event: a gentle festival

[thestewards]

we're all just working pieces trying to fit somewhere
We wander 'round in circles and we talk in squares

► The OOC plotting post for this event can be found here.

► Direct all questions to the mods at this link.

► All NPCs except for Queen Fayura can be met at this event. Use their top-levels in the plotting post if you'd like a thread with them for this event. For your convenience, you can reach out here: Allairavar, Verim, Loren, Niall, Grejor, and Raya. They may choose to wander into your threads should you not plan anything out with them, too.

PARTY PLANNING
Dawn arrives and brings with it another group of Strangers. Unlike the first group, you wake to a comfortable bed and cheery birdsong. Unlike the second group, you are expected. As you rise, a vase with spring flowers appears on the table beside your bed. Tucked beneath the vase, you find a message of welcome inviting you to join the Queen and her residence for breakfast.

Following directions given by footmen throughout the residence’s winding halls, you make your way toward breakfast, only to find that breakfast is a beautiful disaster.

Maids and footmen rush around you, choreographed by a red haired witch standing on a chair in the middle of the entry hall. She wears an apron and a look of fierce concentration. Beside her, a list floats in the air. Pinned to her hair, her Tiger Eye Jewel flashes and swirls with power. You suspect you should just sneak out, but she’s too observant.

“You there!”

You freeze. Maybe you had a mother with eyes in the back of her head who always knew where you were. Maybe that was a teacher or some other kind of mentor. Regardless, you know this voice. You know this tone. This is a person harried and pressed, and she probably doesn’t care that you haven’t eaten breakfast yet.

“Yes, you! Stranger!”

You turn toward her and abruptly find your arms full of banners. Closer inspection will reveal each flag sewn to the cord bears a different symbol: one for the Guilds (a hexagon with circles at each joint), the Ebon Council (a pair of Jewels side by side), and Fayura’s Court (a strange, spiraling spear against a mountain peak); a sun and a moon; a cloud flush with rain and lightning; and a sprouting plant.

“Make sure those get hung on the eaves outsi—no, I haven’t seen the Lady, Carlisle, but if you—”

A Blood male has distracted her, but you’re left with the distinct impression that if you don’t hang these banners, the Head Housekeeper will hunt you down (you would be correct). Not to worry: you’re not the only Stranger living in the residence, and it takes you little time to locate someone else with an equally bomb-blasted look on their face to help you help the residence prepare for the spring festival! There are flags to be hung, simple breads to be baked, stalls to be built in the Bazaar, and so much more. Your hands work, and so you work.


HOPE BLOOMS ETERNAL
At sundown, the festival begins in earnest: people take to the streets in every section of the city, pouring into the Old Town Bazaar with rosy cheeks and broad smiles. The spring festival will last for the next six days. Three days to celebrate, and three days to work.

All around the city, banners hang from and between homes and businesses. Some fluttering banners bear flags emblazoned with only the Guilds’ symbol or the Council’s or the Court’s, and there are far more Guild banners than any other—a result of the Strangers’ providing support to the Guilds no doubt. But mixed among them are flags bearing both the Queen’s mountain, too, just not as many, and the only place the Council’s flags hang are over Blood homes.

As you make your way through the Bazaar, you hear…

A young landen man: I’ve heard the Queen is going to honor the Earth Mother and Father Sky during planting in a few days, and—
His companion, an older woman: The Blood honor only death and their Darkness. What does she care for our beliefs?

A Blood farmer: …kind of gift. Don’t quite know what to make of a Queen giving anything.
A landen farmer: Anything to help the crops grow. The Guilds mean well, but the land is overworked.

An excited little girl: —ride the unicorn, mommy! There’s a unicorn and a dragon and a centaur and a—

Near the pavilion at the heart of the Bazaar, the landen Guilds have erected technological wonders. A carousel of glittering bronze and metal lights up the night with rainbow colors. Music spills out of it, cheerful and bright as its three rings turn in lazy revolutions. Unicorns and dragons and centaurs and mermaids stand as mounts for the young and old. Nearby, the Elektriline Guild prepares a light show, projecting fantastical shapes in dazzling colors on the sides of buildings and into the night sky itself. Around the park to the south of the Bazaar, the Transport Guild has set up a racing track for unicycles and tricycles.

