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"I have been asked to attend for work purposes. Clients have wished me curse a particular attendant or perhaps desire a spell to assist them in finding a spouse. I have even been tasked to create displays of snow and light to dazzle the crowd. Never have I been asked to just attend idly."

"Imp." Iyan repeated, lowering his chin again. "A pleasure to drink in your company."

As the satyr mentioned that she'd been instructed to try cider, Iyan's eyebrows rose unseen behind his mask. "Have you never had it? Well, then allow me to second the recommendation. Though I prefer it fermented and with yeast." He added in an undertone. "Hot cider does well to chase away the cold. In a winter event, it will be perfect."

Looking back over the party-goers and celebrants, Iyan listened to the female beside him, taking another slow sip of his drink. As she said he looked at home, his lips pressed thin in a minute frown for a fraction of a second. "Hm." He thought his response over a moment. "I much prefer the seedy underground dens. I occasionally surface just to fill my lungs with the air of the proper aristocracy, if only to remind myself why I prefer the opium-filled air of the taverns instead." He took a deeper drink of his flute, then sighed. "Did they all arrive by magic? I assumed mine was sent to me by mistake. I only came because no one else I know appears to have had an invite. Suppose, if they did, I would not recognize them."

"I..." Chiara paused at Tairloth's question, and turned toward Mr. Malachite. "I don't know..." She had been so caught up with the idea of a race, she just didn't think where to!

The Duchess nodded smartly, looking not at all surprised by the information that Moon Drop took on clients who wanted curses. This made perfect sense to her, and didn't even appear to strike her as a problematic line of work. She might be a spirit of pure hospitality, but she knew plenty of other types; and was hospitable to them as well. "Aha! Displays of snow and light I am very familiar with. Like this one!" She gestured calmly to the edge of the dance floor, where a sudden flurry of snow chased itself into a little tornado that faded away to reveal a large pile of snow balls. "Or, like these," the Duchess added, gesturing to the other sides of the dance floor where three more piles of perfectly packed snowballs appeared on each of the sides of the floor. She smiled around at the various attendees, trusting that they would all know what to do with this sudden supply of ammo.

(okay, I actually need to go as well! booo, my best friend is taking me to try a matcha lemonade lol. apologies, iyan! please picture imp completely relieved that she found someone else as puckish as she was, and thinking about how bad of a judge of character she is :^p cheers, everyone!)

Despite how old Moon Drop was, the sight of the snowballs was immediately recognized. It had been ages since she last made some despite her winter magic, all the way back when she was alive.

But something about this place - whether it be the friendly atmosphere or safety the rose offered the area was unclear - made her more inclined to indulge the vague urge to frolic a bit.

She moved to pick one up and decided to throw it at the closest target, which was Mr. Malachite.

Malachite realized that they had not clarified where the race would end, "That's a REALLY good question.. uhhh, give me a moment."

He took off his cape, rushing over to 2 smaller trees and tying the ends of his cape around each tree trunk. It was a makeshift 'finish line'.
He turned towards Piemyth and Ollie, gesturing his arms towards the finish line and yelling, "FINISH LINE OVER HERE!"

It was amazing what a large amount of unearned confidence could do to a man. He'd just come up with a solution on the fly. Was it any good? That was to be determined. If his cape was destroyed in the process he wouldn't mind.

In doing so, he was completely distracted- the snowball hitting him directly in the back of the head. The man let out a gasp of surprise, turning to face his assailant. "there's snowballs now??"

"Over here!!" Chiara jumped at Mr. malachite's site and waved toward Piemyth and Ollie. "Pie-pie! Mr Pupper! Over heeeeere..."Just then, she heard the sound of the snowball hitting the back of Mr Malachite's head and turned curiously.

A small, amused smirk settled on the shade's face as she picked up another snowball, tossing it in her hand a few times.

"Our gracious host manifested them for our enjoyment. I pray we all not let them go to waste."

She tossed another snowball at Raygun next.

Hearing Chiara's calls, Piemyth wasted no time in turning around to where she was waving from; a bonus of being relatively small was that they were more agile than most; including, hopefully, her opponent!

The fox-masked vigilante had been so busy watching over her daughter she was caught completely unprepared by the snowball which hit her square on the mask. "What-?!" she spun around with a laugh, looking at Moon Drop with a challenging smirk. "Oh-oh! This is to be a battle, huh?" Chuckling, she took on a fighter's crouch and bolted toward the pile of snowballs, intending to grab some ammo of her own and give as good as she got!

Ollie sent up a spray of snow as he skidded to slow down, slipped, splashed into a snowbank, jumped out, shook himself off in a spray of white, and then charged after Piemyth again. He was now far behind, but just as excited to be part of something, his pink tongue streaming out of the side of his mouth.

"Snowballs?" As a soldier, surely, Zechs knew what to do, and that he did, as he threw off randomly, because they were bound to hit someone or something.

The Duchess watched with clear approval as her guests began to pelt each other with snowballs, gently drifting to the edge of the dance floor herself to stay clear of what she hoped was about to be quite the flurry of snowballs.