kenoslogs | open | a merry meri mingle

Entry tags:

open | a merry meri mingle

Who: Meridians new & old!
What: Cookout mingle
Where: Alenroux
When: Mid-March, after Vander's rescue
Warnings: Potentially alcohol consumption and violence, for the rowdy

After the initiation of Springstar's invasion plans for Alenroux, tensions among the Meridian-aligned might be a bit strained. The move comes as a surprise even for many of the shard-bearers within the faction itself, to say nothing of those whose livelihoods depend on the farms here. It's not yet clear what Highstorm's response will be, but one will certainly be coming; when that happens, someone is going to come out on the bottom, and their blood will be at least partially on Meridian's hands.

At times like this, the importance of maintaining morale can't be understated. A call goes out to the newest generation of those harmonized with Meridian's light: it's time to have a party!

PREPARATION:

Those who can are invited to help with the set-up. There are drinks to procure, foodstuffs to acquire and prepare, canopies to erect for shade, entertainments to organize. It's not meant to be a grand affair — the gathering is private, intended to foster camaraderie among the shard-bearers after long days and nights of work — but it will be a comfortable one, with edibles and enjoyments to offer to those taking solace in the company of their fellows.

It takes one of Alenroux's long days to make all the necessary arrangements — and then, late the following morning, after the night's monsters have slunk back into the woods, things are made ready. All that's left is for the guests to arrive.

THE EVENT:

Spring is still in the midst of taking hold over Alenroux, so a tall bonfire at the centre of the gathering place offers a toasty place to linger and chat throughout the day. Hot drinks and a variety of fire-roasted foods are on offer, including an entire deer helpfully supplied and prepared by Liem. Logs and stumps provide simple seating, and nearby canopies provide shade around the tables of food and drink. A little further away, sturdy tents provide more private gathering places for those wishing for a break from the hubbub.

And there will be hubbub. To break the ice between unfamiliar faces, a variety of contests have been set up over the course of the gathering. These range from simple arm-wrestling competitions, to three-legged races, to friendly sparring matches for those so-inclined. Gathered Meris are encouraged to spectate and bet amongst themselves on contest outcomes — and better yet, to volunteer to participate themselves during the next round.

For those who have already had a chance to relax and let off some steam, the gathering is a perfect opportunity to get to know one's fellow sect-mates a little better, and to reaffirm why Meridian called to them in the first place. Those gathered are encouraged to take the chance to tell a few tales about the place they came from, and to share the visions inside their Sunbeam with those from other worlds. A favourite place, a cherished person, an unkept promise, even an old enemy: all could be worth revisiting for a moment with new comrades in arms.

Threaded | Flat

01 ↣ THE HUNTRESS ↣ 鹿はどうぞ

[Hayame didn't necessarily approve of this. Even if it were during the day, allowing this much of their forces to relax and cavort instead of keep watch or remain vigilant... She stands on the edges of the party with a sour look on her face. A couple members of the military's archery unit greet her as they creep past towards the food or the games, but she is curt and short with them. Fine, go frolic like a fool for all she cares!.

Eventually, she just leaves. Maybe she got fed up with things? But later on... she's back, actually?, with a deer slung over her withers. With nary a "hello" or an "excuse the blood" she finds a spot at the forest's perimeter near the fire pit (and the quickly vanishing deer meat on the spit there, which people are enjoying), hangs her kill... and silently sets about dressing it, the movements of her knife precise and quick.

Give her a few minutes, there will be more food on the fire.

Or, you know, tell her to take that mess even farther away. Whatever.]

02 ↣ THE WRESTLER ↣ 自信満々

[With the day wearing on... Hayame seems to have at least found some sort of team spirit. Or perhaps she's just been worn down until she agreed to take place in the arm wrestling competition. A simian woman and a six-armed man have appointed themselves as cheerleaders, much to her chagrin, and Hayame... is so-far undefeated at the "arena" made of a few stump chairs dragged up to a flattish rock. (Not that Hayame needs the chair- her equine half is sprawled half on her belly to get her down to the right level for her opponents.)

