come_sailaway | it's a war in there [March OTA, including memshare]

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it's a war in there [March OTA, including memshare]

Who: Cassandra de Rolo & those visiting her memories / OTA
When: March
Where: Around the Serena Eterna; also Whitestone, at various points in the past
What: Things are beginning to crack
Warnings: Game-typical angst; in memshares, murder, torture, vampirism, mindfuckery both magical and mundane, and potentially noncon/dubcon; other warnings to be added in reply headers as needed

A. you're just like them, you're unprepared

Cassandra's noticed the cracks, of course. Before she brushes against one, they seem alarming and inexplicable; are they a trick, a trap, a sign that this whole little artificial plane is starting to come apart?

(The thought she barely lets herself contemplate: a way out?)

After her first few encounters with them, the nature of them seems more apparent -- although there's no guarantee they aren't also any of her previous thoughts. The first time her own memories double on her, with faces she knows from here appearing in them, she locks herself in her cabin's bathroom and curls up on the floor of the shower, arms wrapped around her knees, struggling not to begin screaming for fear that she might never stop.

[This prompt is for interacting with Cassandra in the present setting! Feel free to run into her anywhere on board, either before or after memshares begin, or PM/ping me on discord to discuss a more specific prompt.]

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B. cause you don't know the terrain

Several cracks about the ship, as it turns out, lead to a world called Exandria and a little city-state called Whitestone. Those who tumble into them will encounter a younger Cassandra at some point in her past.

[Specific pre-discussed prompts are below! If you would like a different one, see the plotting post here or PM/ping me to discuss.]

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A second carriage follows the first into the square, and the doors open. Two lightly armored and uniformed guards step out of each, flanking the carriage doors, and then a cheer goes up as an older man emerges from the first carriage and lifts his hand to help out an older woman.

The couple are both wearing finery, he in a cobalt blue suit with vaguely military overtones and she in a silvery grey gown. They're followed almost at once by three children, a bespectacled boy of about thirteen and a boy-and-girl pair of twins about two years younger. Another group of four is coming out of the second carriage: a handsome young man in his late teens, a dark-haired young woman maybe a year younger, and finally another boy and girl of nine and eight respectively. All of the children are dressed with similar elegance, mostly in shades of blue and grey and lavender; most of them have smooth dark brown hair, except for the oldest boy and the twin girl, sun-blond and light-brown respectively.

There's no particular reason César should recognize the youngest girl, but it's just possible that he may hear the name de Rolo! in the cheers of the crowd.

César does catch the name. Although Cassandra never gave him her last name, so he doesn't know whose memories he's experiencing. But he watches the family (royalty? no, more likely nobility, not enough guards) get out of the carriages. So many children. A huge family.

That makes him smile. Sure, the whole nobility thing could go multiple ways (benevolent, corrupt) but he can't resist smiling about children.

An older man, slightly built and gray-bearded, wearing sweeping robes of sky blue and gold, approaches the de Rolo family and holds out a hand. The crowd falls into a reverent hush, the music dying down along with the chatter, as the lord steps forward with a smile and says "Father Reynal."

"My Lord de Rolo," says the robed man, in a voice faintly cracked with age but still resonant, and full of familiar affection under the surface formality. "Joy of the festival to you, on this first day of Highsummer."

"And to you," answers Lord de Rolo. "Will you grace us with the Dawnfather's blessing, as the festival begins?"

The ritualized exchange continues for a few more phrases; the Lord and Lady de Rolo take a knee before Reynal, who holds aloft a sun symbol and chants an invocation. The de Rolo children cluster together behind their parents, the younger ones fidgeting slightly as their attention drifts in the usual way of small children at any formal ceremony. Their age-mates in the crowd are doing much the same, occasionally poked or tugged back to attention by parents or older siblings.

At last the blessing is complete, and with its final words a whoomph sound goes up at the far end of the square, as a prepared bonfire is set alight. The musicians kick up a lively dance tune, and the formal tableau dissolves into cheers and shouts of celebration.

