faderift | OPEN ↠ THE WINTER PALACE, PART I

WHO: Open to all
WHAT: The War of the Lions comes to a head with tense peace negotiations scheduled for a grand Winter Palace ball
WHEN: This is forward dated to ~~Firstfall 30~~ Wintermarch 15. This post covers only the first few hours of the event, Part II will be posted in the coming days with the next stage.
WHERE: the Winter Palace, Halamshiral, Orlais
NOTES: Please make sure to read the OOC Post for more info!

The Inquisition's encampment at Halamshiral has grown to be a second home for some, having remained on the estate grounds outside the city for several months now. The field full of tents and campfires is quiet tonight, a large contingent having made their way to the famed Winter Palace to attend the evening's ball. It's not just a party, of course: it's also a venue for much-needed negotiations between Empress Celene and her challenger cousin, Grand Duke Gaspard. All of Orlais' highest and mightiest have gathered to see if tonight the War of the Lions will finally come to an end.

The Inquisition's role is not entirely clear. Some consider them mediators and peacekeepers, and it's true they've done their best thus far to safeguard the citizens of Orlais without overtly choosing a side in the conflict. But others see them as a foreign force marched into the heart of the nation en masse and fear some sort of coup may be in the offing. The Empress and the Grand Duke remain politely wary, but have agreed to allow Inquisition agents to assist with event security. Patrols rove the grounds (and, more discreetly, inside the palace), made up of small teams of Imperial guardsmen, chevaliers, and Inquisition members. It's a risky decision, pairing up people who have been on opposite sides of a war for the last year, with only the agents of a controversial religious(??) order as a buffer. The atmosphere is tense, everyone on edge waiting to see where the first blow will be struck--and by whom.

The Ballroom

The ballroom glitters, lit with hundreds of candles in sconces on the walls, bundled on stands, dangling from elaborate chandeliers. There are even servants assigned to circulate about the dancefloor carrying trees of slowly-dripping candles, the better to allow guests to appreciate their partners' finery or critique their neighbors' steps.

There's plenty of critiquing going around, whether from the couples daintily spinning and mincing about the sunken dance floor or the crowds milling about the mezzanine above them. Fashion and flirtation are the hot topics of the day, as ever, but there is an undercurrent of tension not usually present at such events. Many of the hushed conversations are about troop movements or Tevinter plots, destroyed lands and dead chevaliers. Nothing can quite make an Orlesian extravaganza somber, but no amount of wine and music can completely erase awareness of the war that has brought them here tonight, or the uncertainty about what will come of it. As a precaution the guards have confiscated all weapons at the door, but there is less rowdy behavior than one might expect, a combination of many young men having gone off to battle, and most of the people who remain preferring to remain on their best behavior in this trying time. Guests who do not do the same will be quickly and fiercely shunned.

But not all choose to spend their time worrying, and if it is not as carefree an affair as usual it is still most definitely a party atmosphere. Much of the laughter and chatter and fan-fluttering is as genuine as ever, flowery compliments and veiled insults abound, the food is plentiful and delicious, carried about in great piles by servants dressed entirely in gold. The wine is even better, flowing freely from the mouths of a multitude of sculpted lions (which grace the arms of both Celene and Gaspard). The music is brisk and upbeat, provided by a large contingent near the dance floor and several smaller clusters tucked about the venue.

The vestibule is quieter, aside from the constant cries of the heralds announcing each arrival. Conversation continues out here at a steady hum, but the music is more distant, the air less thick with perfume and intrigue. Beyond that are the Inner Gardens, where pairs and small parties circulate between elaborate hedges and topiaries on paths paved with delicate pieces of seashell that glow faintly in the moonlight. Many come and go as the night continues, taking the air as a respite from the crowd and candles inside or using that as an excuse to sneak off for torch-lit liaisons.

The Outer Gardens

The Outer Gardens are still ornamental but less intricately landscaped than the Inner: hedges are lower, topiary larger but less detailed. The torches are more numerous here, the better to highlight arrivals. Carriages of all sorts draw up one by one to the gilded iron gate, footmen in powdered wigs rolling out steps and assisting the passengers as they disembark. Other servants clad in simple lion masks scurry about, taking charge of coats and capes, delivering drinks for those who cannot wait even for the time it takes to walk inside, delivering news to the heralds and consoling those who arrive just behind a larger party and are forced to wait their turn in line to be announced.

