At Antero's words, Aeliana wanted to grin excitedly, to wear the kind of smile that extended from ear to ear. She wanted to remark snarkily and tease and argue, but alas perhaps another time. Instead, she feigned a look of innocence and surprise. "Apologies Antero, but I was trying to be subtle. You know how sensitive Roshan can be, and especially when he's around Getsuy. It's only day one of the celebration, certainly it would be best to take it easy in the beginning?" As she reasoned out her thoughts, she lackadaisically took a passing glass of champagne. Her blue eyes inspected the curious form of the Manakin through the lens of golden pink liquid and bubbles. There was something about the sight of her friend in this setting that she likened to a ship in a bottle: cramped and contained and oh so carefully crafted.

Meanwhile, Getsuy's pace which was once practically 'composed' for his standards, started to seem... desperate. Aelia almost wanted to think it was a form of panic, but she didn't think the wendigo were even capable of such emotions yet. And yet, watching the creature trying to channel control over his hunger in a manner so tame was almost remarkable. In previous centuries she would've expected him to have simply given in and snapped to his urges. So what made him so focused and persistent today?

And just like that, Getsuy took his leave trailing after the sweet scent of flora and honey. "Oh, toodles darling," Aelia called softly, but she already expected it would be unlikely he would respond. He was trailing on a grand quest of friendship after all, that alone surely showed some modicum of growth.

"Roshan and Getsuy in the garden... With Melion there, surely he can be trusted to maintain peace, right?" Aelia pondered aloud to Antero in a casual tone. It wasn't that she lacked concern, but rather motivation. Even as she spoke, she was already searching about for an excuse to not be involved. As she spotted just the thing, her gaze alit with delight.

She quickly swallowed the remaining contents of her glass and spoke with half a grin, "Antero, you know I love you right?" Then with a flash of movement, she swiftly relocated to a table not too far, but more in the corner. With a lack of personal space that Aelia often presented with, she sidled up arm to arm with the young woman busily tending to flowers. She waved innocently to Antero, before turning to inspect this new stranger. Her face was partially obscured by the plain mask of a servant, but the pockets and folds of her uniform were stuffed with sagging flowers that once stood at the center of every table. "Hello Wallflower," Aelia cooed in a pleasant and curious tone, "How interesting! Is it the new fashion to dress in boquets?"

---

@AvaP@BunniesOfDoom@mmori

"Oh yes, socializing. I suppose I could chat with Antero a bit if that will satisfy you," Roshan nodded absently. Although his brief swim may have washed away the nervous sweat that had beaded his neck earlier, he couldn't deny that a part of him was still reluctant to return to the party scene. His desire to please those he respected was stronger however, and so he couldn't deny Nieve in the least. Instead, he tried to find comfort in the fact that her presence would accompany his return. He just hoped he wouldn't disappoint her too much by forcing her into a role she wouldn't want.

With Nieve's hand in his own, Roshan began the gentlemanly task of leading her back toward the garden path. The warm scent of the surrounding garden and refreshing mist of the forest beyond mixed together and filled his being. Soon, he would be trading it with the human perfumes and candle smoke inside. He much preferred the sweet smell of honey.

A warning flashed in his head.

Honey? That was innocuous enough, welcomed even. He would've loved to simply bask in the blanket of aromas, but the all-too-familiar crawl along the back of his neck refused to allow him to relax. "We should go the other way," he spoke simply, his deep voice sounding detached and unfeeling. He gave no further explanation, as he pulled his hand free from Nieve and grabbed one of the twisted horns that hung from his neck.

The scene: A happy reunion. A quiet, calming solitude. Who would fit the stage best? Roshan swiftly settled on the horn of his mother—soothing and determined—and placed the open tip to his lips. Just as the soft and joyful notes began to leave the other end, the hum of rot rolled across the garden and began to mingle with the smells. Roshan likened it to overly ripened and decaying fruit, or parasites hiding in refuse. Getsuy was here. Yet as the stench continued to invade, Roshan's radiant song marched on unaffected. Fuck. He would much rather utter profanties and expletatives.

@Lunari @BunniesOfDoom @Ducksworth

The garden had bloomed since last he visited, or perhaps it only seemed so in contrast to the grandeur of the ballroom. Out here, the air tasted less artificial, floral, green, tinged with the briny whisper of distant tides. The sky had softened into a velvet dusklight, and Melion sat quietly amid it all, draped in a gown of twilight hues, legs loosely crossed upon a low stone bench.

