and promptly launches into a loud rendition of one of the politer drinking songs she knows.

Maketh has a surprisingly good singing voice.]

[Dorian is quite entertained by the song. He applauds her, laughing with some pleasure.]

Well done indeed. After such an excellent performance, I believe you ought to choose Henry's forfeit. It's only fair.

[That, and Dorian has to set his mind and creativity to thinking up a cunning lie to attempt to fool them with.]

My turn, isn't it?

[Henry drums out his applause on the tabletop, and cheers Maketh's efforts when she is done. She sings surprisingly well.

He scoffs at Dorian's suggestion.]

Oh, I see. Let your adversaries destroy each other.

[But he twists to better face Maketh, and gives her a goading nod.]

Hit me with your best strike.

[Maketh takes a bow when she's done, grinning cheerfully, and eying the tequila again. Singing makes her want to dance, but alas, that's not the game just yet. She sits down on her stool with a huff, propping her chin up on her palm.] A tactical inevitability, Henry. Well. Since you made me sing, it only seems fair that I make you dance.

[She beams at him.] Surely you know how to dance, Sir Knight?

Now that I would certainly like to see. But first - I believe it's my turn.

[He steeples his fingers, preparing his tales.]

Once, when journeying, I ran short of money. In order to fill my purse once more, I offered a few cheap enchantments to the townsfolk of the place I found myself in. Unfortunately, one maiden asked for a love charm, which is not my area of expertise. I'm afraid it backfired and she ended up quite infatuated with a very confused druffalo.

Or - I killed a dragon. It was difficult and dangerous, but certainly thrilling. With the assistance of some companions, we took down the beast, and my magic delivered the final blow. From its hide, we made a rather garish but very effective set of armor for one of my companions.

[And that one is the truth - including, to Dorian's sadness, the part about garish armor.]

You would have us believe your work was of doubtful quality? 'Tis the storyline of a comedy, surely.

[Henry shakes his head, then says intently:]

You have slain a dragon. I know it.

[The descriptors match his own thoughts, and he just really wants dragon armour to exist so that he can learn its secrets to take home with him. If it is actually true --God, let it be truth-- he will have to take immediate measures.

And now to the matter of his forfeit. Henry turns on his seat to watch the patrons who are making the most of the background music. He studies them keenly, as he would ordinarily size up a warrior, and scrutinises all the minute details of technique. Not quite so well as he would sober, but certainly well enough for the task at hand.]

Be that what you call dancing? Hmph. [A bit of drunken disdain does not feel amiss. What his society considers dancing is much more formal and far more virtuous.]

If you think that I cannot, you are sorely mistaken. At the next song.

[Though Maketh has a feeling that the dragons of her world and the dragons that Dorian is familiar with are slightly different beasts - hers don't generally breathe fire - she latches onto the familiar. Giant monsters. Forging armor out of their remains. It's exactly the kind of thing the Jedi did once.] I'm with Henry on this matter. You killed a dragon.

[That said, her truce with Henry is over. She grins at him widely.] Oh, I do, I do. And I intend to thoroughly enjoy the spectacle.

Ah, flattery will get you everywhere with me.

[He's quite pleased they think so highly of him - though, of course, it was true, and that means he's lost this round.]

You are both correct. I did kill a dragon, with the help of some companions. It was very thrilling. And now, I believe, I owe a forfeit as well.

[Dorian wastes no time pouring his drinks, though, quite ready to enjoy that part of his loss.]

After we've seen Ser Henry dance, however.

Marvellous.

[Henry says with delight, an eager light in his eyes.

There's just enough left of the current song for Henry to get out his phone. It is the one guaranteed way he will remember tonight. He sends Dorian a rather incoherent text that suffers from both drunken and rapid typing -- then he decides that Maketh should not be left out, so she gets one too, squeezed out in the nick of time.

Henry drops his phone onto the table, before hops off his seat with the start of the next song and steps back so that he has space.]

Just watch me.

[Unlike his boast about beating Maketh in a drinking game, this is one he lives up to. As Henry dances he proves himself a quick study in this arena. The calibre of knight he is and his natural aptitude for physical arts are abundantly clear in the seemingly effortless smoothness of his movement, his light-footed grace and his acute instinct for timing and rhythm. He is someone made to be in motion; he feels most comfortable in his skin when he is. Though intoxication leaves a layer of dampening fuzziness, and the feelings of exhilaration and completeness are lesser than battle provides, he enjoys himself.

Of course, what he has to say somewhat ruins things.]

Are you not shamed even the slightest to be so overt?

[He's not prudish by the standards of his time, but by modern standards... not to mention the hypocrisy of saying so while dancing like the best of them.]

Oh, I'm watching, I'm watching.

[Maketh props her chin up on her palm and does just that, grinning all the while. This is a good moment right now, she decides. With the music playing loud and the liquor flowing so easily, and her friends by her side. Dorian could be her friend, Maketh thinks. He's clever and fun, and Henry likes him. Therefore she likes him too.

And she gets to watch Henry dance. He's surprisingly good at it, someone made to be in motion.

Maketh claps when he's done, beaming.] Me? Never. How else would I fall drunkenly into bed with strangers?

[She's a little disappointed Henry isn't blushing, but that's okay. The night is young.]

[Quite frankly, Dorian enjoys the show. He watches with no little appreciation, feeling the warm burn of tequila and the pleasure of companionship. Truly, he doesn't quite understand the ways of dancing that some have, more familiar with Theodosian styles - probably not so different than Henry is used to. That doesn't mean he can't approve of it, though, and he does.

When Henry is done, he applauds as well.]

An excellent showing.

[And he laughs at Maketh's comment.]

Does dancing like that truly make it so easy? And to think, I've been doing it the difficult way all this time. Compliments, witty chats, expensive drinks. Dancing would have been much easier.

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