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The concept of rest after the journey from Derdriu was tempting, but there was no rest for the wicked at Garreg Mach - which, in such a holy place, must have meant double for Jorah. Which meant that, after he was done convening with his new contemporaries, he was off to work. 

However, he ended up not needing to do much work at all. Jorah was pleased - and surprised - to learn that what he overheard from the girl with the Morfis fruit was true: the monastery had embraced his party, and servants were already buzzing to make it a reality before Jorah even needed to open his mouth. Who knew a bunch of monastery workers were such fans of a good time?

Since the hard work was already done for him, and by some stroke of divine favour he avoided a lecture from Clarissa as well, Jorah had a few spare moments to unpack. He really only opened enough chests to find his lute and his pigment powders, both of which had to be re-packed several times before he left home after his father repeatedly tried and failed to hide them. Jorah was surprised Duke Riegan didn’t just throw the two of them into the harbour, but maybe he feared his son finding a new and even more irritating hobby if he got rid of the ones he already had. 

The powders were a particular thorn in the Duke’s side; Jorah had almost certainly overpaid a foreign merchant for them, after learning from Brigid sailors about the use and significance of the many coloured patterns they painted on their faces. He had hardly gone bare-faced since, sticking out like a sore thumb around the Roundtable and, to quote his father, “looking like a saints-damned pagan.” He was usually partial to yellow petals around the eyes to invoke air spirits for luck, but for the party, he chose salmon pink. If he recalled correctly, it would call upon fire spirits for joy and merriment - and failing that, call upon his fellow partygoers as a conversation starter. 

He strolled into the party with his lute over his shoulder like a club, pleased as peach to find the place already in full swing. Jorah could hardly claim to have ever thrown a party better: it was fully serviced by the dining hall staff, a band was playing merrily in one corner, and even the professors had deigned to attend. It was a masterpiece, if he did say so himself, and the man responsible should be commended. 

[color=FFAB66]“Oskar!”[/color] Jorah called over the music, waving down his towering friend by the drinks. [color=FFAB66]“And here I thought all this time cooped up in the mountains would make you lose your touch! I should never have doubted you.”[/color] He beamed up at his friend, and cast his eyes over the growing crowd. [color=FFAB66]“How did you manage all this in such a short time?”[/color]

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