[SWE] bark at the moon

Like Dygra, the blood moon is not a slave to routine and order - she appears when she sees fit, and for many across Caido (many Ancients in particular) her presence has been sorely missed. That explains, perhaps, the enormous turnout before the Everlasting Bonfire at the Inner Quarter despite the spitting rain and flooded walkways. The mud is still a problem, the drizzly weather is still miserable, but when the moon shows her face, none of that seems to matter.

Music, lively and frenetic, bursts from an undercover area where the performers won't be put off by any downpours, and a few errant fireworks go off overhead, likely detonated by some young troublemakers (or old ones; it is the Hollowed Grounds after all). The smell of barbecue and ale and sweet treats laces through the air, and as long as you've got good shoes and a raincoat, there's no reason why the night can't be a good one.

A really good one for some, if the chaos of the blood moon has anything to do with it. 

---

Welcome to the Blood Moon Festival for 320PC! Feel free to have your characters join and celebrate, but be mindful for the potential for chaos at this event.

Remember: you must post THREE times in the ME for it to count for MP/Levelling.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"Ugh, finally." Danta's grin - fanged and overbright and promising nothing but chaos - spreads wide as he enters the Inner Quarter. He hasn't bothered with an umbrella tonight, figuring that if the skies open upon them it's just Dygra's way of adding a little more entropy into the festivities. He's dressed warmly, at least, in a coat and gloves and with sturdy, waterproof boots, his arm laced around Astaroth's waist as they head through the fray and towards the food, the music and the bonfire.

"This is your first one of these since you stopped being a rock, right?" He asks, turning that bright smile up to the butcher, his hand trying to sneak into his back pocket already. "If nothing else, I say we get wasted and maybe get naked in the bonfire. And if you don't want to, I can absolutely go and find Charlie for it instead." His laughter is easy even if it borders on something manic; evidently the charged energy of the night is already getting under Danta's skin.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

The butcher takes it in while Danta laments that it’s finally here – the Blood Moon festival that he hasn’t been a part of in centuries. His gaze drifts toward the bonfire in the distance with the glittering jewels, the way the mud still clings to parts of the cobblestones, the glowing scarlet hue that the Inner Quarter has taken on from fireworks randomly popping off in the distance. He’s still stiff, but limber enough that it’s easy to walk hand in hand with the Maverick, even dressed with the waterproof jacket, cut just high enough to make it easy for Danta to slip his hand into his back pocket as he sidles a touch closer to him and tightens his arm around his waist.

“It is my first since reawakening, yes.” He confirms, tilting his head toward Danta with a shark-tooth grin of his own, letting the chaos fill him and rejuvenate him. So much so, that with the prospect that Danta puts in his mind, he can’t help the way he all but leans into the idea and bumps it up. “Oh, I am not opposed. We can still invite Charlie, even.” Raising his brow playfully, he squeezes Danta and takes in the charged sensation in the air, the soft chuckle leaving him. “Come, I think I spot those taffies I like.” That just so happens to be next to the liquors. A perfect win-win.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

charlie

Charlie erupts into the scene like the blood moon herself has found a body to inhabit, all molten joy and wicked sparkle and a tail that cannot decide whether to curl, flick, or point dramatically at everything delicious within reach.

She is wearing—well, wearing is generous—she’s draped in a scandalous suggestion of black lace that clings more out of enthusiasm than physics, strips of it tracing over breasts and hips like someone whispered “modesty” and she laughed hard enough to tear the word in half. Her legs gleam with rainwater and glitter, her heels are tall enough to offend, and somehow she moves in them with the effortless grace of someone dancing on air. In fact, she is dart!ing—literally—making her shimmer in and out of existence between groups as if the night can’t hold her in one place for longer than a heartbeat.

Everywhere she goes, she explodes like champagne; bubbly, bright, and probably getting someone drunk just by proximity.

"The orgy tent is that way!" she hollers with all the joy of a woman announcing free cupcakes, pointing with two fingers and a dangerously excited tail toward a crimson canopy throbbing with bass. "Consent wall’s inside, snacks on the left, toys on the right, and remember, if you bleed on the silk sheets, may Dygra bless you!"