There's something to be said about how comforting rituals and festivals are no matter when or where humans exist. He's grinning as he notices the smaller children around him, maybe even noticing one having to be picked up to be quieted. Some things never change.

César grins as he notes the bonfire going up just right on schedule (that's how these things are when they've been honed to perfection). He lets out a cheer alongside the others in the crowd. Even if he still has no clue whose memory he's in, it doesn't mean he can't enjoy a festival.

Oh, he hopes there is food. He loves learning about other cultures' cuisines!

Oh, there is so much food. The row of long tables near the musicians' little stage is loaded with it. Platters of sliced meats, baskets of breads, trays of savory pastries stuffed with cheese or vegetables or smoked fish, buttery fried dough flecked with herbs and garlic or drizzled with fruit syrups, little cakes smelling of cinnamon and honey, berry pies and apple pies and custard pies, bowls of salted or candied nuts. At one table off by itself are drinks: barrels of ale and cider, bottles of wine and mead, a huge bowl full of some mixed-fruit drink being made on the spot.

Dancing has begun in the cleared square, and people are whirling about in couples or larger circles, others stamping and clapping along with the music. And ... it appears that the noble family is mingling with the rest of the crowd, now that the ceremony is done.

César watches everyone for a few minutes, trying to gauge the crowd. He's trying to blend in, after all. If he went for the food first, it'd not only be impolite but he'd likely stand out more since he wouldn't know how they eat their food. Getting marked as an outsider would be bad. (There's still a chance of it, if people all know each other.)

So he's going to walk around the crowd and listen for snippets of conversation to get him a better idea of what's going on (no please you don't need to write these oh god). Trying to come up with a story. César Salazar of a far away city, Buenos Aires. He uh got... really lost. Is looking for a map to get home? Yeah. Maybe that.

Should he say hello to someone from the noble family? Look for someone out of place? Well. While he's deciding, he nearly bumps into someone.

"Oh, sorry!"

"Sorry!" Higher-pitched, overlapping his own, as the speaker wriggles past him at just over waist height. It's the smallest of the noble family's kids, the little girl in a sky-blue dress with eyelet lace, and she's making a beeline for the pies.

"Cassandra --" The oldest of the girls is hurrying after her. She turns to César with a swift, apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, sir, she's very excited and doesn't mean to be rude." And to the little girl: "Cass, Mother said you are not to have sweets first."

"But Vesper, it's a holiday," protests the youngest ... evidently Cassandra.

He instinctively stopped from years of having a small brother not watching where he was going. César laughs lightly at the conversation between them. Oh, his eyes soften. So this is one of Cassandra's memories, is it?

"It's all right. I've got a little brother myself, so I know how underfoot and excited they get." César's smile is warm as it blossoms across his face, and he's comfortable speaking to a child. "Hmm... it is a holiday. Hmm, perhaps sneaking a small treat now so as to not spoil her appetite? A small treat slowly savored when you shouldn't have one always tastes better than eating all of them quickly before you get in trouble."

Cassandra looks up at him as he speaks, and then turns a face full of expectation to Vesper. "You have to admit," she says very seriously, sounding for the moment about ten years her senior, "he makes a very good point."

Vesper's face works for a moment to keep from laughing, and her smile scarcely shows it. "He does," she agrees, "and perhaps you should thank him for it. Are you a visitor to Whitestone, sir?" This to César again. "Or newly arrived?"

He loves kids. These two are perfect examples of why. Enjoy the good memory you'll be getting soon, Cassandra.

"Sometimes I have been known to have a good idea." César's eyes are twinkling at the exchange. "Newly arrived, just today. My name is César Salazar."

"A pleasure, Master Salazar," says the older girl with a gracious smile and a gesture somewhere between a nod and a half-bow. "I'm Vesper de Rolo, and I welcome you to Whitestone on behalf of my father and mother, Lord Frederick and Lady Johanna de Rolo. And this is my youngest sister, Cassandra."

