Truth or Dare: The Imperial Court

[madame_de_fer]

WHO: Select Orlesian and Fereldan Nobility and the Inquisition
WHAT: Josephine and Vivienne have orchestrated a good-will soiree in response to this dastardly rumor.
WHEN: Drakonis 15, Evening
WHERE: Skyhold Great Hall
NOTES:
- A list of nobles in attendance can be found here. The list was provided by the mods but there will be no npc support for them. Play away.
- A secondary outside party is being held in the valley in the tent town for anyone who couldn't/wouldn't attend and/or behave in the fancy pansty party.
- The goal of the evening is to clear up a spurious rumor about Cassandra and Leliana, with secondary goals of establishing the Inquisition as a respectable presence in Thedas (and fish for more money). Any major disruptions that would Game Over the court approval should probably be brought to the advisors and/or mods.



To say that Josphine has far outdone herself with this little soiree would be the understatement of the year. The Lady Ambassador has pulled out all the stops in providing a festive and yet elegant stage for this political intervention. Because sometimes gossip can be more deadly than a sword.

The Great Hall of Skyhold has been converted into a grand receiving hall, glittering with hundreds of lights around the room, in addition to the repairs accomplished to the original chandeliers. Of course, there has been artful placement arranged so there are a few shadowy corners for rendezvous of the more suggestive nature. Just in case. The majority of the floor has been cleared for dancing, and a fine troupe of musicians have been installed for the bulk of the evening's entertainments. Some members of the Inquisition have plans to entice attendees with their own artistic performances in addition to the group of mages performing illusory tricks to oohs and aahs.

For those who feel their energy flagging, there are chairs set against the walls, with a few tables interspersed between. Servers hired for the evening circulate the crowds with wine, fine Orlesian and Nevarran reds as well as crisp whites from Antiva. Refreshments are set out on buffet tables, tasteful and extravagant nibbles, including imported cheeses, spicy saucisson, dried fruits and nuts, and the highly sought after deep mushroom and anise petits fours that are all the rage in Orlais.

Comments

[fleurdesel]

If there is one thing Adelaide knows with a bone deep certainty, it is the subtle tension behind the eyes of a trouble maker about to lose their patience and do just that- make trouble. Anyone else and she wouldn't think twice about sweeping in and settling it with a pointed remark or alternative means of conversation. But this is Alistair and their dislike is not only well known, it's apparently some manner of infamous putting her in the like company of Morrigan and a precious few others that haven't found the man's boorish manners endearing.

For a moment she considers leaving him to his fate. But- only a moment. This is bigger than her distaste for him. Thus she sweeps in, white silk and glittering ice to curl her arm around his, hand resting oh so lightly upon his bicep. "Pardon me, gentlemen." She flashes a smile that is kind and on the appropriate side of friendly. "Warden Alistair- might I trouble you for a dance?"

[byblow]

For a second Alistair only stares at her, mouth still open in preparation to answer Inane Yet Painful Question Number Twenty-Seven. He needs that second to weigh continuing this conversation against dancing with Adelaide. Which is worse, which is worse...

He doesn't actually come to a decision. He only realizes that saying no might make him look rude and ruin the entire point of enduring this conversation in the first place. And he can probably escape Adelaide much quicker. She already thinks he's rude.

"Of course," he says, and manages one last burst of indulgence for the noble. Enough to smile and nod his head in a vaguely bow-like way before stepping away with Adelaide and murmuring, "What's gotten into you?" It doesn't occur to him that he's being rescued.

[fleurdesel]

He chose wisely- the dance will only last as long as it takes to cart Alistair to the exact opposite end of the hall- providing distance from the noble in question and hopefully, more questions of the same. "Common sense and a distinct desire to not have the nobility wondering why we let a drooling, dim witted Fereldan wander about saying whatever comes to mind. Whatever you were going to say? Would have left them with that impression. Your Wardens have done enough damage."

As though they are speaking of the weather her voice is light, friendly- almost. In so much that she can be as such to Alistair, which isn't terribly. She does not so much wait for him to settle in position as she does arrange his hands as needed and settle into the steady waltz. "I would not have you continue to do so."

