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

slinks over here

[cognitived]

[ Festivals are not entirely strange to Clint -- he's spent more than a few days wading through crowds, drinking and joking and using them as cover for apparently nefarious deeds. Hell, half the time one of the Avengers -- Stark, it was pretty much always Stark -- had thrown a party, it wound up more like a festival in and of itself. There was that one time Thor coerced Stark to throw an honest to god bacchanal fest, with roast boars and overflowing ale and everything.

Sometimes, Clint was pretty sure his life wouldn't be out of place in a comic book. Funny how it works like that.

But for now, Clint's spending time wandering through the crowd, trading ribbons with easy humor. His hair's too short for them to be braided in, but more than a few hands have tied colorful strips around his biceps, his wrists. By now, he's had maybe more than a few drinks -- especially after helping Bellamy win a few rounds of space beer pong -- and there's an easy buzz beneath his skin. Enough that Clint's not entirely holding back the buzz of his thoughts, especially when it comes to the threads of broodmates. He spots the Darkling, winding through the streets, hands quick and sure, and Clint's brows raise.

There's a casual press of minds, the push-pull image like the call of the Darkling's name, even as Clint slides up. He offers a grin in greeting, something reckless growing behind the blue of his gaze. ]

Gonna have to tie a bell on you, man.

[unsea]

[ A bacchanal fest wouldn't be too far from the festivities at Os Alta, to be honest. Food, drink, wild displays of power and life. When Ravkans celebrated, it was with a passion that was suddenly, violently untethered.

Clint's mind is exactly like that. Untethered, free-floating. Nakedly fuzzy, probably from drink and delight. He can follow their connection, winding its way from him to his broodmate, through the motion of body and the hum of the crowd, as voices blend one into another into another into another. In the end, he weighs the connection of host to host, and finds that in a moment such as this, it's a strength to be able locate one's allies without raising suspicion. Without having to look very hard at all. It's not hard, to tug on their connection, and to invite Clint to his side. ]

I am feeling loud enough as is, Clint.

[ This is far more color than he's worn in years. ]

You're enjoying yourself, I see. How many did you send home with their egos in tatters, playing that game of yours?

[ He did not know which game, only that he'd felt Bellamy and Clint's minds. Their victories. Their delight. As it hadn't waned too much, he figured they were rousingly successful. ]

[cognitived]

[ Asgardians go hard, Clint's learned. And somehow, it wouldn't be entirely surprising to learn that the Darkling is familiar with those sort of festivals. Strangely, it fits.

As it is, Clint's not drunk, not quite. Too many people, too many chances, Clint drinks but he doesn't toss himself over the edge. It's enough, when coupled with adolescent victory, for a sort of effervescence. Mind sparking, easily, a pleased sort of hum infused through him at the little invitation that tugs at the tether of their minds. Clint goes easily, laughing softly at the greeting he gets, eyeing the bright ribbons the Darkling's wearing. One hand lifts, thumbs at a richly purple colored one, faintly pleased, before his attention is caught again.

Clearly, he's in a good mood, because Clint huffs with laughter again, the blue of his gaze bright with humor. His mind sparks with a sufficing sense of smugness, of well deserved confidence. ]

I never miss.

[ A slice of a grin, all teeth, even as Clint shrugs his shoulders. How many? Well, he lost count, but Clint never misses a chance to show off. ]

Just wait until I find a dart board.