Session 142 - When It's Time To Party We Will Always Party Hard

Previously, Across the Horizon...
The first time the crew of the Starfall met Celeste Meracydia, she was preparing for a presentation at the Nanab Foundation in hopes of landing a prestigious membership at the world's largest organization for explorers.
The last time the officers of the Starfall saw Celeste Meracydia, she left a bar in a huff after receiving a heated dressing-down from Linnet Leveche and refusing her apology moments later.
The matter of her membership in the Nanab Foundation remains up in the air, though it would appear the officers have designs on changing that.
Luca has offered to put their status as a newcomer to good use in getting to know Osvald Temenos, the sponsor for Celeste's competition in the Foundation, a budding explorer named Lynn Fairband.
With Luca off on their own, that leaves the other four with all of Thalatte before them and no end of trouble to get up to, in hopes of aiding their friend following her dream, or maybe just by tearing some of the bricks out of a shaky foundation.
We join our brave adventurers as they consider their options...
**
"I'm just saying, I'm not confident enough on the scorpion launcher approach to really commit to prototyping at this stage, but it wouldn't hurt to keep our options open, would it?" Yves opines. He is, in fact, perfectly sober, and consulting the copious notes he took during the discussion at the bar. "Honestly the hard part is the scorpions, but I'm pretty sure we could just, I don't know, replace those with some other alarming similarly-sized creature that could survive the launching. Ideally one that's not invasive in this region, but also not likely to end up dying because of its unsuitability for the habitat, so... I may need to consult a zoologist." He makes another note to himself.
"Like an inquisitive coeurl that gets everywhere?" Bast smiles briefly.
"Let's leave the scorpion idea on the back burner and launch something a little more readily available. Like stale cafeteria food. Or reference books." Linnet is already perusing the shelves for anything remotely useful. THERE WILL BE NO LAUNCHING TRISCUIT."
"Couerls aren't suited to an urban environment," Yves agrees. "Or launching. Whereas... I don't know, do reference books really strike sudden fear into the hearts of exploration-inclined academics, or just bruises?"
"Depends on whether it's their subject. Theoretically, they'd have at least a few bound copies of their charter, right?"
"Perhaps we should launch ourselves into this investigation?" Orrey waves vaguely in the direction of Nanab.
"Way I see it, nothing that happens to what's-her-name, up to and including utter disappearance, gets Celeste back into Nanab's good graces or guarantees her the place she's angling for. The Board's in the way of that, so they're the ones we need to push on, unless there's something in their rules that lets us get around them entirely," Bast says.
"Setting aside all launching of various living, non-living, or ironic objects, for the time being," Yves says, "I think Orrey is right. I can probably track down some disgruntled grad students, though what they'll have to offer beyond gossip and the best ways to access archives after revoked access, I'm not sure. I probably need a little more direction than that if it's going to be worth the time, and the amount of satchel contents required to get cooperation on such short acquaintance. Like, no one trusts some random guy who just wanders up and asks for all the dirt, but everyone will chat with their new friend who shares the good drugs."
"So we should find a party to crash?" Orrey asks Yves.
"Or throw one." Yves looks as if he has come up with a sudden idea, which should probably alarm someone. "Oh! If we throw a party, we can probably draw a certain amount of bored grad students and staff away from any area you want to poke around in without interruption, Bast. As well as getting the gossip."
"...you plan parties on that short of notice?" Linnet looks baffled. "Usually I'd want at least a week."
"I mean, I'd need a trip back to the ship to grab some more supplies and to finish up a few shelved batches that were left in stable positions for later completion, but some parties..." Yves waves a hand vaguely about. "...only make sense when they're impromptu."
"Don't suppose you'll have a shortage of interest in those at least, given the nature of the place." Bast nods slowly to Yves. "...hm. Setting up a Board member seems a touch messy here, unless it's something they'd really want to keep under wraps; digging up some history would be ideal. Students sounds about right for that sort of thing."
"We lack a venue..." Orrey points out.
"If there are any senior board members not currently in the city we can get an address for," Yves says, "we have a venue."
"And entertainment..."
"Any academic or academic-adjacent institution of this size will have an amateur band just looking for an excuse to get an audience." It is perhaps becoming clear why Yves and his undergraduate institution decided on a mutual parting of ways.
"Yves, you smooth criminal." Linnet shakes her head admiringly. "What the hell, I guess finding the charter can wait."
"We'll need advertising...flyers or criers or some other way to spread the word," Orrey says.
"Cri-" Bast cuts himself off with a stare at Orrey. "...you realize we don't want the whole city to know, right?"
"Word of mouth," Yves says firmly. "Linnet, you're great with people, you could probably just start /telling/ people and--oh, hey, do you have any objections to passing out cinnamon rolls? I have some additives that should be safe for almost anyone who's not on certain types of medication or suffering from really unusual allergies."
