faderift | [OPEN] That which makes you different...

Entry tags:

[OPEN] That which makes you different...

WHO: Vivienne and OPEN
WHAT: Catchall for November, including Mage Liason availability, prospective clothing choices for the Winter Palace, Knight-Enchanter training, and etiquette lessons
WHEN: Start of the month, leading up to Winter Palace event
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Open to all, if there's something not listed here you'd like to do, lemme know or dive on in.

[Balcony]
So much is happening now and in the weeks to come. As always, Vivienne is installed at her balcony, holding court in a sense. Most days, her attention is given wholly to the business of meeting and working with the mages in the Inquisition in all their varied backgrounds and philosophies. No matter how petty, or grave, their concerns, she listens to them with undivided attention. Uncouth behavior will earn them a displeased stare, but those instances are few.

There is, however, an addition to her balcony in the form of a favored tailor. The Inquisition will be present at the Winter Palace for peace talks, as security and support. But they absolutely cannot show up at the Empress' home in Halamshiral looking like scruffy ragamuffins. The Iron Lady is pleased to offer advice, and the services of the tailor, to assure that a good and respectable impression is offered and maintained. Both in fashion and in manners.

[Courtyard]
Mentoring the young mages is just as important to Madame de Fer as is being available to the adults in their number. In truth, she finds the proper care and education of the apprentices and novices to be just as crucial as putting forth the proper foot when mingling with the nobility. As she has reminded others, there is nothing so dangerous to a young mage as a lack of knowledge. Vivienne has no intention to be thought of as negligent when it comes to the training the children. And privately? She enjoys it.

The First Enchanter stands in the center of a gaggle of youngsters, delivering a lecture on staff creation by apprentices. It's a skill they should all acquire and practice as it will serve them all their lives. The lesson is going less than ideal, however, as random outbursts of giggling break out when some apprentice thinks she's not paying attention. The source of their glee appears to be a copy of Thunderstorms In Your Room! being passed around with only middling sneakiness.

[Chapel]
Typically Vivienne keeps her personal devotions both personal and private. There is, naturally, a small icon of Andraste which she's had added to her balcony, but beyond that, she makes no grand showing of her faith. Some cynics could argue she expresses it in her adamant support of the Circles and their place under the care of the Chantry. (They wouldn't be wrong.)

But today is something of an outlier. In the early hours of the morning, she breezes into the chapel, as if strolling into the summer breakfast room at Bastien's estate. On entering, she crosses her heart and then lowers her head to recite the Chant. Only someone who frequents the sacred space regularly might realize how unusual an event this is. Has she turned more devout or is there something pressing on her heart? And does she even have a heart?

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It's when Vivienne finishes her prayer and turns around that she will see Pel standing in the door, gaze down, face somber as if in a meditation of her own. The movement causes her to stir and look at Vivienne. She says nothing. She is an empty vessel, seeing if Vivienne needs to fill her up with her troubles to unburden herself.

For a brief moment, Vivienne stands unmoving while processing the presence of Pel in the chapel. She doubts her Dalish friend has converted to an Andrastian and wonders what it could possibly mean. She never truly can stop herself from constantly analyzing and weighing the actions of everyone around her. That's what has brought her to a position of power, that's what allows her to keep control over her own life.

Though as Bastien's life is slowly ebbing away, she's realizing she still has far less control over her life than she would like.

She steps closer, to keep her voice low and unintrusive. It might take her a bit to warm up to the idea of revealing anything, but it is said unburdening one's troubles is good for the soul. "Pel, my dear, what a lovely surprise to see you here."

It had been a prayer to Mythal to raise with Vivienne's prayer to the Maker, though Vivienne is human. But Mythal is the only god Pel expects to hear her, locked away though she is. She prays to the elven gods because they are the only ones in this universe of absentee deities who take elves seriously.

Pel had been clutching a ring she wears on a cord around her neck--fine silver with a green amber stone, and clearly an antique. Now she releases it and gives a faint, fleeting smile.

"I just...aneth ara, Vivienne." Whatever she had been about to say, she has changed her mind. "I've baked a cobbler. I thought you might like to have a little with tea."

Her whole life, Vivienne has made a practice of schooling herself to only show what she wished to be seen. It is a matter of self-preservation. Even so, on rare occasion, something will take her by surprise and leave her disarmed, if only for a fleeting second or two. Pel's offer falls under that category. It's the random offer of kindness on a day when she's feeling vulnerable that surprises and warms her. A genuine smile spreads across her face and she nods.

