faderift | { CLOSED } Ne me quitte pas

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{ CLOSED } Ne me quitte pas

WHO: Christine Delacroix, Sam Gareth, Church
WHAT: Visiting Christine's mother to deliver some bad news
WHEN: backdated to early Kingsway
WHERE: Velun, Orlais
NOTES: The direct result of what she learned at the front in the civil war in Orlais.

The trip to Velun on the western side of Lake Celestine doesn't take terribly long thanks to the Imperial Highway being their route almost the entire way. The town is full of tightly packed houses with the Chantry being the largest building, looming in the background. Unlike Val Royeaux or Halamshiral, Velun is a place full of poorer folk, as well as an emerging middle class of merchants who send their wares across the lake or via the Imperial Highway, and from there across the Empire. The sight of two mages walking freely has some people a bit nervous, but being a trading town, they have seen mages pass through since the fall of the Circles. Most keep their distance and leave the pair of mages alone.

Which suits Christine just fine, until she says she may not remember the way to her house as it has been so long, and she needs to ask for directions. She stays calm and polite, hands limp at her sides as she asks a fruit seller where she might find the Delacroix residence. To her relief, the man doesn't make a scene and simply tells her the way. After twists and turns through narrow pebble and grass paths, the group finally stops in front of a yellow house with cheery window boxes of flowers and hanging baskets of the same out front. And now Christine finds she can't move, until she reaches one hand out for Church's and her other for Sam's.

"Oh, Maker. How do I even begin? How do I tell her? 'Hello. I know it has been over fifteen years since you last saw me, but I am here to tell you Père has died.'?"

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Oh no. Sam's own eyes widen a bit when he sees the look on Church's face and the tone he's starting to take. Church, don't do it, he mentally says, hoping that somehow the Rifter can read his mind. Now he regrets not sitting next to Church, simply so he could give him a nudge or something so that he didn't go off. Which he's completely expecting with how many times 'okay' is being said.

And then Church stops. And sips tea.

Loudly.

Well... that could have gone better, but it certainly hadn't gone worse. Christine were you thinking of them spending a night here? They might be sleeping in the yard or something after this.

Aaaaaaaah... "It is completely understandable that you would want to know. You're concerned about Christine's welfare after all." Sam pauses for a moment to put his cup down. "As soon as Christine had found out about her father, your husband, she wanted to come here immediately. We wanted to make sure she was safe, but bringing an entire group of Inquisition soldiers through the town seemed like a bad idea - people would grow concerned and perhaps fear something was amiss even though that wasn't the case. Which is why Church and I were the only ones to accompany Christine. To make sure she was safe getting here, and if you required any assistance in anything while we were here."

Is Church sassing the lady of the house? Is he? Because Madame Delacroix can outsass anyone and follow it up with a pitiful wail to gain sympathy. Just you watch her. She already looks completely affronted, handkerchief squeezed tight in her hand. And she's about to give him what for when Sam starts to speak and somehow makes everything seem all right. Is he truly a Fereldan? Or can it be that living in the Marches bestowed him with the manners of a gentleman? She smiles pleasantly at him, grip on her handkerchief loosening and any rant she was about to start put on hold.

Christine quickly stands up and keeps her eyes fixed on Church.

"Would you please come out into the hall a moment? There is something important I forgot to tell you." And whether Church actually wishes to comply or not, she heading for his chair to rip him up out of it and drag him if he doesn't come willingly. Her mother hardly pays them any mind as she continues smiling at Sam.

"Such a gentleman! What was the location of your Circle again? They bring up their apprentices well."

Aaaaand he's in trouble. He's not apologizing. ...Yet, he's not apologizing yet. He might not be sorry right now, but he probably will be sorry. She doesn't have to drag him; Church will come willingly. Pouting the whole way.

He even keeps his voice low in the hall, jumping in on the whole thing before Christine even says anything. "I'm sorry your mom lost her husband, but I don't really appreciate her questioning our character, and also acting like we're contestants on a dating game. It's not like we're dating."

Oh dear Maker, Christine are you leaving him here alone with your mother?

It's actually not that bad, he can clearly handle it, but it doesn't mean he couldn't internally be dramatic considering this entire situation was rather dramatic - he's rather glad it hadn't turned into a shouting match. Better him then Church he supposes, still wanting to put his face in his hands at that last bit the Rifter had pulled, but refraining.

His eyes dart up to watch as Christine drags Church away, before returning to Lady Delacroix, brows raising a bit at the fact that she was interested in him once more. "Ostwick, Madame. I was fifteen when I... joined, so practically half my life."

She seems to like you, Sam. Please do it for Christine.

Out in the hall, Christine manages to settle for slightly annoyed as Church speaks, which is better than being really angry with him. She pushes her fingers back through her hair, releasing a slow breath.