"Orrey, when was the last time you did anything even remotely secret?" Linnet asks. Linnet snorts at both him and Yves. "Give me an hour to detour back to the ship with you, and I'll have us awash in baked goods."
"Secret party? Seems a bit of an oxymoron. Although, now that you mention it, making it exclusive would make it more alluring..."
"The thing about a good party," Yves says, "is that you need just enough illicit and/or socially maligned activity that none of the participants want to rat you out afterward, because it would mean admitting they were there, while keeping things not so illicit et cetera that they don't actually find the idea enticing. It's the 'fear of missing out, fear of snitching' sweet spot. I used to have a chart about it, but I think someone ate it as part of a bet a few years back. Anyway."
"Students, students..." Bast's fingers tap slowly on his thigh as he's chasing down some thought. "...what about a riddle? Not too complicated, we don't want just the brains at this party, but something we could put on paper and leave around for students to find. People trying to get into Nanab? Probably take that sort of thing as a challenge, and we don't need to be seen talking to them ahead of the party that way."
"And how long were you trying to give us to plan this shindig?"
"We've got an entire musical crew that does live theater at the drop of a prop hat," Yves says. "How long could it take for them to commandeer a venue, come up with a playlist, and set out snacks?" Yves adds under his breath, "Abandoned buildings are also traditional, but it ruins the vibe when someone falls through the floor. If they're on the third floor or higher, anyway."
"Make it masks-required and no one needs to see any of our faces at any point. Probably an extra selling point for the students, too, especially anyone with second thoughts about coming." Bast seems to be getting into the idea despite himself.
"I can make some masks for us all." Orrey says, brightening at the prospect of something to contribute besides questions.
"...we're throwing an underground masquerade ball utilizing our cast?" Linnet closes her eyes for a brief "what the hell are we doing" prayer, then shakes her head. "Let's get back to them, then. Yves and Bast, pick a location and I'll have you a crew. Orrey, you're on costume duty with Juniper and Eiri as soon as we get back."
"Don't think you're off riddle duty either! We need to make it look good!" Bast tosses off to Orrey with a smile as he strides off towards his quarters.
"I'll scout locations as soon as I get some drugs prepped," Yves promises, and he's off like an awkwardly loping flash. There are going to be Sounds and Smells and also in fact various Smokes (with periodic cries of "Don't worry, that one was on purpose!") emitting from Yves' lab back on the ship. And he has no intention of exiting that lab until he's ready: cinnamon roll additives, a select variety of drugs suitable for amateurs and newbies as well as grizzled grad students with dead-eyed stares, and a distinct bend toward the sorts of drugs that make people feel good and happy and chatty. It's going to be one talkative party.
An incredibly confused Linnet stops running her fingers along the bookshelves and follows Yves back to the ship. "Other way round would be more efficient, Thunderbun!" she calls, but assumes Yves doesn't hear.
Orrey rounds up his fellow crew members and as much crafting materials as they can carry and gets to work making as many masks as possible, nicer ones for the crew and officers and some more generic ones for other guests who don't have their own.
Ivy makes the best masks. River makes the most elaborate. Apoc makes the most alluring. Akil makes one with moving parts.
(Eiri has gotten wrapped up in communication theory of masks, and Juniper is alternating between doling out supplies and talking her boss down from writing yet another half-completed thesis.)
The quest for wrangling entertainment has run into that most dangerous of foes -- a local student who imagines themselves an agent and is trying to haggle with them on appearance fees and set lists and a bunch of other things Orrey didn't really intend to get involved in and yet here he is regardless.
Bast, blissfully unaware of this, is wandering the academic quarter disguised as a salesmoogle of fine manure for the gardens of the well-to-do. For some reason, no one seems inclined to inquire about the contents of his satchel (a set of lockpicks, a pair of good soft shoes, and a solid lunch), but the notes he brings back with him at the end of the day include several prospective clients as well the locations of a few suitable residences.
Linnet is engaged in six conversations at once re: party setup, hosting, attendance taking, word-spreading, and subtlety. The last seems to be escaping most of the parties involved.
Orrey fumbles his way through negotiations with the local "agent", managing to baffle both of them enough that nothing untoward takes place before he breaks away to deal with flyers.
At one point in afternoon Yves bursts out of his lab, wide-eyed and smelling of lemons, to declare that absolutely no one should should make any noise in the hallway that would send the newly affixed sound meter beyond the orange for the next two hours. Then, back into the lab.
Eventually breaking away from too many conversations at once, Linnet strolls the town, searching for likely places to post puzzle flyers. "Good work, Orrey," she whispers, as she tacks them up in the coffee shops, on random trees, in a couple of local dive bars, and anywhere there's an overload of cigarette butts and a pervading smell of panic.
