middaeg | [Semi-Open Mingle] Sir Vaughan's Faun Fest

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[Semi-Open Mingle] Sir Vaughan's Faun Fest

Who: Everett Vaughan and ALL the Fauns he can invite.
(I - III. Open to all Faun Monster Type characters! IV. is OTA!)
When: March, after the fullmoon.
Where: Everett's Garden and Cottage
What: Teaching! Drinking! Food!
Warnings: Drunken shenanigans, but keeping this SFW, friends.

[OOC: Mingle post rules!! I will absolutely respond to everybody here with Everett, but OTA topleveling and tagging around is encouraged, too!

Wildcards with new prompts are totally welcome.]

I. One brisk morning...

An announcement goes out upon the Watch Network, after the full moon has be settled a few days. An invitation! All the Mirrobound Faun are cordially welcome to the cottage of Everett Vaughan, for an afternoon of lessons, food, and entertainment. Even if they are not yet acquainted, no time better than the present to meet!

Given Everett's experience with the different varieties of Faun Magic, and extensive reading on the manifestations there of, he is offering to teach what he has learned to others.

Additionally, he mentions that his beloved bonded, Myrobalan Shivana (Vaughan), has only just manifest magic of his own. Which is an occasion to be celebrated! Any who arrive will be welcome to join in and enjoy the evening with good company.

The lessons Everett has planned are primarily out in his garden. There, he encourages his fellows to coax already living plants to further bloom, giving his best guidance and advice. He also has a variety of different seeds to try growing from their freshest start. A tree in the center of his backyard is of particular attention, of modest size in the morning, but steadily reaching up and outward as he encourages more of his brethren to practice channeling their energy there.

He also has many animals about, who are very talkative to those who can or care to listen.

Primarily, there are many, many, many beautifully groomed city rats he has taken in. They all have names that they chose for themselves, usually household objects. Everett asked them for their names rather than giving them, in most cases. Some of note would be a particularly chubby rat going by Spoon, a mischievous pair named Peanut and Butter, and the pet rat Everett arrived with, Clementine (who by far the most polite). There is also an adolescent petalwolf, of white and yellow coloration, Daisy. She is not very talkative, but very affectionate and friendly.

II. ... A warm evening...

Once the lessons are wrapped up, it's time to relax. Or, rather, it's time to enjoy themselves! To mark the evening, Everett has purchased a piano for himself to play, an old talent of his. There are also some other hand held instruments he picked up, if any others would like to try their hand or already enjoyed playing music. It is yet another aspect of their kind he wished to incorporate.

While his guests socialize, there is a bounty set out to eat and drink. Food grown from his garden is in abundance, crunchy vegetables and sweet fruits line his tables and counters. There is also a traditional Springtide roast duck he spent the day slow cooking in the oven, a dish all would have been smelling throughout the day. The seasoning is richly savory and complex in flavor, though Everett will not share what it is. He won't be offended if any prefer to avoid meat, there are plenty of other options at hand.

Along with food, there is plenty to drink. Though, perhaps, not enough given how many fauns are present. Barrels of cider line a wall and wine bottles can be lifted at will. Everett encourages everybody to enjoy anything they like. (Except each other! If that bit of a faun urge strikes, best to go to your own homes! Discretion, please, he's still somewhat prudish on that matter.)

Music fills the air as the evening presses on into night. While Everett is purely amateur at both playing piano and singing, he gets drunk and revelrous enough to play without a care to that. Too much confidence and passion for it to much matter. He encourages other to sing and holler, cheer and whoa-oh along to his songs or their own.

[General vibe of the songs he's playing piano version of would be folkish and whimsical, if often just grimly funny, drinking shanties to keep things fun.]

III. ... and two nights, more.

At this point, the party has still been going for a whole three days, uninterrupted.

There have been plenty of runs for more wine and food is plucked freshly from the garden as desired. The festive atmosphere is going and going as the fauns still lingering let their instincts take better hold.

