Entry tags:

Merry Winsol! (Open)

Who: Daemon & everyone in line of sight that he can personally issue the invite to.
Where: Daemon's cabin at the treeline on the northwest side of the lake.
When: Evening on December 21st — the winter solstice, from sundown to sunrise
What: A Winsol party/observation (Daemon's canon Christmas/Yule/New Year's tradition)
Warnings: Blood and probably spiders (a blanket warning just in case, for Daemon's canon)

(Open) (This is a mingle, so feel free to toplevel, etc etc)

Merry Winsol

In the two weeks leading up to the 21st, Daemon personally passes a quiet invitation to anyone (and everyone) for the longest night of the year: "I'm opening my place up for Winsol, in case you'd like to observe the holiday in company. We'll drink hot blooded rum and dance for the glory of Witch." He doesn't expect anyone to stay all night—unless of course they want to—but at midnight he intends to toast Witch with anyone who wants to celebrate with him. If he catches you after the two days of freezing/boiling in your own skin, he mentions that maybe sticking around other people for the longest night of the year might be wiser than being alone.

Winsol Night

On the night of the solstice, he opens up his cabin to guests at sundown. His livingroom furniture has been pushed to the sides to make a dance floor and a fire has been laid in the fireplace. Snacks and the aforementioned spiced rum are set on the shoved-aside kitchen table. Of course the rum isn't necessarily rum or necessarily the good stuff, but he's been planning this for a while so there's a little of everything. And although he did invite everyone with 'hot blooded rum,' no blood has been included. He's a traditionalist, but that's not the kind of thing you spring on someone.

The snacks are half home-made, using some of the supplies that Gilia had so thoughtfully provided for everyone. There are little jewel-shaped cakes, cookies, and cured meats. Things he from the store that have other holiday names on them have been overwritten with "Winsol," but left otherwise intact.

There's a small pine tree set up in one corner, decorated with small shiny ornaments and gently burning witchlight in various jewel-tones. There are other pine boughs scattered elsewise, along with ribbons he's salvaged from the Christmas decorations provided, making the place look thoroughly decorated. Also there are some tasteful spiderweb motifs? For some reason?

There's also background music!
[Christmas Music | Winter Music]

A crystal (Well, "crystal." It's a rock. Maybe rose quartz?) settled on top of a woven mess of spidersilk in a wooden frame is playing music. It's orchestral-type and unobtrusive, and though the instruments don't exactly sound like flutes and violins and cellos, they're similar. But it's pleasant. A bit on the classical side. Lots of strings.

Slightly haunting.

Enough to give the evening a sense that Daemon is splitting the difference between a celebration, a religious observance, and a gentle sort of wake.

At Midnight

Daemon, as host, makes sure that anyone there with him has a glass of either the spiced rum or something else of their choice. As the deepest dark approaches, he gives a tiny explanation for exactly who and what they are celebrating:

Witch, among the Blood, is the living myth, and she is brought into the world by those who listen to the dreamers in the Darkness. The strongest dreams are plucked forth and woven into a web that binds those dreams to flesh. We celebrate the season of the dark to honor Witch, as she is both human and Other, a gift from the Darkness itself.

On the longest night of all, we toast her and offer our prayers and dreams and hopes at the time when the Darkness is wrapped mostly tightly around us and our dreams might be the strongest. And then—we celebrate.

The toast itself is to Witch, of course, but also to new friends and to avoiding the final death.

After Midnight

After the toast at midnight, Daemon invites everyone to dance. He continues to play host all the way until dawn. By dawn, the fire has burnt low and the music has all but faded out from where the crystal rests on now-blackened spidersilk.

His doors close when the first light breaks over the lake and the night has let them go.

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Playing Host

Daemon has his eyes peeled for anyone without a drink in their hand. Spotting someone, he sidles up to them, gives them a smile, and asks, "Shall I get you something?"

After The Toast

Post-Midnight

Daemon's melancholy is a little more obvious as the night slides towards morning. His smiles get a little more false and his efforts to talk to people a little more forced—but he is making the effort. Anyone still there gets to bear witness to his attempts to socialize and his polite, "What kind of mid-winter traditions are you familiar with, if not Winsol?"

Wildcard~

He's the host, after all. Feel free to accost him.

