deercountry | Birthday Party

Birthday Party

Who: Paul Atreides and all his CR
What: Throwing everyone’s favorite Duke a surprise birthday party
When: Forwarded dated to April 1st
Where: Bone House in Gaze

Content Warnings: Drinking, underage drinking, drugs (both fictional and not), drawings of space worms, skeletons, will add further warnings if necessary

When you arrive at the house in Gaze, (affectionately known as Bone House), a skeleton will open the door and offer to take your coat if you have one. No need to take your shoes off or anything!

The large house has been decorated with black streamers and confetti. In the entryway and hung on the railing to the second floor that overlooks the entrance to the great room are large banners that say “HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAUL” (though one looks like it used to say “Jaune” but was just painted over? Whatever).

In the Living Room, there is a large board and various colored markers for people to write messages to the birthday boy. There is also a table full of bottled water and various couches, chairs, and beanbags to collapse into if the party gets to be too much and one needs a quiet place to rest or a place to chill if you’ve imbibed too much… well, whatever you had.

It is also where all the food and drinks are.

There’s an extremely large charcuterie board with the usual meats, cheeses, and olives as well as an extremely eccentric collection of snacks ranging from individual sized Cheez-it bags, to humungous bags of Doritos and salty chips, as well as nearly every kind of Oreo one can imagine.

There are also various cakes, all angel food. Some are misshapen, some have an attempt at being frosted with whipped cream and fruit, one even says “Happy Birthday Ka-” before that was hastily covered with a bunch of strawberries jammed really close together.

At the island, a skeleton is playing bartender. Surprisingly, it can seem to take and understand individual orders, but there’s always a constant flow of tequila shots being made and sent out to the great hall to be served by another skeleton.

And, no, of course it’s not going to check your age to see if you’re legal. It’s a skeleton. Why would it care?

The Great Hall is the center of activity and where everyone is encouraged to mingle and have fun. There is a skeleton on the grand piano in the corner gleefully playing piano covers of the hits from the Shrek Soundtrack with the occasional cover of “DaRude’s Sandstorm” when it has another one to help out.

In another corner, on huge piece of paper that spans nearly 6ft wide and 8ft tall is drawing of an Arrakis sandworm and it’s giant maw. The game is Pin the Tooth on the Sandworm and it’s… very easy… because the worm maw is most of the board. Even if the skeleton spins you as you’re blindfolded, it’s pretty hard to lose. If you manage to do it, which is likely, the skeleton running the game will award you a tequila shot! If you lose, the skeletons will award you a tequila shot (but it’s rail).

(It’s a drinking game, isn’t the point to drink?)

There’s also a table that has many candelabras on it, numbering up to seventeen. They’re still lit and burning even though there is a sign that says “make a wish!” even though it almost looks like a shrine for the dead.

…It’s maybe clear that the concept of “birthday candles” was greatly misunderstood.

There is also a skeleton dealing out small doses of “Spice”, a psychoactive drug straight outta the Duneverse. However, you must check in with this Skeleton to get a dose. There will be no “permanently melting your brain with ancestral memories” at this party!

Teacher’s/God’s/Jod’s/The Emperor Undying’s study, adjacent to the main hall, is closed and locked. Though, the lock is fairly easy to break if someone really wanted to get in. There’s not even skeletons guarding.

That said, many things are warded with eerie runes of blood and bone.

So, fuck around and find out.

The upstairs is generally off limits. Party goers can climb up the stairs, and it’s encouraged if they want to look over the Great Room from above, but all of the bedrooms are carefully guarded by more skeletons who will SCREAM VERY LOUDLY if you try to enter and will become hostile if done by force.

Of course, this won’t happen if you are with someone who lives in the house.

Enjoy the party! Mingle away!

((ooc: if you have any questions or anything, please hit me up at

worldtype)) or via PM.))

Birthday Board | At the Party | The Morning After | IC Party Games | Spice Dealer

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Paul has been reluctant to have Falco in this house. He'd be lying if he were to say that he still isn't. It's not so much concern, any more - although that's always there, especially considering some of their resident guests - as it is the sense he has that Falco doesn't belong in a place like this. He suits his little cottage, not a sprawling mansion full of skeletons and secrecy.

But it became too much to keep saying no, especially as excuses ran dry. So this is the compromise that Paul makes with himself: Falco is welcome here, and Paul will simply never leave his side while he is.