Neighbors will certainly be complaining, at this point. Not just because of the constant sound of music and revelry, either. Unbeknownst to the fauns in their merriment, they have overgrown the entire square block with plants. Overgrowth is bursting from the side walks and crawling up the walls, extending high above every home. What had been a humble tree Everett at the start of this became a test subject early in training. That is now a massive thing, towering into the sky and reaching over the surrounding cottages. The roots are upturning some of Everett's back porch, one has crawled into his kitchen to make it's stay within his sink, but their host seems more bemused and proud of this than anything.

Keep the party going or finally retire, it's up to his company. Everett isn't kicking a single soul out, though perhaps it's about time to quiet down. The Coven might be on it's way to break up such a raucous affair.

IV. Collect your Faun (OTA Option)

Wondering where that faun friend or bonded has gone off to the last three days? Crash the end of the party, come collect your bit of the trouble, call a carriage to take them home. The garden gate and all Everett's doors are wide open at this point, though he's not as likely to give an entirely polite welcome. The host might have a bit of a headache, come this hour.

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[Hector keeps petting. This is nice, just two fauns, drunkenly cuddling.

But, oh, that's right, this one can't see him.]

'm Hector. [No family name. He discarded that long ago.] And you're Everett's Myr, right?

[Not that he knows of any other Myrs, but that's what his sloshed brain is providing him in this moment. He's...going to have to move to the Wildes when he sobers up.]

Hector.

[That's--that's kind of funny, actually, worth a fuzzy chuckle against the other Faun's shoulder.] Means holding fast. Good way to meet, yeah?

[P a u s e.] Mhm! He's my Bonded. Wen'--went out of his way to throw party because of me, dear man.

[Cause to prolong Myr's blushing, really. Whatever had he done to deserve a Bondmate like Everett...]

Mmmm hmmm. Usually, it's not so literal.

[Not that Hector minds. Myr's petting is soothing, relaxing. Why doesn't he do this more often?]

He's...very kind. [The rules and customs in Aefenglom are so different than earth, but Hector still feels a rush of shame at the affection he holds for Everett when Everett's bonded to someone as nice as Myr. He curls himself in closer to the deer and keeps stroking the fur on his arm.]

What does Myr mean?

[That feels like a much safer topic.]

He's gotten to you, too? [Myr does not, perhaps, know exactly how literal that is, but--even if he did, it wouldn't change what he says next.] Good. S'good to have kindness like that in your life.

[He's drifted back to petting Hector's hair, absently winding it between his fingers now and again.] Myr...doesn' mean anything. But a myrobalan's a plum tree.

There's a story behind it.

[Hector can't find any words to respond to that. He doesn't deserve that kindness, Everett's or Myr's. Myr would hate him if he knew, wouldn't he? That's how it would go on Hector's world. He would hate Hector and the petting would stop, so Hector selfishly, cowardly, says nothing but:]

Tell me the story?

[Surely there must have been a time before, in his earliest youth, where someone stroked Hector's hair this tenderly and told him a story to see him off to sleep. He just...can't recall it.]

[Did Myr but know...

He gives a little whuffling laugh at the story request.]

Glad to, lambkin. S'better when I'm sober, though...

[Which is halfway a promise to retell it later.

He wiggles his shoulders, stretches out a pinned leg as he settles in to himself and prepares for story time. This is one of his favorites and it shows in his tone when he starts:]

It's said that after--after the wyvern came an' bowed to the Beloved Prophet, she an' her army camped there at the foot of the mountains a few days. An' while they were there, Maferath fell sick--then Justinia--then others, 'til half who followed her were down with fever an' getting worse, with not a thing anyone could do.

So the Prophet Andraste--the first day, she sang to the Maker an' asked Him to heal her dear ones, but He didn't answer. An' the second day, she had everyone healthy to sing with her, but the Maker didn't answer. The third day--the third day, she thinks she needs to be closer to Him, so she goes to the mountain by the lake where the wyvern came down, and she prayed a whole day and night for healing.

