closedish to cool guys having chill day

[megatheorem]

Who: a bunch of funky friends invited by Viktor and Palamedes*
What: Having a Party in a field with Fireworks
When: the second week-ish in May
Where: (the field outside of) Pal and Viktor's bunker in Gaze

Content Warnings: alcohol and teens drinking it, irresponsible use of explosives, see threads for anything else that comes up

*If you have friendly CR with Palamedes please feel free to handwave that he mentioned this happening, also if your character has CR with a Pal Friend (a pal^2) who would invite them along, he's broadly allowing this. It's not a formal affair in the slightest lmaooo

--

afternoon/evening.

Earlier in the morning on the day of The Fireworks Field Party (tm), Palamedes makes sure to send a quick location ping to anyone who's never been to the Sixth bunker (also tm) before, because it is, indeed, just in a field somewhere in Gaze. The treeline is comfortably distant from the door to said bunker, which is the only real indication anything is out here besides a few "big rocks" that he names, in his message, as landmarks.

As an afterthought, he has set up a little trail of mason jars containing glowing mushrooms to lead the way to The Field, helpfully. The Field is what it sounds like: a dang field, just slightly ominous in the Gaze fashion, although besides the usual somebody's-watching feeling, it's grassy and spacious for kitschy lawn games. Among the things Palamedes has provided (upon recommendation of a shopkeeper, so like, do not perceive his choices, they were made for him) include:

1. Just a load of blankets, big cozy ones dutifully spread out for chilling on, on the ground.

2. Throwing game Crossbones, definitely chosen because of the bones (they are wooden sticks), and just kind of left sitting there waiting because your host does not know how to play physical games.

3. beanbag horseshoes because it rocks

4. Just, like, a specific blanket that has pencils and blank paper sitting on it... This is a free station, no one will question what art happens here.

Harrow has also provided bone chairs for alternate seating, which are precisely what they sound like.

Eventually, the field will also feature a snack table, which is a community effort, and a booze table, which is slightly supervised in the way that your esteemed host(s) will not permit booze and cherry bombs at the same time.

And, because it's an open field in Trench, there is also a table where emergency incense is waiting. Wandering too far from the space immediately around the bunker (which, it's a big space, you'd have to go far) will eventually lead you to blood wards on the ground, on the trunks of a few trees, etc. Don't touch these. Don't be gross.


the fucken fireworks.

It's fireworks. Once it's dark, there are even more glowing mushroom jars and homemade alchemy glowsticks from Waver to be passed around, somehow, and at least some of the little beanbags glow in the dark, ooh!! Viktor has provided cherry bombs to be used with at least a little caution, for god's sake. There are also some slightly larger fireworks in much shorter supply, from a shop, that will be closely guarded until someone with pyrotechnics talent convinces Palamedes they deserve one. Godspeed.

Broadly: this is a fireworks party (tm) for individual wee ones you can throw around on your own, with only a brief smattering of the big ones that light up the whole sky above the field. It's a chill time for cool buds, fire safety is encouraged, so is vibing on the blankets and enjoying a nice evening.

At various times, local dope musician Anna Amarande will be providing some light musical entertainment, for vibes.


the bunker i guess.

The party is not in here, but for reference:
-it's locked via numpad and neither of these stickbug nerds are giving out the code but they'll open the door if asked... you don't have to leave the place to go to the bathroom lmf
-it's a bunker. it's one room and a bathroom in the back. it's full of disorganized nerd stuff and an oversized moon orb and pal's mean omen, rocky the cool rat (harpy eagle), who will aggressively flap at anyone with sticky fingers until they leave
-the code is 69420 so if you're super funny like gideon you COULD guess it

Comments

[mehanizovati]

[yes, that does sound largely religious to the viktor of now. in time he'll understand more about 'god,' that he walks this world and is not the impossible figure viktor would have expected from his brief understanding. maybe if it were he would be more careful, or maybe more pointed in his curiosity.

for now? it is simply a way to know ortus and his world better, as the man seems inclined to share what apparently is largely forgotten.]

Eh, that does not seem the sort of matter that should be so easily forgotten by the rest. [then again, planets apart. it still brings him a level of awe imagining.] If it is a tomb is this 'beast' not already dead? [... a pause.] Hm, I suppose that is a more complicated matter for necromancers.

[but that aside ortus speaks like he is writing the legend of it on the spot, making viktor's lips quirk faintly. he cannot help but say,] You should perform your poetry, perhaps in Cellar Door. You have an good energy for it.

[noniad]

[Between the dark and his paint, Ortus knows that his blush will be imperceptible. He rolls the cherry bombs in his palm again, then considers the possibility of accident, and sets them gingerly on his lap instead. It would not do to meet the same fate twice. There would be too much of the cheaply ironic in it.]

I have thought about it.

[He closes both of his hands around the near-empty cup, dwarfing it, the admission unexpected and shy. He has thought about it, but he has submerged that thought so deeply that he does not understand how readily it comes to him now. He clears his throat, briskly, as if to knock the past words aside.]

It is a more complicated matter, and one whose workings I am not privy to. It is a sacred mystery. [This, once more, is less fraught a topic.] I do not judge those who would avert their eyes from an unfathomable end. The shadow of the Tomb has little comfort to offer, save duty, and silence. Such things do not serve as balm for most.

[mehanizovati]

I would come to hear it. [said simply enough. he's never been very good at this sort of encouraging talk, charisma, things that jayce had in spades thank gods. what he does have is the simplicity of honesty- he would come, he is intrigued by what ortus would perform rather than just offering support. it makes the words come out frankly, like the tail end of a shrug.

of course he can also recognize a little bashfulness there, so he'll let it settle at that and focus on... well, a far more complicated matter it seems.] I admit there is something odd to it for me, the idea that there are those born into guarding something they have never seen the contents of. It feels like a recipe for disaster, those tales of boxes never meant to be open but the curious always fails and unleashes disaster.

Gods know I would be too curious to resist. [said with a soft snort, like a flaw he is aware is indeed a flaw but doesn't always see it as such.]

[noniad]

[Ortus ducks his head at Viktor's plain statement, shoulders curling in a hunch that bears all the marks of a habitual one. He does not know how to answer to such frank interest, offered without pity or mollification.

Viktor, he is coming to realize, knows he is Ortus, but he does not know that he is Ortus, with all that is attendant upon him. He sees only a man from a peculiar world. Ortus wonders if it is as odd a thing for Viktor to be unrecognized (however ingloriously) as it is for him.]

Those with such curiosity rarely keep it overlong in the Ninth. [He does shrug, a wide, spreading gesture that pulls him back upright.] It would be heresy and damnation to even approach the threshold.

[He smiles, a slight, disused expression, replete with dry and dusty warmth.]

So of course, we all would talk about it, save for the most pious children. I confess I did not number among them. One of my first poems was a catalogue of the ways I imagined that the Tomb might bleed, mangle, disintegrate, and otherwise lay waste to a trespasser.

Perhaps not so suitable for performance here, given our company. Or perhaps not. With some revision, of course, as I have much matured as a poet since.