smartass_captain: (Suit Dressed Up)
Jim Kirk ([personal profile] smartass_captain) wrote2019-12-07 04:26 pm

A Very Nexus Reception

To all the friends of the happy grooms, PINpoint messages have already been sent weeks ago inviting them to expect quite the street party arranged in the commons of the Nexus. Guests have been invited to bring an appetite--both for food and for a social adventure. Nirnish weddings are public affairs, after all. While the ceremony has had to be somewhat sequestered for the sake of keeping the existence of Other Worlds a secret, neither Felix nor Jim would want to leave out their interdimensional friends entirely. Having a reception party arranged in the Nexus became the natural plan of action.

Overnight large sections of the Commons are transformed via diligent craftsmanship and quite a lot of magic from those who’ve volunteered. Lanterns representing the Divines are hung along every lamp post, bringing at least the idea of warmth even if the flames are too small to heat their surroundings alone. Bardic tunes carry in the air as readily as the scent of food and drink. Past banners of red and black, blue and white the people gather.

For both grooms this is nearly a continuation of the day before. They’ve had the chance to sleep off the nerves of their ceremony. Today is entirely for celebration--uninhibited celebration at that. No more minding what is said and isn’t. No more pretending to be anything other than who they are. Jim’s traded out his Nirnish finery for a suit and tie, garments he’s much more familiar with. Felix is staying with his native clothing; though he may have dressed down a little from his wedding clothes, the conjurer’s dressed in fitted breeches and his best fur-trimmed coat and boots, the soft hide dyed blue to match his tunic. By their side sits the conjurer’s spectral wolf familiar, ears pricked at the gathering.

As the guests find their ways over it will be easy to spot their friends amidst all the decor along with many other avenues with which to enjoy themselves….

Greetings

Food and Drink

Music and Dancing

Bonfire Entertainment

Party Games


((Links to all relevent wedding Prose can be found Here!))
conjuredskies: (Marcella Avita)

[personal profile] conjuredskies 2020-01-08 11:44 pm (UTC)(link)
While Marcella's trying to recover her cool, Ushug looks over with a puzzled grunt. Intent on her game, the elder smith hasn't been following mere small talk, so it takes a minute to replay what's been said to herself. Then she frowns, a big green grimace that pulls her lips tight below her tusks.

Then she breaks into a guffaw.

"You thought WHAT? Hahahaha! Malacath's hammer, that's a good one! Guess all the forge fumes are doing my skin good, huh?"

"Elves age slower than humans," Marcella mutters, rolling her eyes at her business partner's entertainment. "Ushug must have a hundred years on me."

The Orc woman raps her fist on the table, muscles flexing beneath her dress. "Young enough to wrestle either of you under the table!"
westfallcorndog: (thinkin' hard or hardly thinkin'?)

[personal profile] westfallcorndog 2020-01-10 05:25 pm (UTC)(link)
Harrow is taken aback by the sudden laughter. He’s not used to anyone barking laughs like he does! For a second his lips even twitch with the makings of a smile. She—

No. No sympathy. She’s an orc! Harrowheart, remember yourself. Remember your values! He furrows his brow and tries for his best frown of disapproval, but he’s much better at receiving than giving in that regard.

“What do Elves got to do with this?” he grunts. “She’s an orc. And orcs don’t live to be a hundred. And, I know for a fact she’s full’a shit, ‘cause I’d for sure destroy her if we were wrestlin’.” Rippling orc forgemistress muscles be damned.

He crosses his arms and looks between them. Case closed, ladies. Unless anyone wants to defy him?...
conjuredskies: (Marcella Avita)

[personal profile] conjuredskies 2020-01-18 06:54 pm (UTC)(link)
Marcella's doing an excellent demonstration of the Disapproving Frown (TM) for his benefit: lips pursed, chin up, eyes steely, brows lifted just a little bit- and for a split second, she looks torn between Stern Imperial Disapproval and charging to the defence of her master's honor. There's a flash of fire in her glare-

And then a THUMP as Ushug slams her elbow down on the table. Cards and drinks are shunted aside with a sweep of her other hand, much to the grumbling of the other players.

"You leave now and I'm keeping the coin-"

"Shove it up your buddy's arse for all I care," she retorts, emphasizing it with a hand gesture that doesn't look polite. Ushug's not even looking: she's giving Harrow the kind of toothy grin you need two-inch tusks for. "All right, fly bait. You think prissy, pretty-faced runts are the only kind of elves there are? Come get a lesson."
westfallcorndog: (scourge)

[personal profile] westfallcorndog 2020-02-01 02:46 pm (UTC)(link)
That thump. The unmistakable sound of a challenge. If Harrowheart's mind had been occupied by anything else before, now he thinks only of battle. He wastes no time in shoving past anyone in his way to take a seat across from Ushug. Just as she had, he slams his elbow onto the table, and he wastes no time taking her hand in his.

Harrowheart locks eyes with Ushug, stern as can be for the length of a few breaths... And then he smiles.

"Show me what you got, greenskin."
conjuredskies: (Marcella Avita)

[personal profile] conjuredskies 2020-02-01 03:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Marcella's rolling her eyes and grabbing the wine bottle to refill her glass. Zenithar, give her patience. Ushug's got to deal with these things the way she wants. Her business partner can only try and enjoy the show. Not that it wouldn't be satisfying to watch Ushug smack him into the table, but it won't really prove anything, will it?

Ushug isn't so hung up on the philosophical details. She's locking hands with Harrow, apparently unperturbed by the chill of his skin. Her grip is strong, her skin callused and weathered from decades of smithing, matching the small scars here and there on her face.

"Careful your arm doesn't fall off," she taunts back. Her other hand slams down on the table: one, two, THREE! And they're on! Fire-forged orcish brawn against the unholy strength of the dead. Steel-shaper against bone-breaker! Locked in a duel for the ages, teeth bared across the table.

Marcella decides to keep the bottle.
westfallcorndog: (I'm Slutty Khadgar!)

[personal profile] westfallcorndog 2020-02-01 04:27 pm (UTC)(link)
The orc's strength catches Harrowheart off guard, but he grits his teeth and defies her with all he's got. He grips the table with his other hand, and his bicep pulls the fabric of his suit taut. Here's hoping the stitching holds.

Harrowheart huffs a laugh as he pushes in vain against her. "Not bad for a breather."

And then it's... A whole lot of nothing. Two duelists, each alike in dignity strength, doesn't necessarily produce the most riveting competition. For his part, Harrowheart doesn't breathe, and his facial expression remains nearly unchanging but for the frequent twitch of his brow.

And then there's the sound of cloth tearing. It must be his suit. Right?...
conjuredskies: (Marcella Avita)

[personal profile] conjuredskies 2020-02-01 05:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Ushug grunts in reply. She seems surprised at his strength too, pulling her lips back in what's half a smile and half a grimace of effort as muscle strains against muscle. Her brow is locked in concentration, so that at first she doesn't notice when the first tiny sounds of splitting threads begin to be heard. Got to hold steady, get the edge on this loud-mouthed zombi-

There's a long rrrriiiiIIIIP! when the fabric binding Harrow's wrist gives way. Ushug's hand slams his to the table before she clocks what's happened.

"THAT'S what I-ah?" Triumph turns to confusion. Beside them, Marcella clamps a hand over her mouth to keep from spitting out her drink again. Ushug looks from his severed wrist, exposed flesh and bone poking out from rent cloth. Lifts the hand still clutched in hers to look at it.

"...Hah. HahahahaHAHAHA!" She plonks his hand back in front of him, leaning on the table as mirth overcomes her.