RP:A Feast with a Twist

From HollowWiki

Frostmaw Fort

The main room of Frostmaw’s fort has been transformed in a centre of socialisation and hubbub, with a large table for feasting set up in the middle. Indeed, the table is long and wide, able to accommodate many guests and their various foodstuffs. There are already some giants choosing to ignore the social niceties of certain cultures by sitting down and eating without all guests gathered. A pair of giants attend each door in fine ceremonial armour, overlooking the assembled guests with a sense of wariness and yet a barely hidden delight to see Frostmaw’s guests and friends assemble here this evening to enjoy themselves. In the corner, a small band play various scores of music: some soft ensembles and then some swift and thrilling music, as if one were about to set off on an adventure. The band is a mix of races: giant, elf, human, draconian and even a dwarf. Any and all who might call Frostmaw their home.




Leone has made it to the gala, invitiation in hand, with the intent of being the first through the door. Draped in traditional furs, the blacksmith quickly abandons the protective traveller's wear upon entering. Though she's not in formal attire, the farrier did take steps to be more presentable than her typical commoner garb. Cleaned and polished leathers overlay a pleated and puffed white blouse. A neat bun constrains the metallurgist's often wild silver and black hair, and extra lengths have been take to ensure that Leone's nails are clean. Assuming a scrutinizing posture, the diminutive woman first makes a round of the room looking at the decorations, as if judging if they were good enough for Hilde.


Tysinni slips quietly into the party, blending with a boisterous group who seemed to have already been at the liquor. The halfling blends in by smiling and laughing at a joke one of the revelers. From the moment she had heard about the feast, her hands had been itching to try her luck in a place that was mostly likely full of very watchful eyes. What thief worth her salt wouldn't salivate at the chance to mingle and perhaps cull her newest victims from Frostmaw's elite. As her group reached a large mingling of guests, she breaks away from them without fanfare and pauses to take a look around. Her skirt swishes around her feet and she reaches down to adjust it with a hint of annoyance. Ugh, how she hated to dress up.


Faolan arrived to the gala, wearing his usual garments. It was clear that this was his first time attending such an event, and he certainly stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd. He walked around the main room, staff in hand as he looked around at the banquet and decorations that had been set up for the occasion. He had enough sense to leave his companions outside, figuring that those in attendance would likely not feel comfortable with a cadre of wild wolves running around the place. As he walked around the hall, he offered polite nods in greeting to those attending the party, a gentle smile upon his lips as he took in the atmosphere of the place.


Hildegarde had already been dressed, undressed, dressed and the cycle repeated a few times over until she was absolutely certain that she could withstand wearing a dress for one evening. It was just an evening. It wouldn’t hurt, right? So, here she stood, behind the doors of the main hall, her back to the icy throne of Satoshi. The knight was hesitating to get out there and join the guests, “What if they laugh?” she asked of Kenway. The great couatl flicked his forked tongue in her direction before rearing his body up slightly – making him much taller than Hildegarde – so he might peer down at her. ~You look lovely. I am your squire, so if anyone says anything, I’ll see them out!~ he said in a playful manner, but it only earned him a scowl. But Hilde forever struggled to stay mad or to chastise Kenway for an extended period of time, so her scowl softened into a smile. “Okay. Are you sure I don’t look ridiculous?” she asked one last time, before adjusting herself here and there. With a heavy sigh and roll of her neck to loosen some tension, the Steward of Frostmaw gave a little nod towards the pair of giants on the door; signalling that she was ready to enter the hall and greet guests and friends alike. The Silver took in a breath and held it. Whilst she preferred to wear armour and be covered at all times, this evening Hildegarde was wearing a royal blue dress, but it was no ordinary dress! Leather plates and just a hint of chainmail beneath the leather hinted that this was, indeed, a dress ready for combat. With her sword belted at her side, her halberd in hand, the knight proudly stepped into the room with the great couatl slithering along beside her quite happily. For a moment, she stopped to look over the room – and to see if she knew any guests there – but her gaze looked mean and powerful, especially when wearing the Snow Lion Pelt Cloak. Something about having a lion’s head atop your own was a bit intimidating!


Tysinni meanders about the room, slipping between revelers and furniture alike, appearing for all the world as if she was just another guest enjoying the feast. Humming quietly under her breath, the half elf makes her way towards the heavily laden tables. Everything was beautiful and glamorous and just a bit icy in appearance. Appropriate for the venue and completely elegant. The thief could barely repress her excitement as she surveyed the shinies that adorned both people and decor. Where to start?