[byblow]

Alistair lets her have her way with his hands, and with the rest of him, following her lead for a few seconds while he orients himself to the situation. The music. He's not a natural, but he catches up quickly enough while she's talking and flashes a smile when she's done.

"I have a theory," he says, "that I can say whatever I want to whoever I want—" He catches one of her feet under his, but not with enough force to hurt. "—and they'll turn the conversation back to the Blight within five sentences. So far it's held." He looks down at his feet as if to check there won't be any further trampling. "I suppose we'll never know about that fellow now."

[fleurdesel]

"Not all theories need testing-" She grimaces and twists it into a smile as they pass some pair of nobles or another. Nothing wrong here, she likes him, she's fond of him, all is well. If she can sell this perhaps she won't be eaten alive in The Game. "And 'whatever you want' is not something that builds confidence as to what might be said."

Loathe as she is to render aid- for the greater good? She must. "Compliment their masks, speak of the weather, comment on the cheese platter. If asked after something you do not wish to answer- ask a question of your own."

[byblow]

The look Alistair gives her is not unsimilar to a look she might receive if she'd advised stripping off his clothes and setting himself on fire.

"Right," he says, "or," between brief bursts of attention given to not knocking into anyone else, "I could do none of those things." Except the question part. He likes that. Good advice. He'll never admit it. He smiles at her; it's no different from his usual goading smiles, the same kind he'd give someone in a sparring ring, but maybe to onlookers it passes as affectionate. Maybe. "Attend a lot of parties in the Circle?"

[fleurdesel]

The look he earns in return is long suffering and weary. One reserved for particularly troublesome students and the especially slow.

"Or you could remain at Pel's side and support her legitimacy rather than stir up trouble for the Inquisition. Whichever you find most amusing." Or useful, but she is not about to speak on the merits of wardens being useful when she finds them to be anything but. "None quite so politically charged, but yes. Most of what I recall was advice I was given as a child, and therefore just about at your level of understanding."

[byblow]

There is a flicker of something—guilt, concern—at the mention of Pel, a quick sideways eye dart in case she happens to be right there where he can check on her wellbeing without giving Adelaide the satisfaction of him whipping his head around in frantic search. He did warn her, anyway, that he was no good for this.

"You hurt me, Lady LeBlanc," he drawls, turning his attention back to her, and releases her with one hand to touch his chest. "Right here."

And right here is a cheerful foot trample.

"But if you think I can make trouble for the Inquisition, you're giving me too much credit." He grins. "Not to mention I'm handsome enough to get away with being eccentric."

[fleurdesel]

Aside from the slightest twitch of one eye and the tightening of her lips- Adelaide doesn't react to the foot stepping. Save to take the next turn sharper and return the favor in kind. Gracefully, of course.

"If you think you cannot you do not know the weight you status holds. You are not noble but you are something of a hero out of sheer dumb luck. Why you do not make more use of that for the benefit of the Wardens is beyond me." Well, he is Fereldan. They do not think of such things. They do not truly seem to think of much at all beyond day to day life, mud, and dogs.

"And whoever has been telling you that you are handsome has been lying. Have you seen your nose?"

[byblow]

"That's not how we work," Alistair says. He's still smiling, but there's something hardened underneath it—a product of ten years standing vigilant in the shadows, as it goes, and letting cities burn so long as it isn't darkspawn doing the burning, and answering to Weisshaupt, and holding his tongue while people who don't know anything about anything decide that what happened in Ferelden wasn't truly a Blight at all, only a coup, a conspiracy—

The nose, though. Low blow. Lowest possible blow. It isn't enough to kill his defiant, distantly entertained spark, but Alistair's smile crumples into a disgruntled glare.

"You need to sleep more. You're cruel when you don't."

[fleurdesel]

"Yes, you are not a political organization. That does not mean you cannot make use of that manner of morale or influence, for yourselves or for the Inquisition." Nudging someone she does not care for to play the game she's been dragged into so she will not be miserable alone. Petty, some might say. Pragmatic is what she would call it. If they are to be, they ought to be useful. For themselves if nothing else.

It's funny how his face crumpling isn't...actually funny at all. She'd expected some manner of reply.

The nose is a low blow. She makes a mental note of that. "That was not cruel, that was fact."