MINGLE - Post-Op(era) Recovery

[pumpkinhollow]

On this night we drink to the death of Sorrow.

After the Fall of Efrain With the Prince of Sorrow's Song dead and gone, the opera dissipates, spitting its victims out on the summit of Crane's Ridge where the Dance of Celestine was held some months before. It's getting late, and there is no one yet in town to run the train. Some will brave the trip home simply for the sake of collapsing into their own beds and achieving some sense of normalcy. Others will do so with the hope of returning with help. But many others will simply say "fuck it" and camp out on the mountain, still fitted with extra firewood from the festival and the means to build temporary structures in nearby storage sheds. The journey down will be safer in the morning, and there's solidarity to be had in a cool spring night spent under the stars.

Oh, look, there's even some non-perishable food and wine from the Dance. Combined with what can be hunted or foraged, as well as snacks and drinks stolen from the concession stand, there's plenty to go around. This might even be a little bit fun! Anyone up for another game of Never Have I Ever? Maybe a little Truth or Dare? Or perhaps you just want to chat and unwind with your friends. Whatever the case may be, have fun. This is your time. After darkness, there is a dawn. At the death of Sorrow, there is joy.

Comments

[thethirteenthchild]

"It's best to sit with the wings behind you. That way when I sit up to land, you can lean into more of a piggy-back ride rather than sliding off onto the ground," Dahlia advises.

Then she changes, slowly morphing as if the Pine Devil is melting out of her. She places her dark, clawed hands upon the ground, and looks to Cassandra with those blue pinpricks of light.

[not_the_last]

She hasn't seen the Pine Devil this close up before, and has to remind herself firmly that she's already made the decision to trust her.

"Thank you," she says, and moves to climb and sit astride, in front of the wings as advised. She's still in the stage costume and therefore has more layers of skirt than usual, but it isn't too much trouble to tuck them out of the way.

"I ought to have asked before -- can you speak, in this form?"

[thethirteenthchild]

A low rumble begins in her throat and exits through her open, skull-like nasal cavity, before her mouth begins to move.

"Not much," she replies, her voice more a controlled growl than normal speech. Deep in pitch, tiger-like, almost seething without meaning to be. "Not meant to sbeak."

Apparently "p" sounds are hard.

"Ready?"

[not_the_last]

She takes a firm grip and braces herself. "I believe so."

(There's not much said on the flight; the important things are said later.)