Josleen arrives at the feast without a date. Ezekiel has been busy with work, and bad luck took him away on this very day. It does not matter. The bard brought her fiddle as a backup date. She checks her winter over-layers near the door and weaves through the party guests in search of familiar faces, exchanging pleasantries with Frost giants and Sage elves with whom she made acquaintance during her stint as a nurse for Frostmaw’s army. Josleen’s hair is pulled away from her face with twin braids that meet in a braided bun behind her head, the up-do adorned with bluebells and a crystal snowflake barrette. She pays her respects to Frostmaw with a blue and silver dress constructed from taffeta and tulle, and with a hoop skirt no less. It is by no means a massive skirt, but it does carve out a little extra personal space and declares that she is here to party, formally. Pinkies out all night. The strapless bodice collar is in the shape of a heart: quintessential Josleen. “Good evening, Dame Hildegarde!” She curtsies. “Or is it Steward now?” Her brows wag playfully. “You clean up beautifully.” ---- Another guest joins the grand hall. A brawny bard named Bartleby, also befitting the occasion in a blue blouse, blue britches, and brown boots. His bulbous nose bounces over a broad smile. He smiles at Leone and Tysinni in passing as he heads towards the band stand. (ooc: Bartleby is an NPC that will do a thing! *wiggles fingers* He is going to do this thing to another NPC, unless I have a PC volunteer! Anyone up to have their character temporarily, non-lethally, non-painfully cursed? Only for the duration of this rp.)


Leone sweeps over to Hildegarde once the Silver enters, a dainty, velvet bag held loosely in the farrier's fist. Approaching the new steward, or as near as she was able to get, the blacksmith would raise her voice over the music and say, "You look splendid. Almost perfect." There is a large grin there, an almost smug expression of secret that lingers over the aging flesh of the plover's face. Without reservation, the velvet bag is dangled between two fingers, the attached arm extended in a rudimentary presentation to Hilde. Should the knight open the bag, she would find a delicate silver dragon with four claws feet and an s-shape bend to its body. A tiny bell is clutched in the dragon's lowest talons, it's wings spread wide for flight, and for the points at which a pale blue ribbon is attached, so that the trinket may be worn. "I made you this, congratulations," the shoer intones, gruff notes sliding beneath a silken lilt.


Faolan turned his attention to the Silver as she made her entrance, offering a respectful bow in her direction. While he was not wearing anything that could be considered formal attire, the druid did not seem to be bothered by it. What's more, he seemd to be entirely at a lost in regards to the fact that he was underdressed for the occasion. Perhaps it was due to his birth and upbringing, or the many years he had spend in the wilderness, away from civilized company. The Wolf Born continued to smile nonetheless, clearly excited to be attending a gala for the first time in his life.


Tysinni is in the middle of admiring a silver candlestick when she happens to catch some random man smiling at her. She blinks and then warily eyes Bartleby as he walks past her. She barely resists the urge to make a rude comment in response until she remembers that she's supposed to be blending in. Drawing no attention to herself. That sort of thing. Heaving a mental sigh, the red-head gives him a brilliant (albeit fake) smile, all white teeth sparkling at him, before sidling a few steps over and reaching out to stroke the silver candlestick. So shiny...


Hildegarde had to keep up a constant internal mantra of ‘you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine’. Wearing dresses was not her thing, it wasn’t something she was terribly comfortable doing but right now, it wasn’t so bad. Nobody was saying anything bad, nobody was looking at her burnt flesh, her scars, her eye-patch. She seemed to be blending in, she seemed to be normal for once. “Steward now, yes,” she offered a smile, “but as I have always said, you can call me Hilde. It’s fine. I’m not a Dame,” she reassured the bard. “Lady Leone, how pleasant to see you. Almost perfect? Hah! Please, let us not tell lies,” she grinned. “And what is this?” her eye now affixed to the little bag, unaware that Tysinni was now eyeing and stroking the giant candlestick – considering this is a fort for giants, all décor is giant too. “Ohh! How beautiful,” she smiled upon seeing the little dragon. “Ahh, you outdo yourself every time, Leone.” The knight grinned, “Are you congratulating me on my promotion or on having you craft such a fine thing for me?” she japed in a playful manner. To Faolan, she offered a polite wave of her hand and a smile in greeting. The Silver was pleased to see he wasn’t uncomfortable.