She vanishes in a puff of laughter and reappears near a cluster of wide-eyed newcomers, sweeping them toward the bonfire with a wiggle of her hips and a theatrical gasp. "Sacrifices start in thirty and offerings can be placed by the fire to be thrown in later, and yes! You can sacrifice your ex, just make sure you do it in the rage room!" Her tail taps a drumbeat on the ground beside her, thrilled, impatient, electric with anticipation.

Another dart, another flash of lace and bare skin, and she’s perched on the edge of the Everlasting Bonfire like the prettiest demon ever carved from smoke. She shimmies, absolutely delighted by every shriek, laugh, and scandalised gasp she harvests.

Dygra’s night. Her night. The blood moon blazing above like it’s winking down at her personally. Charlie lives for this, and she shines like the chaos was made just for her.

devils that you know
raise worse hell than a stranger

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

ditch the clowns, get the crown

Flora and Kaisel depart the Sugartide to head toward the festival, her curls pinned up in a messy gold-dusted knot that gleams with every flare of firelight. The leather corset Kai had helped tie her into hugs her ribs with the kind of confident certainty she’s been craving all season, black and glossy and laced tight enough that every breath feels like a tight hug. Matching leather pants cling sleek and artful to her hips, boots cutting through the mud like she intends to charm it into behaving.

She keeps herself tucked against Kaisel’s side from the moment their feet hit the flooded walkways, her arm looped through his with an unthinking, possessive ease born from love rather than fear. The rain spatters warm against her shoulders, caught on the small shield of his body as they weave past flood-shiny tents and roaring laughter and the kaleidoscope flares of fireworks fizzing overhead. Everything is noise and colour and heat, and Flora feels a slow, rising hum of delight for it.

She’s still grinning up at him when a distant voice cuts through the din; someone yelling enthusiastically about an orgy that may or may not be public, organised, planned, unplanned, or possibly already underway. Her fingers immediately flutter against Kai’s side in the soft, quick language between couples, her nails tracing along the seam of his shirt before she rises onto her toes and leans in close enough for her breath to warm the shell of his ear. "If anything tonight feels uncomfortable," she murmurs, smooth and intentional, her tone dipped low so it belongs only to him despite the riot of sound around them, "all you have to do is give me a look, or mention Rupert, and we’ll go. Okay?"

Her aqua eyes lift to his, reflecting the wild, flickering gem-bright colours of the Everlasting Bonfire as if the fire has decided to live inside her for the night; they’re soft and alert and threaded through with a fierce kind of devotion she doesn’t bother to hide anymore. She holds him with that gaze, steady and knowing, refusing to let him fall into the same kind of corner he’d been pushed into the last time Ancients and alcohol had mixed around them.

Flora

baby i'm the one to beat

Don't need to know where we're going

He'd very much like to help her out of this leather corset, but he's minding his manners for the time being. That's made all the easier when her arm claims his, keeping him from running his hand by 'mistake' across the sleek curve of her ass, which is tucked away in leather like a dare and he's no mind for truth. Pity, but he leans into the warm tug of her body all the same, holding her with a force that's neither obvious nor mild, as adamant as gravity.

He does have leather on too, actually. Just not nearly as alluring as hers, but an unzipped jacket layered over a purple hoodie. If he's wearing the hood, which he currently is due to the rain and their arrival, it's designed to give him a dragon's head due to it's shape, embroidered eyes, and stitched in tongue and teeth on the edges. The rest of his outfit is some purposefully torn, black skinny jeans that also happen to make his ass look fantastic, thank you. His boots cut a path alongside hers, enough traction built into them to avoid any immediate mishaps with the mud.

Certain that he had just seen Charlie appearing and then vanishing after a scream about orgies, of all things, his attention is distant until he feels the pulse of her fingers. With a splash of firework light spilling over them in vibrant green, he inclines his head more towards her. "Thank you," he says back low and grateful after a moment, a smile warming his features in an unexpected way at the consideration in her words. He squishes her against him tighter, not certain how else to express how much that means to him except to smother her in his grip. He leans in over the firelight dazzling her features and claims a short kiss, if only not to interrupt their stride too badly.