An' the Maker still didn't answer. So she called out to Him--she said, [Myr clears his throat, affecting sobriety long enough to get the line right,] "Maker of All, if this cure must come through me, show me the first step of Your way."

[He pauses a moment, both to let that sink in and remember where he is in the story.] So she looked--she looked around her, having said. And saw--this little, tiny tree, just barely alive, clinging to a rock. An' it reminded her of how we all cling to the Maker, so much it broke her heart to see it, an' she wept over it--watering it with her tears. "Oh you little tree, long-enduring, may you abide yet another hundred years in this place and glorify the Maker," she told it--an' what do you know but it bursts into fruit right there, little red plums all over it.

She felt to take it, an' went back to her camp to take it to the sick, an' every one of them got better from it.

We call those little trees myrobalan, in Hasmal, [he concludes, proudly.] Where I'm from.

[Hector loses a little of the story to the astonishment of having been given a pet name. He catches up though, and though he doesn't know the names of the characters, they slot well-enough into familiar enough archetypes that he understands the basic plot in spite of his drunkeness.

Whether he agrees, on the other hand....

When Myr finishes, Hector raises his head.]

's a pretty name. And you've got a pretty voice. But the god didn't do anything, in, in the story. The myraba...uhh...the you-tree, musta been medicinal. That's the only thing that makes sense.

[Myr beams pleasure at the compliments, ears splayed out at half-mast, the picture of a contented deer. His expression hardly changes for Hector's objection; in fact, he laughs, bright and cheery, and squeezes the younger Faun's shoulder.]

If it was a yew-tree, [wait...] sure; that'd treat a fever, yeah? But they're jus'--just plums. An' the story says they grew up all at once for her when she cried. How'd that work, if not the Maker?

[Technically, his objection's cheating because even fuzzy and drunk he knows at least one other explanation for the miracle. But his new soft friend wants to debate with him! This is fun!!]

[Hector scowls, and pushes himself up so he can look Myr full in the face, even if Myr can't see him.]

The plum tree could've been in bloom the whole time and the prophet jus' said it wasn't.

[People lie all the time, especially people with the Church. This is a true fact that Hector knows and it is not colored by the fact that the Church would have burned him at the stake for his powers.]

Or. Or! She was magic. You made plants grow. 'wasn't any god in Ev'rett's garden, was there?

[Myr's got his mouth open for a rebuttal already when Hector's words hit him exactly wrong.

wasn't any god in Ev'rett's garden, was there?

His expression crumples, ears drooping; he tucks his chin toward his chest.

Quietly--and a little maudlin--then,] No, lambkin, I s'pose the Maker might not be there.

[They'd been having such a lovely time and then he had to go thinking about how far he is from home and the Maker. Stupid Myr.]

[Stupid Hector. He watches Myr's face fall, and his heart sinks. He fucked this right up. This is why he shouldn't get invited to parties.]

I... [Hector doesn't know how to fix this. He can't pretend like he thinks there's a god, or at least a god that listens. But obviously it means something to Myr. And Myr stroked him so gently and called him 'lambkin'...

He reaches up and touches the tips of those sad, droopy ears.]

...but the magic still happened. th' people in the story got saved.

[Maybe it doesn't matter where the power comes from.]

[Oh, no, that won't do. Certainly it wasn't Myr's intent to drag the mood down--he's just so much more...volatile when drunk. His ears twitch when touched; he lifts his head and manages a wavering smile.]

That's right. They still got saved.

[...Then something clicks into place about what Hector actually said, and his smile grows a little wider as he leans over to give the other Faun a hug.]

An' whether or not everyone believes it I know the Maker was there, but I don't know He's here an' remembering that made me sad a while. So, [punctuated with a squeeze!] we got--we've got. To talk happier things.

[Hector's eyes widen as he's hugged. He...didn't fuck up? At least not entirely, and Myr's arms are so warm. He can't remember the last time he was just hugged by someone.]