Around him, his companions fluttered with gentle purpose. Wings whispered through the air, bees heavy with pollen traced slow spirals between blooms, butterflies settled on petal and leaf. A small green beetle crawled up his wrist, paused, and flicked its wings open. Melion only smiled. There was no need to speak. This was communion. He had not come out here to be alone. That was not the nature of gardens. He had come to be still, and in stillness, others always came.

From one of his bees, hovering near a cluster of yellow yarrow, came the first tremor of awareness. Melion did not turn, but he felt the moment Getsuy passed through the ballroom, the pulse of tension, the shadow in the light. Hunger and bone. But not chaos. Not here.

He breathed in. Flowers and blood, salt and moss. And beneath it all, Getsuy’s strange scent, ancient, broken, heavy as wet fur, but tempered now, caught in restraint like a storm behind glass. Melion smiled faintly, not at the wendigo, but at a familiar presence finding its way back to peace.

“Please, my dear,” he said without turning, voice light as leaf-fall. “Come, sit and join me.”

And then, music. Soft at first, distant, but unmistakable. A horn’s gentle call threading through the garden like mist through boughs. Melion tilted his head, listening. The notes curled with presence. Another thread in the weave.

A bee, the same one that had first alerted him to Getsuy’s approach, drifted toward a corner of the ballroom where a masked servant arranged fresh blooms. She was quiet, methodical, mortal, yes, but not graceless. Melion felt the pause in her rhythm when she noticed the bee, heard her murmur a suggestion, soft as petals brushing petals.

"I think you'll find the garden a better place to fly around, little one. Ample place to fly too."

He smiled again. Not out of amusement, but out of interest. So few mortals ever spoke to his companions, fewer still with kindness. He filed the sensation away like a gardener marking the first sprout of something worth watching.

Then, more motion, brightness and mirth, the scent of sun-warmed silk and citrus. Aeliana. Through the bee’s eyes, he watched the phoenix sidle up beside the same gardener with all the casual intimacy of a flame curling into dry wood. Her voice purred with amusement, the shape of a tease forming already.

"Hello Wallflower, How interesting! Is it the new fashion to dress in bouquets?"

Melion did not interfere. He merely observed. She was light and fire, feathers and laughter. But beneath it, always watching. Always knowing. There was purpose there, but Melion didn’t mind. Instead, he exhaled slowly and leaned further back against the bench, letting the garden speak for him, as it always had.

“It’s calm here,” he murmured. “Don’t you think?”

With that, he fell quiet again, bees humming, music playing, the space beside him left open. Getsuy would choose whether to fill it.

A number of things seemed to happen all at once. When Getsuy stepped out into the garden, he was bombarded by a sensory overload he had not expected. The scent of Melion, though it had been what initially guided him to that spot, was not the only one in the area. There were two others, a seal and the one he was seeking earlier, the deer. Smell, also, was not the only sense he found triggered upon stepping into the garden.

Music, sweet and alluring flowed through along the flowers like a calming tide. It swept through him and wrapped around him like a soothing blanket. Between the peaceful aura of Melion and Roshan’s music, Getsuy felt his knees attempt to buckle under him. He reached out and dug his claws into the doorframe to keep from falling. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Getsuy felt fear. The hunger that was an ever constant pressure in his chest that threatened to consume him at all times, was gone, simmered down to such a low boil, he could not feel its pull anymore. He felt human again and it scared him.

He more saw his form shrink than felt it. Claws extracted from the doorframe and reduced down to simple fingernails. Digitagrade legs straightened into thighs, shins, and calves. Deer skull and antlers fell away to a human face and hair black as pitch. His deerhide skirt hung loosely from his waist and he had to reach out and grab it, else it would fall to the floor completely. His bloody cowl was far too large for his now human shoulders and felt more like a cut off poncho, its hood devouring his head almost entirely, leaving him blind to the world around him. He felt small and vulnerable.

