PARTY PARTY PARTY

[decommission]

CHARACTERS: Everyone!
WHERE: The streets of Concordia
WHEN: Dusk til just before dawn on DAY 040
SUMMARY: IT'S A PARADE
WARNINGS: Add them to your top levels as necessary etc etc


As from the calendar:

Confetti! It's a parade! The annual Arista Parade, to be precise. Nominally a part of Aristana, the celebration of the ribbons of life, it's a holiday who's origins are nearly forgotten. Nowadays it's a big, raucous celebration pretty dedicated much entirely to drinking and partying. Almost all those in attendance will be wearing ribbons tied around their hair, their wrists, off of their belts and the edges of their sleeves. Pull one off, and you will be rewarded with a kiss - on the cheek, usually. The parade itself showcases a number of performers, costumes, and moving art pieces. It's route covers a number of the main streets of town (which will be closed, sorry traffic), and it lasts from dusk till nearly dawn on DAY :040. Have fun, if it's your kind of scene.

From the mods:

No notable NPCs are present at the parade - at least not in any official capacity. However if anyone wants to interact with a Concordian native, feel free to make up/interact with any randos you feel like!

Feel free to use this log for all of your parade day activities!


*moving art piece not included, original characters do not steal

Comments

ota.

[deployed]

[ The bustle of Concordia is a far cry from the last celebration Bellamy attended. He's reminded of Unity Day on the ground, his people dirty but happy, blissful with the promise of safety and reunions. There had been no ribbons, and Monty's moonshine had been disgusting, but the euphoria is the same even if nothing else is. This is the most palatable Bellamy's found the city since he arrived, even if at times the staggering number of people packed into the streets unsettles him.

There's a slew of ribbons wound into his curls, laced loosely around his wrists and upper arms courtesy of a sweet-faced pair of Concordians that he traded a kiss apiece for the favor. He's been sipping his drink slowly, unwilling to risk outright drunkenness but happy to indulge the slow-growing buzz as he observes the festivity. His thoughts flicker, unguarded, through memories of the ground and Arkadia but never lingering too long.

Over the course of the evening, Bellamy can be found:

- watching the performers with a drink in his hand; he'll be circling back to watch the dancing multiple times throughout the night.

- engaging in any kind of ridiculous drinking games he comes across. it's all good-natured competition, and bellamy's less concerned about winning anything than he is with the familiar ritual of drinking games.

- indulging ribbon-thieves. not everyone who tries to tug a ribbon from him gets his attention, but the odds are overall good that stealing a ribbon off him nets a kiss.

- [ insert wildcard option here if nothing above strikes your fancy. ]

[snaphiss]

[Mara is minding her own business, largely ignoring the most drunken knots in the crowd. She's not drinking anything, and is one of the few unadorned by ribbons. She sees a face in the half-light, and she recognizes it. One of the men who helped with Ilde's recent mission.]

[It's familiar from somewhere else as well. It's not as dark as before, and he tugs at her memory until she catches it-- he was one of the men present at Murphy's would be execution.]

[Anger flares in Mara, and it might be noticeable through the Nest's bond. She doesn't care. Mara goes over and quickly snatches one of the ribbons off the boy, but when he catches her eye, she doesn't look like she wants a kiss.]

We should talk. [Her voice is cold.]

so it begins.

[deployed]

[ The tug accompanying the loss of the ribbon draws Bellamy's attention, but his expression sobers as he meets Mara's gaze. He doesn't recognize her immediately, but he places her face from the flickers of thought he'd caught from Murphy and the accompanying sense of connection. His eyes move past her quickly, scanning the crowd. His first assumption isn't impending interpersonal conflict. That's probably a mistake. ]

Alright, [ he acquiesces, cautiously. ] We can talk.

[ His cup is mostly empty. Bellamy sets it down, turning fully away from both the dancers and the admirer who'd filched a ribbon before Mara had. Nothing in Mara's expression gives the impression she intends to wait. ]

Here?

[snaphiss]

[She quirks a brow.] If you intend to take me to a bar, the parade has gotten to your head.

[But if things end in a fight, she doesn't want to have to wrestle with him in the streets. She makes a motion that he should follow her, and leads them away from the action. Someone has set up a beer garden in an alleyway, festooned with tapestries, pillows instead of seats, curtains instead of walls. It's public instead of too public. She finds a seat in a closed off corner, and waits for Bellamy to get comfortable.]

Thank you for your help easier.