Cassandra draws herself up, very much on her dignity, and gives the same little inclination of the head and shoulders as her big sister's. "Welcome to Whitestone," she echoes. And then, eagerness taking over again: "Did you come for the Highsummer festival? It's going on all week."

Well, that answers whose memory this is! César's smile is bright and friendly (god, he loves kids). He hesitates before returning the little bow with an amused look of I'm new around here, am I supposed to be doing it back?

"Thank you for your gracious welcome. I was just passing through, but I may have to find a way to stay the week. It's not often you accidentally stumble upon a festival!"

César smiles between them both. "So what does this festival mean to the two of you? And what should I be certain not to miss?"

Vesper takes a breath but Cassandra is faster: "It's for the Dawnfather! He's the god of the sun and the summer and um ..." She glances up at her sister, suddenly uncertain.

"And the ... pla--?" Vesper prompts.

"And the planted fields!" Cassandra finishes in triumph.

"And he gave us ...?"

"The Sun Tree!" She points, probably unnecessarily, at the enormous tree in the square. "And that's why we built Whitestone here."

Vesper gives her baby sister a proud smile, and adds to César: "Well, what's your pleasure, sir? Do you like feasting, or games, or music and dancing, or hymns to the god? They'll all be here."

"That was a very comprehensive overview. Thank you." César's smile is also proud, and he looks to the tree for a moment to admire it before looking back to the girls. "I'm not much for dancing or hymns, but I wouldn't mind watching and listening to know your culture better. Food, games, and music. Although I might change my mind about dancing."

He hums a moment in thought. "But you'd better get your one treat before it's too late, miss."

"Yes," exults Cassandra, and grabs a round pastry studded with nuts and glazed with honey. She holds it in both hands as though to discourage Vesper from trying to take it away, and once she's sure of her prize, takes an enthusiastic chomp out of one side.

Vesper muffles a laugh, and stands aside to give César a good view of the tables. "Please, help yourself. Is it very different from the food where you come from?"

César laughs brightly at her happiness, not even bothering to hide his mirth (at least he's not loud about it?) and does scan the tables. "Everyone's pastries are different. Hmm. Something sweet, definitely. Anything with a crunch to it?"

Still chewing on her sweet roll, Cassandra points to the platter a little ways down the table, heaped with irregular blobs of puffy fried dough with fruit syrup drizzled over them. Those do look like they might crunch when bitten into.

"Sweet and with a crunch, or one of each?" Vesper asks.

César's entire face brightens. "One of those would be perfect."

He doesn't even hesitate, although he makes sure not to run into anyone. Yes, he's got a sweet tooth. And there's not nearly enough crunchy sweet things on the ship. It isn't very long before he has it in his mouth.

"Yes, this is exactly what I needed."

There's a little laughter from some of the other townspeople around them, but it's friendly laughter rather than mocking. "Someone tell Malba, he's right proud of those," says one old woman; an even older one laughs at her and says "Oh now, don't do that, he'll be impossible if he gets any prouder!"

A stout young man with fair hair, pointed ears, and a toddler balanced on one hip leans across the table to catch César's attention. "Here, sir, you ought to try one of these --" He's pointing at a bowl full of what might be pretzel knots, sugared instead of salted. A few other voices join in, and soon the closest half-dozen people are vying to welcome and/or impress the visiting stranger with the best things on the table.

César is a bit overwhelmed with being noticed, although in a good way. He has to laugh in delight when a number of people start trying to get him to try everything at once. It's very sweet, and it reminds him of good times from home.

"I prefer to eat my desserts slow!" César's smile is wide. "And I haven't eaten my meal yet. But I'll get to everyone's dessert eventually, I promise. I really want to try them all out."

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it's a war in there [March OTA, including memshare]

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