"I could not know in coming here than this would suddenly be her goal. I think this is how she is coping." Her gaze settles on his chest for a moment. "She is my mother, yet I hardly know her. But I would like to. I am sorry she is being harsh, and I will try to get her to stop, but you," -- and here she points a finger at him -- "Do not talk back to her. I will handle it." For a moment it seems like that is that and they can head back in, but then she changes her mind and her eyes meet his.

"How is your shoulder? Are you having any sharp pains?" As long as they're alone, she may as well ask, and she's going to stay vigilant until she's sure she succeeded in taking all the red lyrium out.

Meanwhile, her mother sighs sadly at Sam, playing with her handkerchief. "My little Titine was only eight. Can you imagine? I wanted to hide her away so she could stay with us, but Luc said no. He said she would be safer in the Circle and could learn to use her magic properly. Oh, how I wept! But now she is free and I can see her again. I have often dreamed of this." Perhaps not the part about a Fereldan and a loudmouth raised by dwarves of whatever his case is, but still.

She's not mad, per se, which is a lot better than he was expecting, honestly. "She doesn't have to cope by trying to find you a husband out of the sorry sacks of shit that came with you. Does she really think one of us is going to ask if it's cool to date you, a grown woman?"

But he has to actually...consider it. Because, well, it's...different. She's different. They're kind of different, right? There are women here he cares about, obviously, but not many he's so physically close to, and, look, if Araceli asked, he totally wouldn't say no to sleeping with her because he's not blind, but--kinda not the point. He's frowning in thought. "But I won't sass her. Even if I have to drown myself in tea. The shoulder's okay." He gives it a little rotation. "Little stiff." That's called scar tissue, Church. "But nothing sharp." After living with his hand now, most aches and pains are nothing. "Like I said, I've had worse."

Maybe one of these days he might even tell her about the whole sordid weird as fuck history he's got, but, haha, maybe not ever, who knows. "Hey, um. Would you want someone to ask you mom's permission? If someone wanted to date you. Court you. Whatever the vernacular here is."

"Hm. My father and aunt wanted to keep me out of the Circle. I wasn't harming anyone, I worked at the forge with my father. It was easy to keep quiet in a small village, but in Ostwick it was harder, I got caught - protecting my aunt." Sighing a bit, Sam pours himself some more tea then holds up the kettle, silently inquiring if she wanted more herself.

"Oh, how sweet!" It seems despite this young man's unfortunate origins, Aimee finds him rather lovely. Not quite marriage material, but he'd do for a Fereldan shepardess perhaps. "Titine protected a cat." Here she laughs. "Not quite as important, but she takes after her father that way. Such big hearts." And of course saying that has her expression falling as she thinks of him again, eyes filled with sadness. But she lifts her gaze and nods, holding out her tea cup.

"I am very glad my daughter has someone like you in her life. You have a gentle heart."

Meanwhile in the hall, Christine shakes her head no. "I do like that she cares for me, and she must think this is what she has to do now that my father is gone. I will talk with her privately later, but no, I will court who I please and then bring him to meet her." But surely Church isn't asking for himself, right? They both know that would be a terrible idea. He's a rifter. He could disappear at any moment. Not to mention they're very different. He's probably just curious, right?

She reaches out to touch a hand to his shoulder, placing a small healing spell there to hopefully make his muscles feel loose. It isn't worth getting help from her spirit friend to do since it's just a little thing, and good thing too, because Darcia suddenly comes through the front door and Maker knows what she would have thought had she seen Christine's eyes glowing blue. As it is, she does look like she's thinking something, looking between the two and grinning widely.

"You have delivered the letters?"

"Yes, Mistress Christine. You will all be staying for dinner, won't you?

"Yes, and overnight, if there is room?"

"Oh, yes! There is enough room if the two gentlemen don't mind sharing a room!"

Christine smiles and pats Church lightly on the shoulder. "I am sure they would be fine with that. Let's head back in."

Okay, so, this seemed like a moment? It seemed like maybe there was a moment happening. Despite the situation, he smiles at her and her magic hand of magic. Aaaand whatever seemed like a moment is totally gone.

And it's fine! He wasn't...asking for any particular reason. Just, they're really close? Closer than just fuckbuddies since they haven't actually done the do in forever. But if she thought they were dating, and obviously she wouldn't!, but if she did, then it's good to know nobody, not even him, needs any permission. So.

Yeah. Ahem. "The gentlemen will be perfect gentlemen and share a room without incident. Nothing will get set on fire, no arguments had, scouts honor." Church you are not a boy scout. Little awkward wave of hi to Darcia and then back to...awkward mom times.