With a buck of his head, the hood fell away and brown eyes looked down to bare human hands, not a claw in sight. His breathing quickened, coming in with short, fearful pants. He didn’t- couldn’t understand what was happening to him. For centuries he was a ravenous beast that roamed the land looking for its next meal and yet, he suddenly wasn’t anymore. He began to hyperventilate as the panic grabbed a hold of him and threatened to not let go. Then came his soothing voice, a calm call on the tide of music. ’It’s calm here, don’t you think?’ Between one quick inhale and the next, Getsuy felt his chest loosen. Melion, his silent companion, beaconed him. The fear he felt fell away with his next exhale, an inhale filling him with the soothing scent of honey and flowers. The music continued and Getsuy practically swayed on his feet as he took a step to the open space Melion offered to him. A second step, then a third. He felt like he was in a dream, one that had been a nightmare just moments before.

He came to settle down on the ground in front of the bench, his back pressed gently on the seat’s edge. Not a word was spoken as his brown eyes gazed out into the garden ahead of him. He wasn’t sure how long the sensation would last. Perhaps when the music stopped, he would find that hunger once again. Only time would tell and it was time he was going to spend in the presence of his dear friend.

Fuck.

Amaris’ internal monologue played out.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity FUCK.

Were he to vent his frustrations outwardly for others to hear, he'd be much more eloquent and diverse in his speech. But for the unspoken words in his mind? He didn't give a damn if it seemed crude or simple or repetitive. Fuck summed up his frustrations perfectly.

For months he had been preparing, trying to find the right amount of balanced chaos. Just enough to earn himself and his family scorn for years to come, but not so much as to wind up dead. Or to get anyone else killed for that matter. But as the Gods arrived one by one, a cold realization grew that perhaps a pot luck party would not be a safe choice for this particular crowd. He might as well announce an all you can eat buffet and present himself first in line for Getsuy.

God damnit.

Could the scavenger hunt still be salvaged? Perhaps with some recon, Amaris might still be able to work something out. Surely most of the Gods have arrived as well, so it should be fine to leave his post and join the ballroom. With one final look far into the distance for signs of divine, the poised young man opened the doors for himself this time.

And through the open door, he spotted the Goddess of death herself leaving the ballroom. Was it her distaste for the outfit choices presented? Were his plans actually working on day one? Amaris kept his excitement quietly hidden behind his simple mask as he hurried briskly into the grand room to inspect the scene. He quickly spotted Baron looking a bit lost. It was a bit rare to see him even slightly uncomposed, so Amaris had to fight back the urge to tease him. He couldn't let the perfect mask slip off just yet.

“Baron,” Amaris called to the knight, “is everything alright? I saw Goddess Morrigan leave wearing pants.” The red haired man looked around the room, and with an expression that would've put theatre actors to shame, feigned quiet alarm and unease at the gaggle of Gods in cross dressed formal wear.

Mentions: Morrigan @Lunari
Interaction: Baron @The Savant

(No color coding, sorry. BBC is a pain on phone)

The crystalline god regarded Aeliana with the stillness of an old star, light present, motion implied, but no energy wasted on the theatrics she so clearly hoped for. One graphite tendril lifted, just barely, in a gesture that could have been amusement or exasperation. With Antero, the two were functionally identical.

“Subtle,” he echoed, voice reverberating with a soft, glass-like resonance. “Yes. Your display of subtlety was only marginally less conspicuous than a meteor entering the atmosphere at terminal velocity.”

A pause, and a hint, just a hint, of that familiar, ageless smugness.

“But I suppose your version of subtle is… better than nothing.”

He did not bother to follow the champagne glass she held up like a lens. He knew precisely what she saw, a geometric body trapped in a celebration far too loud for his liking, contained by expectation and divine politics rather than glass. His attention shifted briefly to the path Getsuy had taken. The wendigo’s restraint was… anomalous. Admirable, even, if one were grading on a curve involving centuries of carnivorous outbursts.

“At least he is moving away from the mortals this time,” Antero murmured, the words carrying the same tone a teacher might use for a student who managed not to set something on fire. “And Melion is present. Peace is not guaranteed, but statistically probable. Ninety-two percent, if we are being generous.”

Aeliana’s half-grin declaration earned a faint tilt of the head. The orbiting halo of mana crystals brightened by a fraction, the Manakin equivalent of narrowing one’s eyes.

“That is typically what you say,” he began, “immediately before abandoning me to…”

She was gone. Already latching onto the nearest unsuspecting mortal like a barnacle of charm and chaos.

“…yes,” he finished to the empty space where she had been, “…that.”

