epidemiology | EVENT ★ GONE FISHIN'

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EVENT ★ GONE FISHIN'

Thanks to your help, repairs to the flood wall are complete. The Nalawi are still largely without their Gifts, so they are thankful -- without the aid of ALASTAIR recruits, they would have surely drowned or been eaten by sea monsters.

Despite the barely averted disaster, the residents of Komo have decided to go along with their lives as planned, perhaps to bolster morale instead of giving into despair. By chance, their annual fishing contest is scheduled for today! As honored guests, recruits are invited to participate.

FISHING CONTEST

Dugout canoes are provided for all participants, patterns that suggest fish scales burned into the wooden sides. Curiously, no fishing rods are offered; if a recruit requests one, they will be given a strange look, but the harbormaster will acquiesce.

Due to the rough seas, the passage between Komo and the other islands is still inaccessible. Contestants are reminded to stay behind the reefs or venture east toward open ocean for their quarry. It’s only when the contest begins that the quarry in question is actually announced . . .

Sharks.

You are fishing sharks. And, judging by the lack of equipment (or the puny fishing rod you requested), you’re expected to do this by hand.

The tiny deer people don’t seem bothered by this predicament at all: the goal is to catch the biggest shark, by length and poundage. Better not embarrass yourself in front of the locals.

GET PUMPED

Mettaton has announced over the jewelry that he will be hosting a celebration in tandem with the fishing contest, in order to help the native Nalawi and the ALASTAIR recruits get to know each other better. This includes singing, dancing, and all sorts of different performances -- and, of course, reporting on the actual fishing.

If you aren’t the fishing type or maybe you just need a break from chasing sharks around, this is a good chance to bust a move and show your teammates how you can get down -- or just sit back and watch! It’s bound to be entertaining one way or another.

Plot for the stage here!

Olivia will be the final performer in the showcase. Anyone who witnesses her dancing may feel themselves super-charged by the spectacle . . . with possibly unexpected results! Characters may feel even more determined to win the fishing contest, or perhaps they’ll take this surge of optimism to help rebuild some of Komo’s destroyed buildings before the day winds down into night.

THE FEAST

After the fishing contest, the sharks will be collected and prepared. Grilled shark, fried shark, shark caviar, and shark jerky from the results of last year’s contest. There are fruits and vegetables and breads available as well, but if you want some protein, you’d better go native.

During the feast, some of the Nalawi perform dances and song. The subjects range from their goddess Nalanni to love songs. Want to show off your talents again? Now’s the time! Or, if you’d prefer to step away from the excitement, the beach is quiet and empty, and the baths are unoccupied since the whole of Komo is at the gathering.

As the feast winds down, the Nalawi will pass around their very potent alcohol for a toast to Komo’s health. Someone shouts, interrupting, wondering what good that will do if Nalanni has abandoned them. Concerned murmuring fills the gathering, spoiling the mood. ALASTAIR recruits may attempt to put them at ease -- otherwise, the feast will disperse on a sour note.

OOC INFO

If you would like your character to win the fishing contest, please sign up below. You must thread out fishing in order to participate in the drawing. There will be only one winner, decided by RNG. The winner will be contacted on April 1st. The prize is a necklace of shark’s teeth, which has a one-use spell that will make all sharks in a one mile radius sleep for 30 seconds.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Indeed, I am held to be the best of the Achaeans, both strongest of spear and swiftest of foot. Black fear fills the hearts of the horse-taming Trojans when they see my helmet glinting upon the dawn of battle, for they know it will not be long before they are cast down through the gate of Hades: I've robbed from Priam a great many of his sons. By my spear I've won countless fine prizes too: sturdy racing horses, herds of oxen, talents of gold, bronze tripods, and more besides these. Such treasures should speak to my great honor.

[He speaks not with bloodlust as he details the loss of life he has wrought, but nor does remorse ring reverent through his words: they are sturdy and straight, for it is his honor that lies at the center of his speech. War has hardened him, but it has not numbed him. He knows well the pain he brings to others, for he has suffered the same pain in the death of one cherished. Someday, just as Priam has felt at the hands of Achilles, his own father will feel the hollow ache of a son lost to the jaws of war.]

My father, as I have said before, is Peleus, a worthy king of Aeacus' stock - and his father too, the judge of men Aeacus, was in life a worthy king borne of Zeus who delights in thunder. I pray too that my own Neoptolemus will someday a worthy king become, if still he lives.