This is, fortunately, not a wholly literal proposition, or else Paul wouldn't be able to get the eggs.]

The smaller ones?

[It should be an obvious distinction, since the one egg is larger than the bowl they're mixing batter in, but Paul is learning that one of the fundamentals of baking is even stricter precision than cooking.]

Or... [He glances at Falco with a slight smile, a hint of teasing.] Is it a confetti egg, for the confetti cake?

[ confetti egg— it takes a few seconds, but once the gears have clicked to which egg he's talking about, falco nearly, just nearly drops the bowl of batter he's rearranging by a hair. instead, he only drops a fork in and rushes to collect the clattering bowl on the table, doubletaking sideways to make sure (out of pure instinct) that the confetti egg isn't the one getting cracked. ]

Oh, o-oh, [ realizing it was a curious joke (?), falco's messy hand is placed right over the top of where his apron hugs his chest, luckily away from the batter splatter one hand lower, and he too, smiles . . . through a heart attack. ] hah, that's— no, I mean yes, [ the small eggs!!! but already flustered with his own fluster, falco brushes the side of his face, accidentally adding a streak of flour to his cheek. ] the big one's the thing I wanted to show you. When he wakes up. I found it at home when I got out of that jungle.

[ he almost says game, but that wasn't a game. that was jungle royale. ]

[Paul doesn't quite not wince at Falco's reaction, regret hitting him immediately. He knows how sensitive Falco is, so he knows better. The small eggs are swiftly retrieved and the confetti one left to its own innocent devices before Paul strides back the short distance to the cake baking station.]

I'm sorry. That wasn't funny.

[He pats Falco on the shoulder, adds a little squeeze for good measure.]

Whenever people used to tease me about the things I found, I didn't like it either. [A passing shade across his face, considering jungle, but -] I'm glad you found - I'm not sure what that is. A kind of bird's egg?

[ if there was anything else to make falco more flustered, it was that; that little tremor his heart gives when he’s upset someone. he ends up coming over from his station to meet paul halfway, his hand beginning to rise with intention to quell. ]

It looks kind of like a bird? A-ah, but, Paul—! It’s fine, really! You didn’t know, [ hands hover, but they have a different sort of response when actually used. they rest on paul’s arms, to reassure and pull that feeling right out of him. ] I just got worried for a second! I thought he was going to go in the cake—

[ he does not want a baby bird being cracked into a cake, but. now that you think about it?

it’s so stupidly funny he even thought it in the first place, enough that after a pause of trying to find words, his lips break into a lopsided, embarrassed smile. ]

Because . . . You didn’t know he was an egg.

[ maybe that’s what he gets for making too many surprises. ]

[Paul smiles in reassurance, his agitation passing (or at least better concealed) like a singular cloud. He wants this to be fun, to be easy - lingering on awkwardness is the opposite of that.]

I promise I do know enough about eggs not to crack any one I see for cakes.

[He pats Falco's shoulder again, not wanting to introduce more flour to his hair (although that was probably a lost cause, already) before turning back to the cake.]

Does he have a name, your not-quite-bird? I'll need to know when we ice one of these cakes for him, in apology. Dear So-and-so, I pledge not to put you into cakes, so on, so forth -

That's a little long for a cake, I think. Unless we make it very big.

[ at least it’s a cue to not feel so— anxious and protective, or whatever it was that he felt. maybe you would freak out too if you were innocent and someone said they were going to put your baby brother in the washing machine, just for a little clean up.

they can both ease and laugh at themselves. falco’s entire self is a lost cause to stray flour. he’ll have to wash his hands again to begin.

gently, he decides not to mention the rice. which was the reason he had half the mind to think paul would crack a giant confetti egg into a confetti cake. but, actually, speaking of confetti . . . he can’t help but to smile up at paul with endearment. ]

I don’t mind us making a bigger cake. [ it will be, after all, for paul. ] What about “Confetti”?

[Paul takes the name under serious consideration, stroking his chin and leaving behind a floury accent of his own. The naming of a living creature is no small matter, and it's Falco's pet, which adds even greater significance to the event.]

I like it.

[This is decreed with utter gravitas only spoiled by the grin that spreads across his face in the wake of the pronouncement.]

But maybe I'll write a letter instead. Less edible, more practical. The cake can go on the side.

[ the decree has been done. confetti, by paul’s own idea, it is! ]

I can read it for him.