Booths with games line the streets. Knock down the glass bottles! Throw the ring around the spoke! Win prizes to dazzle your loved ones and delight your children!

While food has certainly been scarce, the bakeries and charcuteries have brought out their best fare at surprisingly reasonable prices. This is a time to celebrate the end of winter and the beginning of spring, and celebrate the city will.

While the Blood dress in nice clothes, the landens bring out costumes. As is tradition, some dress as Father Sky, wearing crowns of gold and flowing robes of white. Others cloak themselves in the vestments of Mother Earth: wearing costumes of green and brown, painting vines over their faces to disguise themselves and crowning themselves in garlands of crocuses and tulips. Whispers through the Bazaar say the Queen is among them, disguised as Mother Earth.


SOWING THE FUTURE
The fourth morning of the festival, the entire city rises with the dawn. Over the past three days, a strange rumor wound its way through Draega: Fayura will join the planting to give a gift unique to the Queens of the Blood.

Members of the Ebon Council and the Guilds organize groups, directing the bodies of the entire city to go to this farm or that as they step out from behind Draega’s tall, protective walls. But before you are dismissed to help till the land or plant grain seeds, you join a larger crowd at a nearby farm. The Blood airwalk, standing above the landen crowds to gain a better view.

At the head of a recently tilled field, Queen Fayura stands with a landen farmer. He grasps his hat, wringing it fiercely in his hands as her Steward, Master of the Guard, and Consort stand guard behind her. Dressed in greens and browns, crowned in a garland of crocuses that drips dried stalks of wheat down her hair, she kneels before a bucket. She calls in a knife. When she speaks, she doesn’t raise her voice, but Craft projects it across the assembled onlookers. “Blood sings to blood. This is a gift: freely offered,” she says. “Freely given.” Bright red blood blooms across her palm as she drags the blade through skin. Vanishing the knife, she closes her fist and squeezes, allowing the blood to fall into the bucket of water and mix with it.

Her Consort heals her wound when she holds out her hand, and then he steps back. She rises, picking up the bucket and taking hold of the ladle on the ground beside it. Her voice lifts in song. Though the language is unrecognizable, the melody is beautiful and full of the vibrant hope of spring. She sings as she walks along the furrows, sprinkling bloodied water on the land. Blood and Strangers alike feel the pull of magic as something in the earth itself unfurls, shuddering awake at the call of the Queen’s blood.

For the next three days, nearly every man, woman, and child in Draega assists with the planting. Children do small, simple tasks, and the older children watch over the younger ones. The adults drag plows through the warming land and spread seeds in the furrows the plows create. Queen Fayura visits each field in turn, and planting doesn’t begin until she’s sprinkled her water over the earth. Throughout the day, her vibrant song echoes around the city, and a few Blood girls, too young to yet wear a Jewel, take up the song and hum along with it.

You would do well to help the farmers. You may not have a strong arm or strong back, but there’s planting to be done and people to organize, feed, and care for.


AIR TIME
Whether you catch the news on a Far-caster in the city or you’re spinning the dial on your own device, you’ll hear…

etiquette with evandra and aren
[Evandra's voice is a little bit rough and a little bit husky, the kind of voice that gives bad ideas to young men and headaches to fathers.] …do we make of a Warlord Prince’s reaction to his Queen’s blood?

[Aren, whose voice is typically chipper and bright, sounds today much more seriously than usual.] It’s a dangerous thing. Elemental, you might say. Like a storm. Every Prince is dangerous when his Lady’s blood spills.

[Evandra:] So, are we in danger when the Queen does whatever ritual she’s doing?

