Arvek in Pink

From Roka: What a great city. Any place where you can spontaneously marry two unwilling parties together is a good place in my book. I think this will be a good place to stay.

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The sweeping Festival Grounds serve many purposes. For much of the year they serve as practice grounds for training knights, for the games of children who pick up ball, bat, and begin a game of stickball. During other times, they're filled with colored tents, with performers for some of Alexandria's many festivals.

Along one side are a set of permanent bleachers, and at either end an archway. Each archway is carved in the style of a grand entry and marked with images of of Daeus, with rearing horse and flying pennon. Here, the god stands depicted in his roles of defender and knight-warrior. Recently, the Lancers of Serriel have taken to practicing here, along the knights and warriors of other orders, and a small number of them take a select pride in the upkeep of the grounds, alongside the Daeusites, Navosians, Gileans, and other mixtures.

Littering the grounds are places for archery, target practice. Here too, scheduled a few times a month, is the space given for ridden sport, organized recently by the arvek nar. The reining champion's name is displayed in an upright lance at the end of the field, a silent challenge for next month's contender.

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Roka Morbid dwarven lady with lots of braids and a scythe 26s 16m

Svarshan Be a brightscale! Chomp a demon! 0s 4d

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South <S> North <N>

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This is a stern, stout woman of dwarven descent, ready to kick some ass and take some names. A cord hangs around her neck and disappears behind her thick leather armor, which has been dyed black and layered into a somewhat foreboding pattern. On her back is a huge black fur cloak that fastens at her throat with a single fang. Many long dark braids hang to her middle back, near the elaborate scythe that straps there, complete with a beautiful rendition of the symbol of Kor in the blade. Though her dark eyes frequently hold some humor, there's a clear undercurrent of the macabre.

It's Korday, Vhast 03 19:44:14 1015. The full moon isn't up. The tide is low and ebbing.

The icy northwest wind howls, blowing snow about in savage gusts. The cold is intense. The sky is clear deep blue and the stars glitter, brilliant as diamonds.

Sandy has arrived.

Festivals, huh?

A stout dwarven woman shoulders her scythe as she walks through the festival grounds, casting her gaze onto all the stuff around. No festival for the moment, but there /are/ a pair of cavaliers squaring off with ball-tipped javelins. Lingering along the edges near the bleachers, Roka watches with one brow hiked in interest, fingers drumming on the shaft of her weapon.

Mikilos has arrived.

Festivals, huh?

A stout dwarven woman shoulders her scythe as she walks through the festival grounds, casting her gaze onto all the stuff around. No festival for the moment, but there /are/ a pair of cavaliers squaring off with ball-tipped javelins. Lingering along the edges near the bleachers, Roka watches with one brow hiked in interest, fingers drumming on the shaft of her weapon.

Whirlpool has arrived.

Jessa has arrived.

Overhead, the icy northwind howls. Svarshan's breath smokes in the chill, and he grunts as one of the organizers, (one of those Cultists), shoves a program into his claws. The man, too pretty for his own good and with long, flowing locks, waves an arm before moving down the line.

You know, muttering about that /Cultist/.

/Serriel/!

Speaking of too pretty for their own good, Mikilos mutters absently to himself, his cloak apaprently affected by an errant Fly spell as it keeps trying to take off with the chill wind. The elf is having none of that, keeping the cloth wrapped tightly around himself. What little attention remains for other things is spent peering about as he travels the grounds, trying to avoid the wrost of the wind.

And Roka, who has her own fuzzy black fur cloak pulled around her, decides it's about time to ask some locals. Approaching Mikilos, she gives the elf a tap on the...well, probably the arm, since she probably can't reach his shoulder. Tall for a dwarf she may be, but the dawn elf is far taller! "Hey. You. Just double-checking here, this is Alexandria, right?"

Being closer to the ground does not, today, do people any favors. Even people like Jessa. So she's bundled up but she's gotten creative about it--there's brightly colored scarves and she has somehow acquired a -muff- of all things and big furry boots that go all the way up to her knees. She looks both like a tiny little barbarian and a bit ridiculous AND YET she mostly manages to pull it off. Mostly because she's /confident/. "Well it is ridiculously nippy out here!" she announces to anyone who lingers close enough to her.

Svarshan looks over the program, and then crumples it up. Instantly, the Cultist's eyes are upon him, weighing, measuring...