As one of her archery students flexes their biceps and taunts the crowd with a "Step right up and taste defeat at the hands of a jiiiiinnnnbbbbaaaaaa"... Hayame makes a face that conveys a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. But if someone takes them up on the invitation...]

- Are you sure?

[She has very well-defined muscles in her arms and shoulders, visible in her sleeveless robe as she wipes her hand with a cloth to clean her last opponent off her skin.]

03 ↣ THE THINKER ↣ 見せない世界

[Others are sharing the images of their worlds through their iliachtida, but Hayame... is not. Some have curiously asked her, but she has rebuffed them. There is a golden chain that disappears into her clothing, but the bead is nowhere in sight. Later, though, once she has taken herself to the half-privacy of one of the open tents, she pulls the sunbeam bead from the tight binding around her breasts and looks at it. Really looks at it.

If anyone enters the tent, Hayame can be found looking at the bead in her palm, her consciousness divided between reality and the vision of her own world. She is just distracted enough... that she doesn't quite notice her visitor yet.]

04 ↣ WILDCARD ↣ 鬼札

[Hit me up on

stormcoming or Discord chat ping if you'd prefer a custom starter/want to discuss a specific thread! ❤️ Hayame will be hanging around the mingle but largely wallflowering and judging unless dragged in.]

❖ I. The Preparation.

[Once realising a gathering was being arranged, Byleth was surprisingly gungho about the entire affair. If anything it made him feel nostalgic for when Jeralt's mercenaries would also do these type of gatherings after a long, gruelling campaign, exchanging tales, food and drinks, and eventually culminating in drunken singing and high spirits. Even Byleth, introverted and socially awkward as he was, enjoyed the atmosphere of such things.

So, Byleth assisted in procuring the most important aspect of any morale-boosting gathering: the booze. He can be spotted hefting about wooden kegs into the gathering area, setting them down in a centralised location for when the party starts. Where did he get all this alcohol from? Don't worry about it. How did he carry it all? By many back and forth journeys...

Maybe you can help him out with the keg carrying, or maybe you'll come across him once he was done, sitting on one of the kegs and enjoying the fruit of his labour with a sneaky early drink before the gathering properly starts.]

❖ II. The Event.

[Byleth mostly spent his time lurking - not quite wallflowering, but not exactly engaging in the majority of the contests and games set up. If anything, he seemed content to spectate, soaking up the ambient atmosphere like a parched flower subsisting on chill vibes alone. Unsurprisingly, he spent most of his time near the refreshments, either knocking back a drink or partaking in the offered food.

If you don't want to interrupt him there, however, he does begin to get a little more social as the day wears on (thanks to the alcohol). Inspired by the blind date from the masquerade, Byleth will approach those that seemed to loiter on the edges of the gathering, a plate of refreshments in hand, and try to break the ice with a simple:] Food?

[Listen, with the amount of alcohol in his blood it's a miracle he's not dropping the plate here.]

❖ III. The Sunbeam.

[While inebriated, however, Byleth was still cautious when it came to this one thing. As Meridians gathered to exchange stories of their homeland, or of their precious people (or detested people), showing off their Sunbeams, Byleth would be entirely absent from it.

He'd be found on the very far fringes of the gathering, his back to it, rolling his Sunbeam between his gloved fingers but keeping it tucked close to his chest. As the days went by, his homesickness grew and this intense, ill-defined emotion sat heavier in his chest, crushing his unbeating heart.

It was obvious he was a million miles away - not due to using the Sunbeam, but lost in his own thoughts - his expression faintly downcast. The morale-boosting intention of the Sunbeam talk clearly had the opposite effect on him...]

❖ IV. Wildcard!