"Darling, you are a treasure. Thank you, yes, I would."

And while she very much wants to return the favor inquiring after Pel's welfare after her terrible ordeal, Vivienne doesn't want to taint the sweetness of the moment bringing up something harsher. Instead her eyes fall to the jewelry her Dalish friend is wearing. It's not shallowness that prompts the comment on it, but signs that it is dear to Pel.

"What a lovely ring. I've not seen craftsmanship like that in ages."

A surprised blink. Vivienne is always surprising. Humans don't usually comment openly on the unique beauty of elven craftsmanship, not even antiques. It's one of those little things she does that seem to validate the cultures of the elves. Normally the ring would hang under Pel's tunic, but the corset has made things rather shelf-like up top, so it tends to sit rather than dangle.

"My mother gave it to me before I was...before I went to Clan Ashara." Before I was given away sounds like complaining, though it feels rather more accurate. "It's been in her family since Halamshiral, maybe before. Something passed down through daughters and granddaughters."

Ah now that hesitation Vivienne does catch and reads between the lines. It's no secret that the Dalish manage their mages by having excess numbers put out of the clan, either sent to another or packing off entirely on their own. It seems a terrible practice to the Iron Lady to leave a defenseless child to fend by itself alone and unwanted.

The sentiment behind a family heirloom is touching, however. It makes her just a tiny bit envious. "A connection to your heritage then. I cannot say I have been so fortunate myself. I have no memory of my family, though I am told they were Rivani merchants."

Perhaps dropping your daughter off at the nearest Circle on the road is no more a kindness than shuffling off excess elven mage children.

"It's good to know that some things have been preserved through the ages. Too much has been lost to mishandling and greed."

"I've only met mine at the Arlathvhen." Pel has spent the last year certain she has little in common with Circle mages. She hadn't considered this very important commonality, least of all with Vivienne, who is a champion for the ways of the Circle. "I was too little to remember them, when I left. I'd...sort of thought Circles would be easier, by comparison. Ivory towers full of books and warm blankets and hot baths and all the food you needed. Full of people who don't know how hard you have to work in order to be a free mage."

Though Inessa lives in the Warden Camp in the valley below Skyhold, she often visits the fortress for two reasons. One is the library, which she will happily spend as much time as possible while Garahel naps. That is often achieved through her visits to the courtyard, where she tries to wear out her mabari companion with games of fetch. He's certainly an intelligent creature, but Garahel never seems to grow bored with racing after that ball again and again.

However, the First Enchanter and her entourage have arrived first, and Inessa's manners won't allow her to disrupt the lecture. She pauses and listens intently as though she hasn't heard this lecture long before. Garahel sits, at first actually paying attention as well but the random bursts of giggling are too much for him to ignore and he begins to head over. Placing a hand on her mabari to prevent him from creating further distraction, she glances over to see what the giggling is about. It doesn't take long for her to recognize the book, one she remembers reading in Kinloch Hold. Her expression is caught between shock and amusement...and then a certain wistfulness. It's been a long time since she read that particular book.

Too late. At least three of the youngest apprentices have spotted the mabari and are doing their best to wiggle away to admire him. Without being caught out sneaking away. But oh how their small hands itch to pet him. Vivienne sees them and rather than being annoyed, finds it amusing. She remembers what it was like to be a young child in the Circle and the delights that came from a break in the every day routine.

She motions to Inessa to join them, as it would do the children good to have another Circle-trained mage present to encourage them. The Iron Lady is always on the lookout for potential mentors for the youngest of their number, as the old methods of instruction have fallen to the wayside in light of the war and now this Corypheus crisis. Of any of them to have suffered the ramifications of this rebellion, it's the youngest and most vulnerable among them, and that is what infuriates Vivienne the most. This ridiculous bid for freedom didn't give a fig for what it would mean for young mages.

Lectures on staff construction are clearly hopeless for the rest of the day, between the book and the dog, so she attempts as redirection of their attention. "Tell me, Warden, which was your favorite activity from the book the apprentices are sharing today? I do believe mine was on page 51: keeping a wisp in a jar to read under the covers after curfew."

All eyes turn from Inessa to Vivienne, going wide that they have been caught and that their intimidating instructor used to read the same book.

