covetous

@kaitlin-oretlann​

This was her favorite part of Lugnasad, the competitions. It drove her adrenaline and as the races took off Kaitlin jumped up and down and cheered in the crowds. She wasn’t sure who she was cheering for but she was cheering none the less in hopes of a good race. However, when Gorta transformed and sped to the finish line Kaitlin was left speechless. No one had ever done that before. At least, not in her twenty-six years. “Did you see that?!” She exclaimed to no one in particular. Surely Gorta would win, she’d earned it with a maneuver that clever. Sadly, she was disqualified for some rule Kaitlin had never even heard of.

Kaitlin left the races after that, no longer interested she found the kegs of ale and poured herself a large glass. Laughing with the fey nearby she was soon left to her own devices when Gorta filled the empty space with her presence. Kaitlin raised a glass and took a large gulp, “Well-” She paused as if what she was about to say was obvious. Tilting her gaze up to Gorta she knitted her brows together and extended her glass towards Gorta as if this was cheers worthy. “I’m not a Fey.” The twinge of bitterness could be heard in her voice despite her features not faltering for a moment. “But that was ridiculous. You should have won.”

Kaitlin shrugged her slim shoulders and drank from the frothy top of her glass and then quickly drank a quarter of her drink in one go. It wasn’t very ladylike but the reminder of what she was not had her feeling sorry for herself. Sighing she tilted her head in Gorta’s direction, “It’s probably a rule because not everyone transforms into a fast animal…could you imagine a waterfey trying the same thing?

Gorta looked up at the lovely brunette throwing back pints of ale in a style she herself could appreciate. “You might be human, but you’re also right, and that is something I like,” Gorta replied between barks of laughter. “I should have won. Why are you the only one who sees that?” she asked, tsk tsking the fey who made the rules. “I should petition the Queen of Lugnasad, is what I should do,” but her tone indicated she would do nothing of the sort and was more pleased with being clever than with the medallion of a winner. She cheersed Kaitlin and drank a bit of her own ale as well, licking the foam from her upper lip. 

Gorta raised her brows as Kaitlin downed her beer all in one. “Not sure if I’m impressed or feeling concerned—probably something in between. Definitely impressed but also, what’s going on, kitten?” Normally downing a pint in that fashion was accompanied by slamming it down in triumph, a call for another round, and a sufficient amount of hollering and boasting, but the girl was doing none of these things. She seemed down. “Next round’s on me,” Gorta said.

@hazyhazel

The Tailteann Games were not quite what Hazel had expected, but she was having more fun than she expected watching and participating in the competitions. There was a lot of good natured (and not so good natured) ribbing going around between those competing and everyone was speculating on the upcoming hand fastings. Hazel prayed her name was not going to be one of the ones called, that had to be awkward.

Hazel wasn’t sure if the comment was directed at her or not, it wasn’t like she and Gorta were exactly friends but she found herself shrugging in response anyway. “Well…it is kind of unfair,” she said softly. “I mean, it gives you an advantage over say a water fey. I get why it’s a rule.” She shrugged again, but offered a smile in the other fey’s direction.

“Besides, even if you’re not the official winner, people will be talking about that for a while.”

Gorta laughed, not off-put by the criticism. “But why should that be an issue? So the water fey will excel in swimming where my doggie paddle can hardly compare,” Gorta replied, feigning dramatic insult at an imagined sleight against her doggie paddle. “And no one wants to talk about how an air fey could do what I did and just land on the finish line. Why’s it got to be so straightforward? Why not cleverness and subterfuge? That’d be far more entertaining. Don’t stop me with words, stop me to win.” Her stormy eyes crinkled at the edges in amusement, entertaining the visuals such a scenario might conjure. “Good, let ‘em talk, only thing better than people talking to me is people talking about me.” Gorta gave Hazel a wink for good measure. “You’ve never thought about shifting in a competition?”

@asterfairbank​

Aster raised a brow. It was true, there was no rule, not an official one, but to him it seemed.. Unspoken. It was fair. But maybe that was the human side of him, he knew well enough how fey liked to find their way around the rules. The masters of the loophole, he often thought, but they had to be - Living among humans as they did, it was what you had to do to keep an advantage, when they could lie and you couldn’t.