"I'm rather looking forward to having a good time tonight though," he reassures, figuring that this isn't a place where she has to be queen or he has to patrol, and they can just be. Not that either had particularly been why it went south last time, but each day with her since has layered reassurance and love over the moment, and this just another addition to it, that he isn't worried in the slightest. "And I'd hate for Rupert to have to ruin...what is a much bigger party than I imagined when Charlie first invited us." He trails off for a moment as he glances up from her to the sweeping array of heat and light and chaos around them, someone half naked running by with a shout and a flick of their tail. He shakes his head faintly with a laugh, steering them towards the drink table like he already knows they'll need some liquor to ease into this, or at least he does.

Kaisel

It'll all make sense when we arrive

VESPER

Rain slicks the stones into a dull mirror, broken only by the restless spill of feet and the gleam of the Everlasting Bonfire throwing gemstone-coloured light across the mud. Vesper lingers at the edge of it all, where the shadows pool thickest between two market stalls shuttered against the weather, his coat collar turned up high enough that the falling drizzle beads and rolls off without ever touching his throat. All black tonight—shirt, coat, trousers, gloves—every line of him sharpened by the absence of colour until he feels like a negative cut into the riot of festival brightness. The drink in his hand is something smoky and strong enough to fight the damp, raising a thin curl of vapour each time he draws it close.

The last time he stood in a festival this crowded the noise had scraped raw against him, every mind a blade drawn too close to the bone, but he’s steadier now, anchored by practice and Jack’s stubborn insistence that shielding was a skill like anything else: narrow the channel, tune the frequency, pay attention only to what you intend to hold. It works well enough. He lets the storm of minds wash by until one thought or another hooks his attention, a flicker of lust or hunger or drunken exhilaration brightening like a spark in the dark. It’s a private little game to follow the thread of someone’s mood as they pass, never far enough to trespass, never close enough to leave a footprint.

Still, his attention keeps circling the same two gravitational points, no matter how much he pretends otherwise.

Jack had said he might try to convince the girls to come up, and Vesper finds himself scanning the crowd out of habit: the quicksilver laugh he’d recognise anywhere, Calypso’s restless spark of trouble, Nova’s warm curiosity burning steady as a lantern. Nothing yet. Only the murmur of strangers, the catch and break of fireworks overhead, and the press of the rain-heavy air.

And then there’s Colt. Her mind is harder to miss when she’s close—sharp, restless, fierce in a way that cuts through the static with a unique clarity—and catches himself listening for that particular cadence, the electricity of it, the way her thoughts tend to flare hot and immediate before settling into deeper currents.

the stars are pulling at my hair, and every part of me
and you don't understand how I bleed

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

On an all night high off a midnight kiss

"We're going." That had been her greeting to Hawthorn when he opened his door for her. What she had not known then, is how her decision to finally answer the question she posed to him at the start of the season, coincided with a grand festival. The event became abundantly clear once they got into town. After securing some rooms, they naturally needed to take a peek.

Her eye is drawn skyward as another errant firework streaks overhead in a burst of color and noise. It lights the pair of them up in a brilliance of blue for a moment, steadily scattering out and fading back into the night. "This is quite the get together," she leans in to whisper to him as if this is unknown gossip. She feels rather underdressed, although, she's seen such varying states of dress tonight that admittedly it seems the least of her worries.

Not planning to party, she's got on her usual style of boots, jeans, a cotton shirt, and a jacket to ward off any stray drops. Not planning to work either, these are at lease clothes that haven't seen cowshit before and have a rhinestone or floral pattern stitched in here and there, but not what she might have selected if given the choice in the matter for this.

She turns from the stall to deliver Thorn his drink, her own bumping his in a quick and silent cheers before she takes a sip of the margarita. Her gaze roams over the rim, quietly searching for one familiar face amid the crowd. Not the setting she expected to hunt for him in, but stands to reason he could still be here.