[Feel free to toss a random scenario at me and I'll roll with it - like goading him into an arm wrestle or a friendly spar. Alternatively hit me up at

kivaember or discord to hammer out a thread/plot]

Edited 2023-03-17 15:53 (UTC)

I. preparations

[ dextera has been on top of things in terms of preparing alenroux. as a tier 2 member of the faction, he was given authority, and he took to it well—which is why it’s perhaps surprising for anyone who has only seen him standing straight and tall and guiding soldiers to now be meek and a little… in the way, honestly, compared to how effective everyone else is at setting up.

he quietly excuses himself and decides instead to help the only way he knows how: digging in the dirt at the edge of the camp. it’s not even clear what he’s looking for, if anything, but every now and then he looks longingly a bit further in the woods. maybe you’d like to go on an adventure with him?

or maybe you just want to watch this grown man now carrying a gun the size of his torso play in the mud, whatever. that’s fine too. ]

II.

[ he is not sparring.

the other things do, however, catch his interest. most of these party games he’s never participated in and he takes a little while to observe and understand exactly what they’re doing, but he’s quietly enthused at the prospect of playing along.

for arm-wrestling, he takes a seat and rolls up his sleeve. his hands are gross, sorry, covered in god-knows-what, and even he seems to realize it because he quickly wipes his palm off on his shirt. look, it’s fine.

for the three-legged race, this is something he seems to really want to try, but his lack of voice means it’s a bit harder to speak up and find a partner. communion isn’t mean to be used for something like this, after all, in a group where no one can immediately see the source of it—so, regardless of whether or not he knows you, he places his hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

you wouldn’t disappoint this sad face, would you? ]

III. sunbeam sharing

[ dextera has been enjoying hearing about everyone’s worlds. those who are brave enough to share, he takes their memories like his own—though not without a bit of jealousy. for the most part, he enjoys hearing what everyone else is fighting for.

when it comes to him, whether someone asks him or the gaze just naturally falls on him, he hesitates. ]

…

[ the iliachtida is warm in his hand, glinting in the light of the fire. there are details he doesn’t want to share, things he profoundly doesn’t want anyone to know, but he also doesn’t want to keep secrets.

for those who care to listen, gathered around the bonfire, dextera makes a quiet impression with communion. he’s relaying the image he sees in the bead, of a young woman with short red hair and a green dress, floating—literally floating—above a pool of green water, endlessly in circles.

“stupid,” she mumbles to herself, “stupid— augh! idiot! it’s not like I even want to see him!”

dextera flushes red and ends the image there, as his actual memories of her get mixed into the gaze into the sunbeam. ]

…she isn’t always that mean.

IV. wildcard!

( does your character need a meri peptalk? does someone need to tell dextera to take a shower? if there’s anything else you wanna do, just lmk and we can work something out! )

I. preparation (wildcardish)

[ While training and patrolling around one of the Alenroux outposts, Link heard word of the "cookout" to be held for Shard-Bearers both new and old and decided it would be wise to go, even if these kind of events are not normally his thing. Fast-forward through a day's work of set-up, food prep, and making a fool of himself, and Link is as tired and ready for rest as Alenroux's slow sun seems to be, as it begins to leisurely dip below the horizon.

They say that monsters come out at night in this place. Real ones, not people shaped differently from the people he's used to seeing. This strikes Link as a bit concerning — won't all the work they did to prepare for the party the next day be at risk of meddling from these monsters? Maybe their location is too close to one of the outposts, too well-protected by the patrols of the Springstar soldiers, but he's concerned all the same.

So he decides to stand guard. He doesn't mind sleeping outside — at this point, it feels more like home than any room in a building would. As the twilight fades, Link lingers around the cookout area, busying himself quietly with miscellaneous tasks. Even in the dark, you can hear him chopping wood from a good distance away. Later, a small campfire crackles in the same wide fire pit that will house the bonfire tomorrow. Those who might be lingering in the area will surely come across Link at some point, even late at night, where he keeps his back to his small fire, watching over the wild surrounding him. ]

II. cookout

[ The sun rises on a beautiful day, sunny and clear, but cooled by the springtime air. Link managed to get a few hours of sleep sprinkled through his dutiful watch, either by accident or with the help of a new acquaintance. After a quick bath in a nearby stream and a fire-baked apple for breakfast, he is ready for the festivities — and, hopefully, the fun it will bring! The last week has been hard on him. Much harder than he even realizes. ]

(A: contests.) [ The ice breaker contests draw his attention at first, but he does not attempt any until several people have... well, broken the ice, putting themselves out there to get some games started. Perhaps you notice the young man lingering at the edge of the crowd, or maybe it's after he decides to go for it on his own, but you find yourself being partnered up with him for the three-legged race.