He shrugged at Gorta’s comment. “It doesn’t seem fair to you?” He asked, genuinely curious. “I mean, most people don’t have the same kind of advantage with their other form, and shouldn’t everyone have the same chances?”

Gorta shrugged, her demeanour laid back and at ease. “Fair is relative.” Gesturing to the Tailteann Games en masse, there were all kinds of things available—competitions to suit every ilk. There were so many in such different things, including creative aspects, that a fey would be hard pressed to not find any game to compete in. “So what if I’m good at this one? I’d be shit at something else. Isn’t there something to be said for using the talents Danu gave us?” There was a weight to her eyes, scanning him as if to see if he had any talents he’d like to share, perhaps something he felt under-appreciated about.

(white wedding; it’s a nice day to start again)

When: Lugnasad, Aug 1, Dusk Who: @galefairbank

Gorta didn’t even realize her name had been called, at first; she was deep in conversation with two Seelie fey over a pint and the odds weren’t in her favour. Even if everyone seemed to know her, what were the odds so many had voted for her? Then again, if she was the common denominator of sorts, even in passing, perhaps she’d been top of mind for more than a few. Gorta rolled her eyes playfully at her comrades, who seemed particularly dispassionate by now but Gorta herself felt enthusiastic. “Gotta go ruin someone’s day,” Gorta quipped before making her way toward the sound of her name.

The man she stood opposite who had also been called up was Gale; she vaguely remembered some news about how he’d been the Princess’ father and she somehow knew he kept the books for the Rookery. The bar the Unseelie owned. Right. “So, you’re the sap who’s stuck with me? Sure you don’t want funerary colours?” Gorta quipped with a laugh, good-naturedly. “Always thought if I married it’t be for true love or cause I got wasted, not by lottery, but hey—here’s to adventure, am I right?”

She tried to put him at ease, since he seemed a little nervous to her, and almost without thinking she released some of her apathy to soothe him should he need it. Soon, the rings were exchanged for all to see, and soon, the bells rang. Soon after would be the honeymood mead, but thankfully they were dismissed for a bit before the feast opened. “Not how you expected your day to go, huh, hubby?” Gorta was curious as to his thoughts on all of this; he wasn’t half-bad on the eyes and he had connections, so she could have done worse in a match. Gale was even what she’d call cute, all things considered.

Where: Tara Why: Lugnasad When: August 1st Who: OPEN

Gorta doesn’t remember before this morning, but she came into being, fully formed, as if some goddess from the head of a greater god. There are wisps of a history, tendrils of could-bes that cloud her mind in her first conscious thoughts, like remembering a past life, or inventing one. There was a task to complete and it tasted like mischief, so it amused her before she made her way by portal to Tara. The longer she was in Tara, the longer things started to make sense, or sound familiar. Like the longer her feet touched the ground, the grass, she got better glimpses of understanding until the sun wasn’t blinding and the feast—the holiday, she recognized it was a holiday—made sense.

And by then she’d become herself. Gorta had a smile on her thin face, her features pointed and divisive, and the smile offset her into warmness. She waved to people as they went by, feeling like she knew each one, somehow. Someone’s voice would call up flashes of visions like memories and then Gorta could identify them. It wasn’t long before she got involved in the Running competition for the Tailteann Games—and though she listened carefully, Gorta had not heard any rule about not using her alternate form, which she just remembered she had and wanted to try out. Apparently a whippet shooting down the field was grounds for qualification.

“That’s not right! I didn’t break any rules, after all,” Gorta shouted after the race had been called. She had half a mind to petition the Queen of Lugnasad, but she didn’t have that much pride staked on it. Gorta would rather be social, would rather mingle, and so she went in a flourish of a huff to stand by the kegs of ale. After getting half a glass down, Gorta said offhandedly to the person nearest to her, raising her glass in emphasis, “Could you believe that? I mean—we’re fey. Why is that a rule?”