Yeah. Um. What's happier?

[He tries to think of how to cheer up Myr in the face of his missing god. Ummm...dogs?]

Cezar, here boy. [It's been a long day...or two...and Hector's pug is fast asleep and making little snorty snores over on the floor beside the couch. Hector sighs and leans over to scoop him up. Cezar's eye peeks open for a second as he's lifted, but by the time Hector plops him down on Myr's lap and settles back into his side, the dog is snoozing again.]

This's Cezar. 's a good boy.

[If Myr pets him, he'll find a solid little pug with scarred patches over his right ear and eye and his front left leg.]

's from my world.

[~~dog is an anagram for god so this seems legit right~~

Dogs are definitely happier, and Myr perks up immediately on having one dropped in his lap. He's very solicitous about rubbing around Cezar's ears--once he finds them.]

Hi, Cezar. [Very solemnly. Now that he knows animals can talk back, he's not so much about baby-talking to the things--if he was ever inclined that way to begin with.] What sort 's he? I never--'ve never met many dogs.

Wish you could meet my bees but, [with mock-dismay,] Everett wouldn' let me invite 'em to the party.

[Not that Myr intended to bring them. But it's funnier to say it that way.]

Edited 2020-03-26 03:53 (UTC)

['Have never met many dogs' is much sadder thought than 'my God is not here (maybe)', but it is one that Hector has the means to rectify. Maybe not today, but they can slowly expand upon Myr's exposure to the canine kind.]

He's a pug. They're companion dogs, they're lit'rly made to be good friends.

[Beneath Myr's attentive hands, the dozing pug snuggles in closer and wags his little curl of a tail.]

You have bees? 's nice. Betcha get lots of honey. Mmmmm.

[Fuck, but Hector could devour some honey cakes right now, or some baklava, rich and honey-sweet.]

Huh. [Myr processes that, while continuing to lavish attention on his lapful of pug. ...Though, since that does not have to take both hands, and he does not want Hector to feel left out, he reaches out to rest a hand on whatever's convenient of the other Faun. Hopefully nothing embarrassing...]

Oh. Oh. Lap dogs. ...I get it now. 'e's just the right size for a lap. [Pause.] He is per--perfectly Made and I love him.

[His expression--already soft and sentimental--grows more so at the topic of his bees.] Yeah. Not a lot coming out of winter--but I'll bring you some. Soon. Always glad to share. An' they should swarm soon so I'll have more...more hives.

[Hector looks into Myr's face at his declaration of dog-love, and just quietly says:] Yes. He's so good. Wh-what did any of us do t' deserve dogs?

[Myr's hand is on his leg, and that's fine. He's drunkenly touching Myr's ear again, fascinated by how they twitch. Will Hector's ears do that once they finish growing?]

You. You've got thousands of pets. [Hector's drunken brain registers this fact as The Coolest Thing Ever.]

[What had any of them done to deserve dogs? Myr's no Fereldan dog-lord, but in this moment with his lap full of softly snoozing pug, he experiences a transcendental glimpse of what it is to appreciate dogs that much.]

Nothing, [he says, solemnly; ask a philosophical question, get a drunkly philosophical answer.] Th--they're a gift. Don' have to be worthy of a gift.

[~~Hopefully the next steps on the path of canine admiration don't include living in mud 24/7 and eating utterly tasteless food.~~]

...Maker. [He does, doesn't he? Have thousands of pets. That...that IS so cool.] I do, don' I? An' they're all such good girls. I shoul' ask them all. For their names...like Everett's rats.

[...Oh but he does like having his ears touched. He leans into it. Maybe...too into it.]

Uhm. Keep up with that an'. Everett might have to kick us out.

[Removing the guest of honor from his own party for being too horny on main. Faun life.]

Edited (adjectival forms are wack) 2020-03-29 05:28 (UTC)

That, [Hector slurs with the conviction of a thoroughly wasted philosopher] is the single mos' compelling argument I've ev'r heard for the existence of a god.