Do not you /dare/... that stare says, with a golden and arched brow.

He looks down at the paper then and wads it tighter before moving on and beginning to walk down the field where he encounters the sildanyari and the khazadi. "Sssa. Mage, Mountainss-Child. It is good to. Sseee you. I..." and then his muzzle slowly closes and he looks out onto the field. Sees Jessa.

And stills.

It is not unlike a rabbit, turning around the bend and noting the coyote there.

Mikilos blinks distractedly at the dwarven type person. "What? Yes. Part of it anyway. Why? Where else might it be?" Raiseing a hand in greeting to the BrightBlade, the elf gets a facefull of wind-flapping cloak, and mutters in annoyance to himself. Peering around a moment, the wizard gestures, and begins to rapidly scrawl a series of glowing runes into the air. Runes that don't stay still, but shift and wandering, starting to form a large circle in the chill air.

Roka looks at the Sith as he approaches, a brow lifting further, only to follow his gaze to the tiny barbarian. (Surely that's what she is, after all.) And then she grins. "Hm! Pint-sized blender, huh? I just want to take her home and make a hat out of her!"

Of course, to Mikilos, she answers belatedly, "Oh, it could be any number of places; I just wasn't particularly... observant coming in, last night. Just wanted to double check I was in the right place. You guys gotta Kor temple around here somewhere?"

"OH HELLO SVARSHAN HOW ARE YOU TODAY?" That's Jessa. Apparently she either didn't notice that theres some sort of event or she just doesn't care. Bounding up toward the little gathering, she keeps her hands tucked into that muff. It is dyed scarlet. "Annnnnd---" Whatever greeting she WOULD have given the unknown dwarf dissolves into a furious scowl. "You do not want to start going down that road. Ever." That's not a barbarian accent. She's a River-tribed lucht.

"Yesss," Look AWAY from the Muse. Look AWAY. "It. Isss in the Lower City, wesst of the river. It is as proper a temple as the Rage Warrior would have." Svarshan pauses, and thinks a while. Words come slowly and with difficulty, when they come at all. And pause, pause and a slow look at the teeny, tiny Muse. "Hello. Muse."

Myrana has arrived.

Sandy goes South <S>.

Sandy has left.

Boshter has arrived.

The circle of runes is complete, and a glow appears in their center, follows by a clawed appendage reaching thru that glow to grasp the edge of the portal. Followed by another leg, and another, and another, and another, and another. White as frost, the giant spider pulls itself thru the gate, it's furry thorax glimmering with golden light. Eight sky blue eyes peer a moment at the wizard, then the Summon rapidly scuttles between the nearby bleacher and a banner pole. In moments, a thick curtan of webbing hangs between the two, almost instantly catching a collection of blowing leaves.... and effectively blocking the wind to create a small area where a gathering such as this might chat without having to shout over the weather.

Mikilos nods in satisfaction. "There. Ever so much better. Now, where were we?" The elf peers absently at the gathered.

Svarshan stands there a moment longer, as still as a rock. Then he gives a long, slow shudder--it's almost like thawing. He starts to smile and starts to say a thing to Jessa--and then magic hits the air. He stills instantly, going tense all over again.

"Lower city, west of the river. Check." The strange dwarf gives Svarshan a small, flippant salute, then squints at Jessa. "Down what road? Oh, I see now; you're a river rat, not a wanderer. Still make a good hat. Fluffy." She points to the boots with a grin. Of course, then Mikilos blocks the wind and she gives the elf a more appreciative look. "Hey, thanks, pointy. That's much better.

Roka says, ""

Jessa looks up at Svarshan and starts to smile widely. "Hello, hello." The dwarf gets two fingers pointed at her. "I'll be watching you." Then she grunts at Mikilos. "Well, that's a fascinating choice of actions. So how long will it last?"

And that's when Boshter bounds into the scene! He slides to a halt, looking around rather suddenly before saying, "Wait... what is going on here?!" BEcause, you know, he had no idea. He just ...arrived. Like Boshters do.

Svar's tail crashes against the earth and he stares hard at the spider. He's breathing slow and steady--a deliberate slow and steady and his hands clench just as carefully by his sides. Let go. "I..." he starts to say, and looks down at the Muse, instead, and drops a hand on her head. It's a little like grasping someone's arm. Only you know.

She's short.

Boshter just makes him twitch.