Josleen curtsies to Leone as joins Hildegarde. “A pleasure to see you again, Leone. I apologize for not visiting you sooner. I’ve been distracted, but that is no excuse.” She excuses herself with a smile. “I’m famished. I’ll leave you ladies to it and fetch myself an hors d'oeuvres.” She horribly mispronounces the word. On her way to the cocktail spread, she finds Faolan and judges him to be a poor soul in need. “Oh, hello!” She forgets to curtsey. “I hope this gala didn’t catch you by surprise. That can also be terribly embarrassing.”


Faolan turned to the voice speaking to him, offering the woman a pleasant smile. "Surprise?" he asked, somewhat confused. "No, not at all. I had read about it back in Kelay, and was reminded of it yesterday during the tourney." His smile widened slightly, but it was clear he had no idea why this stranger thought the event had caught him by surprise. "My name's Faolan by the way," he said to her, extending his hand out to her for a handshake, a human notion he had actually bothered to learn during his travels.a


Tysinni pulls her hand away from the giant candlestick with a sigh of regret. She just couldn't do it. She had thought it out through any possible scenario and she had come to the conclusion that it was just too big to smuggle out without someone noticing something suspicious. Regretfully, she gives the candlestick a pat before moving away and searching for the next intrigue. From the corner of her eye, the thief spots smiley-man standing near the band stand. He didn't appear to be watching her, but one could never be too sure. Whistling innocently, Ty filches a bit of pastry from a nearby plate, easily going unnoticed by its owner. After looking left and then right, she unobtrusively launches the savory bit towards Bartleby, confident in her aim before turning and acting as if she were very involved in a conversation between two dwarves.


Leone lifts a laught into the high roof, her head tilting back in a chortle of approval. "For your position, of course," the smith demures, though a flush soon taints her cheeks from the compliment. "I do hope you'll wear it, except of course in battle," the metallurgist levies with a jab of her own and a devilish smile. "When you make the rounds, let me know if you'd like to dance," Leone states, a gentle bow of her head dipped in regard to the new Steward before she'd sweep across the room and to the table where food was set out for the taking. Mmm food.


Leone includes that she joins Josleen at the spread and, after rummaging through her satchel, produces a shellaced wooden box. It is presented without fanfare, and with a modicum of discretion, to the bard. "Your request has been fulfilled," the smith declares before moving away to partake of the foodstuffs.


Hildegarde laughed fondly at the remark, “Of course, I shall wear it and if I do not wear it, you may chastise me as I’d rightly deserve!” she smiled. “Oh, you know I don’t dance, Leone!” she said, offering a nod of her head as Leone departed to get some food. With a glance around, the knight seemed pleased that the guests were enjoying themselves. There was a woman flitting about between guests who she hadn’t yet spoken to, nor had she met. Maybe she’d get around to that soon. Meanwhile, she might as well grab a bite to eat.


Josleen takes Faolan’s hand and curtsies. “I see… I know some friends in town who are roughly your size if you would like to borrow a suit or tuxedo to feel more comfortable.” The notion that someone could be unembarrassed about being underdressed eludes her. Meanwhile, Bartleby is carefully unpacking his mandolin when a warm pastry collides rudely with his head. He immediately glares at the bandstand, and at the cellist in particular. Bard rivalry, the struggle is real. “I know it was you, Fernanbro!” Fernanbro, despite having nothing to do with the pastry assault, takes full credit and gestures obscenely at Bartleby then high fives the flute and trumpet players as the percussionist and mandolin player rip into a sweet solo. The band in more casual venues performs under the band name “Jock Itch,” but tonight have rebranded themselves for this occasion as a formal, demure quintet of no name. Few outside the Cenril music scene would know their band name, but Josleen knows. She glares at them as she comments to Faolan, “Isn’t Jock Itch the worst?” Bartleby combs pastry flakes and dandruff out of his hair and awaits his turn to perform.


