A grand picnic has been arranged in the Arvum Botanical Gardens, with many hired attendants setting out blankets for guests to lounge upon, tables arranged with fruits, meats, cheeses, bread with butter and honey, pastries, and all manner of kegs containing libations to slake any thirst. A 'front' focal point has been created with a small stage for poets to stand upon when reading. Lady Medeia is on that stage now, preparing to greet any who catch her.

Cesare's already been out and about: doing last minute preparations for the Masquerade, talking to a sulky Savio, visiting the bank, all the usuals. His hair is even glossier than usual today, set in perfect waves that suggest he's done more than his five-minute prep routine, and he's wearing iris blues and purples. "Hello!" he calls, voice echoing throughout the gardens, immediately moving to claim a piece of bread and some fruit, eating it with a speed which is a bit out of character, but he is /hungry/ today.

Evaristo is strolling around lazily, having chosen some fresh and fruity cider to drink this warm spring day. He stops by the stage and bows to Medeia, smiling wide and charming. "Lady Medeia, you look like a cool breeze on a hot summer day! Stunning," he compliments. "What a lovely day for some poetry." He looks up as Cesare calls out, and waves cheerfully. "Cesare! How good to see you today."

"Cesare!" Medeia calls out a greeting to the Whisper, her arm raised in a gentle wave as he gets closer. "Your /hair/! Looks fabulous. Did you write a poem?" She looks hopeful. "And did you?" Her attention shifts to Evaristo, her smile widening. "Oh, even if you did not, I am glad to see you both. A beautiful day, delicious food, excellent company. A lady cannot be too greedy, can she?" There's a quick, subtle wink for the pair before she's looking around at the crowd sprawled throughout the gardens enjoying the picnic.

Called out. Immediately. Cesare is overtly sheepish. "I haven't had time," he admits, "what with running round madly trying to get everything sorted for the Masquerade, and...other Whisper House business, and writing a song for the opening of the Hall of Harmony and all." He coughs. "But I could try and write one now! It will be very badly-done, but it will be something."

Haakon seems nearly as sulky as a Savio in the present idyllic setting, looming by the kegs, drinking and trying hard to look like someone picnic goers wouldn't want to approach, with only middling success.

Evaristo's gaze shifts about, a bit guiltily. "I've had plenty of time, I just haven't done one," he says. He slurps some cider and grins widely anyway. "But hey, I could also try doing one now! I did START on one, but it's also with alliteration cause that just came into my head and then I got stuck with the rhyming..."

Medeia's expression softens, one hand reaching out to rest her fingertips lightly on Cesare's arm. "I will not force you by any means, but even /some/thing is appreciated by Jayus, no? This is all in fun, my dear." Her gaze flicks to Haakon briefly, the smile on her face twisting in passing amusement before she looks at Evaristo. "Entirely up to you. Of course. You are welcome to simply enjoy."

Haakon hollers roughly on the heels of Medeia's gracious choice not to force the choice, "Fuck that, both of you do a poem!" He's helpful and full of social graces, really.

Evaristo startles a bit as Haakon yells from over there. "Ahem. Well - maybe Cesare and I can throw something together... together," he says and takes out a piece of wrinkled paper that he squints at. "So, I started with;

Fairest forest fey
For freedom fought
Singing soul-felt song
Strongest sister sought

Cesare turns. He squints at Haakon. With a ferocity few would expect from a creature of such social graces, he bares his teeth at Haakon. Then he plops his cute little butt down on the picnic blanket, folding his arms. Then he burbles out, as though the words just come tripping off his tongue,

"The war waged for so long,
Drowning night and day,
Darkening right and wrong,
Leading hordes astray."

"There's a stout pair of lads," Haakon calls in approval of the poetic efforts. He seems to care nothing for following the rules, and raises a flagon in salute to Evaristo and Cesare in turn, before drinking.