Seeing that it's a futile effort, Inessa releases Garahel with a small sigh. Naturally, he's drawn to the young trio, wagging his tail and all sorts of hopeful for petting or even treats. He'll even make it easy for them by flopping on the ground and exposing his belly that clearly needs rubbing. Shameless.

Inessa's smile is initially apologetic but she soon chuckles, as nostalgia takes her back. "That was actually one of my favorites as well. As soon as I learned how, I read everything I could possibly get my hands on in the Circle library that wasn't locked away. Naturally, curfew was simply a reason to be more stealthy about it, not to cease entirely." And yes, she could regurgitate it all back when questioned, because she's a nerd with an eidetic memory.

All eyes swing back to Inessa and several mouths round into impressed O's. Of course, the trio of youngesters fascinated with the mabari have already checked out and are bestowing the best belly rubs a dog could ever hope for. And if anyone's surprised the Vivienne is endorsing breaking the rules, they shouldn't be. She's always been one for bending them to her own benefit. That and if she can encourage their youngest members to grasp hold of the great importance of learning as much as they can, so much the better.

However, as a minor caution should be issued...

"My dear friend Lydia's favorite was how to use fire to make a late night snack. Until she accidentally set her hair alight attempting to make toast without getting caught."

If Inessa is paying close attention, she might catch there is the faint hint of sadness in Vivienne's eyes at the mention of Lydia, but it's brief and missed entirely by the children and tweenagers.

Knowing that Garahel will soon become a mabari-shaped puddle on the ground, Inessa leaves him be and nods, her demeanor growing more solemn at the justifiable mention of magic backfiring. Children can learn to toe the line, but they can also learn to be sensible while doing so. The hint of sadness is noted, but she knows better than to pry for information in front of students.

"A classmate of mine had a similar mishap with a fire-based glyph, though instead of hair they wound up setting a pair of curtains alight in the process and almost a bookshelf right next to it. Our teachers were understandably not supportive of this endeavor, especially since it was not an isolated incident." She sighs, having so many stories regarding the mishaps of her foolish, unlucky friend who never seemed to understand the concept of not making more problems for himself. "I encouraged one of the less destructive diversions, involving the use wisps for a game of tag."

A fresh breath of giggles and excitement breaks out at the mention of tag. The holder of the cherished book starts flipping through the pages and crows: I found it!

And just like that, any vestiges of Vivienne retaining control over the lesson evaporates in the wind. Sadly the caution about mishaps goes mostly unheard as the whole group latches onto the notion of a game of tag.

Without a word of reproach, Madame de Fer shakes her head at the children, then conjures a wisp for the express purpose of letting them all chase it. The only warning she even bothers as they spring to their feet is, "Do not trample one another. I want to see none of you in the healing tents later." Children scatter in every direction as the wisp flits just out of their reach.

She shoots Inessa a wry look, but her tone is light and not at all serious, "I would hold you responsible for that but they were too far gone already. They could use some levity, I feel. My thanks, Warden."

Inessa chuckles quietly, watching the children enjoy themselves with wisp-tag. Garahel gets into it as well, happy to be chasing a ball of light and helping the smaller children reach it. As her gaze slides back to Vivienne, she smiles.

"And you have mine, for bringing up fond memories of that book. I hadn't spared a thought for it in far too long, but you're right. They should have a chance for some levity in their lives. Maker knows there aren't many chances for it, especially now."

Cade is in the chapel every morning, earlier than most, but he's the unobtrusive sort and tends to keep himself off to one side, perhaps on the off-chance that someone should walk in and be offended by his presence.
He doesn't address Vivienne when she enters-- that's not why they're here-- but he does eventually find himself watching her curiously, as he's never before crossed paths with her in here. When she recites the chant, he joins her, but so quietly as to nearly be whispering, lest she be disturbed.

There is no shame in Vivienne's attendance at the chapel today, but she does find herself a touch surprised that someone has joined her. It does not prevent her from completing her recitation, but once she has, she glances over to see whose company she shares.

Pleasingly enough it's the young Harimann. She understands there's been some sort of a skerfluffle with him that has had his superiors have to step in, but beyond that, she's not made herself privy to the particulars. Vivienne has always known him to be polite in her presence, if a bit skittish, and has no complaint with him otherwise. She does rather think of him as a jumpy puppy, though.