Mikilos blinks at Svar. "It's the angelic version, don't worry. Firey webs would be warmer, but don't last nearly so long on this plane." He glances to Jessa. "Oh, the spider will head back in a few minuets, but the web is effectively perminant. Though with this wind, likely ripped to shreads in a few hours. I'll take it down when we're done here. Erm, just don't touch it and should be perectly safe." A nod to Roka. "Mikilos." he corrects absently.

Myrana comes walking stiffly along below the bleachers, her face tucked down into her scarf and snow bristling on her peacoat, gathered up atop her hat. She seems to be watching the jousting, walking at a slow, thoughtful pace.

Roka rubs her chin thoughtfully. "You're welcome to, shorty," she says with a lift her of brow at Jessa and a grin. Of course, then there's an Arvek, and the dwarf leaps back a step, hand going to the handle of the scythe on her back-- before she scowls. "Roka," she mutters. "...That is, /I'm/ Roka. Nice to meet you, Mikilos the Pointy. And Inordinately Tall."

There's a noise. It is probably a protest. It is NOT a whimper or some sort of weak or girly noise. Instead, it seems to border on something more like ARE YOU KIDDING ME except in outraged noises. "STOP HOLDING MY HEAD YOU GIANT PANSY LIZARD!"

Boshter goes North <N>.

Boshter has left.

Boshter has arrived.

Svar looks blandly across at the mage and then just goes quiet. And that's probably worse, isn't it? And then the Muse yells and he yanks his hand back. It shatters that wall of tension, and he stares. "Sssa...I...I am not doing well. Today. Musse. You have my apologies. I--" He pauses after that, and no, the tension hasn't gone away. No, not really. It's there, gathering in the belly after it had been scattered. Gathering like a heavy, coiled thing that just lets him nod once. And then collect himself, and angle off towards the bleachers.

Mikilos blinks again. "Actually, Svar, I was hopeing to speak with you for a bit." The elf fumbles a moment, trying to reach into his backpack without taking it off. "I'm working on a paper, 'A Dietary Guide to Demons'. But there's susprisingly little information on the topic. Even considering, I mean."

Roka rubs her chin thoughtfully. "So, Wee Shouty Blender, what's your name anyway?" she asks, although she keeps an eye on Mikilos and Svarshan angling elsewhere. And another eye on Boshter. A suspicious eye, at that.

"I -swear-. I realize you giants," and by the way Jessa waves an airy hand, she means everyone taller than her, "are flighty but STILL. I am a /Muse/. A /little/ dignity please." The one saying this? Has furred boots. And a furred muff dyed scarlet. And lots of length of scarf wound around her because it is /cold/. "I am Jessa Hartose, Beloved Muse of Ceinara." She points a finger at Mikilos. "They eat their researchers. Duh."

It gathers in his belly, a slow and heavy thing that curls and twists. Svarshan's hand goes over his stomach and he slows and looks down. Breathes out, long and slow. "Sssaaa...but one. ...I...sshould--" and he stops right then, staring out at the bleachers. "Giver-of-Beer?" he asks quietly.

Myrana paces up, her shoes crunching in the snow and leaving pointy little marks behind her. She looks around the gathered persons, giving the enormous spider a slightly unsettled glance before pinning a glare on Mikilos. It is then moved to Svarshan, and she crosses her arms, blowing out a puff of white breath. "Svar, that is where she keeps her brain," she tuts.

Myrana says, "Don't do that."

"Jessa Hartose, huh? Nice to meet another servant, even if it's for...Ceinara." Roka makes a face, though it's at least...partially...teasing. "Me, I'm a Herald of Death. Or War. Can't keep those straight. Do Muses do any fighting or is it all painting and ballet?"

Svarshan looks down at his hand as Myrana says that, and he kind of smiles. It is, at least, a slow crack in the tension that seems to ride him today. "Saa. I...it iss good to see you." He walks over, and sits down on the bench. Sits. Like a normal person. You know, just sitting there. "The Mage had...wanted to talk of. Recipes." He pauses a while after that and lets go a breath. Then leans against the bleacher-back above him. Glances over at the khazad and the tiny-but-not-a-chicken and just leans his head back again. Thunk. "What promoted thisss. Book, Arcanisst?"