Faolan quirked an eyebrow at the bard's words, uncertain of what she was trying to convey. "A tux...what?" he said in response, clearly perplexed by the current topic of conversation. As he let go of her hand he offered a simple, nonchalant shrug. "I feel perfectly comfortable though," he added, still trying to figure out what she was getting at. The druid's attention was drawn towards the commotion around the band, and he let out a soft chuckle as he shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry...what?" he said, tilting his head slightly to one side as his green eyes squinted slightly at the bard. "Jock itch?" he asked, returning his head to its original spot. "I mean, any sort of itch is usually bad...I'm just glad my companions continue to be free of fleas," he said, a naive smile forming across his lips as he said those words. "I'm sorry, I don't think I got your name..." he added, letting his words trail off so the woman could introduce herself.


Tysinni listens with half an ear as the dwarves dissolve into an argument over which blacksmith makes the better pick axe. "I agree with him." She absently point to one of them, inciting the two bearded fellows into an even louder argument. Nodding to herself, the thief turns around and walks off, casually eying the band members. She recognized some of them from back home in Cenril and she made a mental note to avoid them. The one bard however…he was fair game. How dare he smile at her! Paranoid as she was, she couldn't help feeling deeply insulted by his 'friendly' act. Ty slowly makes her way through the crowd, remaining unobtrusive until she gets close to the band stand. Turning her face to the side and hiding behind a fall of hair, she places a foot out to her side, just at the right moment to trip a passing waiter who falls headlong into the musicians, moreover right into Bartleby. Without waiting to see the outcome, she continues on her way, feigned nonchalance prominent on her features.


Hildegarde was picking about the table, Kenway having retreated out of the room now that he’d seen Hilde safely into the room and mingling with people. Hilde was more absorbed in the food than the people, which was probably a poor show on her part. Even now, she was picking at some cakelog. A tasty treat from her home town of Xalious!


Josleen :: “Oh, how rude of me. I am Josleen.” She smiles perfunctorily then goes back to glaring at the band. “The quintet performs in Cenril under the name ‘Jock Itch.’” Blink. “What fleas? Why would they have- who are your companions? ...Are they here?” Suddenly she feels a phantom itch. Faolan has given her the heebie-jeebies and she scratches behind her ear, downplaying the tic has nothing more than taming fly-away hairs. The quintet, handsome in their matching tuxedos of various sizes to accommodate the varied races, finish a song, stand, and bow. Begrudgingly, Josleen has to admit that the band is talented, and therefore she must applaud them. It’s part of the bard code of conduct. A bard must applaud talent, not popularity. That is when Tysinni tries to set into a domino effect of slapstick comedy, but unfortunately the elven waiter crashes into the Frost Giant drummer who barely registers the collision. Bartleby takes the stage for a solo act: singing accompanied by mandolin. He begins with the classic Frostmawian epic song “Aramoth Makes an Army of Ice.” Like most epic songs, the lyrics favor flavor over fact, and children are ill-advised to take history lessons from this song, which claims that Aramoth took the summit of the Xalious mountain and used the earth, ice, and snow to make the first Frost Giants over the course of 5 days using only a battle axe as a tool. He then made sleds pulled by several mammoths and sent the Frost Giants far and wide to learn the best combat and battle tactics, and bring back the toughest metal and wood for weapon-making. Though one would be hard-pressed to understand Bartleby’s pitchy verses, as he squeaks through vowels and swallows consonants. His mandolin is out of tune and his voice meanders through the major scale without melody or poetry. Josleen winces every other syllable.


Daisy is feeling prancy today, so that is what she is doing. Prancing along, passing vases of convenience and filling them with various plantish things. No they don't need water, sillies. Frostmaw freezes them in timeless statues of organic lovely. She'll pause only to grin widely at her warrior goddess. "Hildegarde..." It is just a whisper, but the silver will hear it. Behind the kitten is her fat Mamoru. Wanting to look fancy for the occasion, he is wearing a black bow tie and a top hat. Couatling like a sir, he is!


Hildegarde found the heat of the lion head pelt to be stifling, which resulted in her pulling it up and off of her head; revealing fiery red hair that was braided here and there, in a true warrior fashion. The knight turned at the whisper, smiling fondly at Daisy, “M’lady Daisy,” she greeted fondly. “And Mamoru! He grows bigger every day, of this I am sure.”


Tysinni is quite put out as her plan is foiled. Unfortunately the rather large drummer seemed to be completely unbothered by his waiter barrage. The thief frowns heavily, standing off to the side and glaring at Bartleby as he takes the stage. How dare he be so…so…oblivious! She plots her way through the torturously long song, only to find herself clapping at the end. Thank goodness that was over with. Spying another opportunity near at hand, Ty darts behind a group of giants and hollers (in a voice that sounds nothing like her), "Boo! Where'd ya learn to sing, you lemming?"