Link does not understand this game at first, having no memory of playing it or even hearing about it before. Nevertheless, it's has he's following the judge's instructions and starting to tie the rope around your ankles that he stops and asks: ] Wait... how does this game work, exactly?

(B: your tales.) [ Into the afternoon, the air is filled with the irresistible smell of cooked meat and baked goods. The forums hosted in Highstorm and Springstar, and their accompanying feasts, were only a few days ago, but Link is already ready to stuff himself into a food coma. When he finally retires to one of the tents, he's carrying an absolutely enormous slice of meat pie with him. If it weren't for the conspicuous nature of his portion and choice of food, you might not even notice him as he settles down to listen in on the stories being shared of other worlds not his own. What's yours? ]

(C: my tale.) [ At a certain point, the conversation makes its way to Link. At first, he does not realize why his conversation partner(s) are staring at him, but the glances towards the iliachtida dangling from a cord tied around his neck clues him in. Quietly, he sets down what remains of his food and unwinds the core from his neck.

He's not so sure about this. He hasn't actually gazed into his own sunbeam yet. He'd simply accepted it for what it was purported to be — when everyone says it is what it is, why question it further? What he's seen here today is, at least, as much proof as anyone else would need, but... the thought of looking into his own bead and sharing what's hidden within it... it births a subtle but insidious sense of mild anxiety in him. ]

Well, then... what do you want to know? [ he pauses, seeming to realize that this isn't a question anyone will be able to helpfully answer. ] ...I should say... I don't know my world as well as you might expect someone to.

i. chef ragnvindr

[diluc is new to meridian, fresh off a harmonization, when he hears about the cookout. normally, he wouldn't be caught dead attending a social event where his presence isn't required and his wine wares aren't needed. but he supposes he needs to make some connections, and this is the perfect place to do just that. unfortunately.

he has somehow found himself at a grill roasting steaks. which is perfect because this is exactly his specialty. he cooks them to perfection - medium rare, seasoned, and garnished elegantly - though he is open to customization if requested. if you come up with a plate, he'll smack a steak down onto it while saying:] Please enjoy it, and let me know if it isn't up to your standard.

[otherwise, he looks a little silly at the grill, just expression deadpan as he flips the steaks and seasons them before meticulously garnishing them. this is not what he was planning on doing at the cookout, but now that he's tasked with this, he's not going to let anyone down. besides, what better way to make connections than through the stomach, right?]

ii. bartender ragnvindr

[he has similarly also somehow found himself at the drink table. rather than finding himself being tasked to serving the drinks, his bartender intuition takes over and he simply forces his way to serving the drinks. he ties his hair up higher and rolls up his sleeves to get into the right headspace.

one will find that his intuition for mixing drinks is quite superb - the flavors complex, and yet each one distinct without being overpowering. if asked for a specific drink, he will mix it as requested. but if someone asks to be surprised, he will mix up something unique and interesting, offering the cup with a nod.] Will that be all?

[feel free to hit up the handsome bartender at the cookout drinks table lmao. our very own coffee shop au.]

iii. relaxed ragnvindr

[after probably being shooed away from the grill and the drinks table because the intent probably wasn't for any meridians to actually do work and to just enjoy and have a good time, diluc wanders and ends up at the bonfire. rather than sitting, he stands near the flame, it's heat comforting rather than uncomfortable due to his pyro affinity. his purpose here was to make connections but he's already exhausted. this wasn't like bartending back in mondstadt, where he knew most of the patrons who walked in. this is a den of people he does not know, and he's not like kaeya where he can make small talk with ease.

but around him he hears snippets of conversation, people talking about their homes, things they loved to do, their loved ones. and that sparks warmth in his cold, dead soul. this is what he's fighting for. this is why he joined meridian in the first place. to fight for what everyone's lost. to fight for the people who weren't given a second chance.

he pulls out his bead, the whirling blades of mondstadt and the refreshing breeze coming to mind instantly.

after his time at the bonfire, he'll wander over to where people are playing various games, ever observing from the sidelines.]

