faderift | SPA TIME [closed]

WHO: Beleth Ashara, Cassandra Pentaghast, Isabela, Rachette Dakal, Thranduil, Vivienne
WHAT: SPA TIME
WHEN: Kingsway 15
WHERE: Orlais (near Lydes)
NOTES: OOC plotting post

The famously exclusive spa at which the Grand Duchess Florianne is relaxing in luxurious treachery is Bains-les-chers, located on the coast near Lydes, across from Val Royeaux. Perched high on a rocky cliff, it is ideal for taking in the warm, salty breeze off the Waking Sea, considered to be good for one's health and complexion. Originally the summer escape of a royal cousin, the place is built almost entirely of white stone, with high walls on three sides and the sea on the fourth.

The palace itself is a large square around a huge central courtyard where the main spa facilities are located, and the ground level of the building is all open, made up more of pillars and curtains and pools than conventional rooms. Pristine fabric billows, bright sun filters through canopies, and the finest and most attractive masseuses in Thedas pad about the grounds in soft, silent sandals.

About a dozen nobles and their retainers occupy the various areas, alone or in small groups, lounging in warm pools, soaking in deep tubs, reclining on padded benches. Wine flows as freely as the springs that drew them here originally. It's a quiet place; guests are typically encouraged not to speak unless necessary, providing a respite from the constant babbling gossip of The Grand Game that fills the rest of the empire. Each visitor receives a suite of rooms in the upper level. Because of the large windows looking out over the courtyard and the surrounding landscape, they are less private than they sound, and noise carries far, as some have learned the hard way in the past.

Threaded | Flat

It's not a long trip by boat to Lydes, but they aren't lucky with the weather. The sky remains dark the whole trip and the Waking Sea is choppy, winds strong and waves high. It's not a storm, exactly. It drizzles a little, and there's about an hour's worth of rolling thunder off in the distance, the flash of lightning between the clouds, but it never turns dangerous enough to require the non-sailors remain in their hammocks in the shared cabin below. It's just unpleasant, the deck rolling and heaving, the air heavy with humidity even when the wind is blowing.

Lydes is not a large city, strange newcomers will be noticed and gossip will travel fast. They'll need to make their decision by the time they arrive: either to enter town as visiting nobility openly bound for the spa, or to conceal themselves as unremarkable nobodies and sneak in.

On its way to the port the ship will pass the spa, so they'll get a look at the cliffs: high and steep but with a narrow goat path winding its way upwards. It looks to be rarely used, if ever; the guests here do nothing so common as bathe in the sea itself. There is a large tub on two ropes attached to a pulley at the top of the cliff, frequently lowered down to be filled by the waves and then cranked back up to supply the needs of the guests who prefer an 'authentic sea-bathing experience' from the comfort of marble fountains.

Gaining entry certainly drew some surprised stuttering out of the harried little butler in charge of such things, but within moments Madame de Fer and her friends and entourage are ushered inside, provided the appropriate costumes and a place to change into them, and then led to one of the private pavillions within the central spa courtyard and provided with cool drinks and softly padded lounge chairs and assured that in moments, mere moments, attendants will arrive to begin the treatment regimine.

Which gives them moments, mere moments, to begin their work before they all become trapped in a mud bath or an hour-long massage and give Florianne a head start.

Peeking out past the curtains that form the sides of their pavillion, another can be seen just nextdoor. Within, a woman reclines face up on a table, her entire body swaddled in what looks and smells like some sort of purplish-green seaweed. Her face is lightly smeared with what can only be assumed is a liquified concoction of the same, and the traditional tiny cheese wheels adorn her eyes. Beneath this unappetizing mask, she may be recognized as Comtesse Claudette Vernochier. One very muscular male guard stands at each corner of her pavilion. They smell oddly of lavender and glisten greasily and look intensely bored.

Claudette Vernochier, Comtesse d'Arlan: A forceful woman of a certain age (42 according to her, 61 according to nature), known to be blessed with a shrewd eye and sharp tongue, and cursed with a dull lump of a husband and a mediocre-at-best everything else. Heads a pack of ladies of similar age and middling fortune, best known for their insistence on adopting fashions that are far too young and daring to be flattering, and for their endless and extremely unsubtle flirtation with the nubile young men of the court.

Their true political or economic power is limited, but if convinced to turn the force of their collective gossip against someone they can be a force to be reckoned with and are believed to have been responsible for the destruction of the reputation of several young debutantes who thought to poke fun at them.

(OOC: This will be a single thread, with Claudette and any other necessary NPCs GMed. No strict tag order, but please wait at least three tags before tagging again to give everyone a chance to participate. Any questions as we go can be put in the pplurk we'll set up.)

Edited 2016-09-18 17:59 (UTC)

travel to bains-les-chers

diplomatic efforts