#yearendfeast2026

[dragon-among-stars]

@abladereforged

Unfortunately for Blade, Dan Heng was two glasses of wine deep. A particular wine that was strong enough to get the Aeons drunk. Even being imbued with the very spirit of the earth wasn't going to keep the Vidyadhara's head on his shoulders.

The Stellaron Hunter was being dragged to the feast half by force and half out of the necessity to keep an eye on Dan Heng. Especially when the latter went for the table that had even more alcoholic drinks on it before wandering into the silent auction to place a bid on one of the fine art pieces.

"You should bet on something. They give you money when you get here. I've actually been ported over some of my funds from my savings as well, so if you want something, I can get it for you, too."

"Unless you are still mad about earlier, then I guess stay mad at me for existing. Though you haven't snapped at me for touching you now. Is it because I've had drinks?"

[deeperthicket]

Enki Ankarian wasn't exactly mingling, as much as disappearing among the people who had gradually been migrating away from the feast hall and towards other social things. The Madame was out, and it was his duty to watch the Chair. It really might be cursed, this piece of art. No wonder Cahara was the only one putting money down for it.

So, here he was, a skeleton of a man looming over the auction, and watching as cards were run back to their owners.

[thiefandlyre]

@butterfly-hurricane

Someone's claimed the chair, it seems.

"My goodness! Congratulations!" Octavo exclaims, folding his hands together as he approaches his fellow attendee. "I'd seen you eyeing this piece throughout the night. You know, I thought about it myself, but I'm quite new here, and I don't think I've got the resources to be frittering away on fancy furniture... It is quite gorgeous though." Sighing, he gives the chair a fond look before turning back to her.

"Please forgive my impropriety. Art simply inspires such... enthusiasm in me."

[lorene-dairson]

The hostess and two of the guests were stepping outside for a brawl...?

That only worked in Lorene's favor. He'd been diligently trying to pretend like he didn't see Fiyero for the entire year-end feast, knowing if they ran into one another, Lorene would just say something embarrassing. Again.

(Watching Fiyero and Reinite flirting at the Wintertide Ball had been fine. Perfectly fine. It was fine. He was happy to see them both happy. It was fine.)

The Prince waited for all the combating parties to step outside, and then slipped back to the silent auction tables to subtly scratch out a bid on the item he wanted. Who would know?

[astrallithid]

how long has it been since he's felt like this? weary, but giddy. like a fresh faced adventurer with so much to learn ...

balduran at the beach house having to take care of all his bruises and little cuts from his duel with daud @dishonoredknife as planned by ada @lanshiang - i was going to color this and maybe i will. later. but not now. once he's done with bandaging up his arms and whatnot, he'll take off the leg armor and the likes and assess the wounds there ...

anyway, cas, syd, this one's for you.

[viladlind]

' i want those birds. '

[sonsolarpunk]

"Catch me eating so much soup at this, they call me souper-man."

[butterfly-hurricane]

Plotted with @lanshiang

Ada Wong had always been fundamentally misunderstood. And for a long time, she never cared about it. It made her job easier, misunderstanding was something she could work with. But learning of Carla Radames changed everything.

She never got the chance to speak face to face with her 'clone' while she was alive. The creature that emerged from her corpse was a maddened, deeply wounded, and lonely thing; encompassing the world around her to drag every last thing into an abyss.

Identity- whoever she was- had been stripped from her long ago. Her body transformed into a copy of Ada's, and personality conditioned to reflect Derek C. Simmons' idea of 'Ada Wong.' A cheap caricature- and none the fault of the woman she watched across the way at the Year End Feast.

Ada sat, quietly observing her younger double carrying herself. How much of her behaviors were manufactured by Derek- and which ones were truly hers?

What was she like without that horrid man looming over her?

What was she like?

Ada had noticed a difference in herself when Simmons died. She felt the need to run even less- even with the whole of the world lunging at her back for crimes she didn't commit. She didn't feel the need to nest with bioterrorists like Wesker for her own safety. She'd become more at ease and trusting of even a handful of associates. Even kept a few friends.

So, what was this woman doing to compare?

She was hosting a party and taking charge- something Derek would have never abided. She was letting herself be seen with wet clothes and bloodshot eyes- which Derek would not have tolerated. She had other men close to her side. Had men tussle in the sand over a painting- each thing giving Ada some clues to who she was outside of that fear. And outside of their fights.

Ada waited for the bidding to be done. Waited for the spindly priest to give her butterfly compact to her. And waited for the lull of some guests leaving with full bellies and prizes (her own cursed chair seemingly forfeit with one victim to tally).

"Hey there," Ada said quietly, "I upset you earlier. Sorry for that. Mind if we talk?"