Sam rather doesn't mind that he isn't seen as marriage material, probably better that way - honestly Lady Delacroix didn't have to worry about his relationships. As long as they can get along, especially for Christine's sake, is enough for him.

Pouring her some tea, Sam gives a soft sigh, feeling the conversation turn just a bit at the mention of her husband. It was understandable.

"Probably why the two of us get along with each other rather well," he says softly with a smile. "We're very passionate about the work we do, helping others."

It's at that point that Sam looks up, hearing voices on the other side of the door. "Sounds like Darcia has returned."

"Oh! She's such a good girl, that Darcia." Her brow furrows at the thought of not having Darcia around anymore if her brother won't allow it, but surely he must see sense and know that Aimee needs Darcia.

The door opens and Christine enters with Church while Darcia continues on to the kitchen to start making dinner.

"Maman, Darcia has returned. She mailed your letters for you." Christine comes to sit on the sofa with her mother once more, and no sooner does she take her seat than her mother grabs her hand in a firm grip.

"This is all happening so fast. I know it must, but the thought of leaving all this behind..." She trails off and looks around the room. "You must help me pack after dinner. I cannot leave behind anything precious or it will be sold."

Christine nods, forcing a smile. Only a few hours here in her home again and now she has to pack it up and know that most of it will be gone soon.

"Of course. Have you been enjoying your chat with Sam?"

"Oh, Sam is a dear," she replies, looking on him with an admiring expression. "I am so pleased you have someone in your life like him." Her mother is just blatantly ignoring that Church came back into the room. It's pretty obvious and Christine tries very hard not to cringe.

He's perfectly happy being mostly ignored. Sam seems like a good enough dude, and he knows he's an asshole. But a fun asshole, thanks. He is content (no, not really, but whatever) to sit back and listen to things, but damn, already gotta pack everything? How soon is she gonna move?

Church will make a comment, to Sam, leaning toward him with a smirk. "Leave the bigger pieces to us men; no need for anyone to hurt themselves, right?"

Well... at least they weren't fighting. For now - he isn't sure how long the peace might last with them touching all their possessions. Speaking of-

"You have to pack already?" Was she moving right away or was it simply wanting Christine to be around for a bit longer? "I guess we'll be in your care for this evening then." His eyes dart over to Church for a moment, brow raising a bit. It is obvious that he's a bit concerned about Church handling anything too heavy at the moment what with his shoulder, and himself still sporting some sore ribs from their fight. "Yeah. No need for anyone to hurt themselves," he repeats back.

"Well, yes," she answers, shoulders slumping a little. "My brother lives the next town over. He will be arriving tomorrow to pick me up and making arrangements to sell the house and the furniture. It is because the business must go to Luc's apprentice right away, you see. That was the agreement since his apprentice has been running it single-handedly in Luc's absence." She turns her gaze on Christine. "His name is Mathieu. A lovely young man. Oh, if only you could have met him a year ago! He was still unmarried then." Because clearly the best solution is to dump her mage daughter on this man to keep the business in the family, right? Oh, well. That ship has sailed, and it doesn't look like his wife is going to die anytime soon. Shame.

"Oh, yes! You must stay overnight. Titine, you can have your old room, and these two can take the other upstairs bedroom."

Christine frowns thoughtfully. "But is that not your bedroom?"

"Maker, no. Your father and I moved into a downstairs room years ago. Silly legs would not carry me up the stairs any longer."

It's understandable and sweet that her father shared the bedroom with her mother. Plenty of Orlesians of moderate means keep separate bedchambers so they don't end up killing each other. There is so much Christine wants to ask about her father, but it feels like they're racing against the clock now. At least she can start now and keep it up in letters.

"Well, I do not think you will be taking much of the furniture, will you?" She too worries about Sam and Church moving anything heavy after their fight against the Red Templars. "Will it not be clothes and smaller things only?"

Her mother pouts. "I suppose so. I will live in my brother's household and it is probably full enough. Your aunt collects the tackiest things." She sniffs in distaste.

"I'm just saying, whatever bigger stuff. I wasn't about to suggest we pack up all the china cupboards and vanities in the back of a wagon. Unless...that's what you want done." Who cares about his shoulder, magic healy stuff! (Okay, what he'd really like someday is an actual modern medical doctor to see how much magic actually does heal. Who knows?)

(A lot. It's not going to grow any limbs for you, but considering it can heal up a hole in your body, it's pretty effective.)

"We can use magic to move some things if we need," he points out off-handedly, rubbing the back of his neck as he contemplates how much work they will be doing.

"And how far does your brother live?" They might have to consider tagging along to make sure she gets there safely, which he is sure Christine will want.

"Oh, dear," Aimee says, looking worried. She even pulls her shawl around her a little bit tighter before whispering, "Are you allowed to do that?"