One tendril drifted up to his headpiece as though pinching the bridge of a nose he did not possess. After a millennium in Aeliana’s company, the gesture had become instinctive. He turned his gaze toward the corner table where she had accosted the flower-laden servant. The girl looked overwhelmed. Aeliana looked delighted. And Antero looked… resigned. Before speaking to Aeliana again, he noted a small bee drifting lazily near the flower arrangements. The creature hesitated in midair, its wings humming with a warm, familiar resonance. Antero inclined his head toward it in the smallest, subtlest nod of respect.

“Little courier of Melion,” he intoned softly, “offer him my greetings, and inform him that I trust his presence will prevent unnecessary carnage in the garden. I am, admittedly, placing considerable faith in his abilities.”

He then called out to his old pain.

“Aeliana,” he called, his tone unhurried but absolutely clear, “that is not a bouquet. That is a person attempting to perform her duties. Please attempt, just for one evening, to minimize the chaos you inflict upon the staff.”
A pause, then, dryer, “And if you cannot manage that, at least do not uproot her from her station. I am still calculating the fallout from your last creative intervention.”

Another slight lift of a tendril, whether in warning or amusement, even he might not say.

“Please refrain from making this celebration more complicated than it already insists on being.”

---

@mmori@Ducksworth@NekoKyu

When at last the day of the grand feast arrived, Isander found himself assisting in the kitchens. Morning quickly turned into late afternoon, all hands busy preparing for the banquet. He lent his aid by bringing bottles up from the cellar, polishing cutlery, and setting up plates - the cooks seemed to know better than to ask him to do anything involving heat; after his earlier incident trying to chop carrots, they also began to steer him away from anything sharp.

By the time evening had set, everything was ready to satisfy the Gods - or so he hoped. Isander had heard rumors circulating about who would be in attendance, and he couldn’t help shifting from foot to foot in anticipation. This was it - he was finally going to witness the Gods in person. He wasn’t sure which feeling was more prominent - his excitement or his nerves. Not that it mattered; both emotions were coiled so tightly in his chest that there was no way to tell them apart even if he tried.

He had a freshly bandaged finger beneath his glove as the party began. Isander stood vigilant by the kitchen doors, a tray held aloft in one hand while the other was tucked respectfully behind his back. He tried to follow the instructions he had been given - be attentive but do not stare - yet he was finding it harder to do the longer the night wore on. Particularly once he’d realized that there must have been some sort of mix-up with the costumes. His eyes kept flickering towards the divine ones, his attention drawn to the untraditional attire worn by the imposing figures.

He even spotted a party hat attached to none other than the Great Chronicler themself and felt the corner of his mouth twitch in pleasant surprise. Somehow, seeing them all wearing swapped ensembles or silly hats made Isander feel more at ease. The Gods almost seemed more approachable this way - not that Zan had any intention of doing such a thing. Well... except perhaps the God of Bounty. He’d been told to pray to Melion since he learned to talk, not to mention the festivals they held in his honor every year. He had a million questions but was sure if he ever had the chance, he wouldn’t have the courage to ask a single one. Still, the idea of being in his vicinity was a welcome one.

As long as he ignored the passing whispers that the God of Decay was around, he was sure he could get through the night without incident. Zan brought himself to make another round about the ballroom, collecting empty champagne glasses and used plates, smiling politely despite giving all the deities a wide berth. Stay busy but don't interfere... He could do that. Be a bee on the wall, he thought distractedly, noticing said creature garnering quite a bit of attention in the corner. Well, perhaps not that bee. At least he could use the distraction to clear away the platters nearby. As he did so, he tried not to shiver at the state of the turkey bones that remained.

There were so many people.

Mairin was both fascinated and extremely nervous. She had been to large cities and towns in past years, so it wasn't as if she'd never seen so many people in one place before -- it was more the way they were all there, together, part of the same group.

Part of the same group. She looked down at herself, womanly figure wrapped in black. It covered her well. Especially the mask. It was hard to break more than a decade's habit of trying to hide herself, and wearing that mask over her mottled eyes was comforting in a way she wished it wasn't. Her hair she had done herself, pulling back a portion of the mousy locks to keep it out of her face but strategically leaving the rest down to hide the single shock of white hair and the accompanying spots at the nape of her neck. Again, old habits died hard.