Even Medeia sends A Look in Haakon's direction, her fingers moving in a motion that is likely a summons. "Really," She assures Evaristo and Cesare as they offer up parts of a poem, "You're both lovely." Clearing her throat, she takes to the stage and makes a loud announcement after one of her guards got the crowd's attention. "Welcome to this special poetry picnic celebrating the Eclipse of Mirrors! Today we will be hearing examples of the Reflection poetic form, which is comprised of thirteen lines following a particular rhyme scheme that reverses halfway through. If you have a poem to share, please let me know! I will go first, once I have the list of poets."

"Ooh, that's good. Very good," Evaristo says and he flops down on the blanket with Cesare and scribbles down his addition on the paper. He ponders for awhile, then continues writing, but he doesn't recite it yet as Medeia speaks up, instead waiting to hear her addition. "I suppose Cesare and I are volunteering up... soon as we've finished this one."

Cesare mutters, tapping fingers against his lips. "Lest all should come to naught," he replies to Ev.

Evaristo mutters, "Brilliant!"

Dolente, a mourning dove, Dolce, a collared dove leave, following Cesare.

Haakon steps toward the gathering and grudgingly sits on the charming blankets with their stupidly tasty morsels and dumb elegance.

"Oh." Medeia watches as Cesare is summoned away, and offers Evaristo a reassuring look. "If you insist, you can go last." A brief, quiet exchange with Haakon has her shaking her head with a smile before she turns to the crowd at large again. "Alright! I have the list. As promised, I will go first so everyone else after me looks good." Her grin brightens, but then she adopts a more sober expression as she recites:
"Looking upon your own face,
rouses an Abyssal delight
for a chance to revel in sin.
And those who turn from the light
may find only trouble within.
While in reflection's embrace,
trust not a seeming twin.
For in this dire case,
that one is not your kin;
they are peril in the night,
their voice an evil din.
And on moon's reddest night,
they join a mirrored chase."

Evaristo stands up and applauds vigorously. "That was LOVELY - and really, hard to compete with, not that we are competing," he babbles cheerfuly. He sits back down, sprawling with some snacks and more drinks, content as can be, despite being all alone with finishing the poem; though as he's no longer writing anything, he might've finished it already. "Were we supposed to write about mirrors? I don't even LIKE mirrors! Though I suppose I look in one now and then, it's mostly so I don't leave the house with my shirt inside out or things like that."

Haakon mutters in assent with Evaristo, "Aye, and a good thing it's no competition, else we've been set up." A sharp bark of brief and flat humor. "Mine is not of mirrors, dread not."

Medeia's cheeks color slightly at the praise of her poem. "No no... No competition at all." After a quick glance at her list, she announces, "And now: My husband! Lord Haakon Eswynd will be sharing a poem." She clears the stage quickly.

"Will it be about sailing and killing your enemies?" Evaristo asks dead pan. He claps however and grins widely and amusedly.

Haakon eyes Evaristo. "Obviously. But also AFTER killing enemies, which is very fucking different." A dry sniff and he draws a deep breath... "Longship's prow cut through the sea
With the East Wind in our sail
As home in glory we all tread
From battle with foemen, bale.
Banners proud and swordarms dread
For all eternity,
As the fires of Pieros spread
And Tremorus were kept free.
Of Sea and Sky we are bred,
Unconquered, strong, and hale;
Though much valiant blood were shed
Of Mangata I prevail:
East Wind bear me home to thee."

Evaristo's jaw does drop a little - he clearly gave Haakon too little credit. "That's... that's a fucking good poem," he says and he stands up and applauds vigorously again. "I'm sorry Lady Medeia, I might just like your husband's poem a bit more, but then - I am also a sailor, so that one spoke a little extra to me." He bows to Haakon.

As the crowd applauds, a few murmurs can be heard among those who were at Pieros - "No mention of the flying ship?" - and those who weren't - "Clear head on that one, no nonsense about undead hands in the water." Medeia is beaming at Haakon, her affection for the gruff man unhidden. "That is quite alright, Messere," She replies to Evaristo, not looking away from her husband. "He deserves to be favored." Then, she's looking around and noting a few others would like to share. She motions them to the stage so they can recite, giving Evaristo just a little more time if he needs it.