Faolan nodded at her introduction. "Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Josleen," he said to her, the sincerity in his words apparent. "That is a rather strange name for a band," he said in regards to the musicion, his green eyes glancing in their direction as they continued performing regardless of the ruckus going on around them. "My companions?" he asked, letting out a soft laugh. "No, I did not bring them with me. I figured folks wouldn't be too comfortable with a wild pack running around this fancy place," he added, giving the bard a quick wink. The druid's attention is once again drawn towards the musicians, this time there is an almost painful expression on his face as Bartleby performs his piece. "Is that..." he says, letting his words trail off for a moment. "Supposed to sound like that?"


Daisy adjusts the last little flower she vased and then smiles at Mamoru. "Every minute." Mamoru puffs out his serpanty chest to show off his shining scales and rainbow feathers. He was thoroughly scrubbed and preened this morning, not wanting to show up to such a todo looking like some... *shudders* ... commoner. Of course he'll bow his head in thanks to the redhead, careful not to lose his hat.


Josleen ‘s lips form an ‘o’ as she finally understands that Faolan is some sort of wild creature, most likely a shapeshifter or lycan. Suddenly, she doesn’t perceive him to be underdressed. Everything is relative. She shakes her head gravely to Faolan’s question and explains, deadpan, “That is not music.” Tysinni’s attempts to bully Bartleby finally pay off. He snaps a hurt expression up at the Frost Giant, aka the fall guy, the patsy. The Frost Giant throws his hands up and gapes an apology, feeling terrible and stuck for words. The crowd’s attention pins Bartleby on the stage. Mortified, cornered, wounded, Bartleby’s cooler head gives way to anger and shame. A powerful combo, particularly for those blessed with bardic magic. Much of his strength comes from the intensity of his emotions, and those emotions spike hotly now. His fingers begin to rake against his mandolin aggressively, the discordant notes worse than during his performance. “How’s this? Huh?!” His jaw tenses and heat rages through his core. “You fancy yourself a critic? Let me guess, let me guess.” His rant becomes lyrical. “Let me guess, you’re a truth teller. You ain’t mean. Yea. You’re a truth-telling machine.” All witness to the song may begin to feel a prickle in their chests, and may suddenly feel the need to scream out their deepest darkest truths. Any repressed lie, any deceit, those must be spoken. “You got to say it. You got to say what you feel inside. Every bit of opinion, not a drop of it a lie. You’re a music critic, aren’t you? You don’t care what your words mean. Say them til you hurt me. Say them to the Queen. Say them to the ones you love. Pick the word that’s most obscene.”


Tristram arrived with Terra, bundled up, and cursing the bitter cold. He took off his fur cloak and then Terra's when they reached the place of festivities. People were singing around him. Angrily. He lifted an eyebrow. As he escorted Terra inside, he said in sing-songy voice, "These people are craaazy."


Hildegarde had been busy demolishing the rest of her cakelog when the bard was singing angrily. She thought she’d deal with him once she finished her cakelog, but it appeared that it was much too late for that now. With a quick dab of a napkin to her lips, the knight pointed to the door and most operatically and yet dramatically cried, “Seaaaal the gaaates!” Of course, upon realising that she had sang the words and not commanded the words, she is quick to gasp and cover her mouth. Her stomach feels as though it is roiling, all her embarrassing thoughts and memories are at the forefront of her mind right at this moment. “I ripped a dress once trying to get into it!” she blurted out before tightening her grip upon her mouth. The bard had done this. But now they were all, thankfully, stuck in the same room as him. He couldn’t leave and nor could they. Super.


Daisy doesn't really feel any different. Spell or no, she is singsongey anyway. She'll dance along to the tune each party goer belts out, adding her own honesty as she goes. "I like your shoes. That is a nice hat. Your coat has a tear. Your hair has gone flat!" Finally she reaches Hildegarde again and takes her hand in both paws. "Of the warriors who guard Frostmaw walls, you are the prettiest of them all."