She had told herself repeatedly over the past weeks that she had been chosen to be there. It could be argued it was just a coincidence, a natural draw where some hand had found her name amid a list of thousands -- but for the last decade or so of her life, Mairin had been denied the grace of coincidence everywhere she went. No, there were no coincidences for her. She had been chosen. By fate, by the Gods, by the stars, it didn't matter. It was the opportunity she had dreamed of since long before the fire that had started her on her wanderings, the opportunity to prove she had not been cursed.

While she would like to walk about unashamed of her spots and speckles, after spending years hiding them, it was hard not to feel the skin-crawling tremble of anxiety whenever said markings were visible to others. Would her fellow servants of the Gods turn on her? Cast her from the island? Beg the Gods to do away with her in order to keep disaster from striking?

So far, no one had done anything of the sort. Yet. Mairin had known brief bouts of peace like that before, where she dared to hope she might live normally somewhere... but all it took was one misfortune, one poor season, one tragedy, and all pointing fingers turned to the easiest one to blame: the Gods-cursed.

And for what? Some silly white spots? Why did the markings on her skin make her an icon for misfortune?

Mairin gave a small shake of her head, stopping herself before she spiraled into the internal debate she'd had with herself a thousand times before. She was meant to be working, no?

Leaving the quarters she'd been assigned, she found the supervisor she'd been scheduled under and was sent to help in the kitchens until she was needed elsewhere.

---

Kitchen work went well at first. She was tasked with helping to prepare some small finger-food sandwiches and the monotony of the task helped her quell her nerves for a while.

At least until the news from the ballroom started trickling to the kitchens.

A night that had been planned for months, organized to perfection, stressed over and triple-checked for inconsistences -- was suddenly going awry.

Mairin heard each new revelation as she worked quietly, back to the rest of the bustling kitchens. In the beginning it was the arrival of the first Gods and Goddesses, passed down from one servant to another; nothing unusual there, but it did start a buzz of excitement among the staff. It was then that things started to go wrong.

First it was just a dropped platter of pastries. The clash of the dish hitting the floor and the startled exclamations of those nearby made Mairin flinch, and although the rhythm of things was slightly thrown it was quickly on the way to recovery.

Then came the shocked word from the ballroom that the Gods and Goddesses seemed to have had a wardrobe malfunction.

This caused a much bigger stir. Mairin could hear the whispers racing around the kitchen, questions and fears that one or more of the human staff had made some terrible error. There was panic among some, worries that the never-before-heard-of wardrobe trouble spelled disaster for the rest of the festival. Each murmur of concern and question of the cause made her heart beat faster.

She hadn't done anything to cause it, of course -- but she never did. That was how it always started. Something bad happened, questions arose, fingers pointed.

Then it got worse.

The God of Death and Decay was there.

Mairin's hands shook as she kept assembling finger foods, grey-blue eyes rooted on her work while her hear pounded in her chest.

Why would a God who'd never attended the festivities before suddenly decide to show up the one year she was there? Surely someone would make the connection. Someone would start the rumor.

Her eyes darted to the side as a pair of cooks debated the topic nearby in agitation, one of them gesturing vaguely with a knife they'd been in the middle of using. The light glinting off the blade made her mouth go dry and her throat feel dry. She thought she could almost feel the old, ugly scar below her ribs where she'd been stabbed once in the middle of being accosted by an angry mob. Luckily it had been a weak stab and a shallow wound, but with only herself to tend to it in the weeks after it hadn't healed pretty.

Something clanged on her other side. Pots and pans maybe. It made her jump. Then another sound, behind her -- an exclamation from one of the head cooks, a raised voice that had her breaths coming quick and shallow.

Any second they'd all be turning on her, grabbing her, kicking her down, dragging her out--

Mairin practically threw the last little sandwich onto the tray and turned, dusting her hands on her apron as she tugged it off and tossed it on a line of hooks by the side door. Nobody noticed her leave, but she was too panicked to notice that.

Out she went, feet moving by instinct as she followed servants' corridors through the magnificent palace, made to keep humble humans out of the Gods' way. She'd learned the halls fairly well since she'd been there, but at the moment she wasn't admiring the architecture much.

Heart pounding, her feet moved on instinct as her mind whirled, body flinching at every sound whether she made it herself not. Walking, striding, running -- until--

Fresh air. Mairin stumbled to a halt, blinking as she realized she'd come out into the gardens. Ah. Well...

She took a deep breath. Unfortunately, ever since she'd been badly sick once as a child, her sense of smell had been fickle; she couldn't smell the lovely flowers that the gardeners had been working so tirelessly on, but she was sure they were delightful if they smelled anything like they looked.