Colt

Got turned around in that setting sun and it turned into missing you

JACK

Bypassing Jack Tar Landing to set the Ark hovering somewhere in the fields just over the Inner Quarter, it's makes for a much quicker journey into the proceedings for Jack, the crew, and any assorted Marins who come to join him. He'd said he'd head up for the festival Vesper had mentioned, and here he is (#sogoodatdaddying), the Captain's mind sharp for absence in the clamour of thought and feeling among the crowd.

It's that blip in the network of minds that leads him towards the young demigod, a drink already in his hand and a cigarette between his lips, boots splashing through puddles and body twisting with ease to melt through any less-than-sober attendees. He pauses when he's just between the two stalls, not obviously standing in the shadows with Vesper but giving him the option to peek out into the light if he's feeling social enough.

"This is fuckin' chaos," he mumbles around his cigarette, taking it from his lips to flick the ash from it and turning his collar up against a chill wind in the night that's already threatening more rain. Dressed to sail in a faded linen shirt and a burgundy vest with his Kingmaker Coat thrown atop, he's not exactly in a party frame of mind either; not when his magic is honed sharp for the first sign of painful familiarity ghosting into its range.

VESPER

Vesper feels the shift in the crowd long before Jack’s boots splash into the alley’s mouth. Not through Jack of course, but through the minds brushing past the captain like reeds bending toward a passing storm. A flicker of recognition here, a sharpened pulse of curiosity there, someone thinking about the impossible shine of a legendary coat before they even register the man wearing it. Bright blue eyes like a hook thrown over a crowd. 

Vesper steps out into the thin trickle of firelight as if the night itself releases him, rain beading on the black of his coat and steaming away where it strays too close to the heat of the bonfire ahead. He comes to stand at Jack’s side without ceremony, an easy presence marked only by the low, wry curve of his mouth and the quiet scratch of peppermint bark tucked between his teeth.

"That’s for fuckin’ sure," he murmurs back, voice rolling in that muted drawl of his, the words smooth enough to slip beneath the noise of the festival without fighting it before he nudges his glove against the rim of his drink, the shadows at his feet inhaling gently as if tasting the mood. "Heard somethin’ about a hunt, too," he adds, casting Jack a sidelong glance beneath pale lashes. "Dunno what they’re expectin’ people to chase in this mess. Or who."

the stars are pulling at my hair, and every part of me
and you don't understand how I bleed

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

ditch the clowns, get the crown

Flora can hardly keep her eyes where they’re supposed to be, not when Kai is wearing leather and purple in a way that heat-strokes her attention every few steps. The dragon-hood shadows half his face, the embroidery catching firelight like scales, and the torn black jeans do unspeakable things to her ability to behave. Her gaze keeps drifting down and back up again in a slow, unapologetic climb that ends every time with her biting her lower lip around a smile.

She leans against him as they walk, tucked perfectly into the line of his body, the pressure of his arm around her ribs an anchor she’s more than happy to orbit. Every time the bonfire flares, it paints his profile in warm gold and emerald and ruby, carving him out of the wet dark like some festival-born god she’s been personally blessed with. The sight of him alone could melt the rain, she's sure.

Her nose wrinkles affectionately when he squeezes her tighter, the corners of her mouth lifting into something full and bright, and she nods to his reassurance. "Good," she mouths back up at him, the word soft and happy, her aqua gaze glimmering with messy threads of love and want. There isn’t a single part of her worried about who else might be here; not Jack, not Caly. The Hollowed Grounds is far from the south, and tonight all her thoughts drift the same way her hand does when it slides down the back of Kai’s arm: straight to him.

At the drink table she reaches for something amber and aromatic, not bothering to read or ask what it is, only lifting it with a crooked, conspiratorial grin. She bumps her cup against his in a playful little toast, a muted cheers swallowed by the roar of fireworks overhead and the percussion shake of drums rolling through the tents. The sip that follows burns pleasantly, seeping warmth through her chest and melting straight into the laughter curling behind her teeth.