[So well done there, Myr.]

Mmmm, but tha's so many t' remember. But the queen, get her name.

[He can't imagine what kind of name a bee would have, but he's fascinated to learn.

His hands still at Myr's warning, and he slowly lowers them to the safer arm-fluff.]

Oh. S-sorry, I didn' know. Don' wanna get kicked out. 't's so far t' walk home.

[And this couch and this deer are so warm and cozy. Everett couldn't be so heartless as to make the two of them move, could he?]

Proof in the goodness of--of dogs, huh?

[That's funny and beautiful at once. Whatever it took to bring men to the Maker.]

I coul' do it! I've got--I've a, a memory tower. Can keep all their names there. [True masters of the technique could manage thousands of numbers, so what's thousands of bee names against that?

...And, so's Hector doesn't feel any way rejected by Myr's insistence on the rules, he throws his free arm around the sheep to snuggle him close.]

You coul' come to my place. If he did. But he won' have to if we're not too--too frisky. [He drops his voice to a near-whisper,] Maybe another time? You've got good hands.

[Belief in the Maker of Dogs is about the length and breadth of the faith you'll be able to pry out of Hector, Myr.]

Oh, is that t-the... thing that geniuses use? [Dracula had techniques for storing his repertoire of knowledge, but Hector had never understood them. He just focused on the studies that matters and discarded the ones that didn't.

But what could be more worthy addition to the catalog than the True Names of bees?]

y' should do it. Get 'em all.

[He curls himself into Myr's warmth, flushing.] S-sure. You, uh, have good hands too.

[They can just chastely pet one another and not think about less chaste future pettings.]

Mhm! Good thing it works for us...non-geniuses, too. I'd, [he hesitates a moment, ears doing a sweep as he listens to the room. Everett's somewhere nearby, but close enough to scold him for swearing...? Maybe.] be buggered otherwise. Get lost all the time.

[Not think about less chaste future pettings, and how's Myr supposed to do that with this eminently comfortable armful that Hector makes? (Discipline, mostly.)

But with his offer--sort of?--accepted, he can leave that for later in favor of another favorite hobby: Lavishing praise on someone who kind of sounds like he needs it.] Good. Also, your voice--s'lovely. Do you sing?

[Want a duet sometime?]

[Hector goes silent for a minute, thinking that over. It must be...hard, navigating the world without sight. There is so much Hector takes for granted. He nuzzles his cheek into Myr's shoulder.]

you're 'mazing. Clever. [Being able to adapt is the very cornerstone of all life and growth in the universe. Hector is very impressed. It's probably a good thing Myr can't see the admiring puppy-dog eyes he's making at the deer.

Hector basks in Myr's praise, but finds himself faltering at the question.]

Do I sing? I...don't know. Never tried.

[Who has time to sing when they're raising the armies of hell, huh?]

((ooc: I need you to know that I had to look up 'Can Theo James sing?', and he can and I am shook.))

Edited 2020-03-30 16:17 (UTC)

[Myr's cheeks tint pink at the compliment; without even thinking much about it, he turns his head far enough he can press a chaste kiss to Hector's hair in thanks. Mwah.]

Doing my best, same as anyone. Sweet you say so.

An'-- [Warming to the idea, now, of seeing just what Hector can do with his voice,] you should. Think you'd be brilliant at it, with a voice like that. An' it's fun. 'd teach you, if you want. I've even got a song--about a dog. We could sing.

((ooc: oh my gosh i'm delighted. WHAT A QUALITY VOICE.))

[Hector...would usually say 'no'. What purpose is there in singing? Nothing's achieved by it. But Myr just kissed his head and complimented him...

...and it's not some drivel about fated loves or bible stories or anything like that. A song about dogs...might be interesting. And if it pleases Myr, maybe that is all the purpose required.]

If you think you could teach me, I'll try. You, uh, can show me... when I come over.

[Before or after the petting remains to be determined.]

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