[She won't say any more about their involvement with Y in a setting where they're not secure, but she wants to let Bellamy know: You've been noticed.]

[deployed]

[ Is he supposed to be comfortable? The chill of her tone had knocked any aspirations of comfort out of him. He feels off balance; he's just tipsy enough to be at a disadvantage and aware of it. ]

You're welcome, [ Bellamy is of the same mind, tone clipped, avoidant. ] But I didn't do it to be thanked.

[ Though it might be impossible to have escaped notice no matter what. The Nest wasn't built for secrecy. ]

Is that what you wanted to discuss?

pretend i said 'earlier' up there jfc.

[snaphiss]

[Mara studies him, and finds an eager, canny man, someone wary in her presence. Good. She can use that.]

[She pauses a breath longer than necessary, savors the silence between words. Makes him wait, then says something innocuous. She doesn't mean to, but before she even really notices it, she's thinking of this like an Imperial interrogation, all guards, edges and tells.]

Do you know about John Murphy?

[The phrasing is perfectly vague. She wants to know what Bellamy Blake sees in the question.]

don't worry i understood what u meant

[deployed]

Know what about John Murphy?

[ As always, the first thing Bellamy's mind leaps to is Murphy's well being. It's an ingrained response. They both come from a world where disaster is commonplace. Bellamy hasn't made any progress in shaking that impression, though logically he knows that if Murphy were hurt his broodmate wouldn't be sitting here calmly needling Bellamy about it.

He takes a breath and meets Mara's gaze, riding out the urge to reach out and touch Murphy's mind for simple reassurance. ]

You'll have to be more specific.

[snaphiss]

[So he holds back, doesn't fall through at the first opportunity. Clever. She'd almost approve, if she didn't know he was a failed murderer.]

[Not that she has any intention of letting him know she knows that.]

Who he is. I'll admit, I find him... vexing. [So the next order of business, after the cold act, go soft.]

[adamance]

[When Lexa falls into place just beside Bellamy, a number of people around their age are ready to scatter, leaving behind a deck of playing cards. While the cards themselves are familiar in their shape and consistency, the pictures on them are different, and are clearly indicating some kind of game that's only a part of this world. Lexa's seen playing cards before: of the many things found in the various bomb shelters around rural Virginia, they are and have been the most common. Her people don't know the purpose of them, but they've collected them just the same, certain that they would someday find a purpose. (Lexa is more aware of that purpose now with all of her reading. Many of the other commanders and citizens in Polis never bothered.)

When the people scatter, clearly off to dance with one another, her eyes point up toward Bellamy's face.]

How do you play? [She's certain he had been taught the rules, and some part of her is curious—even if it's all but obvious that she's taking care not to get too swept away by the festivities.]

[deployed]

[ Bellamy doesn't verbally acknowledge Lexa, but there's a cursory brush of his mind against hers as he finishes the last of his conversation. The deck is left in his care, and he shuffles it idly as he watches the beribboned group disperse into the throng of people. There's a very faint, wistful sense of envy, but he doesn't get up to follow after them. He's never been a part of any celebration in quite this way before. His limbs are loose and his face flushed with drink, but his hands are sure as he fans the cards out on the table in front of them. ]

Quickly. [ Bellamy responds, flashing a smile at her, before he amends. ] It's simple.

[ It's not the same as playing quarters with bolts and washers, but it was just as easy to catch on to. Apparently that was a trait that transcended worlds. ]

I'll flip over a card, and you guess whether the next card I flip is lower or higher than this one. If you're wrong, you drink.

[adamance]

[Her mind moves swiftly. First, she considers the composition of the deck, then the game itself, and decides not to ask to see the cards more closely. She trusts that Bellamy won't play the game in a way that leads to her making poor decisions this evening—and her trust comes easily to her these days, at least when it comes to him.]

Simple enough. Do we pass it back and forth?

[deployed]

Yes. It's just the two of us, otherwise we'd pass it around the circle.

[ He can see her assessing, and assumes that least part of her calculations has to do with how much she might end up drinking while she plays this game. Bellamy places the deck on the table between them. ]

Do you want me to get you a drink?

[ It's a little bit like how he'd talked to Clarke once. The princess is worn into the tone, lingering at the end of the sentence. Charm had come easily to Bellamy once, before it had been drowned out in blood and death and guilt. ]

[adamance]

[After a beat, her eyebrows raise upward at the change of tone, one that she hasn't been privy to around him. She hadn't been around the radio when Raven had been manning it, so what charm and grace he carried with his people had never been present around her. Before they sent him in, she recalled his tight jaw and uneasy glances, and her last interaction with him had involved him bursting into her throne room, thoroughly tricked by the Ice Nation as he walked into what he believed was the scene of a crime that Lexa would never be stupid enough to commit.