Keke solemnly puts away the ukelele. Yves means it. Keke does end up packing the ukelele, though, for a brief trip offboard.
Linnet commandeers the amphitheater in one of the local parks for a Special Weekend Performance, One Day Only, Don't Miss Your Chance! of a one-act the group hasn't pulled out in a while, The Magician's Bride. It involves a love potion gone awry that affects everyone who's not married; ample chances for audience participation and actors swooning over any cute attendees; and many dramatic declarations and spats and make-up songs. Yves escapes her grasp, but she drags in everyone else who'd be at the party, if only to be awkwardly swooned at.
When the party finally begins, Yves is lurking near the entrance. Just inside, actually, near the area where less wary partygoers might leave coats and the like. There are refreshments elsewhere, including perfectly straightforward snacks and beverages that will cause no physiological effects more dramatic than the usual ones associated with sugar, caffeine, and what not. But he's not passing out those. He's giving out the less... standard options.
And oh the options he has for people.
He has a series of baskets of the style one might associate with apples or bread rolls, but each contains a different set of small portions of... something. Individually wrapped caramels. Paper twists of powders. Vials. Tiny cups with paper lids, holding a variety of different colors of liquids. One basket has been packed with ice and has carefully decided wiggly gelatin squares.
And there's Yves, handing them out not quite furtively to anyone who wanders near enough to look at what's on offer. He's been quite careful to affix a label to each basket as to which people should not partake of a particular bit of contents (this doesn't work for viera, this is a bad idea for water sylphs, avoid the caramels if you're allergic to milk), and offers absolutely no information beyond that to anyone who asks--beyond assuring them it'll be a good time.
And it really should be a good time. Every single variation delivers, in one form or another, a few hours of improved mood--some more calming, some more stimulating--and a sense of fellow-feeling. Have a twist of flavored powder, have a caramel, wash something down with a shot of sweet lemony liquid. You'll enjoy the music even more this way. Make some friends! It's so much easier to make friends when everyone is happy and oh so conversational at a really good party.
Orrey wanders through the party with a simple mask inspired by the Alternan museum's painting that had extended off of the canvas: the landscape on the mask stretches diagonally down off of the face and past Orrey's shoulder. He wanders through the crowds, talking with people, dancing through a room full of chocobos, flame hounds, flan, malboros, and dragons.
Outside, a chocobo-masked Bast eyes the blacked-out windows with approval; the noise carries somewhat, but music is less likely to draw the unwanted sort of attention than the kind of lighting the crew came up with for a full-house drug trip. Not the sort of thing the owner of record, Kameed Isinglass, would approve of - but with Kameed away to evaluate a recently discovered tomb in Cardia, both he and his disapproval were rather distant concerns.
The couple of helpers he picked up by the docks, both in chocobo masks of their own, seem to be doing an adequate job of smoothing the flow of people in and out of the house; the one who got thrown out got an escort several blocks away, raving about the mathematics of dragons all the while. No overcurious police or neighbors so far, so no call for his contingency plans. This was...not restful, exactly. But the night air on his fur and not having anything more exotic than a bored constable to worry about was kind of nice.
He smiles as the muffled music from the house picks up the tempo. Yves must be breaking out the interesting stuff.
Linnet is in her full social butterfly element (and an elaborate butterfly mask), dropping a witty remark here, a compliment there, busting a move with a stranger on the dance floor - and keeping the party well supplied with snacks. Whatever Yves did to those cinnamon rolls, they're going like hotcakes. Finding out anything even remotely secret is going to take some doing when all conversations are had at a shout, unless you're fully in someone's bubble. Still, maybe Yves will come out of this with some new friends.
As a last-minute thought, Lin recruited everyone in the cast of Magician's Bride to bring an armful of pillows and cushions. This seems to be to the benefit of both the secret-gathering part and the intoxicated part of the party. Nests of partygoers have gathered to cuddle and gossip, braid each other's hair, or just stare really intensely at the lights.
(Mogni's disco ball - plated with leftover bits from other crafts and set pieces - is a very nice touch. As is whoever Keke handed off the ukelele to when they shot past "mellow" and into "can't see the strings anymore." Strong improvement.)
By sheer luck, all four party instigators happen to be wandering by the same fountain (Orrey recognizes it as a Listra original, but after hearing someone say "I'll meet you by the big vomiting fish!" it's hard to see it as anything but that) when they overhear a deep and drunken male voice declare, "See, Lynn? Aren't you relaxed now?"
The Bast-backed chocobo looks at the others and tilts its head towards the source of the voice in a furtive sort of nod.