[ he drops names and terms like she must know them, and for her part, she does well enough to keep along. it's a story he weaves, after all, and though the names mean nothing to her, the context he provides in both his tone and his storytelling help fill in the blanks well enough.

but her mind stalls on a word, a word she knows quite well, so much so that she can do nothing but stare dumbfounded at him for a moment. ]

...K-King...?

[ blink blink

blink blink blink blink ]

Mr. Achilles, are you — do you mean to say you've — a king—?

I am the son of a king, and a son of a king I shall remain without ever taking my father's place: for fate has denied me my homecoming. Hence I pray my son lives that he can sit as master of great Peleus' house in my stead.

[In his day a king is quite a different thing from what Olivia imagines. His father does not hold absolute jurisdiction over the men of Phthia: he sets no laws nor metes out justice. It is his wealth and reputation that secure such a position of honor, and men may defer to his counsel but that is the extent of his reach. Nonetheless, the title is a worthy one to bear.

Achilles finds amusement in her apparent bewilderment and upon her he turns a teasing grin.]

Why are you surprised so?

[ in the face of his amusement, she only has clear and abject horror.

the speed with which she suddenly stumbles back from her seat and drops down to the ground on her knees before him is probably the stuff of legends, but it's made a little less impressive by the hasty way in which she stammers out her apologies. ]

M-My Lord...! I'm so sorry — I had no idea — I didn't — If I had known, I certainly wouldn't have —

[ her head is bowed low by now, so he might not be able to see the bright blush of embarrassment on her cheeks... or the way it burns bright once she realizes: ]

Ohmygosh I saw you naked!!

[He remains quite unruffled by her frantic apology, like an eagle who holds fast to his perch even in the face of a gale which lashes this way and that. His features do however settle into bemusement.]

What have you to apologize for?

[Achilles takes her cheek in his hand and gently he urges her to lift her brow once more: the heat of her skin he can feel beneath his fingers, as embers that breathe the remainder of the fire that once stood there.]

Tell me, when have you addressed me absent the respect I am due? No, you have always shown me great kindness and gentleness, lovely-haired Olivia. Now too you display your respect as you kneel before me, although such ceremony is not necessary - do you come to me as a suppliant who shall take me by the knee?

Furthermore, if you knew not of the honor I hold as prince of the Myrmidons, the fault is mine. For in any land whose people have heard of the plains of Thessaly, I need only say I am Peleus' son, and such a reputation is understood. Thus, never have I needed to say more.

[ she visibly stiffens under his touch, but she does not resist when his fingers coax her chin up and eyes forward. she looks almost pained to be gazing at him now, when just moments before she hadn't thought twice about her wandering eye. now it feels like a transgression, as if it were something forbidden, despite his gentle words to reassure her otherwise. ]

I — shouldn't have been so forward, [ she insists, still, even after all that. she doesn't say the words, but the apology is still there in her tone, in the way she doesn't quite look at him like she did before. ]

It... wasn't right of me.

Is it not I who invited you to lie with me on that night? Silly girl, what stokes such worry in you I know not. That I am the son of a worthy king? So too was this true moments ago when first you made space that I may join you. Come now, will you sit beside me once more?

[It is Patroclus who is kind, who reaches into the hearts of others and takes their burdens into his own. Achilles does not probe her heart for what is wrong: but in his own manner he sets to allaying her worries with a poultice of tenderness and impatience both. He does so with his hand sturdy against her cheek and his eyes steady upon her, held as the sky cradles the sun throughout the day.]

[ it was also she who had refused him, thinking him nothing more than the soldiers who would often make passes at her back home. she had overstepped her status here; the very thought of it makes her legs shake when she rises back up to her feet to reclaim her seat.

she doesn't sit too close to him, though the bench doesn't provide them with much space in the first place. her hands are at her knees, gripping them with the tension that keeps the rest of her body tightly wound. he seems amicable now, sure; but she has known a good number of princes and kings who have never enjoyed being told 'no.' ]

Are you... really not mad at me?

You speak of your refusal. Indeed, when first you denied me I felt rage clouding my eyes, so great was my desire to take you into my embrace and feel your soft skin against mine.

[As the son of Peleus speaks, he leans into the widened gap between them, as if to confirm that she possesses the gravity to pull him in.]

Few have ever spurned my advances - but you acted not with unkindness, Olivia, and granted me your company nonetheless. It must be your breath-taking loveliness which gave me pause, for I did not want to ruin what could be with a moment's carelessness: rather than plucking a flower and enjoying it but once, it is far better to cultivate that flower and allow it to grow ever more vibrant in the open air, is it not?

[ she... isn't entirely sure how she feels about that analogy. partly because the last time someone had referred to her as a flower, they'd been threatening to kill her. but also partly because it makes it sound as if she were merely something to be enjoyed.

still, he isn't mad, and she supposes she should be happy for that much, at least. and his words are very nice, intent and all, so she can't help the slight blush that colors her cheeks, or the tentative smile she finally gives him. and when he leans in close, she does not shy away. ]

If I'm a flower, then you must be the sun.

[ it's said in a light, playful manner, mostly meaning to take some of the focus off of her... but the more she looks at him, the more she finds it to be quite accurate. she's certain if she stares for too long, her eyes will hurt. ]

[When she relaxes once more, with a smile bowing her lips and a blush dusting her cheeks, Achilles is content. For him it is a simple matter. Just as men are measured by their stores of treasure and their skill in battle, women are measured by their beauty and their skill in more delicate arts such as weaving and dancing: she is beautiful and talented, and her company is pleasant to keep, thus he pursues her. That he is a prince indeed matters, but not for the reasons she fears: what he wants, he will have.]

And if I am the sun, then as I make my arc across the vault of the sky you must be compelled to turn your face toward my warmth, always wishing to stretch ever closer.

Edited 2016-04-29 00:10 (UTC)

[ her lips purse in an attempt to hold back the grin his words prompt, charmed that he would carry on her analogy with her. there is a glint of playfulness in her eyes as her gaze drifts to the sparse space between them. her tone would be accusatory if it weren't for the impish note of her tone. ]

You don't make it particularly difficult to get closer.

Is this so?

[Perhaps it is the bright fire her dance had stoked inside his heart, whose flames now swell with the kindling of their shared flirtations, and perhaps too it is born from his own passionate impulses which so easily seize him: but whichever way the scales tip, Achilles now reaches out to play with one of her braids, soft beneath the stroke of his thumb. His fingertips disembark on her creamy shoulder and trace up the curve of her neck, to at last come to cup her cheek just as he had moments before.]

And what of your lips? Have they any difficulty in coming closer?

[ it wasn't fair, really, how easily just his touch could steal her breath. how eyes as deep as his could stare so willingly, so boldly into her own, as if he had always been meant to. she had noticed it, of course, on that first night she'd met him how easily he commanded the attention of a crowd, as if it were an honor to be among his presence.

if being around him is an honor, then surely being touched by him is a blessing.

but so it is, too, unfair that she finds herself turning the suggestion over in her mind, that she humored the idea he eagerly plants in her head. hadn't she been the one to say it? that to mislead him would be cruel...

but if one moment of unfairness met the other, would they cancel each other out? ]

...Close your eyes.

[While she is of two minds thus, he studies her. The light thrown by the sun in its retreat glimmers in her hair like threads of gold woven through the rich strands, and it brings to life the miniature world held in her eyes, the tidal pool of purples and blues. She looks as though a goddess watches over her, whose blessing enhances Olivia's natural beauty and presents it as a banner for the world to see.

But only his eyes are on her now. Other festival goers sway around them, still held aloft in revelry, in dance and drink, but here upon this bench with Olivia, he feels separate from them all.

Upon her request, the question is clear in the way he looks at her, but the grin still hangs upon his lips.]

Very well. [And so he closes his eyes.] Now that I have granted your request, what shall you grant me?

[ it is such a silly thing. even sillier when one considers his status; you don't simply tell a king to close his eyes, as if you two were mere children enjoying a quiet game of pretend away from the eyes of the adults.

but she can't bare to do this while he looks at her, with eyes that pin and enchant and demand. she can barely stand to do it now, with all her wits about her, but she somehow manages to do it anyway, fueled by the comfort of the low lights of the setting sun and the desire to, just a little bit, indulge in a taste...

the bangles that hang around her wrist clink noisily as she lifts her hand, but the sound seems to come from somewhere distant, forgotten. held between her fingers is the thin, sheer sheet of cloth that would arch and flow in her dances, but now it is stretched taut and held up between their faces. so thin that it is barely there, and yet infuriatingly just there enough that when she finally presses her lips to his, it should not count, oh she hopes it doesn't count.

she takes care to keep her eyes open, to have this moment to memorize the sight of him like this, up close and vulnerable.

she isn't sure when she would allow herself the chance again. ]

[His eyes may be closed but she cannot hide herself in the darkness behind his eyelids: still Achilles can hear the playful song of her bangles jangling together, and when he breathes in he catches her scent, which beneath the tangy salt of her sweat teases like the bobbing heads of flowers in full bloom and thick with pollen. Still her cheek is warm and smooth against his palm. Whether or not he can see her, he can feel her presence, like the moon, which beckons the seas to rise and fall even on those nights when the sky is tucked away behind clouds.

First comes the caress of the cloth, and then the heat of her lips permeating through it. She will see the changing emotions that dapple his features as sunlight that falls through the canopies of trees to dance upon the ground: surprise, confusion, delight.

Achilles can guess the game she plays: he has spent time enough with Odysseus, the man of many turns, to sense the truth that stands naked behind such tricks. She will claim that it is not truly a kiss that she grants him, for their lips do not touch one another, and thus it cannot be said that she has given herself up to him.

Still, the warmth held between their lips is not nothing, and so swells his desire to have her. He presses a kiss against her with the same deliberateness of a farmer pushing his seeds into the furrowed soil that his crops may sprout and then flourish. He makes her linger with him through a second languid kiss before his lips still.

His eyes open to drink her in before she can reel back into the shelter of her shyness. With his face still a breath away from hers, and the scarf still screening her from him, he speaks low and sweet.]

Such a clever girl you are, lovely-haired Olivia. Never have I delighted so much in chasing after one's heart as I do now with yours.

[For never has he had to try very hard to make women love him or lie with him. Just as he finds thrill in testing the wide boundaries of his physical strength, now he finds pleasure in this new challenge.]

Edited (forgot something important) 2016-04-30 20:49 (UTC)

[ for a wild moment there, she feared he might object.

it was sort of cheating, after all, and perhaps even a bit cruel. a taste without much of a taste; a nibble that had hardly any bite to it. but even in her resilience she is weak — where enough words of flattery and attention can wear down even the strongest wall of resolve.

she still means it, of course, when she'd told him she would love to know his heart before his body. and perhaps this, too, is a trial in that. to see how a man who would be king, who must certainly have had everything he ever wanted laid out for him — how will he act when given a shadow of that?

apparently, the answer to that is: quite well. ]

It's not a chase, [ she corrects gently.

at least, in her heart, she would rather not think of it as such. a chase implies such unpleasant things; as if it were nothing more than a game, where the roles are imbalanced and a winner and a loser is implied.

she shakes her head softly, and tries to move past the intoxicating feeling of warmth that has lingered on her lips. ]

It's a dance.

Edited 2016-05-01 21:31 (UTC)

A dance.

[So he repeats. A chase is certain beneath his feet, he who can keep pace with a team of horses: a dance is another matter. It implies a give and take, like the waves which stretch and then truncate the sea's great face, and each movement gives way to the next, ceaselessly, fluidly. It implies bodies in conversation with one another, creating a whole that is more than the sum of the motions from which it is composed.]

Indeed, this is to my liking.

[His hand has withdrawn from her rosy cheek and rests now on his own thigh: he resists the temptation to first brush his fingers across her knee. His gaze, however, does not retreat, and instead holds in it all the sultry heat of the sun as it reclines upon the couch of the sea.]

Had I with me my splendid armor and spear, I might perform for you the warrior's dance which brings glory to men. As you danced for me, I would return it in like. Alas, then, that here I have not Peleus' armor, which I reclaimed from Hector, son of Priam, nor the glinting corselet and greaves which were fashioned for me by the god of the forge, Hephaestus.

[ more names that mean nothing to her, but she can empathize, at least, with the depth of meaning they seem to hold for achilles himself. she can sense it in his words, the way his tone inflects over each syllable. ]

I would love to see it one day, [ she says, and means it. for olivia, there is fewer delights than witnessing and experiencing a new dance.

but speaking of dancing...

she glances about, taking in the festivities continuing on around them. music still wafts in the air, and though it is a distant thing, as if it were nothing more than a second thought, it still clung to the sky like a mist that hasn't quite settled yet. she bites down on her lip, stifling a daring smile.

she stands a moment later, moving to present herself right before him. the skirt of her wrap is a bit too short for a proper curtsy, but she manages one with a flourish of her hands anyway, and though she dips her head before him once more, there is a lighter air about it this time. almost playful. ]

May I have this dance, my Lord?

[While poised in her curtsy she stays, Achilles takes her hand and tugs it closer that he may press his lips to it: the gesture is not necessarily one ripe with romantic intent, but one furnished from respect. Paired with the way he looks at her, however, the double entendre cannot be missed. Perhaps he pushes her boundaries too far, and his luck along with it, but the moment has swept him up.]

Such would bring me great pleasure, lovely-haired Olivia.

[So speaking, the son of Peleus stands. He has not released her hand.]

Long has it been since the days of my youth when last I danced hand in hand with a flowering girl in revelry such that might honor Dionysus. How strange it seems that we as fully ripened man and woman might together dance as if the dew of childhood clings to us still, but such must too be the custom of this land, for I see many a pair engaged thus.

[ she loses a bit of her nerve when he presses his lips to her knuckles, recalling all too easily where those lips had been just moments prior. she glances away a bit hastily, nearly missing the way his eyes warm when they look up at her, and for a moment she seems to hesitate or reconsider.

it's not a moment that lasts long, however, nerves wrung away with a few bites to her bottom lip. she turns back to him soon enough, lips spreading into a smile that borders on playful. ]

In my world, art knows no age.

[ by his hand she leads him a little further towards the center of the festivities. close enough that the music hums in their ears, but far enough away that they are still afforded some measure of privacy. quite gently, she takes his hands and shows him where they should rest: one in her hand, the other right over the curve of her hip. when her other slides over his shoulder, she begins to lead him through the first few steps that they will wind up repeating to some variation for the duration of the song. it is not an overly complicated dance, nor is it any one dance at all — instead it is a quilted pattern of dances she's picked up from her travels, flowing seamlessly into each other. never once does she break her gaze from him, exuding the same sort of easy confidence and magnetism that she had had up on stage. ]

[In his era, dance is more ritual than art - but it is true that there ripples fierce beauty through the movements meant to honor the gods or bring glory to men.

So too is it true that the act of courting a woman is woven through with ritual.

Thus, Achilles follows with his footfall eager, and his eyes crackle with delight as she guides his hands to her body, then her hands to his: before they have even begun, the curves of their limbs stitch together a sort of intimacy that it not found in the dances he knows. At first the steps are foreign underneath his feet, and like a calf faltering on its spindly legs he shadows her movements. Soon, though, his nimble feet find the rhythm of the dance, just as his fingers fall upon the precise notes of the lyre to strike harmony. Once he can watch Olivia more than the path tapped by their feet, he lifts a grin to her.]

Tell me, do I a suitable partner make?

[Held aloft in dance as she is, she belongs as does the sun in the vault of the sky: in full radiance at last when above the veil of clouds it rises.]

[ he is quick to learn, and for that she is pleasantly surprised. she shouldn't be, really. she knows full well now how to read a body; how to assess how each one's capabilities and strengths, and even in a man as large in height and width as achilles bore the grace of a lithe performer, simply waiting to be coaxed out.

and yet up till now, she has only come to know him as a warrior and a king — two roles that possess a different sort of grace. and that, for all his beautifully woven words, she had not quite yet wrapped her mind around the fact that he is an artist as well — that his body creates and conveys just as intricately and delicately as his stories do. that when he holds her in his arms like this, she feels like another word he bends and weaves into meaning. ]

More than suitable, my Lord. [ it is certainly not in olivia's nature to bring someone down, but every word she says is laced with sincerity. she needn't sugarcoat something already so sweet. ]

You're quite exceptional.

[ in more ways than one, she thinks. but she supposes he already knows that. ]

Edited 2016-05-19 13:04 (UTC)

Then indeed we match well.

[Achilles has grown used to the way that others sway before him, as the grass bobs and bows to the wind: certainly he has met with stones upon whose hard edges he meets resistance, but these are exceptions. That subtle, supple bend feels natural to the point where he does not notice the effect he wields over others, in the same way he does not notice the breaths he takes or the beat of his own heart. It is rare then for him to feel the pull of another as he does now with Olivia dancing in his arms. As the incipient shoots of a plant which break through the shell of its seed and climb upward through the soil without knowing why, so too does he yearn for her.

And so their dance continues, as two celestial bodies caught in one another's orbit.]

What next will you show me then?

[He is a man mesmerized by her every movement, a man insatiable.]

EVENT ★ GONE FISHIN'

i'm sorry...he won't.....shut up...

puts a dick in his mouth tbh

that'll solve it

ye ye

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you drove me to this

and you.. drove me to this........

i'm taking you down with me

sobs brokenly

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