Christine has to resist laughing as she answers, "It is all right, Maman. We passed our Harrowings and can use magic responsibly. And no one outside the house will know."

"Well, in that case, I will need some trunks from the attic. Darcia can show you where. And the paintings in the dining room have to come with me. Those are portraits of my parents. And-- oh! Would you like a miniature of your father? It is in that cabinet over there." Madame Delacroix points to a cabinet tucked in the corner behind Sam's chair and Christine gets up from the sofa to head over to it.

"Yes; just open those doors. It is on the middle shelf on the left. Bring it here, darling."

For a woman who has only fuzzy memories of her father, this is a serious moment. The miniature portrait is oval and fits in the palm of her hand. Such a simple, small thing. And yet it means the world to her to see what her father actually looked like. She stares down at his image for a long moment before closing the cabinet doors and returning to her seat.

"I had this commissioned three years ago, but he looks the same here as the last time I saw him. Look at his handsome face." Suddenly Aimee's lower lip quivers and she raises her handkerchief to her nose. "Now show your friends your Père. I just need a moment."

Getting back up, she takes the portrait over to Church first, turning it towards him but not letting go. Her eyes are showing that tell tale sign that she's close to crying.

It's all fun and games until the dead parent, y'know, the reason they're even here, comes out. (And, to be honest, a big reason why he even went on the initial mission in the first place. More for Christine's sake than anything else.)

He looks at the small painting with a frown, a handsome fellow enough, and despite looking like the spitting image of her mother, he can see bits of him in Christine as well. The picture's important, yeah, but what he cares about is Christine, and he doesn't even have to think about taking her free hand in his and squeezing, giving her a sympathetic look. This is why he came. For her.

And then he lets go so she can turn to Sam.

Sounds like he just made a little bit more work for them, but if it will help Christine's mother tale a little bit more of her stuff, and memories with her, then it would be worth it.

When the portrait is turned towards him, Sam scoots a bit closer, bringing a hand up to steady the picture since it seemed that Christine was close to crying. "He is very handsome." It wasn't the same as the real thing, but at least there was something Christine could take home and remember him by.

"He is," her mother says proudly before she remembers and her face crumbles. "He was." And now it's back to crying behind her handkerchief while she waves her other hand and asks for a moment. The rest of their time before dinner is split between Madame Delacroix telling them about Luc, growing teary-eyed, lamenting that the Circles didn't fall earlier when there were more eligible young men in town that would have been perfect for Titine, and complaining about her sister-in-law.

Dinner isn't much different, conversation-wise, but they get a brief respite while packing when she asks for greater detail on what Christine does within the Inquisition. Naturally Christine leaves out any of the dangerous bits. Eventually Madame Delacroix starts yawning and asks Darcia to take the gentlemen up to their room while she speaks to Christine about something. Darcia takes up a candlestick and leads the way up the stairs and down a narrow hall. It's a bit drafty upstairs, but the season hasn't turned cold just yet.

"Here we are. It has been a very eventful day. Very sad, as well. Tomorrow... will be busy." Darcia still isn't sure if she'll be allowed to attend to her mistress or if she'll be out of a job, but her mother always told her to keep her head high and never let herself appear pitiful, so she's going to do that. "Is there anything you two might need for bed? A glass of water? More pillows? Do you need me to light a fire?"

"Uhhhh. I'm...good." He's not used to someone waiting on him hand and foot. He looks to Sam. "I mean, maybe a fire? We might be up a little bit yet."

"If there are logs in the fireplace then I can handle lighting a fire." He is a mage after all, and he doesn't want to give Darcia any more work then she already has. "Other then that I believe we are fine.

"Oh yes, there are! We haven't had overnight guys in some time." Darcia lights a candle on the nightstand for them so they can see when she leaves, not thinking of a mage producing fire on his own.

"A good night to you both!" she says, dipping a curtsy at the door and leaving them be.

It's a good ten minutes before there's a soft knock on the door and it opens a fraction of the way.

"Everyone decent?" Christine jokes from the other side.

If he was more comfortable with the idea of a servant, or had thought about it at all, he might've asked her to draw up a late bath, but alas, didn't think of it.

When Christine knocks and makes her joke, Church takes that as his cue to continue the joke. He's not loud, but certainly enough for Chris to hear. "Oh," he 'moans', "oh Sam, you're a beast, oh my goooood~"

Sorry not sorry, Sammy.

Cute Christine. Did just wearing pants count as decent?

Course before he can say anything Church is- Church is- Dear Maker, Church, what are you doing? There is a faint blush on Sam's cheeks as he literally stares at the other man, quite perplexed for a moment. Up until 'you're a beast', to which he immediately turns into a dog and kindly knocks Church to the floor and sits on him.

Sorry not sorry, Church.

{ CLOSED } Ne me quitte pas

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