Josleen sings back her response to Faolan. As a bard herself, the tone of her voice is quite lovely, but all the same she wishes she were not singing. “It was hiiiim! I beliieevvee~!” She feels a confession in her throat and bites down on her hand to keep from speaking. Too late! The more she represses the confession, the louder she will inevitably sing. ‘When I-iiiii was yoo-uuung I sold blow in Cenril to impress a man. And then one of my customers went blind! And I raaaan! I ran from the law! I ran from my prick of a man! He was a drug dealer. A money stealer! I’ve lived with that guilt for years. Only two others know!” And now half of Frostmaw and foreign dignitaries know too.


Tristram made a beeline for the drink table, because he needed one of those foremost in a party where the vast majority of conversations around him appeared to be being conducted in song. He turned to Terra and lifted his neck so she could adjust his tie. "Fix my--" When he sang those words, he promptly clamped his lips shut. Instead, he gestured to his bowtie for Terra to fix, though he stopped her when he heard the order for the gates to be sealed. He lifted an eyebrow immediately and stepped forward to put her behind him as he investigated whatever threat had prompted the lockdown. Was this a second assassination attempt in as many days? In Frostmaw, nonetheless? It would be clever, certainly. He leaned over to Terra and felt the need to confess, "I'm uncertain about this situation and I wish I'd left you at home. Also you look very lovely."


Terra does not appear to be enjoying this party. That was a rare occurrence. Her companion, and sole reason for attending, is eyed... Especially when his demand came in a song that was quickly choked off. Per their usual, his tie was adjusted to better settle and the nonexistent wrinkles smoothed around it. That tightening feeling spread, knocked at the back of her throat. Since she had fought to resist, her confession was sudden and irrelevant, "I hate your daughter." To soften the potential blow it's sung but she's not exactly a bard or someone you'd hire to put on a show so it's likely doubly insulting.


Leone 's eyes grow wide, horrified at the random confessions, the overlapping tunes and the peal of discordant voices. Catching snippets here and there of embarassing, often mortifying betrayals of personal trust and sheepish glances here and there, the blacksmith fights the burning in her throat. For many monents, her mind had remained blank; her life simple and rather straight-forward, the farrier had no confessions to add to the cacophony. Then, suddenly, her brain turned over and an inkling itched at the back of her conscience. The itch turned into a flare, surging down the back of her neck into her stomach before it erupted, unheeded and horribly off-key, "I once pantsed a friend in the dead of winter," the metallurgist sang in a rapid tempo, "By the time the he was able to fumble his way indoors, frosbite had set in. He's-a-eunic-noooooow." A hand is quickly clamed over the plover's mouth, stiffling a scream.


Hildegarde stared at Daisy and lyrically confessed to her, “You’re the only person who has ever seen me ever so rude in the nude!” With a reddening the face, the knight moves away from the druid, thinking what else she might say if she lingers too long, “Awaaaaay I go from the most adorable druid in the laaaaaand~!” She hurries her pace, quickly shuffling past Tristram and Terra to overhear Terra’s confession. She didn’t know Tristram had a daughter. Mind you, she didn’t know much about Tristram. Thinking of Tristram though: “Gualon’s Governor, what a stunner! A handsome man if I ever saw one ohdearlordsabove,” she cut herself off and near scrambled towards the giants. “Seeeiiiize the bard!” she commanded in song, before blurting out again, “I hugged a fish to death when I was a child! Ah!”


Tristram rounded on Terra, nearly spilling the drink he'd rescued from a lonely existence on a refreshment table. "What have you got against Georgiana?" He was singing again. Or rather, speaking words in a sing-songy voice that was terrible, but maybe, maybe partially redeemed by his low tenor. He drank again in a bid to scratch the itch, but it only made it worse. "I love Gualon more than I love you." He swore under his breath and then Hildegarde was there, rescuing him. Sort of. He opened his mouth to greet her, but instead of polite pleasantries, he shouted after her, "I would probably enjoy killing you." He hastily added, like it would somehow make up for his admission, "If I was a younger man! If I was younger!"


Josleen :: As confessions compete to be released in song, Josleen learns to pick the lesser evil. However, in doing so she dwindles down her supply of relatively benign confessions so that there is nothing left but terrible truths. She looks to Hildegarde in a panic, hoping someone can turn off this magic sieve before she confesses the worst of it. “I was a fake friend to Raphaline. Skylei and I mocked her behind her back!” “I am glad Tyler is dead! I once pulled his hair, and it felt good - until he punched me.” “Ezekiel killed a man by accident. We told no one. But the man lives again. I don’t know why.” “When Ezekiel mourned his father’s death, I didn’t feel a thing - for either of them.” Her eyes widen with each progressively worse confession, and yet there is one she deems to be worse than all of these.