[Aren:] No. The Blood put great importance on, well, blood. It’s the memory’s river. Power sings in blood. It carries strength and Craft. I’ve never seen a Queen do anything like this before, but her Princes—and her court—treat it like ceremony. And it probably is.

the weather
[A soft-spoken man’s voice rumbles out of the Far-caster. He’s pleasant to listen to, with a soothing cadence to his voice.] …continued rains with intermittent sunshine over the next few days as the days grow steadily warmer. Remember that rains coming out of Askavi are dangerous to your health, and salves for lesions from exposure can be purchased from the Medicos at…

the news
[Garret speaks at his brisk pace, hurried and harried as though he has too much to say and not enough time to say it.] A new development in the story of the young landen man who shot and killed Councilwoman Vera last month: the Strangers have influenced the Queen to bring together a Tribunal not of other Queens—

[Wilt, as usual, is put upon and nasally.] As though there are many of those to go around.

[Garret, continuing as though Wilt didn’t interrupt him:] —but of the landen man’s peers, both landen and Blood.

[Wilt, sighing:] That’s correct, Garret. It seems this Tribunal of three landens and three Blood will listen to the young man’s account, as well as the stories of other witnesses, and determine a suitable punishment. This will be presented to the Queen, and she will carry out the sentence.

[Garret:] Looking now to the warming weather and what that means for trade with the mercenary settlements outside of Draega—

Comments

[burn_with_us]

It's been a long day with hard work. Her back is aching and her mouth is dry but Katniss thinks she's done a good job when she looks across the furrowed rows of newly-planted seeds. She wipes sweat off her brow with her sleeve and when the man next to her offers an apple, she quirks her brow up before taking it. She splits it with Craft, though, and hands him half back. He's been generous and she's not one to overlook generosity.

She has one of her coveted cheese buns from the festival burning a hole in her pocket. As much as she wants to hoard it for herself, she wants to repay this man's kindness. She tears it roughly in half and offers it to him in the palm of her hand, no words exchanged.

The simple things make her happy. It reminds her of Rue, a bit, how she'd taken care of her with no expectations and how Katniss had given her food in exchange. It reminds her, painfully, of how 11 pooled all their money to send her Rue's bread as tribute for kindness. Katniss always pays kindness with kindness.

[midship]

It's a pleasant surprise that the young woman takes the apple without much of a fuss. It's another still that she deftly cuts the fruit in half and returns a portion. Water would be better, perhaps, but the edge of refreshment would certainly help after a long day in the sun.

More confusing than pleasant is the offering over of a portion of her own meal. There's certainly something equitable about the gesture--but the portion of his own mind which was taught not to expect equitable treatment hasn't fully adjusted yet to the new life he's living.

There's something quizzical in his pause, his own half of the apple lifted halfway toward a bite while he studies the offered baked good. It's a hard thing to take someone else's food, even when it doesn't seem to be in such painfully short supply.

[burn_with_us]

Katniss pushes it into his hand. She doesn't like taking something without offering in return and generosity for generosity's sake is not something she's ever felt comfortable with. She's struggled with it since she was a girl, since Peeta intentionally burned bread to keep her family from starving. She isn't one for handouts and she isn't someone to just take without giving.

Maybe this guy comes from a place where being kind is normal but Katniss doesn't. Gifts have strings attached, always, and Katniss always gives as good as she gets. She respects sacrifice and sacrifices in return. Besides, the mix of cheese and apples is good and it's something he ought to taste; these buns aren't as good as Peeta's but they are pretty good.

With the sun setting and the ache in her shoulders from planting, a break to eat is sorely needed and incredibly welcome.

[midship]

That's hard to mistake, at least. Perhaps it's pride, and perhaps it's a sense of justice, and perhaps it's some other complex emotion Horatio will never understand. The root isn't what matters. What matters is that it's hard to misunderstand having food pressed into one's hand.

The bob of his head is entirely grateful. Taking a bite of the bun first is also a matter of gratitude. Fresh bread still feels like a luxury, and the bun in particular brings the faintest flicker across his expression, like something settling into his core.

Best not to focus on that. His gaze flits out over the field, where the fresh rows stretch long and neat away from them. Speaking with his mouth full would be unbearably rude, so he simply nods at the field immediately before them.

Her work?

[burn_with_us]

Katniss nods twice, an expression on her face that's pride trying to hide behind stoicism. She's proud of her work because she's never done anything like this before but she's done a good job of it. Farming is a lot different from gardening but it seems like she's gotten the hang of it so far.

