theproperglove: (smile; this is short and it will pass)
Josephine Montilyet ([personal profile] theproperglove) wrote in [community profile] faderift2016-06-24 01:41 pm

THE AMBASSADOR'S OFFICE

WHO: Josephine Montilyet and YOU
WHAT: Open post for Justinian
WHEN: Covering the first three weeks of the month!
WHERE: Josephine's office; various.
NOTES: Hit me up either via PM or @[plurk.com profile] ziskandra if you'd like an individualised starter!




In a way, very little has changed since Josephine first joined the Inquisition. She spends most of her days in her office, poring over the organisation's correspondence, doing her small part in influencing the world.

Yet, everything has changed, also, and those close to the Ambassador, or just particularly observant, might notice that her work and lack of sleep have been weighing even more heavily on her of late. Although she wears it in the bags of her eyes and the slight slump of her shoulders, Josephine does not allow her exhaustion to reach her smile.

Anyone who enters the office, for any reason at all, will be met with a graceful tilt of the head and a question along the lines of, "What can I do for you today?"

epistolary: (030)

[personal profile] epistolary 2016-06-26 03:40 am (UTC)(link)
As finely appointed as Skyhold can offer - and the opinion of 'how fine' that is does vary - many of the rooms in this wing are ultimately rather impersonal. Nobles come and go from them, and by design and preference few if any of them leave much of a mark; not so Gwenaëlle Vauquelin, anticipating a long stay whether she liked it or not. She'd not been responsible for the packing of her belongings, confined to her bed at the time by injuries sustained by a rage demon, and in part due to the pricking of guilt at sending her so far alone her father had ensured many of her home comforts came with her (some unlikely ones; a set of figurines she'd liked as a girl which has since been repurposed as a gift to Kieran, the soft plush rabbit she'd carried everywhere until she was old enough to be embarrassed by it and began hiding it in her bed). The result is -

Very Orlesian; an oasis of Halamshiral's High Quarter recreated in the back fucking end of Ferelden, Gwenaëlle's own ornate furniture replacing what had been in the room before...and some of it, upon her consideration, donated to Skyhold as a gesture that had been less generous than it was pragmatic. As optimistically as Emeric had selected her decor, these rooms are smaller than those to which she's accustomed, and she's done her best to make the result a little less...busy. Still, it is distinct; her books line new shelves, there is a plush armchair and low chaise longue by the fire, a table between them, the bed oversized by any estimation but there was nothing to be done about that. A full length mirror beside the broad windows, and who knows who she had to pay to have the thick velvet curtains put up; a portrait of the Comte and late Comtesse hangs above the mantel, at least until she can find something with which to replace it.

When Josephine is announced politely by the elven maid that serves her, the lady herself is ... apparently a late riser, her hair undone and a housecoat over what is probably not the most modest nightgown on the market; she is settled on the chaise with her tea service. Prettily polite for all that, she says, "Your pardon, my lady ambassador," with a gesture that Josephine may take the armchair. "A second cup, Katell."
epistolary: (033)

[personal profile] epistolary 2016-06-28 10:30 am (UTC)(link)
A small laugh from Gwenaëlle as Katell produces the second cup and withdraws; she glances about, more rueful than anything. "I can take very little credit for this," she admits, setting her own tea down to serve Josephine's herself. (In some things, she is particular; one of those things is 'not constantly having servants or anyone at her elbow constantly', which necessitates a small amount of independence, though no one is going to throw her a parade for being prepared to pour her own tea or wine.)

"My lord wanted to ensure that if I had to be sent, I would be comfortable." Guilt on all this gilt, as it were. "The arrangements were made on my behalf. To be perfectly honest--"

as no one ever really is, but she does come closer than most Orlesian noblewomen of her age and station,

"--I think he might've been a little overzealous."
epistolary: (034)

[personal profile] epistolary 2016-06-28 02:07 pm (UTC)(link)
"Yes, I'm sure."