Three people lounge on and around a porch swing a dozen meters away from the closest porch, embedded at a jaunty angle in a pile of pillows on the ground.
Linnet ducks behind a wide tree to rearrange her mask, giving a quick nod to the rest of the party to go on without her.
Yves has a basket tucked under his arm, and is managing to amble in a casual and non-suspicious way by dint of handing out tiny hard candies (lavender-honey, and a short but delightful burst of new appreciation for colors that only takes a few minutes to kick in) to people as he passes.
Orrey, not able to read Bast's expression but hoping he understands what the nod means, sits on the edge of the fountain, close enough to listen in without being obvious.
A tonberry in a purple dress, thick boots, and a sun hat looks over at the speaker and then returns her eyes to the sky. "I suppose so," she says, tracing the constellations with her half-lidded eyes. "It is nice not to worry for a little bit."
"For a little bit?" This isn't the first speaker, and instead is a moogle with a red pompom, a floppy green hat, and two cigarettes of different lengths and thicknesses in the corner of her mouth. "That's your second box of whatever 'Chill Chewies' are. You shouldn't even know what year it is."
Bast makes himself comfortable on a pillow a few paces away, seemingly preoccupied with the precise arrangement of the fur on the back of his hand.
(The recommended max dosage of Chill Chewies for tonberries is three boxes. In a week. But so long as someone doesn't have more than a half dozen in a single night, and detoxes for a month before having more, it should be fine!)
"Ahhhh, you're exaggerating," the first voice says. It comes from a wind sylph wearing a flowery sarong, about a third of a shirt, and twinkling beads woven into his constantly-moving greenish-blue hair. His abdominal muscles could inspire their own fountain. "The effect these substances have on your behavior is drastically overstated." He takes a swig from a hot pink beverage, one that is bubbling and popping. "No, what's got you so chill is the vibes."
(They are excellent vibes, it's true.)
"Zed, this really isn't the time for--" the moogle starts.
"It's called the Placebo Effect," the sylph goes on. Strands of his air shudder and shimmy in time with the beverage's bubbles. "You see other people partaking of local substances of dubious origin, sick though the dude's style may have been, and you think 'why yes, I too wish to chew on the inside of my cheek for the next six hours.'"
"The Placebo Effect?" Lynn asks. She squints at the moogle for a long time.
"I think we opened for them at Thresh," the moogle replies.
Yves, leaning against a wall while eyeing his basket's contents to figure out if he can afford to have some himself, wonders if "sick" is a compliment or not in this context. Probably?
"It's the vibes, though! The vibes are what's got you so happy. And that's what you've gotta do more of! You're not in touch with your inner fire." The sylph waves his arms around him in what must be the shape of fire, why else would he be doing that. "Which is another way of saying you've gotta calm down about this whole Foundation thing. You're gonna do great!"
"I don't know--" Lynn starts.
"You're gonna do great! C'mon. How long have I known you?"
Bast adds his other hand to the range of things he contemplates, its existence apparently coming as a revelation, and looks utterly absorbed in how the two can move independently of each other.
"Sixteen months," the moogle says dryly.
"Yeah, but sixteen months is like sixteen years at this stage of our shared development!" Little fazes him. "I believe in you. I know you're gonna do great."
(Linnet has buried her hands in her hair as a distraction from taking this idiot to task for just everything he's saying.)
Lynn shakes her head as she smiles at the witty repartee between her two friends, as the bar for wit is somewhere underground at this point. "Thanks for dragging me out tonight, Mogaret."
The moogle rolls the cigarettes around in her mouth. "Zed's idea," she comes clean.
"Then thank you, Zamarud."
"Any time!"
Yves leaves the wall, and meanders past the group with his basket, holding it out for anyone who wants a burst of something new. "Watch out if you're allergic to lavender," he comments, only pausing in front of them long enough to let anyone have a grab before he moves on.
"Hell yeah, plague bun," Zamarud says, taking that grab.
Orrey glances over at Bast and then tilts his head towards the group signalling a question of whether to approach.
Yves offers a friendly nod before he keeps moving with his basket. His expression is hidden behind his mask (melanistic couerl, natch) but there's nothing quite like a basket of drugs to convey Friendly to strangers at a party.
Bast bends half his torso forward until the nose of the mask is practically between his hands, then straightens back up, then does it twice more. Whether that's meant to signal approval to Orrey is...up to interpretation.
Linnet emerges from behind the tree with a sigh, walks straight up to the fountain, briefly removes her mask, and plunges her entire face into the fish basin. "Oh MAN does that feel good." Taking a seat on the edge of the basin, wiping her face with her sleeve, she re-dons her mask and gives Lynn a friendly smile (skipping Zed with the grimace). "Sorry for the interruption, but that was just too good to miss. Great party, eh?"