Terra had no musical rebuttal to his question and seemed content to bite her tongue... But then there's Hildegarde and her lyrical confession and even though she grasped at her throat to stop it she still came out with, "I still worry I'll find you in bed... And Jacobo won't be anywhere near your head..." There was not an inch of skin that didn't stain red from the implication and she had already started turning to find something, anything to shove in her mouth. A large chunk of cake would keep her occupied for now... And more importantly, quiet... Especially while she mulled over her status behind Gualon.


Leone is dismayed when Daisy comes up to grab her hands, the blacksmith nearly hyperventilating as she's spun. Biting hard on her bottom lip, the farrier retorts to adorablness incarnate's confession about pirates, "I drink heavily because I desire neither marriage nor children, and belive that means there's something horribly wrong with me." A staccato beat, to go along with the rhythm of her feet, before the metallurgist blurts again, tunlessly, "I'm going to kill that bard!"


Tristram gaped at Terra. He growled at her in anger, frustration, and promptly started taking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. "I'll make love to you right here in front of everyone." Why was he still singing?! Stop singing, Tristram. He paused in his undressing efforts and downed the rest of his drink. "Get your dress off, let's go. One time, I hired an assassin to kill your husband because he was irritating me. If I had known we'd end up like this, I would have hired him to kill me!"


Josleen hears Leone’s confession and frowns sympathetically. She strides majestically, the way opera performers do, towards Leone with her arm extended and replies. “Fret not, my kiiiind acquaintance. Relationships aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. I’m with a man who’s sweet to me, and when he makes love to me I think of another man. Oooh, I can’t forget that other man. I fantasize recklesslyyyy! And I met with the the one I can’t forget, oh so recently. And I knoow, I knoow, I knooow this won’t end well, but he’s the one I can’t quit!”


Daisy leaps up to place a kiss on Leone's cheek, keeping their happy dance going. "We're all messed up in our own little way. Just listen to what everyone has to say. There is killing and hatred and love and lust. Me? I like naps on a lady's large bust." She laughs and spins Leone some more. Someone should take her to all the parties. She really loves to dance.


Hildegarde had found herself locked in a staring contest with Josleen, who was confessing her most darkest of sins and secrets to her. The knight knew not what to do! How could she in this situation, except stare at her and listen to what she had to say? “I wish Tyler wasn’t dead, even though I’m sure he wanted me in his bed, which is something I sincerely dread!” The knight tears herself away from staring at Josleen, approaching the seized Bartleby, “Tell meeee, how can I reverse this dreadful curse of veeerse?” she sang at him, and not entirely well. All Bartleby could say was ‘your very worst’ before laughing and refusing to say any more. Your very worst. Perhaps it meant your very worst thought, your very worst desire, your worst secret, even. The Steward turned and moved towards Daisy and Leone. To them she sings now, but it is not the brash and panicked singing of before, but more of a resigned and softly sad song: “Surrounded by these people, I have never felt more alone; inside I mourn. Indeed, so sad am I, I tried to find my End but never did I End.”


Terra washed down the sweet with the bitter taste of whiskey and managed to lick away most of the frosting that covered her lips, the corners of her mouths. She may have worked at it a second too long but in her defense, Tristram had decided that his song deserved a dance and she wasn't about to let him go it alone. But Hildegarde's worst, her deep confession, gave her cause to pause and she took in her surroundings. What was the worst she could? The secret she held so tight? Well, not much of one at all... "I love you." It ended on a hum to herself as his he started the unfortunate process of aiding his redressing efforts. To her, that was simply the worst she could do but it was far too late for anything else... Except cake. She planned on revisiting that table and eating until she passed out if this continued much longer.


Tristram made it down to his dress shirt, loose tie around his neck, and his satin boxer shorts (ladies). His pants were down around his ankles, held there by the floor and his shoes. It was very cold. He eyed Terra suspiciously. "Why is your dress still on? I would love you more if you took your dress off."