Edited 2020-12-22 01:04 (UTC)

Wen Ning stays late, mostly because he's not really used to the societal format of party invitations, and doesn't realize that you're allowed to leave before the party is over. Besides, the cabin is warm and festive, and Daemon is a gracious host. He wouldn't want to be rude and abandon him just to go home to sleep. He's sitting down near the music-playing crystal, watching it with no small fascination, when Daemon approaches.

"Ah, well. We have Dongzhi Festival, to celebrate the solstice and the change in seasons toward days with more light. You gather with your family and eat tangyuan, and dumplings, and worship at your ancestral temple."

Daemon takes a seat nearby, within conversation range, and hums thoughtfully. He's always been curious about cultures, and it's a good distraction. "Sounds similar, though I'm unfamiliar with tangyuan," he says and then waves around at his attempt at festivities. "This is the midpoint of a thirteen-day festival season, and the night when all of the most influential of aristos would throw the fanciest parties. Territory rulers are supposed to host one, as well, and I suppose I got in the habit. It felt wrong not to at least try this year."

He considers for a moment, then, before asking, "Ancestral temple? Who or what do you worship there?" He could make guesses, but 'ancestral' means a couple of different things to him.

"I-I don't know what an aristo is, but it definitely seems like a fancy party to me, so I think you're doing a good job!"

Then again, Wen Ning hasn't been to a whole lot of parties, so he doesn't have much to compare it to.

"Oh, that's where you pray to honor your ancestors. You burn incense and leave offerings, that kind of thing."

Huffing a laugh from his nose, Daemon just offers a wry smile. "This is very small compared to what I used to host at home. Though I must say, I prefer it that way. Aristos are...well, they're the aristocracy of any one territory, and they often bring politics with them even to events such as this. Even and especially when it's meant to honor Witch."

Considering, he asks, "Would you like refreshment of some sort?"

"Oh..." The aristos sound a lot like many of the higher profile cultivation sects Wen Ning is familiar with. The Lanling Jin, especially. He suppresses a shudder, to think of all the years he spent trapped in Lanling while Jin Guangshan threw lavish parties... That's nothing to think about at a party.

When offered refreshments, Wen Ning blinks, surprised. "Ah. S-sure. I mean, yes, please! Thank you."

He wants nothing more than to be as polite as he can, and refusing refreshments seems awfully rude to him, even if he isn't particularly hungry or thirsty.

"Of course. A drink, then? Do you have a preference for alcoholic or non?" And without any emphasis or change in his casual tone, he continues, "Or would you prefer something that contains a little deer's blood? I did not prepare much—it's less of an observed tradition and more of a historical one—but I do have some to offer, if it would please you."

Strictly speaking, it's much too late for a girl like Naminé to be up. She's not entirely a stranger to midnight, but her eyes are tired and her body language is sedate - the glass in her hands still has a bit of whatever non-alcoholic drink she could procure under the circumstances, yet she doesn't appear to be paying it any mind. It droops slightly in her fingers, and were she any less careful a girl it might be at risk of falling from them.

All that being said, however, Daemon might find that her focus is nevertheless clear enough to take notice of his behavior. (She wasn't there a moment ago; she must have just walked up, surely with some purpose for approaching him.) Despite the sleepiness lurking around her eyelids, her gaze is clear enough as she considers him with a tilted head, only to straighten it as he explains himself.

"You have a wife...?" she echoes, with the sort of surprise that suggests she's never actually thought about the possibility before, but finds the notion pleasant enough. She had - has - other questions, yet those are quick to take a backseat in the face of such a realization. After all, so few of the people she's met have been married; it's something of a novelty to her.

"I did," he says, a wry twist to his mouth. He certainly hadn't seen her pop up beside him. "We were married for sixty years, roughly, though she has since passed. I'm surprised to see you still awake."

With a gesture, he invites her to sit on a pair of slightly squashy (and very ugly) parlor chairs that have a small table between them, the better for her to talk without falling over. All of the youngest were usually ushered to bed after the toasts, whenever they managed to stay up that late, and while he's happy enough to entertain, he's got an eye on her just in case she needs to nod off.

"Join me in sitting?"