She sinks her teeth into her apple, following it with a bite of the bun. The luxury of both fresh fruit and fresh bread seems almost too good to be true after being on the serviceable but bland rations of 13 for weeks and weeks. There had been things in the Capitol she'd eaten that had made her want to eat until she got sick. Lamb stew, for one, as long as it had plums and spices in it too. But this? This little meal after a day of hard work beats anything she got in that gilded cage.

Katniss tilts her eyes over to his row, nodding her approval. He's done well too, it seems.

[midship]

This is a terribly reassuring way to end the day. The ache is a good ache. The hunger is a gnawing which will be properly soothed. The exhaustion is the sort which might lend itself to actual sleep for more than a few hours of the night.

And the silence is a good silence. There's no demand in it or discomfort lingering about the edges. (The exhaustion does help with that. It's oddly equalizing, after all--and goes a long way toward turning down the chattering noise of self-doubt.)

His breath comes long and slow as he studies his own row, shoulders briefly lifting before he forces them straight. There's a palpable pause before he glances at the ground between them, then back up at the young woman beside him. She wouldn't mind if he sat, surely?

[burn_with_us]

Katniss takes the initiative and sits first. She likes the silence. It stretches out between them like the camaraderie of old friends and while Katniss barely knows anyone here, silence is something she can cling to and be content with. She likes it when people don't pressure her to talk, when she can just be without having to explain herself or go through painful introductions.

She stretches her legs out in front of her, longer than most women on account of her height, and looks over at her new, silent friend. She gestures next to her, offering a seat if he wants to take it.

[midship]

It isn't the silence of those who have lived and fought side by side for years, perhaps. It isn't the deep knowing trust which could be built over the long course of a friendship.

But it's a knowing silence. It's the sort of quiet that fits into a familiar place, comfortable and suited.

There's a comfortable sigh on his lips as Horatio shifts carefully to join her, a respectful distance still between them. His own legs are kept bent, close enough to rest his elbows on as he surveys their work around the next bite of apple and bread.

Not a bad day's work at all.

[burn_with_us]

Katniss knows the silence between comrades. She knows the silence that she and Finnick fall into sometimes, those long moments where all she can hear is the scrape of jute as he ties and unties knots to keep his sanity. She knows the tense silence of waiting on the platform for the Games to start, waiting to hear a cannon blast.

This is something different. This is something that unfurls slowly and feels like it could grow, someday, into the kind of easy friendship she has with Peeta. She never has to say things to Peeta; he just seems to read them on her face and act accordingly. He's someone she can share a meal with and not say anything at all.

It's nice, though, that there's people like this here, people like this guy who's been working in the fields with her today. She gives him a quick nod and a smile, showing her gratitude for the moment. She appreciates that he's not one of those nervous chatterers that fills every moment with talking.

[midship]

This is a good place to sit. More than that, this is a good way to spend a meal, not alone but not expected to say anything at all.

It won't last forever. Even savoring every bite, the meal is humble enough. Even safe and snug in an understanding quiet, the fields are hardly so deserted that they won't be interrupted sooner or later, as more of the Strangers finish their work and begin trudging back toward home.

Still, a good silence is worth keeping track of. Horatio glances back over his shoulder for a moment, then nods questioningly in the direction he thinks he can see the Residence peeking above other distant roofs in Draega.

[burn_with_us]

Katniss nods in return. She'd been staying in the Residence for now. She wants to move out and get her own place but she hasn't yet, wants to save the marks until she knows she can make a real go of it out on her own. She's lived in poverty before, so that's not a problem, but she knows she needs a steady income if she's going to cover expenses. Once she figures that out, she'll be away from Fayura's place and on her own for a while.

The sun is low but there's still some work that can be done. Katniss rocks up onto her feet again, brushing her palms free of crumbs, and offers a hand to the guy who had shared with her. Maybe they can finish this row and then head back home for the evening; he's a good person to work with. She doesn't know if he can talk or not but she likes his company all the same.

It reminds her of spending time with Pollux. He used to like to hear her sing and whistle, since Avoxes can't speak, and Katniss whistles Rue's little notes for a moment, wondering if the birds in Draega will take up the song the same way the birds in Panem all sing for Rue.