[ said brilliantly and with a waxing front of his own. the day has been saved! now, onto the huge cake they’re supposed to be making for the singular birthday boy! after washing his hands through running water and drying them on his apron, falco ushers paul into the front lines.

just follow the guidelines, word for word. you’ll do fine. ]

You’ve never cooked for so many people, right?

No, I haven't.

[It's kind that Falco says 'for that many people' instead of 'at all'. Paul hasn't done much to inspire confidence in his ability so far, but he is good at following clear instruction, with correction as he goes.

That kindness, along with the warm late March sunlight and the light air in the kitchen, might be why Paul runs his tongue over his teeth in thought, a minor hesitation before he elaborates.]

I used to fry fish with my father, sometimes. That wasn't like this. This is more complicated, and I can't throw it to the gulls if it burns. The beach is too far away.

How did you learn to do all of this, anyway?

[ kindness is at most times, encouragement, and there's nothing more that falco would consider a desire when learning something new. learning in general requires patience, and positive reinforcement! ]

In the places I got stuck in, before Trench— the adults and . . . Androids? They helped a lot with teaching me. [ and with a considerably boyish smile, ] I've never seen so much good food all the time.

[ home, as paul had seen, wasn't much a hospitable place. he had seen the battlefield, but one could imagine a child's regular living conditions if they are forced into cadet positions by their own country. had it not been for political strategy, falco wouldn't have otherwise tasted ice cream for the first time in liberio. ]

I wanted to make sure I could make it again if I go back home. My parents, Gabi— they'd love it.

[Paul is getting much better at concealing his impulse to make a warding sign at the mention of androids. A slight recoiling runs through him anyway, but it's dispelled by the warm sunlight gleam of Falco's pleasure at good food.

It reminds him of the eagerness Gideon has for sampling new things, his most enthusiastic housemate by far when it comes to food. They're both children of deprivation and hardship in ways Paul doesn't understand - but can at least try to protect them against here.]

I'm sure they would.

[Anyone would like what Falco made for them if they had any heart, even if the boy was an incompetent - which he assuredly is not.]

If you ever do need food, you know that you can come to me, don't you? I'd like you to know that. I promise I won't even cook it, but we have plenty. I've made sure there's enough for you, too.

[ after his near startled pause, falco can’t help a breathy chuckle behind his smile that stands. he won’t even cook it, as if it’s a bad thing? falco hands the bowls that need beating to paul, and he says, with the utmost certainty. ]

You are going to cook things! Because I’m going to teach you.

[ that is, of course, gift number three. ]

So much for my clever plan to get out of my chores.

[Paul heaves a sigh, accepting his defeat and the mixing bowls with equally exaggerated resignation.

It's still odd, doing anything as mundane as a chore. He sets to beating the cake mixture with vigor anyway, because at least he's confident that can't go particularly wrong.

(He has no idea.)]

What are you going to teach me to cook, besides cake? You should know my family has a bad reputation in the kitchen.

[ a chuckle sounds, but it seems more like a suppressed snort. a reputation? falco can't help a snerk, and with a smile that's all playful, teasing, and no offense meant: ]

I heard. [ the rice incident was fairly recent. nothing can convince falco of an "accident". no escape, and no rest for paul! in the meantime, falco prepares the pans the cake should be eventually poured into, oiled, and floured. ] The first thing I tried to make alone was pasta, so that's one thing I want to teach. It's fast and feeds a lot of mouths. I'll find dishes with fish to learn, and you won't burn them or have to feed them to gulls.

[ he hopes. it's all about timing! ]

Your family was a noble family, right? Did people cook for them?

[ it's more an innocent question with an innocent, chatting finality. he doesn't seem bothered in the least if that was true. ]

I trust you to watch over my progress, oh sage of the sage.

[It's still challenging not to ruffle Falco's hair as a matter of course. He is eminently rufflable, and Paul has so often been on the other side of the ruffling equation it sometimes feels like striving for equilibrium when he passes the gesture on to Falco. Maybe that's how hair ruffling is learned, like cooking - one person to another over the millennia.

Maybe he's thinking of that to distract himself from other kitchens, ones he was scolded from whenever he snuck into them, full of the thrumming heart of a House that no longer beats.]

We did have cooks. But I meant our reputation as - have you ever heard of Tantalus? Supposedly, he's one of my ancestors.