Mairin exhaled slowly, standing there amid the greenery for a long moment and attempting to calm herself down with deep breaths.

"Think logically," she murmured to herself.

Logically, even if everything did go horribly wrong again and she was thrown from the island... it would be done quietly, no? No one would want to make a big scene with the Gods there, would they? ...Unless they'd just have the Gods get rid of her themselves... But that was unlikely. Surely the organizers and supervisors and everyone else who'd put so much time and effort into it wouldn't want the whole event marred by some kind of riotous expulsion of some random, speckled woman from the island.

Logically... The strange wardrobe mishap, with the Gods wearing gowns and the Goddesses in suits, must not be that horrible a thing. There were no Gods raining fire down on the palace or smiting servants from the face of the world, screaming and cursing. Maybe none of them were very bothered by it? Mairin hadn't seen any of them yet, but she assumed that, if they were terribly upset over the situation, she would've heard far more about it.

And, logically... was it so terrible that Getsuy was there?

Perhaps she was biased. She'd spent plenty of time pondering on the eerie God used in children's stories to keep them well-behaved. She never prayed to him or left him offerings, as she'd heard some did, but she did think of him. In fact she thought of him often when alone on her wanderings, wondering if they were so very different. Always roaming, always searching... for different things, no doubt, but still.

She'd made her peace with death a while ago, anyway.

Beyond that, wasn't it good that he would attend this great celebration of the Gods? Perhaps it meant he was coming around to humankind, or perhaps it was a sign of a change in the fortunes of the world, for the better.

Mairin let out the breath she'd been holding, feeling her mind at last calming down. Her hands still trembled faintly within their gloves -- again, the habit of hiding her mottled fingers had yet to fade -- and her heartbeat was still a touch quick... but it was better. She wouldn't do herself much good if she allowed herself to be the scapegoat for the world's misfortunes, would she? Best to keep a steady head and stay calm, even when things started to go wrong.

There was music playing somewhere in the gardens, a lovely tune. Idly Mairin wandered further, allowing herself a brief break from work before returning to the kitchens. There were so many people hustling and bustling about, she doubted she'd be missed for just a few moments. And there were no Gods or Goddesses about currently, which was good, seeing as it was apparently a very big taboo to be in the sight of one and not be working. Maybe it was about showing respect? No one had actually ever mentioned it. But--

Coming around a bend in the footpath she'd been following, Mairin was suddenly made aware of the fact that she was not alone and her thought that no deities were nearby was mistaken. Two were there, seated at a bench in a kind of tranquil reverie, she assumed; as if they, like her, had been simply taking a breath of fresh air and enjoying the moment. One was golden and draped in blue, the other... less golden. More disheveled, perhaps, was the word, and she had no idea who he might be.

But the golden one -- he looked exactly like her father used to describe. This had to be Melion, the favored deity of her parents. And of her, in her childhood. She felt that those days she had little to do with him, seeing as she didn't have the joy of farming or tending to wildlife... All the same, as she realized who he was, she felt a lump attempt to rise in her throat. Without warning, memories of her childhood came rushing to the forefront of her mind -- old visions of her father sat in his chair by the fire, still a bit dusty from the day's labor, helping her up to sit on his knee as he told her how Melion had helped him grow their crops that day.

Abruptly realizing however that she was standing in the presence of at least one God and quite possibly another that she felt she'd better pretend she wasn't unfamiliar with -- Mairin swiftly straightened up and put on her best manners. Best to act as if she was there for a reason and not just taking a break, otherwise she might end up cast off the island after all.

"My lords," she said, bowing slightly. Which probably looked a little odd, considering a curtsy would likely be more expected -- but she was far more used to wearing pants, and as a child she'd always followed her father around and had learned to bow before learning to curtsy. At least her voice wasn't shaking.

Of course, now she had no idea what to say. She didn't have any refreshments on hand to give her an easy explanation for what she was doing out there, and she wouldn't lie and say she'd been tending to the gardens. Straightening up, she recalled her training and avoided the urge to gaze curiously at the one sitting in front of the bench. Think, Mairin, think! "Ah... may I fetch you anything from the ballroom?"

Hopefully that would do, and they wouldn't be irritated by her intruding on the peacefulness of the moment.

