Event | Sinbrilee | Bacchanal

[ironwood]

Characters: Any and all!
Date: August 24 - 30th
Location: Sinbrilee
Situation: An ancient festival of an ancient city, all are welcome at the Bacchanal!
Warnings/Rating: Please label threads as appropriate.

Death and destruction cannot curtail the single most important festival celebrated by the denizens of Sinbrilee: The Bacchanal! The ghosts in and about the city have begun to gossip about high fashion and festivities, sending any that inquire to the Amphitheatre -- a grand, circular structure nestled in the west side of the city.

This structure bore the fall of Sinbrilee and the wear of time with dignity, having lost handfuls of archways and one long stretch of wall to crumbling decay. Despite this, it is obvious that the amphitheatre once hosted many a display and every more festivities than the mind can grasp. This was their solace and safety; here is where the people of Sinbrilee came to find the mind's escape from all that threatened them and their great turtle.

Ghosts have been busy throughout the week, clearing paths through debris and hanging great cloth banners of soft blues and greens to disguise the more blatant signs of its decline. Many hundreds of them shimmer and slid through the area, providing for tables upon tables of food, offering drink, and overseeing competition of sport and skill (some even denying death's non-corporeal curse to enter).

Here, well... Here is where the party begins!

Food & Drink | Music, Discussions, & Dancing | Wrestling & Competitions

Comments

[jirk]

Depends on what kind of reward you're thinking you deserve. I'm an honest girl, Mr. Gray.

[The cheekiest little grin, and he steps in just close enough to suggest intimacy.]

[depicted]

[Dorian grins in return.] Ahah, then I'm safe! I know you won't play with a poor boy's heart. [There's a little pout that doesn't mask the smile. Poor boy. That's Dorian. Poor, innocent boy.]

[jirk]

[And in a totally mock-posh British accent,]

Do you find this to be a game, then?

[Poor, innocent everyone, honestly.]

[depicted]

[He turns Jim out mostly so he can hold up a handle to signal that Jim should stop with the fake accent, before bringing Jim back to a closed position.]

I find that an insult. [He would if he weren't busy smiling, maybe.] I'm not prepared to play Henry Higgins—and besides, I don't know if I'd care for the original ending between us.

[jirk]

You know, I'm pretty sure I couldn't answer to 'Eliza' if my life depended on it.

[But, obligingly, the accent has gone, and he's back to the amused, San Franciscan drawl he picked up to cover the faint remnants of Iowa to his voice.]

[depicted]

Are you certain? She wasn't particularly fond of following either.

[This sort of light, teasing banter is always a pleasure to Dorian, who is very comfortable with the rhythms of it.]

[jirk]

Well, yeah. But I rebel with far more panache.

[And as if to exemplify the hows and the whys of it all, he alters the position of his hands, hooks a foot behind Dorian's ankle and pushes him down into a dip that would be very risque by the standards of dear Eliza's time.]

[depicted]

[Dorian laughs, and also almost loses his balance. But it is just as easy for Dorian to follow as it is for him to lead.] Is 'panache' what they call this sort of thing in America, these days?

[jirk]

Define 'these days'. I'm from the twenty-third century.

[Excuse you there is so much panache here! It's gorgeous and zany! Stop judging him.]

[depicted]

Is that when tripping your partner became an acceptable dance move? Back in the 19th, we thought of it as being a bad dancer.

[Dorian is just programmed to give Jim a hard time. Sorry. But it's all meant fondly.]

[jirk]

Someone's never danced with a Cardassian.

[Lucky for you, Dorian, Jim can give as good as he gets.]

There's no way you're actually from the 19th century, though. Way too 'hip.'

[depicted]

[Melodramatic, Dorian sighs.] That's the problem with posterity: it gives everyone such a particular impression of an era that you all forget how much deviance dominates the human condition.

[He shifts hands to turn Jim out, seeking to take back the lead.] Now tell me, what am I missing out on, having never danced with a Cardassian? [He peers over Jim's shoulder.] Should I look around for one to see if I can't get a better dance partner?

[jirk]

That would be telling.

[He cocks his head to one side.]

That said, do you happen like your dance partners tall, dark, scaly and xenophobic? Because if so, man, fly at 'er. Though in the interest of extending your life expectancy, I'm pretty sure there's none here.

[Jim, obligingly, passes the lead back without much complaint.]

[depicted]

[Dorian offers a rather arrogant grin.] I did say I grew up in the 19th century, didn't I? We very often hit three out of four.

[jirk]

You dog!

[But no he's intrigued tell him more. Mostly about the ladies. You still had those in the nineteenth century, right?]

[depicted]

[We did have those then, but we've enjoyed systematically trivializing their role in history and diminishing any sense of their agency or presence since!

i mean

Dorian gives a bit of a pout.] Don't say that. Surely you've had more than your share of dance partners.

[jirk]

Is this where I kiss and tell?

[Oh no James Kirk trying to be coy. Run for the hills. Preferably with those ladies, lest he claim them for his own.]

[depicted]

[Dorian smiles sweetly.]

I wasn't certain kissing was on the cards with you.

[There's a 75% chance that he just wanted to alliterate there.]

[jirk]

Have you got a lot to learn. I'm almost annoyingly open-minded. Up for anything. You know.

[Dorian, you cad.]