[ OPEN ] Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make me a match

[fleurdesel]

WHO: Adelaide, Suitors, Spectators
WHAT: A series of disastrous encounters
WHEN: Throughout Cloudreach
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: OOC POST.

The last day of Drakonis brings a familial attache to Skyhold. François is a stern, formal, and unyielding man at the beginning of the month- hounding Adelaide to make certain she meets each appointed suitor, one for lunch, one for dinner, chaperoning the meetings in hopes of finding a suitable match for the sole single LeBlanc. It becomes rapidly apparent that despite his best efforts, it is for naught. Adelaide, despite being forced into moderate finery and made to sit and bear the company of these men, is less than amused and determined to at least get some paperwork done between meetings. Or during if the conversation is that dull.

The set up for each, unless the suitor has his own mind about the matter, remains the same. Simple and elegant, a table in the garden that is public enough to not be improper, private enough to not invite undue observation, and comfortable enough to suit their needs. The meals are as fine as François can manage with Skyhold's resources and the coin provided for the meetings, each accompanied by Antivan or Orlesian wine. As the month progresses Adelaide's temper grows short and François' patience goes thin. Deviating from the Dossier is not recommended but- desperate times? Desperate measures.

He starts seeking out the clean and respectable looking, dragging them to the table and plopping them in the chair and instructing them to talk, for the love of the Maker.

Comments

worst person ever reporting for duty

[byblow]

Per their agreement to be—nice? horrible? it's hard to tell—to Adelaide's attaché, Alistair doesn't turn up in need of any making over. Finery might be overstating it; he's very Fereldan, and so are his clothes, stubbornly, despite a decade of expatriation and a general lack of patriotic zeal. But if he was underdressed for the soirée, in all this brown and leather, he's at least adequately dressed for lunch.

"I don't have a gift for you," he says on the approach, and he's not an actor—not even attempting—so there is no cloying apology in his tone. A friendly statement of fact, that's all. "I might later, though, if I can recover my things from Montsimmard."

That, too, is true. Maybe. If she's nice.

And on the theme of honesty: "You look nice."

Andraste take the wheel

[fleurdesel]

"They aren't truly a requirement." The actual use of contractions startles the attaché enough to look between them, puzzled but pleased. His usual murmur of 'I shall leave you to it' almost sounds hopeful as he settles a respectable distance away. Not quite hovering- but not leaving them alone either.

Adelaide herself is draped in the usual Orlesian silks- fine for most but understated compared to what had been initially offered. This long gamble of her mothers needs no real humoring. She manages, if only due to familiarity and an utter exhaustion for the remaining suitors, to even sound a little warm. "You've cleaned up well. François didn't give you much trouble, did he? I know he tends to fuss."

[byblow]

While François is moving away, and therefore not staring at them too much, Alistair gets some of the breaking out of his system: a ducked head, a briefly wide grin. No laughter, because he is better than that at this sort of thing, if only marginally. When he raises his head and sits back in his seat, the grin reduces to his more usual uneven smirk.

"I try not to resent people for doing their jobs," he says, "unless their jobs are to hurt people or to sit around having money." No offense to any of her relatives, except, actually, no, full offense. "He only hurt my feelings. It doesn't count."

[fleurdesel]

"I think that counts." She says, having attempted to hurt his feelings on more than one occasion in the past. Perhaps she's even managed it- not that he's ever truly let her see if she hit her mark. At least he's not speaking Orlesian and she, herself, is attempting to be kind.

It might even be working. "Should I ask him to apologize?" He would. He'd dance upon command if it helped her find a husband, honestly.