He receives a small smile from her and a dip of her head. "It's always pleasant to share the Chant with others, isn't it, my dear?"

A jumpy puppy he basically is, but Vivienne is among the few around whom he feels at least somewhat more comfortable. She's safely in his realm of familiarity, and he can speak to her without fear of saying the wrong thing or offending her.

"Yes, ma'am," he says quietly, a small smile twitching onto his face. He hesitates a moment, then adds, "...there... often isn't anyone to say it with, this early." It's a low-key inquiry on what brings her here today, but only if she feels like explaining.

Was threat of bodily harm involved in this? It's completely possible.

However it was done, Raylan was standing on the balcony with his arms out, mostly not drunk and only moderately hung over. He didn't need to be willing to look at light to let the tailor at him, apparently. The man was busy with a measuring tape, taking distances that Raylan wasn't even aware were a thing in tailoring. He heaved another heavy sigh, like a petulant teenager dragged to dinner with relatives he hated.

"I probably ain't even goin' to the thing," Raylan pointed out. "Ain't like I'm needed. There's no point to this at all."

Amazing how threats can be conveyed in pretty language and smiles, isn't it?

Vivienne isn't at all surprised by Raylan's objection to the fitting, but chooses to weather all his complaints with nonchalance and an amused smile. She'll only turn stern if he makes an escape attempt like Cassandra has done in the past.

"Of course there is a point, my dear. We cannot have members of the Inquisition looking like a gaggle of ragamuffins." The atrocious clothing that passes for fashion among their number is distressing and sends a terrible message. "And of course you are needed. It's important that we are present as a show of support and that requires the best of us. Besides, if we are called on to intervene, magic does not require a weapon to be an effective tool."

And weaponry outside the decorative is typically frowned upon at formal events. Granted, everyone with a lick of sense at the minimum has a dagger hidden in their boot or bodice, but no one talks about that. It'd be so impolite.

Technically, Raylan's staff was pretty enough that he could probably pass it off in some contexts as decorative. However, it was still a full-size and fully functional staff, so he doubted he'd get away with it in such a serious place as the Winter Palace. That was where they were going, right? He didn't even know.

"I'm a hick from nowhere of no particular stature who happens to have been loud enough to land himself a job tellin' everyone my opinions," Raylan countered. "Whose research has turned up a grand total of jack and shit so far. My presence won't add anything of value, and also, I really don't wanna go." He'd rather stay here in Skyhold and drink and read his stupid textbooks.

Now there's something in that statement that Vivienne believes is fueling this grouchy protest more than Raylan might even realize. She has no intention of letting him off the hook for the fitting, nor for attending, unless the leadership decides to send him elsewhere for the evening. Entirely possible and if that happens, she'll use her pull as the mage liaison to spare him the evening. The woman's not entirely heartless.

But she is practical enough to turn the conversation to something which might engage him enough that he doesn't bolt out the door. She's not even put off by the coarse language. If anything, it amuses her.

"I am sorry to hear your research hasn't borne any fruit yet. What have you attempted thus far? There might be some nuance that's not yet been explored."

Meanwhile, the tailor is pulling out swatches of fabric to display. Taking a cue from the man's clear displeasure at the process, the are quietly held out for Madame de Fer to browse instead. She's the one to please in this party.

Raylan knew when he was released from being measured, so he turned away, facing out over the grand hall of Skyhold with his hands on the railing. "It ain't about the research," he griped, scratching his nails lightly against it. Briefly, he considered being offended that the tailor wasn't even pretending to ask for his opinion, but ultimately, it was kind of justified. The tailor was more likely to get a snarky comment out of him than an actual opinion. "I just don't wanna go hang out with a buncha...Orlesian nobles. I know you're one but I like you," he added. "I haven't liked the other ones I've met."

The fact was, Raylan was still having shitty dreams about his father. They left him rattled and pissy for entire days until he managed to drink it away, and that took an amount that Vivienne would disapprove of heartily if he consumed it in public. He rested his elbows on the balcony railing, hanging his head, and it didn't occur to him that refusal to engage on the topic of his research might be a red flag. Did Vivienne even know what had happened in Crestwood? It wasn't like Raylan had brought it up to many people who hadn't been there. Issa, and that was about it, and he'd been fucked-in-half drunk at the time. He'd written the report and sent it in, and Arlo's name had been on the list of casualties, but he hadn't drawn any attention to it and who even know who had access to those reports?