Sixty years...? Although her expression takes on what could almost be called awe at this information, her first thought isn't actually that Daemon doesn't look old enough to have been married that long. Rather, she struggles to wrap her mind around that span of time in and of itself, much less having a partner to share it with. Having only existed for a year or two herself, it's a real challenge for her to imagine spending nearly sixty more of those periods in the company of someone she cherished enough to marry them. And then to lose them after all that - her mouth turns downward immediately as her sleepy mind finally gets to that part.

"I'm sorry," she says before she's had time to rethink it, voice somber and quiet with sympathy. Only after that does she consider that maybe he'd rather not linger on the subject and abruptly shakes her head, blinking to try to clear the drowsiness from her eyes. "Not-- about still being awake, that is, about the... other part."

Briefly, she wonders whether or not she was supposed to leave sooner. But, no, the party hadn't seemed over, and he didn't ask her to go, so--

There's no use worrying about it now. The girl nods promptly in the wake of his offer, and upon sitting down in one of the chairs gives a soft, 'oof' as she sinks just a bit more deeply into the cushion than she expected to. (After all, she's accustomed to more austere furnishings without much in the way of comfort.)

Daemon definitely does not look old enough to have spent sixty years doing anything. He settles into his own chair, loosing a puff of dust that makes him blink and wrinkle his nose. Rustic living seemed to catch him continually by surprise with how much very fine grit seemed to sneak in from the surrounding woods. He can't help but smile at the noise she makes as she sinks into her own chair, though.

Once he's seated, though, he tilts his head in a gracious acknowledgement of her sympathy and offers a quiet, "Thank you."

After a moment, he continues with a, "It's been over a decade and a still miss her. This holiday—well. It's her holiday." He furrows his brow, briefly, and visibly reconsiders his topic, accounting for her youth and the fact that he's currently...fairly maudlin, in a way he thought he'd learned how to hide much better than this. She certainly doesn't need to bear the brunt of his mood. When he continues, his words are lighter and more amused. "Tonight would be very little different for me if I were back where I belonged, rather than here, though I would have had a different group of friends and neighbors to entertain. By which I mean thank you also for joining me tonight. I learned a while ago that it's much better to celebrate this holiday among friends."

Although at first she clutches her glass carefully with both hands, soon enough she spots the opportunity to set it on the table between them. It feels like the right thing to do to avoid letting herself be distracted from the conversation itself, so presently she places the object down with a sort of gentleness that comes naturally - especially when handling stuff that doesn't belong to her. Thereafter the girl lifts her gaze to regard Daemon with a look that would probably be less obviously concerned if she were awake enough to rein it in; the big, sad blue eyes really don't make it much of a secret.

Lips pursing in a frown, she gives a small, wordless nod, as if to confirm that of course he'd still miss his wife, decade passed or not. Fully prepared to listen to however he might feel the need to voice his mourning, Naminé doesn't interrupt - nor does she feel any need to speak up about it when she realizes a beat late that he's deliberately changing the topic. Assuming it's for his sake rather than her own, she's not at all reluctant to follow his lead.

"It's no trouble," she says automatically, just after having perked at the unexpected thanks. 'Friends' is one of those words that always seems to make her bashful, but she still manages a sincere, "Thank you for inviting me. I'm, um-- very grateful to be able to celebrate with you and the others." Or to celebrate at all, really, since parties haven't exactly been in substantial supply during her lifetime. Which does bring her back to her initial curiosity, even though it takes her a second to figure out how to phrase the segue.

"Although actually... this holiday doesn't seem to exist in any of the other worlds that I'm familiar with." Looking a touch sheepish, "I know you explained a little bit before, but-- I think there are some things that I'm still confused about."

There is no reason to hide that he's studying her, so he doesn't, his gaze turning thoughtful. He really...had not meant to concern a child. This was not something she was responsible for, or should be responsible for. He does dip his head in acknowledgement of her thanks for the invitation and responds with a simple, "My pleasure, of course."

He grows a little amused at her non-question, though. "What are you confused about?" This is safer territory, and it allows him to shift in his chair and release some of the tension he hadn't consciously been carrying. "I don't know as I would expect Winsol to exist anywhere else, honestly, as it really is Blood specific. Even the landen in my world don't celebrate it. They have other midwinter holidays, as far as I'm aware. They are not the dreamers of Witch, and so have no reason to revere her."

Resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin on his fist, he offers a small smile.

Despite being a perceptive girl, Naminé's preoccupied enough at the present moment to not be overly aware she's being observed. Or at least, that's not where her focus is; instead she spends the moment after his question attempting to word her own inquiry, only for his following comments to add yet more to the list of things she has to wonder about. Lips pressing together, she resists the urge to admit a self-conscious, 'Everything you just mentioned.' With so many words she doesn't know the meaning - or context - of, it's hard to know where to start.

But he's smiling at her and so she does the same in return, flickering through it briefly, a little uncertainly, yet not without sincerity. "Well..."

Ah, perhaps there. "You've mentioned Witch several times, and in your speech you talked about what she is. I guess I'd like to know who she is...? Or-- why it is that you revere her." Because of course the name catches Naminé's attention, and when she's struggling so much to wrap her head around basically any aspect of this peculiar entity - who is apparently worthy of a holiday - she can't help but want to understand more.

Some party celebrating witches isn't Renfri's idea of a good or safe time, but the lure of a good drink and the need to check out her - alleged - fellow prisoners has her reluctantly showing up anyway.

She keeps to herself and the shadows at the party, though, tense and taut, observing and not actually daring to touch the alcohol that looks so tempting.

The crystal playing music attracts her attention time and again, unsettled and dark looks she sends its way.

"You did lure us here with the promise of free drinks," she points out when she is approached by the stranger who had handed her an invitation.

With the limited number of people who live within their odd little terrarium and the fraction of that who accepted his invitation to Winsol, Daemon has found himself able to keep a general eye on most of his guests. The young woman whose name he had not yet caught seems...disquiet. And his music player seemed to catch her attention, though he is uncertain as to why. So when he offers her refreshment it's with a polite and careful deference.

At her reply, he offers her a small but genuine smile. "I did indeed." He takes only a moment to perform a small bit of Craft to vanish and call in one of the mismatched glasses of spiced rum from where they had been arrayed on the table at the side of the room. It appears in his hand and he offers to it to her with casual tilt to his head. "Hot buttered rum in the tradition."

More magic. Great. It would have been too much to hope for the music to be a fluke.

She narrows her eyes at the glass, then at the man who is so flaunting his magic, and tension prickles down her spine. For a moment, she watches the drink as if the glass might turn into a snake at any moment - which it could, going by the magic of her own world.

Then she reaches out and accepts it, though even the appeal of alcohol has faded with the sheer overwhelming danger she feels here.

"That's an interesting way of serving your guests you have," she remarks, voice a little too jovial for the tension in her body.

With as much time as Daemon has spent in various courts, he doesn't miss the increased tension in his guest's frame, nor her narrowed eyes, nor the way she is looking at the drink as if it, itself, is dangerous. He tilts his head as he watches her hold her drink.

He's unclear on what exactly set her off, but he is well-versed in dealing with those skittish in the face of his reputation at home. This couldn't be quite the same—they are, after all, of different worlds, and he has little reputation here as yet—but the principles apply. He tucks his long, dark-lacquered fingernails into the pockets of his slacks and rounds his shoulders, slowly and gently, no sudden moves. He also shifts his eyeline away from her and toward first a couple of his other guests and then to his music crystal and then to the fireplace in a casual sweep of his cabin's interior.

"No reason to walk all the way to the table when a little bit of Craft does the same job," Daemon says, his tone deliberately friendly. "Is the method in some way of note to you?"

"Magic?" she echoes, her voice just a little bit sharper than she would have liked, a little bit sharper than appropriate for a party. She's still holding on to the drink without taking a sip and she knows it should be fine, she knows, but... It just makes her skin prickle.

"I've had a run-in or two with magic over the course of my life." Yes. The kind of run-in where sorcerers destroy your childhood and your life. She can't say she's a fan.

"As a rule of thumb, I try to keep my distance to it." She flashes Daemon an amused look, brow arched in challenge. "And magic does best to keep its distance to me, too."

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Merry Winsol! (Open)

Merry Winsol

Winsol Night

At Midnight

After Midnight

Daemon Sadi | OTA

Playing Host

After The Toast

Post-Midnight

Wildcard~

post-midnight

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After The Toast

I'm here, I promise XD

I shall not dispute you o7

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Playing Host

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