[ooc | pls feel free to warp these prompts to suit your response as well! the woes of a nontalkative character lmao...]

General

[Someone has been busy.

Despite Mamoru not being entirely convinced about this takeover, it doesn't change that he fits into the scene like a piece of a puzzle. Eventually, he's seen talking to commanders and those in the roles of authority, providing insights, small inputs that aim for efficiency and productivity. Some of the forces start stopping him while he walks around, or approach him when he's settled somewhere or eating, asking about how to take care of issues in their perimeter, how strike teams should be organized and rotated, and what to do if there's an eventual ambush or attack. In fact, it's here, and not in Highstorm, Springstar, or even Kowloon, that you may find Mamoru most at ease, his stance watchful and considerate of the people in the location, even if he does tend to keep to himself for the most part.

You may find him in the midst of it, maybe nudging someone's stance into correction when they are practicing how to stand after an attack with a sword or even a glaive (a simple touch to the middle of the shoulder blades, a tap with his foot on that person's heel is enough), or listening in to the strategic motions and operations of those who are a bit more invested in this.

Or maybe you find him outside of the walls, checking out the surroundings, keeping monsters at bay, maybe even encountering someone not from his own faction. Most of all, you find him noting and muttering something after he touches the frame of his shades. As though he's keeping a record of things.]

1. WHERE'S THE LAMB SAUCE???

[Interestingly enough, even if he made no effort to help with the preparations or with engaging in the activities, a man has got to eat.

And a man has got to eat something proper, so when he sniffs something burning in someone else's pan, he walks around the serving table and starts talking about how the heat is not measured enough and when dealing with uncontrolled temperatures, you have to use your wrist, see? What the fuck were you thinking??

Eventually, he does keep grumbling whilst talking about how to do a stir fry and looking over and taste testing what others are doing and "get me some coriander; this is the blandest thing I've ever eaten—"

Some more daring and amused members gather around for the show-cooking display, some snickering and calling Mamoru, 'yes, chef!' (only to have the swordsman roll his eyes), others looking a bit daunted at the final product (the plating is horrendous). After some bets are placed and a brave soul tries it, their eyes light up, and immediately hide the dish from the others when they realize it's good; it's actually really good ('What? Let me try!' 'No way! Wait for your own!' 'You owe me ten!' 'Ah, c'mon!').]

2. You can't sit with us.

[He's not an extrovert.

And his whole circadian rhythm is absolutely shot. It's no wonder, then, that you may find Mamoru just seemingly sleeping on a seat somewhere, arms crossed over his chest and stretched legs crossed at the ankles. He may be doing this outside, in some quieter (and weirdly enough, one with a vantage point) place, or in a tent.

If someone does go near to him and challenge him for a match (arm-wrestling and sparring, mostly), he'll wave a hand at them.] I don't do that kind of thing for show.

3. We should just stab Ceasar (cw. slight violence)

[Not that the sunbeams really work that well with him, anyway, considering. He's mostly quiet as he listens to what other people provide him, curious. Mamoru is, after all, someone who tends to stray towards learning the most he can, especially if it'll be helpful for him in the long run. The swordsman cants his head slightly at certain notes, certain sounds, even the energetic imagery that the power of meridian seems to translate into your very soul.

He understands why most people are fighting to have their worlds back.

He also understands why everyone is fighting, period.

Eventually, he strays from the bonfire, the shadows cast around him stark black, engulfing his rather imposing frame into almost nothingness, a barely there sillouette. (That too, is where he fits in like a glove).

He draws the bead from his pocket, opens his hand as it rests on his palm.

There's the sound of loud, rapid gunfire, the smell of burnt rubber, and the slick of blood slathered across a cheek. Shrieks, yells, shouts of 'that guy is a monster!', a stuttering whisper of 'kill me before it's too late'.