"HELLO," says Boshter after a moment. E ntirely too loudly. "This is all very interesting! Giants!" HE looks up. And around. "I gappled giants once. It was fun. And then I took a dragon out of the sky. I do not think I will ever b able to top that!" Then he makes his way towards myran and goes to hug her. Yes, really. Hug her. "HELLO, MYRANA."

"Me? Oh, I've done so -many- things." Jessa tilts her head, giving Roka a dubious look. "Frankly, I generally go with whatever inspires me. And what seems to -not- be inspiring others.

Mikilos smiles, waving in greeting to Myrana, and nodding absently as The Spider fades away, it's spell time finished. The web still remains, for now. To Roka, he shrugs. "Some, certainly. Vrogra, Son of Crodax, an orc Muse who played symphonies by breaking the bones of his foes. Or so the ledgend goes. I have a copy of some of his sheet music, but have never tried to play." Another grin, and he steps over towards Svar. "A mug of spiked ale."

Svarshan gives Mikilos a steady thoughtful look...and then turns his head just-so-much to stare. At Myrana.

Roka gives Jessa an appraising look. "I can get behind that," she says after a moment with thoughtful nod. "And I just kill shit. Maybe I'll see you in battle. Be curious what a Muse can do." She pauses, twirling a braid around her finger in thought. "I like this Vrogra," she mentions to Mikilos, following after and giving Boshter a narrow look.

Jessa gives Roka a highly amused little look. "/Inspire/, of course." She's laughing then before pointing a finger at Boshter. "I think you are really enjoying exaggeration over there."

Myrana winces from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, and as Boshter bounds toward her with flung open arms, she does a thing; with a flash of petticoats and a boneless hup!, she bends backwards out of the way of the hug and at the same time bends her knees, all but limboing backwards and ending up with her butt planted on the bleacher next to Svarshan. The force of the impact of bustled rear on bleacher is enough to shoot her legs out in front of her, toes up, and her heavy braids to bounce.

Seated, she seems to recollect the last half second mentally, taking stock: Did I break anything? No. Does my butt hurt? Yes. Did I get hugged? No. And then she brightens, unexpectedly pleased with herself. "That turned out rather well," she says, and then scoots flush with the 'Makar, glaring up at Boshter. "I am a terrible sorceress, and not for hugging. The last stinky hobgoblin to hug me turned pink! Yes he did! Just ask Svarshan here."

"The Pink Hob? That was -you-?!" Mikilos helps!

Myrana says, "Oh yes."

Myrana smoothes a hand primly over a snow-bristled black braid, which of course just gets her glove wet.

Myrana makes a face and shakes the partially melted snow off.

Svarshan opens his muzzle, closes it. Slowly. And then he nudges Myrana once. Reproachful look. He hasn't forgotten that unanswered question. Oh, NO.

There will be words.

Roka squinches her face up. "...Pink...Hob?"

Jessa eyes Myrana. "Well. Tell the story. Now." There's a long pause and she shifts in her warm fur boots. Then social conventions rear their head. "Oh. Right. Please."

Mikilos bites his lip a moment and takes a slow breath before nodding to Myrana. "Though in all fairness, Boshter might like being pink."

Svarshan stretches out on his bleacher-chair, leaned against one and sitting on the other. His tail drops to the ground next to him. Mutters underneath his breath, so JUUUUUUST Myrana can hear him: "Ssspiked ale."

Clearing her throat, Myrana leans forward with her hands folded primly in her lap. "Oh, well, you see; there was once a horrible smelly awful and obnoxious Hobgoblin named Boshter who never washed his underp-- what." She looks at Svarshan, blinking. And then at Mikilos. "Oh!! Oh Mikilos you weren't supposed to TELL HIM!"

Sandy looks down at Myrana for a moment and then says, "YEs, I remember the pink Hobgoblin. This is why you ought be hugged. VERY MUCH SO. Are we clear?" Then eh turns. He eyes Jessa. "YEs. I think you should hear the story too! Myrana! You must tell her all about pink hobgoblins and then I will tell her all about the time you were hugged so very hard!"

Svarshan just gives Myrana a LOOK, over whatever this is about, and whatever it is, almost makes him smile, too. And then he sort of stares at Boshter.

Jessa is steepling her fingers inside her muff. None of you can see it. But that is a pleased and satisfied little smile on her face. "Yes. Okay. Good. Keep going."

Mikilos blinks. Peering from Myrana to Boshter to Svar to Myrana again. "...I think Boshter already knew that. Or were you talking about the ale Svar gave me on the New Year? because I think he knew about that. Which he am I not supposed to have told what?"