Her eyes sweep across the chaotic tangle of bodies and firelight and rain, searching for someone who might fit the vague idea she’s built of Charlie, except all she’s ever seen is the dragon form. Flora’s brows lift as she turns her face back toward Kai, curiosity flickering like a match in her gaze. "Have you seen Charlie yet?" She asks, standing a little on her toes as if that will somehow give her a better vantage over the crowd. She takes another sip, nudging her shoulder against his as she rises onto her toes again, scanning for anything that might be a dragon-girl priestess ready to bestow some kind of mysterious honour she still isn’t sure she wants—or maybe desperately does—if it makes Kai smile the way he’s smiling tonight.

Flora

baby i'm the one to beat

Don't need to know where we're going

While frozen drinks are his top choice, because they feel like a dangerous shake, the chill is not alluring enough tonight. Instead he claims a strawberry mojito, booty bumping it with her beverage before taking several deep sips. Not parched, but quickly aware that maybe he could do with some liquid courage if there's going to be things like designated orgies and nudity that screams wild abandon in a way that doesn't entirely resemble Torchline. The alcohol hits his gut like an anvil, a warmth pooling there in a way that feels suspiciously like happiness. He normally feels that unfold in his chest whenever she laughs, so this lower version seems to be wearing a moustache as a disguise, and it works.

[sa]"Hm?" he wonders, tipping the drink away to set his head on a swivel. He does want to say hello to her, and he's certain Flora is due her crown or whatever designation the priestess has cooked up. "I think, but it was hard to tell. She was there and then gone again." He can't seem to find her among the crowd after another scan. The firelight throws stray shadows around making it hard to decipher people from a distance, and the energy is like they've stepped into an unhinged frat rager so everyone is hard to pin down. "Are your friends Danta and Astaroth here too?" He also doesn't see them yet, but they've just arrived and haven't stepped too far into the throng.

He stops with a tug on her side. "Here, I have an idea." Spoken like a man with a plan, extremely cool and clever too, he tilts back like he's preparing for something. He leans forward suddenly, a small breath audible before a loud shout of her name bugling out into the crowd like a summoning gong. "CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARLIE!!!!" It fades at the very end, and he gasps suddenly on a fresh breath. "Did that work?" he asks with a lift of his 'brows, shoulder pressing into her as he glances around expectantly on either side of them, sipping back on his drink.

Kaisel

It'll all make sense when we arrive

JACK

"Not in a bad way, though," Jack admits, smirking as he gazes through the throng; Ancients out for blood or sex or general debauchery, visitors in the mood for a good time either dipping a toe into the chaos or cannonballing into it directly, booze and food and fire in full flow. Letting it wash through him and using the absence of thought beside him as a curious sort of anchor, he takes another drag from his cigarette and cocks his head towards Vesper to hear him properly.

"Could be anyone," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Knowin' this place, someone might release a coop of chickens for people to chase, or it could be a legit black dragon." Only time will tell.

At that moment, though, a voice doesn't cut across proceedings exactly, but roars in a way that has several dozen heads turning. Jack doesn't know if any of those heads belong to Charlie - because that's who the voice is hollering for - but as he glances through the crowds of people it's enough to see Kaisel and a flicker of blonde--

Jack drops the cigarette that's suddenly on fire between his fingertips, swearing under his breath and crushing it out under his heel. "That's my cue to get drunk," he decides, smoothly knocking back his liquor and turning towards the nearest stall to get more. "Want one?"

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"Oh is that so?" Danta grins at the prospect of inviting Charlie to their little naked-fire-romp, and her name has just slipped past the butcher's lips when he hears the familiar trill of their priestess. Nudging Astaroth gently and gesturing to where the tiny Ancient is currently leading the parade in earnest, all barely-there outfit and wicked heels and everything, and he lets out a low whistle.

"She's got her work cut out for her tonight," he purrs, not hiding his interest in the flick of her tail and bounce of her curls, before they've reached the taffy stand (right next to the liquor stall, yes) and the Maverick busies himself getting them a couple of shots while Asta loads up on sweets. "For you," he trills, offering the butcher a shot of absinthe he's already helpfully set aflame.

Clearly Danta doesn't intend to stay sober for the evening. "To Dygra, to us, to tonight."

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //