Post by Deleted on Jan 17, 2020 2:33:36 GMT
[February 4th, early evening, after There’s Color Everywhere. Open to all!]
Try as she might, Imelda simply could not resist the alluring charms of the festival.
The night before she had watched the festivities from her window, paralyzed with indecision about joining them. Imelda was not the sort to care for festivals of any kind. At least, that's what she had been telling herself for the last fifty-one years and counting. For one thing, any celebration was a breeding ground for musicians of all kinds. But beyond that, they also served as a distraction from hard work. Everyone in the Enchanted Suns seemed to be putting their duties aside, and what for? In her workshop, work always came before play, and if it was shoddy, it demanded correction. There was no room for error – especially after their recent trial.
But Arendelle was not her workshop. And the kingdom was certainly not playing by her rules.
Perhaps this was why the nature of the event troubled her so much. On the one hand, the whole festival felt overblown -- it was loud, it was bright, it was overstimulating. The Suns' failure in battle was no longer a secret; she could tell this was meant to divert the line of thinking from missing goods straight to happier times. And yet, heaven help her, this was the most she had felt at home since having to leave the Land of the Dead.
The instant she stepped onto the streets and took in the scenery, it softened her. Colorful lanterns glittering against the golden-hour sky, rainbow banners and flags swirling in the breeze, a faint hue wherever she walked -- all of it reminiscent of the ethereal world she had left behind to contribute her efforts here. Hell, she'd go so far as to say there were hints of Santa Cecelia in it all. Rare did she feel so willing to indulge in her want for frivolity, but the aesthetic of the city was enough to draw it out.
Old hang-ups mixed with a new, unfounded sense of vulnerability lead Imelda to where she was at present: standing in the main square, back against a lamppost, watching a crowd of dancers with a careful eye. She was in her human form, feeling almost more out-of-place than she would have were she a skeleton. It was easy for any outsider to immediately write her off as standoffish at first glance, but had one looked closer, they would see the faintest hint of a smile on her face. She was back to square one in her thinking – paralyzed with indecision, but newly wishing Hector was by her side to join him. How romantic it would be if he were to sweep her off her feet, bring her to the center of the square, and dance the night away with her…
Her flight of fancy was swiftly interrupted by the realization of how ridiculous she must have sounded, conjuring up a thought like that. The impracticality of the celebration began to weigh on her once more, and the nagging consideration of leaving was back on her mind. But before she had the chance, the sensation of contact being made against her body turned her attention away from her dilemma entirely.
Now, she was plainly annoyed.
Instinctively, she tensed up, expression now sour. Whatever vulnerability she had displayed before was gone in an instant; the walls were back up. The glare on her face was not unlike one she’d flash at an unruly grandchild or a malfunctioning devil-box. She straightened her posture, arms akimbo, ready to pull a sandal off at a moment’s notice.
“Watch where you’re going, eh!?”
Try as she might, Imelda simply could not resist the alluring charms of the festival.
The night before she had watched the festivities from her window, paralyzed with indecision about joining them. Imelda was not the sort to care for festivals of any kind. At least, that's what she had been telling herself for the last fifty-one years and counting. For one thing, any celebration was a breeding ground for musicians of all kinds. But beyond that, they also served as a distraction from hard work. Everyone in the Enchanted Suns seemed to be putting their duties aside, and what for? In her workshop, work always came before play, and if it was shoddy, it demanded correction. There was no room for error – especially after their recent trial.
But Arendelle was not her workshop. And the kingdom was certainly not playing by her rules.
Perhaps this was why the nature of the event troubled her so much. On the one hand, the whole festival felt overblown -- it was loud, it was bright, it was overstimulating. The Suns' failure in battle was no longer a secret; she could tell this was meant to divert the line of thinking from missing goods straight to happier times. And yet, heaven help her, this was the most she had felt at home since having to leave the Land of the Dead.
The instant she stepped onto the streets and took in the scenery, it softened her. Colorful lanterns glittering against the golden-hour sky, rainbow banners and flags swirling in the breeze, a faint hue wherever she walked -- all of it reminiscent of the ethereal world she had left behind to contribute her efforts here. Hell, she'd go so far as to say there were hints of Santa Cecelia in it all. Rare did she feel so willing to indulge in her want for frivolity, but the aesthetic of the city was enough to draw it out.
Old hang-ups mixed with a new, unfounded sense of vulnerability lead Imelda to where she was at present: standing in the main square, back against a lamppost, watching a crowd of dancers with a careful eye. She was in her human form, feeling almost more out-of-place than she would have were she a skeleton. It was easy for any outsider to immediately write her off as standoffish at first glance, but had one looked closer, they would see the faintest hint of a smile on her face. She was back to square one in her thinking – paralyzed with indecision, but newly wishing Hector was by her side to join him. How romantic it would be if he were to sweep her off her feet, bring her to the center of the square, and dance the night away with her…
Her flight of fancy was swiftly interrupted by the realization of how ridiculous she must have sounded, conjuring up a thought like that. The impracticality of the celebration began to weigh on her once more, and the nagging consideration of leaving was back on her mind. But before she had the chance, the sensation of contact being made against her body turned her attention away from her dilemma entirely.
Now, she was plainly annoyed.
Instinctively, she tensed up, expression now sour. Whatever vulnerability she had displayed before was gone in an instant; the walls were back up. The glare on her face was not unlike one she’d flash at an unruly grandchild or a malfunctioning devil-box. She straightened her posture, arms akimbo, ready to pull a sandal off at a moment’s notice.
“Watch where you’re going, eh!?”