Roka takes a seat herself, lifting a brow as she listens. And then eyes Boshter some more. "You...like hugs," she comments suspiciously. "Never met an arvek much into hugs before." /Squint/.

Myrana says, "He... he did? Oh--- wait I er..."

Myrana's brain whirrs and clicks around, switching gears.

"Hugs are useful. Situationally." Jessa says that in an airy voice again but she's mostly watching the faces of the people around her.

"I, ahem! No, I do -not- like hugs! And uh... uh. I um." Myrana turns her hands about in a slow whirling motions opposite of one another from the wrist. "That is, Svarshan, AHEM! I think it must be the cold. Yes. Of course, you shared some with Mikilos, because I gave to you all of the Fire-Demon Stout I made."

Svarshan lets go a sigh, and gives Mikilos a bland look that says the mage just said too much. And then gives Myrana the blandest look ever. And widest eyes.

Mikilos blinks glanceing from Myrana to Svar and back again. "-You- made it? Do you have any idea the long term effects of demonic blood in a mortal digestive system??!" The elf plops down next to the sorceress, quill in hand for note taking. "Because I havn't the slightest idea. Where'd you get it, anyway?"

Jessa just starts to laugh, a musical sound that doesn't have anything in it but an appreciation for...everything.

Svarshan looks up at the skies, heavenward. He's smiling a bit as he does.

Myrana sucks in her lower lip and tries to match that look. But... trying to win a staring contest with a being who has two pairs of eyelids is ultimately an exercise in tearful failure, and so, very slowly, and without blinking, she shiiiiiffts on her but, rotating to look at Mililos.

Roka lifts a brow again. "...I'm sorry, demon blood ale? I need to try me some of that. You want a test subject, Pointy? I'll drink whatever you hand me and you can take all the notes you want."

"hrmyes. Yes it is a bit of a puzzler," Myrana coughs, trying not to blush at all the laughing and looking about as innocent as a chicken stuck in the feedbin. "I haven't really seen what it does to men, as such because--" she lowers her voice and sort of mutters under her breath: "--because all the paladins did was burp a lot."

She blinks at Roka, and brightens. "Svar might let you try some."

Svarshan sighs, and looks back down at Myrana. And admits, at length, "Lassst blood." He pauses a while after that, and waves a hand. "I take the lassst blood from. The last demon and give it...for the ale." Pause, longer pause, and he looks at Mikilos a while. And leans back on the bleachers again. One could say now, that he is being difficult on purpose. Maybe. ...

Jessa listens but appears to be slowly but surely losing interest. "None of you are giving actual good gossip."

Boshter pauses, then turns towards Jessa and says, "One time, Myrana drugged a paladin."

Myrana says, "OH!"

Myrana says, "You rat! I didn't /drug/ him!"

"....I'm listening," Jessa says, looking sidelong at Boshtar.

"Screw gossip. I want to try this ale. I'll have to find this Svar fellow and ask him." Roka nods -- then looks delighted at this new bit of gossip! "Drugged a paladin, you say?" she beams.

Svarshan looks towards the sky again. Such pretty clouds.

Myrana's thinly gloved hands fly up to her face and she points a horrified glare of milk-curdling death up at the Hobgoblin.

"She *did*. That's what the story says!" Then a pause. He looks at the others and then at Myrana, "You didn't drug him? What did you do, then? Because you clearly did something." Apparently, Boshgter had a clever plan and it worked.

"I didn't--- I didn't /drug/ him, don't say that! It sounds so villainous!" Myrana protests. "I had good intentions!"

"Was he handsome? Did this enable you to have your way with him? Or to NOT have your way with him? Or to take something valuable?" Jessa considers that. "Maybe you needed to because paladins are so boring normally."

Mikilos shrugs. "I don't know any. Well, not that isn't public record. After the ale, was curious the long term effects, or possible side effects, so tried to read up on the topic. There's almost nothing written. Seems most demonic flesh is just plain flesh, no diffrent than any other sort, other than flavor and such. But some is vast diffrent. Tale of a demon lord who force fed his victims pieces of his flesh to turn them into mind-controled servants. Other infernal blood is wildly poisonous. But little formal odcumentaion on the matter."

"What? Yes! NO!" Myrana yelps.