Mamoru closes his hand in a fist, efficiently silencing everything, the echoes of it reverberating into the woods before the bark mutes them.]

4. Wildcard

[HMU for anythiiiing, I'm easy peasy.]

[The event has hit its comfortable stride now - people have been fed, watered, and blown off some steam either in the form of games or by soloing the alcohol kegs (Byleth). Normally, this is when the party would break up into their own little cliques, people either returning to their duties if they're a diligent sort, or remaining by the fire to continue slack- errrr, resting.

So, of course, this is when Byleth decides It Is Time.

He stands on keg near the bonfire with... impressive balance considering his level of inebriation, and clapps his hands together like he was a school teacher calling for the attention of his cute little students. There is no embarrassment or shame visible on his face - on the contrary, he's as blank-faced as ever, as if he's about to solemnly declare that the party was now over.

On the contrary.]

I have an announcement: the event has reached the threshold where ritualistic party games can now commence. I'm speaking of the very important 'Never Have I Ever' game. There's still plenty of alcohol that can be utilised for this purpose and can be self-poured, as you can see.

[He points at the nearby kegs, all with their own taps, as if everyone had spontaneously forgotten about their existence in the last hour.]

That concludes my announcement. Please remember to drink responsibly. Or don't. You're all adults - allegedly.

[OOC: This is the never have I ever thread! You don't need to respond to Byleth directly if you wanna split off into your own little NHIE groups. This is just meant for low-energy, shitposting fun! Please enjoy :) ]

[ The last of the Meridian's to bother joining with the group is the last person who a) should ever be invited to a party and b) would ever actually turn up, if invited. There are matters in the field that, hah, matter more to him, any number of which he has been witnessed doing.

I. Arriving in the early hours of the morning to the initial push for control, he had been a single-minded wrecking ball of a man — slaughtering beast where quarter could not be obtained by Rudbeckia, while escorting the young woman deeper into the unclaimed territory. Poor thing, she must have had such a terrible time, being under Set ( and other's! ) watch for all that.

II. Not a builder, he had simply participated in the structure-building by carrying materials. Capably strong, where his lithe form ought to have betrayed him, he had taken to wearing a sleek, black helm in the shape of a strange creature — red of eye, long of maw — the pale, linen veil cascading across his shoulders and visibly obscuring his hair and eyes from all to see. While wearing it, he was — well, maybe a little more himself. Where he carried supplies, small, rolling waves of sand followed in his wake, folding over themselves like a dutiful animal trotting at his heels, carrying even more materials.

III. Once at the gathering, the mask bleeds away into black sand, vanishing into his own flesh as if there were no difference between the two. Apart from the others, he focuses on picking through a nearby patch of crops — some butterhead lettuces and other vegetables held in his arms, while he touches the soil below other planted crops with his bare fingers. The soil seems to darken, to glow faintly wherever he pushes his fingers into it — a silent, subtle use of Plant Growth used to ensure the following year's crops would be doubled.

IV. At the actual mealtimes, he skips the food entirely. Wine is his favored drink, and when nobody is looking ( at least, when he thinks nobody is looking ), he heaps kebabs full of vegetables — squash, carrots, onion, mushroom, peppers — onto the grill and turns them slowly. Messily. Someone save the grill, this guy can't cook. Though he does munch on raw lettuce without a care in the world. Any sign of meat around him makes him, well. Visibly ill. Keep it away!

V. And last, in the quiet hours among Meridian's own, while all begin to examine and reflect upon the worlds in their sunbeams, he briefly entertains looking at his own. Fingers finding their way into the fall of red hair just behind his ear, where the golden gleam of light has been tightly woven into a lock of it. Nothing calls out from it, no memory drawn upon by him — not even in the midst of the community they are forging. As ever, even beholden to others, Set has a way of isolating himself — not by choice, not by cause, but habitually. As if it is the only way he has ever known. ]

I do not need to look at it to remember why I am here, [ he tells the other Meridian-aligned, as if the denial of comfort is something he must justify. ]

Threaded | Flat

HAYAME (JINBA) ➳ ICONOCLAST

Byleth | Advocate