faderift | [ CLOSED ] WAR TABLE: INVESTIGATE COMTESSE DE VELONEY

WHO: Herian, Anders, Issana, Velanna, Pam, Malcolm
WHAT: A series of disappearances in the Orlesian countryside has culminated in the vanishment of some of the Inquisition's own scouts. A team has been sent to investigate the estate of one Comtesse Eléonore Vaillant de Veloney.
WHEN: Over the span of 4 days in the 2nd week of Harvestmere.
WHERE: Estate of Comtesse Eléonore Vaillant de Veloney
NOTES: Trauma, gore, dark themes, homicide, pretentious wine usage, other things not labeled as to avoid spoilers.

Welcome to the Estate

It is a terrible misfortune, all these disappearances- but with a civil war on and all this strange Venatori and Red Templar activity- with the rifts in the countryside? People simply not appearing where they ought is a sad reality. Nothing to be done for it. That such an esteemed noblewoman has found herself unjustly accused simply due to her wealth and prosperity? Cannot stand. Comtesse de Veloney invited the Inquisition herself to investigate her manor and put the matter to rest- they are to be afforded all the cooperation and respect imaginable.

Even the mages. Even the elves.

They are met at the gate by a veritable delegation of footmen led by the Gardener and Tanner to see them inside and out of the stormy, dreary weather. Packs are secreted off to rooms (a lovely set of suites in the east wing if the Steward does say so herself), baths drawn (The Comtesse insists, it's been just dreadful and they've come all this way), and a lavish banquet prepared.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That, now, is impossible to misinterpret. Blatant invitation and blatant consent that is quite possibly enthusiastic in it's offering and certainly returned with enthusiasm as she lets her hands trail with firm intent. No coy teasing, no trailing. The canting of her face is only enough to press their lips together with intent, matching the nip with a slow swipe of her tongue. There is room enough on the chaise to press close. To become thoroughly entangled.

Laquered nails slide delicately along black lace, catching the curve of Herian's waist, the swell of her breast. No shy thing, this, but a solid caress, a measured glide of her thumb back and forth, hoping to prompt a firm peak to awaken.

It's a relief. Fire met with with fire, heat enough to curl over the skin and scorch. Hands pressing with intent, Herian's own sliding up Eléonore's back, mapping muscles and the contours of shoulder blades to pull just as Eléonore presses. They are a tangle of forces, all push and pull, as she leans back against the chaise and gives way more than she has allowed herself in a stretch of time that pushes beyond the last year.

Her breath catches, back arching into the touch, and—

This is definitely not behaviour becoming a knight, not in line with duty or with honour, but for a moment she needs not to be.

Low words murmured between each press, each glide of teeth and tongue- Orlesian and appreciative, almost reverent in tone for Herian's character, her beauty, the scent of her skin, the image of her on the chaise-

It is all too easy to fall with her, to brace over her, hand working with slow certainty as her lips drag from Herian's to her throat, teeth gliding gently, tongue laving- throat to collar to the lace at her neckline as she devours her so sweetly-

The door to the library swings open, Narcisse' voice ringing out. "I've your wine for the afternoon Comtesse-" Silence. A cleared throat. The clink of a tray set down and the awkward shuffling of steps as he relieves himself of the moment before the door swings shut once more.

A pleased, very quiet groan rolls from her throat, fingers grasping just a little harder at Eléonore's neck, fingers digging harder. It is pleasingly intoxicating, all of it, the pressure of someone against her and the gradual wandering of that mouth that makes her feel as though sparks are bursting in her chest.

And then the voice, and the silence, and the rattle of a tray and whatever happens to be on it, and Herian's shoulders go slack. "Breò-chual de nathair-sgiathach." It's a quiet murmur that's exhaled in something like a hiss, her eyes slipping shut for a moment before she looks up at the ceiling.

Just let the silence hang there for a moment, so she can reflect on the terrible choices she has entangled herself into. "Not a delicate soul, I do hope, Narcisse."

Narcisse shuffles out and Eléonore? Snorts a laugh that becomes an outpouring of giggles against Herian's shoulder. Mortification does not sit well with her, but oh- how absurd this moment. "I- forgive me but this-"

She raises up, braced over Herian with a hand resting along either side of her face on the chaise. "I have not been caught like this since I was a girl in Tevinter-"

Sneaking about the library, kissing girls. Kissing boys. Keeping secrets and laughing all the while at how precious they were- it brings a brightness and youth to her, the laughing. A flush of mirth, a stray curl from her pinned hair falling along her cheek as she slowly draws herself to sit up properly. "Ah- no, no. He will be fine."

Herian remains, despite her awareness and efforts (which could likely be improved on), proud. She is proud and she is in some ways defensive. For a moment she is still and silent, trying to organise her thoughts regarding what just happened, and the fact that the Comtesse is laughing. It is only a brief instance of stitched brow and frowning, and when Eléonore is braced over her the slightly thrown, not-quite-surly expression eases. Her mouth quirks with a little smile, and there is a huff of laughter.

"Nor I since I was still homed within the Circle." Though that was only a little over two years, and she could not remember the last time she'd been caught. Still - she had not been so young as to be called a little girl.

"That is a relief. It would be a sorry thing to see your staff discomforted."

"He will mope over my being too preoccupied to fawn over whatever he chose to bring me-" She offers Herian a hand up, straightening the lay of her gown. "But a kind word of praise in private later will sort him. He takes his job very seriously- all of my staff do. They are skilled and I am pleased to have them. Fortunate, in fact."

There is bickering, she knows this, but-

It is over small things that might be sorted in time, a few adjustments made where needed. "Perhaps...we might have a more thorough discussion later, in the garden?"

Accepting the hand isn't necessary for her to stand easily, but she accepts the courtesy all the same. Her eyebrow might quirk very slightly at the talk of discussion— no, surely not. Surely that would be unknightly.

Except that she totally does, glancing away momentarily as if will cover the moment, and offering the Comtesse a respectful bow. "As you say, Comtesse. I would be glad to learn more of the grounds."

Which is not a euphemism. Not more than fifty per cent, anyway. "At your convenience. Consider me at your disposal."

"And I will be more than pleased to offer you a private tour. So much of what Roland has done is to give us both a sense of home." They are both of them far from where they'd been- and both of them settling in as comfortably as they can in a country that looks at them sideways on a goo day. She holds fast to Herian's hand for a moment, fingers squeezing gently before releasing.

The temptation to kiss her knuckles was strong but- sometimes it is better to resist temptation.

Sometimes.

Sometimes.

Her fingers squeeze back in turn, and there is a moment where she considers kissing Eléonore's knuckles, just a quiet moment—

And she thinks better of it. "Until later, then. Fine day to you, Eléonore."

A final nod, but considering that she bowed already, she does not repeat the gesture before she turns to make her way to the door.

[ CLOSED ] WAR TABLE: INVESTIGATE COMTESSE DE VELONEY

CW: She touch the titty AGAIN

are we just going to settle on a vaguely low key nsfw

yes, yes we are

laughs for ten years (and hover for translation)

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