"So yes he was handsome or yes you took something or yes he was boring?" Jessa frowns at Myrana. "Enquiring minds want to know!"

Mikilos blinks to Jessa, then to Myrana. "-I- want to know."

"SEE? ENQUIRING MINDS." Jessa is very emphatic.

"Y-- yes he's handsome!" Myrana then throws up her hands. "Why would that have anything to do with roofie-ing him?! I just didn't want to have to knock him out! He's very tall and his head is like a lump of rock!"

Huh? (Type "help" for help.)

Myrana says, "Do you know how HARD it is to knock out a paladin? Look!" She reaches out and smacks Svarshan without looking. "They're DENSE!""

Svarshan stops looking up at the clouds long enough to look at Mikilos. And then he gives himself a shake. And looks slightly like he has constipation for the rest of the conversation. But y'know. That might just be /normal/...

"Do you need some lessons? Oh my GOODNESS I have stories I can tell about that!" Jessa brightens, bouncing on her toes. She almost reaches Svarshan's knee then. "See, it is really better if you dont knock them out beforehand, you know. More fun for both parties."

Roka is too busy laughing to have much to add.

Myrana lets out a frustrated breath. "No no, Quint is a pain in the ass. I much prefer him insensate." There is clearly a gap here. Things are flying so far over Myrana's head that they're wearing skis and ugly sweaters.

"Ow," Svarshan mutters, on automatic. And he gives the mage another disconcerted look before looking back to Myrana. And he clears his throat. And says: "He hass declared himself her protector."

"I think that technically violates the law,""Jessa muses.

"Well of course it violates the law, we can't just have people drugging each other all over the place. It's hard enough to keep my horrible patrons from doing it and then robbing each other blind."

"Myrana always has good intentions," says Boshter, "Except when she does not. Then it is a ot of fun to remind her of her not so good intentions!" He nods his head. "She is a very good person except when she's a stinky hug-avoidign sorceress."

Myrana seems to pause.

Myrana shoots a distracted look at Boshter, and then peers at Svarshan. "What was that?"

"Myrana. She's talking about sex." Mikilos is a helper.

Myrana says, "SHE'S WHAT?!"

"Well, no, I meant..." Jessa's voice trails off and she studies Myrana. "Ooooooooooooooooooooh," she finally says. Then she looks both amused and sympathetic.

Myrana utterly forgets whatever it is she thought Svarshan just heard, jumping up to her feet.

Svarshan leans back against the bleachers. "And Bossshter findss every excusse he can to hug her."

"Don't worry. I will educate you," Jessa says in a serious and sympathetic tone.

"I do! I like hugging Myranas!" She totally ignores Myrana's antics for the time being, though he does reach down to lay a hand on her shoulder.

Roka leans back in her chair, grinning, and folds her arms. She's just watching at this point, because all this back and forth? This is perfect. She'll just enjoy the show as long as it persists. Bwahaha

The reptile pauses, and looks at Boshter. "Ssa. I can perform weddings. You know. ...asss can she," with a nod towards the Muse. "You ssshould stop hanging around her ssso much. With the hugging."

Myrana says, "Oh! Oh! OH MY GOODNESS NO I WAS JUST GOING TO BEAT THE GHOST OUT OF HIM!"

"OH I LOVE RUNNING A GOOD WEDDING OH MY GODS CAN I DO ONE RIGHT NOW? WHO IS GETTING MARRIED?????" Jessa may be excited.

Myrana puts her hands on her red cheeks, looking like she might either explode or faint.

Mikilos frowns mildly, and peers at Jessa. "She already knows. I think. Misses the hints, but does know if youbeat her over the head with the obvious. She has a kid after all. Well, a cat. Same thing, really."

Roka snorts in amusement. "I can also do weddings, if you're the brawling type. Our ceremonies are... exciting." Like calvinball meets gladiator, in holy matrimony, we bless this something something GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOALLLLLLLLLLLLl.

"Women with cats often do not know anything at all about sex," Jessa counters

Svarshan opens his muzzle, closes it. And then starts to get up, sits back down. He looks quietly at Boshter, then back again. "Sssaa. I think. He hangs around her. Conssstantly. He isss in need of your wisdom, I think." He leans forward and presses his hands together instead. And then Roka speaks up and his eyes sort of gleam.

Mikilos is suddenly a little worried. "....just so long as I'm not the groom. Came too close on that with Sandy."