Her features relax soon after, no longer giving Bellamy the same amount of scrutiny as before.]

Go ahead, [she speaks, and there's a sense of lingering curiosity over this Bellamy, one that has muted enough of his hatred to allow himself to be the man underneath. What if the one he projects these days isn't who he really is?

Then again, some might ask the same of Lexa. That's a question that she could scarcely answer herself.]

[deployed]

[ For a night, maybe he can forget. Or if not forget, ignore. It gives him enough room to pick up the vestiges of easy charm. Being swept up in the crowd, warmed through with alcohol, it puts a certain amount of distance between himself and the burden of guilt he walks around with daily. The festival offers a fair amount of distractions, between the alcohol on offer and the myriad of people stealing kisses. It's enough, for a single night. It's who he used to be. But it's not possible to maintain this level of frivolity in the light of day.

When he returns, it's with the same beverage he's drinking. Bellamy offers it to her without commenting on the gesture or her scrutiny. ]

I'll flip the first card?

[ It's unnecessary to remind her to sip slowly. Lexa doesn't want to drink to excess, and she won't. Bellamy's not worried for her. ]

I can take it easy on you.

[ Because that'll diffuse any competitive instincts between the two of them. ]

[adamance]

I'll learn nothing that way. [That is why the Commander trains with the novitiates. While the Flamekeeper does guide most of those lessons himself, Lexa had always seen a value in fighting alongside the people she would one day have to kill. It's a dark, morbid thought, but one seeped in reality. Her reality. It's the same reality that touches on her people's way of life.]

I'll come to see the probability that I'm wrong. But still. Go ahead. [When she finishes speaking, she brings her cup to her lips to take her first sip. She has drank elsewhere this evening, but she has been cautious there and will be cautious here.]

[cognitived]

[ Clint's no stranger to Concordia's streets by now. He's spent months out here, watching people from rooftop, slipping through streets like the shadow he could now become. It's nothing he hasn't ever done before, learning new cities in the grasp of a mission. But there's something -- cleansing about seeing the city under revelry. It's no different from any other holiday back home, nothing less than an excuse to drink and be merry, and Clint slips through it easily. Garners a couple ribbons with an amused smile, wrapped around wrist and bicep.

Still, the flicker of Bellamy's thoughts reel him in, punch-drunk, something he can't help but follow. It takes a little longer than usual, winding through the crowd, careful in only the way a trained assassin could be.

But eventually, eventually, Clint rolls up to where Bellamy stands, watching a painfully familiar game. Clint never went to college -- but hell, he's more than familiar with the age old drinking game. There's a grin, even as he reaches out and flicks one of the ribbons wound through dark curls. ]

Looks like you're havin' fun out here.

[deployed]

[ Clint's presence is met with a warm, welcoming rush of mental acknowledgement. It's the prelude to the way Bellamy grips Clint's shoulder without turning fully away from the table. His guard is dropped just enough that coiling into the familiarity of broodmates takes conscious effort, and Bellamy's focus is still on the game in front of him. ]

I was winning a minute ago.

[ Winning is subjective here. ]

Did you lose all your ribbons?

[ Or did Clint just not have as many to begin with? Bellamy's thoughts flicker back to what Clint had accidentally shared with him: home, family, love. Thinking of that, of course Clint hadn't entertained a slew of ribbons being attached to him. ]

[cognitived]

[ It would usually be overwhelming, that rush of acknowledgement, but Clint welcomes it. Mind swimming under the too sudden, too deep connection between broodmates, the ever present tension keeping them from sinking further. Bellamy's hand catches at his shoulder, and Clint shifts, holds himself sure and stable, even though Bellamy's focus is all on the game.

He can't help it -- Clint laughs, easy and low, staying where he is. ]

I have a few.

[ Not many, but he isn't too bothered at all. Bellamy's thoughts flicker back, a sort of understanding easing between them, and Clint ducks his head in acknowledgement. ]

So who beat you? I bet we could knock 'em out in a round.

[ By we, he means I. ]

SLINGS THIS IN HERE

[unsea]

[ The tug to Bellamy's hair is not the result of some thief come to take a ribbon off his person. It's someone else, tending to a snarl of hair that's been tangled into one of the ribbons that - well, whatever kind soul stuck it there had to have booze fingers, because it looks like shit.