Zakhar wanders by the picnic of poetry, mostly muttering to himself and appears to be confused by lack of cats following along. Looking around for at least the large marbled one that commands the rest, though failing to find even her he looks to the crowd, more confusion. "What's this mess then?"

"Food, drinks, poetry," Evaristo sums up to Zakhar as he wanders by. He is listening with interest to all the poems presented, and applauds after each one, shouting encouraging words or compliments. "I suppose I'm last, though I finished mine and Cesare's."

Haakon cants his head to a curious angle as Evaristo applauds and bows. Unsure of what to say, he just.. dips his head and shoulders in thanks and drinks deep.

"Zakhar, hello! It is a poetry picnic celebrating the Eclipse of Mirrors." Medeia smiles at the man, making a welcoming gesture. "Help yourself to food, drink, relax a while." Once the others have shared poems, she gives a nod to Evaristo. "It seems to be your turn."

Zakhar looks through the crowd to each of those speaking to him, a pained blank stare for a moment as he slowly focuses upon each Evaristo, Haakon, Medeia. "Food and drink. This... this could be better." Waving an arm towards an invisible cat, then a look as he remembers that they are not there. He gathers up a plate of food and takes seat on a bench nearby.

Evaristo shoots to his feet and jumps lightly up on the stage, smiling widely to the crowd and bowing again. "I'm a fan of short lines, rhytmic. I started with alliteration, but Cesare Whisper added some lines that were so good it was easy to change the poem and write it without," he explains. "I am sure you will understand what it is about." He clears his voice, and recites with a strong and clear voice.

Fairest half-blood fey,
Against the slaver fought,
Singing soul-felt song,
The names were always sought.
The war waged for so long,
Drowning night and day,
Darkened right and wrong,
Leading hordes astray.
Came the Grayson strong,
Lest all should come to naught
And human kind be gone.
The king of fey was brought,
To Death's embrace that day.

"Fantastic," Medeia says, giving Evaristo a warm smile. "Thank you for pulling through, It is well done." She glances at Haakon, then Zakhar. "This was quite the pre-eclipse celebration, I think."

Haakon opines evenly, "Poems writ in the moment are better," as he hears out Evaristo's (and Cesare's) oration. A short nod and a drink before his cup is raised in mute greeting to the newly arrived and long distracted Zakhar.

Zakhar nods softly to Evaristo's poem, then starts speaking to no one in particular. "Hatter says that they twins would love to have a swim, though Mother is insistent upon no one to go near the waters." He turns back to pop a bite of bread which he's balled up into his mouth with a slight grin. "Eh? What's this about the fey now?"

"My patron once promised everyone at an event I could write a song about the gowns displayed at this event, praising the seamstress. I had like five minutes," Evaristo says with a laugh, leaving the stage. "I think most of my songs and poems came to life like that. Sometimes, I suppose, it's better not to think too much and too long." He retakes his seat and explains to Zakhar; "The fey, the elves - well, the halfbloods really. Lianhan the Spellsinger, I was alluding to her there, and then the War of Stolen Names and Queen Alarice who killed the Sylv'alfar king."

Medeia gives Zakhar a confused look, but then she gives a nod, looking between Haakon and Evaristo. "If the manner suits you, it must be fine. No?" She gives a bright smile before giving a final announcement to the crowd, thanking them for attending and inviting them to stay longer to enjoy the day and food.

Zakhar mutters, "... would have ... this. ... nice little afternoon in a park, lovely words ... be shared by bard ... warriors alike. Nothing like a trip down ... that should have stayed buried, eh Shekies? ... cat has wandered ... again."

Evaristo spends a bit more time sharing with other poets here and then thanks Medeia and Haakon before he leaves, mostly sober.

Alena Sparks, unamused first mate, Silk, the Seafaring Spider leave, following Evaristo.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Zakhar before departing.