Jessa looks suddenly sly and she pulls one delicate hand out from her muff. "I can just start a ceremony and we will fill in the bride and groom later."

"I-I-I WHAT. MIKILOS!!" Myrana squawks, and reaches out to grab the elf by the shirtfront, trying her very best to shake him. "Mikilos, half elves do not work that way! RAAGH!"

Mikilos blinks innocently. "I think it utterly depends on the other half."

Svarshan rubs at the side of his jaw, and grins, looking away. "Sa. No. ...And I think..." he stands, and then looks towards the sky again. And then, you know? Just kind of...wanders off. Because Jessa? Has that Gleam. In her Eye.

Svarshan is leaving? This is not a good sign. HE always gets out when the getting is good! Boshter, greatly alarmed by this portent, says very loudly, "WELL I SHOULD HUG AND RUN." BEcause he clearly noticed something that the Arvek did not.

"My other half is not CAT you asshole!" Myrana shouts.

"Dearly Beloved and all the ones who are not lucky enough to be the beautiful Ceinara's beloveds. We are gathered here in the cold in front of strange witnesses to bind two people together who may not be expecting things...." Jessa seems to be getting warmed up. She's eyeing Myrana and Mikilos now.

Mikilos blinks innocently again. "Are you sure? You're pretty catty sometimes." He seems oblivious, but does reach for his spell components.

Roka stands in reverence, grinning like a wolf. She folds her hands, and asides to Myrana and Mikilos, "Bless." How sweet. Heh heh heh.

"Love is a truly glorious and inspiring thing in the world. In the presence of love, people have performed miracles, slayed enemies, brought children into the world, and cured hurts. But love is not the only thing that is inspiring when Weddings happen..." Seriously. Someone needs to stop Jessa. She's starting to gesture. Widely.

Boshter scurries af ter Svarshan. Because, you know. Get out while the getting is good!

Mikilos murmurs quietly and then, suddenly, without fanfare, warning, or even a puff of smoke, the elf is simply gone. Let Roka serve as the Groom.

"It is the small things that bind a marriage together." Jessa closes her eyes now, melodramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "The passion from fighting. A warm bowl of soup at the end of a day. A good tumble in--" She cracks an eye open. "Damn it. Where did he go?"

"And what's that supposed to mean, Stretch?!" Myrana fumes up at the elf. "I am not catty! I am -nice-! I do nice things! For ORPHANS! I just donated a metric ton of giant horrible monster ape to a soup kitchen and--- hey!" Suddenly she is holding onto the lapels of an invisible person, and while she can still feel the fabric in her hands (as she was trying to shake him), the cognitive dissonance is enough to throw her. She lets go, and makes a face up at where she guesses Mikilos to be.

"Now what's all this shouting?" She turns with a whirl of skirts, hands on her hips, and glowers at the two far-too-amused figures of Rokas and Jessa. "What's this all about?"

"I'm marrying you." Jessa gives Myrana a strange look. "Duh. All that shouting? Sexual tension." She nods sagely.

Myrana blinks. "I don't want to marry you."

"Svarshan! Wait up! I have to ask you something!" Boshter is definitely going after the lizard. Anything to escape what is about to become a disaster, in his view.

"I'll marry you both," Roka adds with a grin.

Myrana says, "That's polygamy!"

"No. You halfwit. You and the disappeared elf. Don't worry. The ceremony is half done. I can finish up the fiddly bits later." Jessa waves a hand. "I am far far too much fun to actually get married myself."

Roka snickers. "I think I'm going to like Alexandria," she comments in amusement.

Myrana pales, and stares at Jessa. Then she squints, and turns her head to peer at Jessa sidelong, scrunching up her face. "...are you drunk?" she asks

Jessa's smile is extremely sharp and sly. "Give me better gossip next time, halfwit, and I won't get bored enough to start marrying you to people."

Myrana hrrms, rubbing her chin suspiciously. Halflings! "I still don't--" Just then, a bell rings somewhere toward the docks, and Myrana looks distractedly that way. "...Oh lord, it's got late! Sorry, excuse me!" She flees off that way, bidding Roka and Jessa a hasty goodbye, still fumming under the collar at being called 'catty' by Mikilos.

Jessa nods to herself, watching after the departing woman. "Sexual tension," she announces once more.

Myrana goes OOC.

Myrana has left.