[ oh hoh, he’s a sage, now. falco is positively elated despite the pleasant prods they give each other (and wherever the ruffles were and came, falco welcomes them with plush cheeks a dark greenish hue, but only because of his blood)— maybe he should continue to keep his focus on cooking, when it isn’t something medical in nature taking his time. he enjoys it, and he enjoys being on the end of “youngest” and “teacher”, a surprising package one would never usually be gifted at once. ]

Tantalus— [ he repeats the word, foreign to his tongue but eyes ever inspired to learn. ] A warrior?

[ it sounded like a warrior’s name. ]

A king.

[It occurs to him that the story as he knows it may need a measure of editing, out of consideration for certain facts now known to Paul about other talents Falco has beyond cooking.]

He was a man who thought he was more clever than the ancient gods. He set out to prove that they weren't all knowing by convincing them to partake of a feast with a forbidden ingredient. Most of the gods recognized what he'd done at once, of course, but one of them - the god of the harvest - was distracted, and ate from the feast.

[That the forbidden ingredient was Tantalus' son can be elided, even with the fact of his resurrection afterward.]

The gods punished him by condemning him to the underworld, where he stands in a pool of pure water under a tree laden with fruit. Every time he reaches for the fruit, it recedes above him, and every time he bends to the water, it retreats. They say that's where the word tantalizing comes from - but I don't want to end up in the underworld for what I serve people, so let's make sure these turn out well, hm? No forbidden ingredients - like Confetti, for example.

[ falco listens the same way any child would when presented with a good story; he enjoyed them, reminded of the times he’d sit with erwin by the kitchen of their odd little home in santa rosita, as he recovered from the ugly modification that was forced upon his jaw (that now holds no physical scars, all thanks to his biology). childish curiosity compels falco to question to himself what that forbidden ingredient was, but he refrains. and a good choice that was, for he’d have his doubt answered quite quickly if he simply continued as he did— oh, said his fallen features immediately. it didn’t take much more puzzle-fixing to understand that the secret wasn’t simply an animal, that’d be too easy and acceptable. it was something special. someone special. a person, he could guess as much. ]

Of course. You wouldn’t— and I’ll teach you how to start off better than that.

[ as much as paul has decided to make the story more appropriate, it still hits close to home, regardless. ]

Your family’s not, [ how would he word it, ] disfavored because of that, right?

[ he’s mildly concerned, but it doesn’t show entirely in how he still smiles and keeps serene— because he was disfavored for an ancestor’s sin. greatly so. ]

[So much for censorship. Paul does reach out this time, heedless of the powdery residue on his hand, and clasps the back of Falco's neck in a reassuring squeeze. He can make up for this, he's fairly sure - and he'll pick his next stories more wisely.]

Don't worry. It's one of the good stories, where everyone who got hurt was all right in the end. They put the ingredient back where it belonged.

[The next story, and the answer to Falco's question, is a better one, so long as he leaves out the first half.]

We were disfavored for a while after that, or so the stories go, until one of Tantalus' descendants, Orestes, was told by the god of the sun how to lift the stain on their House. He was sent to retrieve a statue of the sun god's sister, a great huntress, that had fallen from the heavens.

He traveled a great distance to arrive at the city where the statue had fallen, and was being worshiped by the people there, but once he arrived, he was captured - [Paul tosses in a grabbing gesture at the air, as if snatching up the hapless man] - and bound to be sacrificed, as was their custom with strangers. But do you know what happened? It turned out that his own lost sister was one of the priestesses, and she helped him to escape with the statue, winning back the gods' favor.

Or so they say. [He smiles at the smaller boy, setting down the last of his thoroughly mixed bowls.] All of that was a very long time ago.

[ success to both stories and mix-mixing (and a free powdery clap, he’ll be a mess after this is over— there must by a way to retaliate), falco brings over the floured pans read for pouring. the story has left a smile on his face, for sure, and what keeps it there is the prospect of an empty bowl to lick. yes, he’s giving paul his utmost attention as always, but not without a straying glance to said bowls to try and gauge out how much of it would be leftovers.

meanwhile, during all of that, it seems like confetti has woken up and quietly scouted anything within reach. a big bag of remaining flour? rummaged right through and leaving a trail of little paws and stubs everywhere he walked. he’s on his way to join the fun . . . but falco’s oblivious with his back turned. ]

They’re good stories— I’d read the books. [ if they were more stories than they were engraved history. the happiest of them was that neither really affected paul’s current place in the word that’s his, so to speak! ] Would they have stories of you, Paul?