Gwenaëlle doesn't do Josephine the discourtesy of pretending poorly to smile along with that thought, because - she can't do her the courtesy of doing it well. This sort of sip-tea-and-play-nicely interaction is not natural to her and it shows in the slight restlessness that sets in as she doesn't seem to know exactly what to do in the face of Josephine's more skilled approach, the way that moment hangs slightly too long in the air before her lip quirks and she takes just enough mercy not to say what she thinks, which is they are to my lord's liking, just like the rest of this fucking farce in which I had no say.

Lady Montilyet would probably handle that with graceful aplomb, too. The thought only makes her sort of tired. It was easier to be bad at this in Orlais, where she could always retreat into something that looked aloof instead of just frustrated, when she could find ways of finagling herself out of situations to which she is not suited and deploy her own weaknesses as weapons -

but she is suited to none of these situations, and weaponising her own discomfort is not going to serve them, either.

"My work continues," she says, with a shrug, sipping her tea. "It certainly keeps me occupied." And for all that she does have strong feelings on it, and its purpose, and what it might mean - that she has something to do here besides stare at these walls and go slowly mad is not unimportant.
epistolary: (035)

[personal profile] epistolary 2016-06-29 03:42 am (UTC)(link)
It takes her a few moments to organise her thoughts - how to say what she wishes to say, if it's wise to do so. Finally, her thumb tracing the rim of her cup as she considers it, and very frankly -

"I took no pleasure in writing those things. I have a great many reservations about the strangers that came through the rifts. I have no particular affection for them and less trust. But," and by her tone it is a rather significant 'but', following that very straightforward statement - she can write the words, she can't pretend in private that she enjoyed the work that went into them, "Sister Leliana made a very good point that the rifters cannot be seen as a threat, and it is much too late for them not to be seen at all. The Inquisition cannot be seen to be harboring threats when it is the only organisation doing a damned thing about...about all of this. This work - your work. It is more important than my misgivings."

An elegant shrug.

"So I hope she is right, and I am wrong."

Because having published that, Gwenaëlle doesn't get to wash her hands of it and say on your own heads be it; if she's right and Leliana's wrong, she'll feel the sting of the consequences as well.

"But it is a favour done. I look forward to speaking my own voice, as I started it."
Edited 2016-06-29 03:42 (UTC)
epistolary: (067)

[personal profile] epistolary 2016-06-29 04:38 am (UTC)(link)
More foreign to some than others, she thinks; the bizarre references some of them make, that man on the crystals shrieking about judicial practise, Thranduil's absurd height and noble airs. Gwenaëlle shrugs, again, resting her elbow against the one arm of the chaise she's settled on, warming her hands around her cup.

"Nothing," she says, and it doesn't take long in her company to see that she's not a good enough liar for that not to be the truth. "What I'm interested in talking about is the Inquisition, and my understanding is that most have not joined it, and those that have--"

A small gesture of her fingers (delicate, bare of rings), "Well, now they are the Inquisition. I hope that my opinion of this organisation is already quite clear."

She does tend to speak her mind.
epistolary: (002)

[personal profile] epistolary 2016-06-29 01:13 pm (UTC)(link)
"I had none," she says, shifting her robe slightly to display the scarring that rises out of the neckline of her nightgown. (Only slightly; it is a rather diaphanous item of clothing and Josephine didn't come here to be scandalized by Orlesian breasts.) "The work of a rage demon, you know. And with this..."

She flexes her fingers, studying the anchor-shard embedded in her hand for a long moment. There is a reason she has ceased to wear rings.

"I won't pretend to you that it was my desire to come to Skyhold, it'd be insultingly easy to disprove. To be perfectly honest, I'd barely thought of the Inquisition before I was sent here. Between Halamshiral and the rest of the civil war." Halamshiral, in particular, though she doesn't dwell on it in front of Josephine. Or anyone. That loss is not something she's prepared to admit even to herself, even as the wound bleeds. "What I've seen, though."

A small laugh; quiet, wry. "It's rather in my best interests you all save the world. Besides this," a careless gesture of the shard, "I do live in it. Maybe when all this is over and we're long dead, someone will tell a more flattering version, that I knew that before I came here, that I meant to do this work from the beginning instead of just having been mad with idleness and the wish to contribute something useful to something so valuable."

If they don't, though -

It isn't a terrible story as it is. A girl's eyes opened by the sight of the world.
Edited 2016-06-29 13:14 (UTC)