He catches up to Bellamy, by the performers. ]

What's caught your eye, then?

[ Something has!! Or he wouldn't keep coming back to this spot. ]

does it count as a joke tag if it took me hours to muster up the real one

[deployed]

[ The impulse to turn obligingly toward the fingers tugging at his hair is half-born of having been kissed intermittently upon doing so for most of the night, and half of recognizing the familiarity of his hatchmate. His arms had been crossed over his chest, but they loosen as Bellamy tips his chin towards the dancers. ]

I've never seen anything like that.

[ Which makes it something worth revisiting, especially when Bellamy tires of drinking games and kisses. ]

Have you been here all night?

[ Bellamy wouldn't fault him if he had. For all the distraction the festival could offer, the dancers were still the most urgent. ]

[unsea]

All night.

[ Since the crowds began to truly fill the streets, he's been moving with the flow of people - deeper into the city, until coming across his hatchtwin all but boggling at the dancers. With deft fingers, he picks the tangle of hair and ribbon loose and tidies it up for him. Not that he asked. ]

Does that mean you've never danced?

[deployed]

[ Unconsciously, Bellamy's head tips into the Darkling's fingers. The gentle pulls on his hair as he reattaches the ribbon feels good. Bellamy's thoughts shift to another place, to Gina and how she'd eased her fingers into his hair, scratched her nails along his scalp. He's slow to shake that memory away, though considering it is painful even with the alcohol to numb it. ]

Not like this.

[ Once, youthful and inexpert, but he'd left that gathering so quickly. The Ark hadn't been much for this kind of expression, and Bellamy had always had something waiting for him. (Octavia, tucked beneath the floor panels.) He turns to find the Darkling's face, expression questioning. ]

Have you?

[ Maybe the Darkling came from somewhere that had dancers like this, and people did as they liked, celebrated as they liked. That concept still felt alien to Bellamy, but he was quicker to consider it now after so much time with the nest. ]

[unsea]

Often.

[ The ribbon properly secured, it is with great reluctance that he pulls his hands away from Bellamy's hair - even as his broodmate leans into them. He takes the opportunity, though, to brush them down the length of the other's neck, giving his shoulder a companionable squeeze as he turns Bellamy to face the dancers - lingering behind him as he directs his attention there instead. ]

At court, there was always dancing. Even before that, I lived in a number of other places - all shared a love for dance.

[ Part of life and part of tradition, to be certain. Whether in Ravka or Fjerda or Shu Han. ]

[deployed]

[ Court. Bellamy's only envisioning of what that might entail has been gleaned from books and from his brief exposure to Polis. The kind of luxury implied in the Darkling's statement feels as unreal as the tales he's read in his novels. He rides out a brief shiver of contentment at the slip of fingers, the squeeze of a shoulder, but he allows the break. He's trying to get better at separating the impulses that are his own need for contact and what's rooted in the bond between broodmates, but it's not always possible for him not to feel it. ]

It sounds...beautiful.

[ Is that the correct word? Bellamy feels like it's too humble, but simplicity is all he has to offer. ]

Why don't you join them?

[unsea]

That would mean leaving you.

[ Such a simple reason.

He stands behind Bellamy now, with both hands wrapped around his shoulders, directing him where to look with the nudge of his hands, the murmur of words - do you see? and there - and there - it's not so difficult. The whirl of figures in varicolored cloth, the beautiful, wizened dancer with her scarves and ribbons and boundless energy, the flirting slip of her fingers under Bellamy's chin and the draping of a scarf over his hair. The Darkling laughing, crisp and entertained, as his hands drop lower, fingers curling into Bellamy's.

He narrates a story, of a humble dancer who was beloved by fire. Her ankle broken in a bad tumble, she had woken one morning to find that her company had left her to the cold winter and its merciless nights. Unable to find shelter, she had crawled - gathering kindling into the folds of her dress, and lit a fire barely large enough to stave off the encroaching darkness. Fearful and cold, she had risen to her feet and danced despite the pain. To warm herself, to find her courage. As she danced, the fire grew - and grew - and grew, until the snow around it had melted and the dancer felt her spirits lifted. Day by day, she crawled through the woods and night by night, she danced through her pain, while the fire blazed for her efforts. Until one night, she could not rise to dance. The pain was too great for her to bear, and the fire did not rise to warm her. She pleaded, cold and weak, and stretched out her hand to the wood.

A night more, she asked of the fire, please, one night more -- ]