faderift | A bottle of white, a bottle of red

WHO: Open to anyone that wants wine and warmth and a little company.
WHAT: Wine and no whining.
WHEN: After the mage meeting wraps up.
WHERE: Close to the healing tents, specifically the Orlesian section.
NOTES: There will be wine, drinking, unwinding, and nibbles.

The meeting had been stressful for just about everyone involved. Tempers had flared, opinions made known, a few rounds of confetti and arguing before some manner of accord. Whether it would last or however long it might? No one could truly say. In the interest of being quite done with the stress and headaches such debate brought on the Orlesian healing tents clearing out the potions, bandages, and poultices in favor of what cushions and braziers they had on hand for light and for heat. The space was open, warm, and inviting with an odd assortment of tin mugs or clay glasses set around flat side tables propped up with stones to keep them from wobbling and tipping the whole mass onto the ground. There are some dried fruits and hard cheeses, dried meat and hard crusted bread- whatever scraps they could scavenge or spare and a few bottles of wine or brandy. Across the entrance to the tents there was a sign:

Bring a bottle or food to share for entry.

Tacked below was a list of rules:

Everyone is welcome, don't make a fuss
Don't hog the wine
Don't hog the food
Don't fight or argue
If you finish a bottle open a new one, don't recork it for someone else to find
Clean up after yourselves

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"The one that will make it better. The labels don't signify."

It came out matter-of-fact, as though Simon should have already been well aware of the fact, giving her brother a knowing look before thrusting a finger at the bottle. "Names. Years. They don't know what's at the bottom. I have to find the right one or it'll start all over again."

There was too much tension in the air. Alcohol could lubricate stuck gears and make the turning easier, everything falling into place. Or it could bring even more fighting to the forefront. Not that anyone had turned that way yet, but the anger and fear were still their underneath.

Everyone was just trying to pretend it wasn't.

That...that almost sounded like the old River. The same bratty tone that would slip into her letters whenever she needed to correct him on some small detail, putting something between a chagrined grimace and a smile on Simon's face. Still, he took the bottle to examine the label for himself...rather than let River start to open it too.

"I don't think this is going to make it better," he said carefully. It wouldn't help with River's problem at least. Thank the Maker she hasn't actually tried drinking any of it from what he could tell.

"That one isn't. Full of ghosts. Gray into blue and then red, and he'll want to fight. He didn't before."

Better that Simon take that one, in the long run. Still, she seemed to be taking a break in her brave crusade against alcohol-induced bad decisions and slumped down, her brow furrowing tightly.

"They can't be louder than the storm, but they're trying anyway. Won't stop the rain, but..."

She gives the bottles a considering look.

So...maybe it wasn't actually for her. Simon frowned as he put the bottle back down, squeezing her shoulder gently as he felt it slump. 'Trying to be louder than the storm', it could be the voices bothering her, but it doesn't make enough sense. He'd been translating River's riddle-speak for months now, one would think he'd start getting better at it.

"Is it better if they're quiet, then?" he asked, looking at first down at River and then up to the gathering of mages. Most seemed to be a few cups in, still chatting with each other and more than a few were quite animated--

Ah. Those were ones River was talking about.

"Things can be smoothed over more easily with even tempers..."

"We aren't with them."

It's a question, even if it isn't phrased as one. Simon doesn't attend the meetings, neither does she. They never bring attention to themselves as mages, and she understands why well enough.

But maybe, if anyone could understand...

"I wanted to help." The bottles are given an accusatory look. "Sometimes the bottles hold the wrong things. Open old wounds. Too irregular to be used medicinally."

They weren't. It would be nice if they could be...but the Tams couldn't stand up to the scrutiny that being involved in politics would mean for a mage. Being in Skyhold protected them from the people he had rescued her from as well as any especially zealous templars, but it didn't mean they were safe. Some mages might understand, but it was best that their secrets remained kept.

Simon smiled wryly at the medicinal comment, moving his hand to rub soothingly over River's shoulders.

"The way I see it, the patients are to blame for varying reactions more than the liquor," Simon said. "Still, you're not wrong..."

She tilted into the touch, head tipping slightly to rest against his arm. At least he understood what she'd intended, even if her methods might be a little...well. Confusing at first.

"It's not over. Spark too close to the tinder. Can't see where it's coming from, too many..."

She lifts a hand, gesturing vaguely.

"There's too many. They overlap."

Granted it did take Simon a moment or two to fully understand, but he got there before too long. The rest against his arm was answered by pulling her into more of a hug, away from the table and the remaining wine bottles.

"Is it too crowded?" he asked. "Too many people?"

They could step out, go for a walk and get some fresh air...and get away from all the minds clamoring for his sister's attention.

A bottle of white, a bottle of red

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