[ it’d be . . . exciting, as the boy’s eyes say with a twinkle of fondness.

and maybe a gentle press of both floury hands on the older boy’s back. they’re even, he thinks. for now. ]

[Falco's interest in the bowls is noted. So, too, is the emergence of the round little creature from the bag, which Paul catches sight of and quickly averts his attention from in a moment of uncharacteristic gentle mischievousness. It's very...cute, he thinks, which isn't a word he uses often.

Instead of calling attention to Confetti, Paul turns back to the work, pouring the pans to partial fullness while perhaps reserving just a touch more of the batter than he needs. Falco's question and pressing hands are first answered with a contemplative hum, a light shake of his head.]

No. Not yet.

[Any other day, he might be troubled by the thought. Today, in this sunlit kitchen, slipping cake pans into the preheated oven, Paul can imagine stories better than the ones he fears.]

What sort of stories would do you think they might tell about me? And, of course, my faithful friend.

[A pointed and fond glance at Falco, in case he doesn't catch on immediately.]

[ his prayers have been answered for batter—! falco gradually begins wetting his lips as they pull wider in his smile, innocently cherished to be having the best part of any baking escapade. paul can have the other bowl, this one, he’ll have to be greedy with. with an entire spatula at the ready to scoop up a line of sweet (and probably unhealthy but who hasn’t done this—) batter, falco has flushed a slight tone of green around the cheeks. ]

—Me? I don’t think . . . [ he chuckles under his breath and ducks his head, meekly. he wasn’t the type to want any story about him, heroic or otherwise. ] I don’t think there’d be something about me. But I can imagine you— “The one who saves strangers, the stabber of the sea terror . . . ”

[ that spatula is going into his mouth, yes, so good. meanwhile, confetti has made it over to his human friend’s legs. all four of them. he has a little death grip on the cuff of paul’s pants, and seems insistent about being held. the way small infant things do, with the reaching and the doe eyes. ]

—He’s awake.

[Food safety is a concept Paul is still working to get his head around based on the dire warnings in his food preservation books. Raw eggs and flour have not yet been covered in the chapters he's read - and the day Paul Atreides learns about edible cookie dough will be a dangerous one for Falcos, wizards, and angels everywhere.]

You're sure? Nothing about the mighty winged savior? The bravest medic? I'd think-

[Whatever else he thinks is diverted by the tug on his pants, and Paul smiles delightedly down at the little creature. Of course he'll bend to scoop him up, supporting him like a human baby with a hand beneath his bottom and one curved around his spiky little head.]

Hello there. Aren't you something?

[The shell seems meant to be still on him, which is already a fascinating physiological quirk.]

"The roundest little creature". That should go in the story as well.

[ if cake batter wasn’t actually made of eggs, falco would give his little buddy some, right in the arms of his larger buddy— nearly dribbling the remaining spoonful down his chin from smiling too widely, falco quickly covers up (just a hand over his mouth) to clean up.

falco is quite convinced confetti could understand the meaning behind talk, at times, or had it maybe just been the energy of a given moment? he’s happily shrilling these chirping chuckles and giggles when roosted in the arms of the older boy, and seems to even celebrate his new title. ]

I’d get embarrassed— [ not because of the titles, per se, and more the attention it gathered. he almost could handle praise sung by a friend on his shoulders because of one single test. he could imagine stories passed down for ages. even now, at the singular praise from paul, the boy is flushing green. ] But he seems to like it?

[ what’s even better and gets the most attention: paul happens to know how to hold baby.

major points. major props. he is carefully eying the moment in hopes that not only would it burn into his memory, but rub off on his own baby-sitting skills. ]

[The way Paul holds Confetti is based on some of his earliest memories, clearer and more vivid than most people's recollection of their infancies. Months ago, Paul had though his lack of experience with children would make him inept with them.

He knows better now. He was a child once, well-loved and well-cared for. All he has to do is think about how he was treated, and proceed from there. It's not perfect - all he has to do is remember the story of Tantalus from minutes ago to be reminded of that - but it's a good place to start.]

You know - in a lot of stories, they put different people together. We could combine the two of you, save you any embarrassment?

[Would Confetti like to be rocked, a little? Paul hopes so.]

Or maybe we make the story about him completely. What kind of adventures does he get into? Besides bags of flour.

Birthday Party

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