To be compared to a meteor, the description left Aeliana tickled. Strange the way time moves feelings to change. A few centuries prior, she was desperate to hide and blend in amongst the world. And now, she has long abandoned such things to simply do whatever. If it made her a bright and shimmering meteor, so be it.

Of course, there was the consequence of her lack of true attachment, but that was something she was choosing to not ponder on. A meteor may find it's place after crashing, but Aelia still yet chose freedom.

And in that freedom she valued, Aeliana the Meteor found her attention upon a human girl with pale gold hair. With a quickness that was difficult to catch, she inspected the figure of the young servant. Small, but tone limbs that were mostly hidden under the layers of the girl's uniform. Even more curious were the bandages peeking through, but that was the kind of mystery that boldness would never be able to uncover. Maybe in due time, if Aelia's interest waivers on her long enough.

For what it was worth, the girl put forth a valiant effort in her composure. As far as servant training went, she did well as far as Aelia could tell. But then again, the Sun Goddess would find nearly any of the thousand possible reactions from servants entertaining.

Aelia listened to the girl's words with a look of enrapture, as if the topic of floral arrangements were an exciting novelty. The only hint of her true thoughts lie with the swift kiss she sent towards the little bee, a quick gesture sewn near-seamlessly into her act of attentive listening.

"May I assist you with anything, Your Radiance?"

Perfect! An invitation to indulge more! But before Aeliana could grab the opportunity, Antero her Moral Conscious clearly sensed her intention. Spoil sport, she thought with great affection.

“Aeliana, that is not a bouquet. That is a person attempting to perform her duties. Please attempt, just for one evening, to minimize the chaos you inflict upon the staff.”

Like a child that found a stray and was now pleading with their parent, the phoenix wrapped her arms around the servant girl's shoulders and held her. "Does it have to be this evening?" She implored, leaning her head against the child so that red and gold hair met. "I merely wish to dance, I promise."

@mmori@AvaP@Ducksworth

With music as his second nature, it was easy for Roshan to play his accompaniment. His thoughts were in disarray, but his fingers and breathing moved with ease. His brows were furrowed and focused, masking the inner cacophony.

And before him stood Nieve, gentle and beckoning. Despite her petite stature, Roshan had only ever seen her as resilient and strong. Was she fearless? Or unaware? He spared no thoughts to the answer, just affixed his gaze on hers. His eyes, searching and pleading intensely, looked more like anger. Controlling music was always easier than controlling his facial expressions. But though he willed himself to move forward, his body resisted, budging slowly.

For somewhere in the garden, the winds began to carry away the odor of rot. It wasn't fading, like a predator that had wandered away, but was vanishing like a source that had been swallowed. It was unnatural, and didn't fit Getsuy's hunting style. And in this absence, Roshan felt a cold and desperate grip grasping at his limbs. It was a silent panic that weighed him down like heavy chains. Why couldn't he sense Getsuy?

Roshan's instincts battled against each other, moving him forward at the pace of a funeral march.Not mine, he scolded himself, pushing forward another step. Not Nieve's he added stubbornly, his music still playing smoothly as he slowly but surely followed her path.

@Lunari (Sorry for the lack of dialogue, boy's got only one mouth lol)

Amaris looked about the room in quiet concern, his lips pierced thoughtfully. In truth, he was more annoyed than worried. We're none of the Gods upset? Even just a tiny bit miffed? Worst yet, some even looked to be enjoying the unannounced theme.

Or, well, it wasn't that surprising that the Light of Rebirth would find joy in the situation, but Amaris had rather hoped such reactions would be of the minority. Was a new turn of fashion being born tonight?

The young man crossed his arms and sighed, an act that looked to be relief. Tonight's plans were a flop. Well, he still had to at least make sure to keep the servants alive.

"Isander Ashford," Amaris half called, half greeted, "It's unlikely that will be enough for the Devourer. I'll have the kitchen increase the anticipated food supply." Amaris' plans came out naturally as he looked over the remains of Islander's platter. When you're raised as a leader, it sometimes came out naturally, much to his own annoyance. Today though, it was a benefit.

Based on the gazes and tension thrown towards the garden, it was easy to discern the path of the God of Chaos. "We'll need to divert servants away from the garden for now... Everyone out there did safely retreat back inside, right?" Surely no one would be stupid enough to stay out unguarded in the open with Getsuy, right?

@Kaiidth

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