The Imperial Guard are present inside, too, but subtly; here they are present in obvious numbers, breastplates shining, resplendent in purple and yellow surcoats, with matching plumes jutting from their helms. They watch each entering personage carefully, collecting weapons from all, no matter how exalted their position. Inquisition agents pass through the area as well, pairs accompanying guardsmen on their rounds through the gardens or up on the palace walls.

Some noble guests even linger here, the shy or the unpopular (or the too-popular), or those for whom even the Inner Garden has grown too crowded, spilling out to catch the cool evening breeze on a wine-flushed face or to continue a conversation too serious to have interrupted by tittering. It is still noble territory, that is clear, but it isn't entirely unusual to see a lady engage a guard in banter as he passes, or a lord stop a servant to inquire after inside information on her mistress.

The Servant's Quarters

Earlier the servants' quarters was a roil of activity, stoves loaded with pots boiling and pans sizzling, trays laden with food, casks rolled out full and back in empty with alarming frequency. But now the fountains are filled and the food all cooked and plated, delivered to tables and staging areas, leaving the vast majority of the staff at their leisure. And while the nobles are occupied across the gardens with their ball, that means it's time for a party here, too.

The rooms are packed, from kitchens and sculleries to dining halls and normal halls, store rooms, boot rooms, everywhere. The servants at Halamshiral have nearly all gathered except for the unfortunate number tasked with serving at the ball itself, and their numbers are nearly doubled by the presence of numerous Inquisition agents and outside retainers whose noble bosses are busy spending their visit dancing and gossiping. That's most of what's happening here, too, with a band playing loud and fast in the servants' hall, tables and chairs pushed back against the walls and piled up to make room for a dance floor. In other rooms, wine flows and food is piled high, leftovers from the ball and anything not quite perfect enough to serve to the upper crust.

The place is full to bursting, hot and noisy and raucous, the floors sticky with spilled ale. A dice game spills out from the cheese room, couples neck and giggle among the tall shelves of bottles in the wine cellar, a group of laughing young men dart among the crowd stealing masks off faces and replacing them with different ones, a cluster steps out in the courtyard to share a pipe beside ladies maids having a whispered argument about whose employer wore it better.

Please note: This post covers only the first few hours of the party, not the entire night. There will be a second post going up in the next week that will cover the conclusion of the event, so please make sure not to assume too far into the future in your threads here. Please make sure to also read the OOC Post for more info on who can attend which party and how we're using comment counts here to determine the outcome of the civil war.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

GOSH

"Oh. ...oh, yeah." Cade nods idly when she mentions Araceli-- he's met her, if only once. When Beleth takes on a more conspiratorial tone, he leans uneasily toward her, and is pleasantly surprised by being told a secret instead of... whatever else he was expecting, something horrible.

"Like deadly nightshade," he observes before he can stop himself, and when he straightens to look at her, he takes it in for a moment before nodding. Yep, checks out. "I like your mask."

Don't worry, he's going to have to upgrade to a higher friendship level before she starts whispering to him about the elf rebellion plans to rise up and kill all the shemlen.

Maybe after he buys her dinner.

"Yes, like that." She nods agreeably, clearly pleased that he got the reference. "But Belladonna sounds more...romantic, I suppose. Mysterious. And it sounds like my real name." Which might not be the point of these names, but that isn't stopping her. At his compliment, she flashes a little smile, eyes darting down. "Thank you. I spent a while looking for one I liked. I'm glad that other people like it, too."

She lets that sit for a few moments, before she glances back up at him, and slowly offers her hand. "Speaking of which--would you like to dance, Cade?"

Cade tilts his head as he considers-- all right, sure. Belladonna does sound a little bit like Beleth. Like... a little bit. But he won't critique it, she's obviously proud.
He's still somewhat lost in this new social quagmire when she distracts him back to reality, and he blinks at her like an fool for several seconds before stupidly saying, "me?"

There's no rule that he can't enjoy himself-- in fact, he has been encouraged to by several higher-ups-- but he's still in servants' garb. And that's weird. He would know, his family is fancy.