Josleen :: Infidelity is the worst of Josleen’s current secrets. With that confession released to the public, she’s freed from the curse. She doesn’t stop to look at anyone else. She picks up her wide skirt with one hand and runs for the door, past the half-naked Tristram and the red-faced Terra. Embarrassment wets her eyes, and she shields the tear as best she can from others. “Open the damn door!” She shouts at the Frost Giant guards. With Bartleby restrained, there is no reason not to open the doors, and frankly, everyone, even the guards, are sufficiently embarrassed. A lot of people want to run. Run the heck out of here. Run into a private hole and never surface again.


Terra was back to normal and still just as red. There were no more confessions to be sung or said or even whispered from the blonde as she stood in silence. Her throat cleared. There are a few choices left and she worked through them as quickly as possible... Did she politely inquire as to where a more secluded location may be? Join the party? An earlier confession rang through her mind and the area where Tristram's kidney lay would get a quick punch. "You've got to say your worst." That's spoken and sure, her voice lower than her eyes currently were. "And the. Get dressed so we can finish this conversation somewhere less public before that's in the papers too, mm?"


Tristram doubled over because Terra always knew right where to hit, every time. He wheezed a quiet, "I love you, too. That's the worst thing I can think of. When he straightened, he made quick work of buttoning up his shirt. He started to fix his tie when he realized his pants were still down, and he was even faster getting those back up and properly buckled in place. "Let me get us another drink, and we'll find somewhere to ..." He zipped up his fly. "... to regroup."


Leone appreciates the consoling words from Hildegarde and Daisy, her mind reeling as well as her eyesight from the enforced dancing with the druid, the smith bites her lip hard enough to draw blood. It is just a trickle, a simple droplette that began to make it's way down her chin. Leone wasn't sure what her darkest secret was, and it would brew in the pit of her stomach, words forming while she spun and twirled, percolating like so much coffee at the Gualon Grogshop: Thick enough that you could stand a fork in it.


Hildegarde wouldn’t bother to watch as the giants opened the door and allowed people to leave, whilst making sure Bartleby didn’t get away lightly with this. The knight, however, had confessed her worst and was free of the curse but Leone wasn’t. The Steward gently settled her hand upon Leone’s shoulder, “Leone,” she said quietly, “whatever it might be, it’s okay to say it.” She was trying to be reassuring, bless her.


Terra would have normally made time to say goodbye (or even hello) but her ears were still red, burning. Tristram's tie was adjusted once more and she was content to pretend the situation had never happened short of a sly comment muttered over the rim of a stolen glass of scotch, "My butt is better than Gualon's." The glass would be returned the next day with a ribbon and note but she clung to it beneath her recently replaced fur pullover as they left.


Tristram lifted his chin for Terra to fix his tie. He took her arm calmly and escorted her to the refreshment table where he collected two glasses of the strongest thing he could find. After a glance around the room, he stole away with Terra, assisting her with her cloak before taking his own. "Your bottom is unrivaled and unparalleled by any, my petal. I can assure you of that." He drew up his hood and hurried out with her, already drawing up the note in his head he would send Hildegarde the next day to smooth over any ... anything.


Leone is released by Daisy, and promptly trips over her own feet, landing hard on her posterior in the middle of the hall. Sliding across the floor with the residual momentum, the vivid peridot eyes of the smith suddenly fall upon Hildegarde, and the farrier blurts out, "My best friend is an agent of death, and it doesn't bother me one bit." Mortification settles in upon the smith, and she quickly scrambles to her feet, eager to exit the hall amongst the throngs of visitors and dignitaries.


Hildegarde watched as everyone swiftly exited the hall, waiting until it was relatively empty before taking a seat at the now empty feasting table. With a heavy sigh, she settles her chin in her hand and stares at the empty hall. Perhaps it was time to retire for the night. Or perhaps she’d spend the night cleaning up alongside the other giants. One giant murmurs something to her, “Hm?” she looked to him now, “Oh. Oh, yes, give the bard some time to cool down. We’ll speak to him in the morning.”


Daisy moves over there by Hilde after calming down a bit. "Thank you for inviting me to your party. I had a lot of fun." There is still a little song in her voice even though the curse was broken. "And I like your dress."


Hildegarde said to Daisy, "Thank you for coming, Daisy. I'm sorry this all happened. And I don't... don't really like wearing dresses," mostly because she felt a bit ugly, "but I'll go and clean up now. Have a nice evening, Daisy."


Daisy stretches up on her toes to brush a kiss to Hildegarde's cheek before frolicing off with Mamoru.

----{{PC|Faolan}]