"No, not you," Beleth murmurs to him, a flat expression on her face. "I was talking to the other Cade that I was, coincidentally, chatting with, at the exact same time. Didn't you notice?" Cade might not appreciate the sarcasm, but it was, in Beleth's own way, a good sign--it took a certain level of camaraderie and trust for her to feel comfortable enough to be a shit to someone.

For a moment, she debates asking him if he wanted her to go get permission, but then she faced the scenario that he might actually agree, and she might actually have to speak to Aleron, or Creators forbid, Malcolm. So, instead, she just stares pointedly at him, her hand still reaching out for his.

"If you'd prefer, we don't have to dance out on the ballroom. We could go out to a balcony, or the gardens," She offers, in case the whole...public spectacle of dancing in front of all the elite of Orlais is the issue at hand for him. It's offered in a more gentle tone, her expression softer, so that he can (hopefully) tell that she's not trying to sass him this time, but give a genuine alternative.

"Oh," Cade says sheepishly, and then immediately realizes she is in fact joking. W o w.
"..um... sure," he decides, though he can't make up his mind on whether it should be in the ballroom or out on the balcony, somewhere private. Either way it could be perceived as inappropriate by people whose opinions shouldn't matter, but do. They always do.
Realizing that he's stalling, Cade holds out his elbow for Beleth to take, but then lets her lead him where she will.

Cade offers up exactly nothing on Beleth's request for his preferences, and she has learned by now to not be surprised. Still, she shoots him an annoyed look, and makes a quiet tsk under her breath, because maybe hassling him will work as negative reinforcement against being an indecisive doof. Unlikely, but possible.

Nevertheless, she slips her hand around his arm, resting it on the offered elbow, and then, with practiced ease, steers him off in the direction of her choosing. After a few moments, she decides that is going to be a balcony, a quiet one off to the side. It's not to spare either of them from the Orlesians, but to spare Cade from the Inquisition. Lest anyone see them together and decide to give him hassle. Which is her allotted job, excuse you.

Once they have the somewhat dubious privacy of the balcony, Beleth turns to him, putting her hands in the proper position for the dance. "Someday, I'd like to show you some of the Dalish dances," She muses. It's doubtful that Cade would fully appreciate the gesture, of what showing any aspect of Dalish culture to an outsider, a shemlen meant. But whatever. "Most of them are for groups, but there are a few that are for pairs. The group ones are the really beautiful dances, though. With everyone moving around and together, as one."

Edited 2016-12-29 10:02 (UTC)

This part isn't so hard. Cade learned to do this as a little boy, and although he's a bit rusty, there's a certain muscle memory that never fully goes away and he's able to pick it up with a disconcerting level of confidence. He always seems to calm a little when going through the motions of something he knows how to do, and he actually smile mildly at Beleth as she talks.
"Would I be... allowed to see them?" he asks carefully, for once at least attempting some decorum in talking about elf culture. Beleth's culture.

Beleth isn't quite as confident, but this is all still fairly new to her. She's trying, at least, and quick to follow Cade's lead. He was like this last time, as well, at Vivienne's soiree, and both times, it surprises her. At least, she supposes, there are a few things he seems to actually enjoy doing.

"Well," There's a hesitation there, eyes glancing off to the side as she puzzles out how to pick out the right words. "The group dances...I don't think you'd be able to see." Since that would involve letting Cade within five miles of a Dalish clan, which is Not going to happen. "But I can show you one or two of the pair dances? I think that would be okay. At least...I doubt anyone here would say anything against it." Not when most of them are shacking up with humans and worse and show little interest in their heritage.

Not that. Beleth has much room to talk. But that's never stopped her before.

"...maybe," Cade concedes, with a hesitant smile, "but.. um... maybe not..." out in the open. At Skyhold. Where people can see him doing elfy things, with an elf, and proceed to assume the absolute worst.
Which might be entirely in his head, but that's enough for him to believe it an issue.
"I'm... afraid I'll step on you," he observes, blushing faintly. A lot of local folk dances involve jumping and stomping, they seem like a bad idea.

OPEN ↠ THE WINTER PALACE, PART I

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