The lightest of laughter comes out of Vivienne. Before Raylan can get offended by it, she quips, "Darling, no one likes the other Orlesian nobles they've met. It's the Orlesian way." She's not wrong in this. Everyone of elevated birth sees everyone else as a tool or a rival in the Game. It's just how things are and makes any sort of significant relationships with them tricky to create and dangerous to navigate once established. Just because Vivienne thrives on it, doesn't mean she's incapable of seeing it all with an objective and pragmatic eye.

Nor is she blind to his reluctance to talk about his research or his body language which says all is not well. She very quickly makes fabric selections with the instructions that the tailor should use colors which match Raylan's hair and eye color. Easiest and fastest ways to make clothing look flattering on someone is to choose from the same palette nature has given them. With a flick of her hand, she dismisses the tailor who scuttles down the stairs and away.

"Something's troubling you, my dear."

Don't bother denying it, Raylan. She can see it clearly, even if she's unaware of the source.

"And do not think I will believe it is only an objection to a fitting. You'd have been long since escaped if that was truly the issue."

Raylan sighed when he saw the tailor scurrying off, clutching his swatches of brown and green and silver. He tapped his fingers erratically against the railing, then turned, looking out the door behind Vivienne's head. He decided to just be out with it.

"When I went to Crestwood to try and clean up that mess my father died," he said bluntly. "He was one of the criminals involved. A fuckin' slaver. But that goddamn rift opened and demons were comin' at us and I'd had to tie his hands." Finally he made eye contact with Vivienne. "He kept fightin' us and he hit me 'cross the face, tryin' to prove he was the bigger man, that's why he was tied up. So he probably woulda been able to run, otherwise, but instead a corpse got him right through the heart."

Essentially, Raylan had watched his abusive father be killed in front of him because of something Raylan had done. Hence: alcohol. "So, yeah, somethin's troublin' me. I ain't ready to talk about it yet."

Bomb dropped, he turned back around, facing into the great hall again.

It's not by accident that the majority of the time, Vivienne is perceived as cold and heartless. Nor is it whimsy that earned her the nickname Madame de Fer at court. She is at the core of her nature, a pragmatist. But she is not heartless. And while she cannot truly grasp what it means to lose a parent (she doesn't even remember her own), she can appreciate what it means to lose someone who has been close to you. Even if that someone was not an upstanding person to begin with.

"Of course, you're not. You've been through a dreadful thing and need your time." There is a quiet thought of if only you'd told me sooner, but he's telling her now and now she can act.

Compassion is clean writ on her face. It serves no one for her to mask herself from it. Raylan may not see it while he is turned away, but it is heavy in her tone regardless. "Don't worry about the ball, darling. I'll see that you've the time and privacy to grieve as you see fit."

Raylan turned so his face was visible in profile over his shoulder. He didn't look sad or upset or any of the typical grief emotions. He just looked tired. He nodded after a moment, and turned forward again.

"Sorry you wasted your time with the tailor," he said, just loud enough to be heard. The compassion was almost harder to take than...whatever the alternative might have been. Uncaring, maybe? Some negative reaction would give him something to push against, something to engage with and fight. Compassion was just a reminder of all the complicated shit swirling around in his head.

"Not at all, my dear. There will be time and opportunity enough to make use of the clothing, I'm sure." Rest assured, there will be plenty of both until the need for the Inquisition is no more. It more that the garments will not be immediately necessary.

He did look brutally tired, Vivienne noted, and she could not blame him in the least. First the rebellion which kicked off the war, and now this? It's a wonder he's not broken under the weight. Or well, not as much since mages seem to be made of sterner stuff than most. If she knew he was having nightmares about this business, she might be more concerned because that put him at such great risk.

"I feel the need for some brandy. Would you care for some, darling?"

She's not about to get on his case for how much he's imbibing at present. Later, perhaps. Now? Hardly.

Edited 2016-11-30 21:04 (UTC)

Raylan was hardly going to turn down a drink, but now he felt a little guilty. "Sure," he said, standing up and turning to face her, but he stayed where he was, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It ain't like I'm..." He trailed off, shook his head, and started again. "He was an asshole. No one oughta miss that son of a bitch."

The Winter Palace would be a serious party where very important and serious people will arrive en mass; it was, therefore, precisely the sort of place that Zappherey Brannigéne was made for. Unfortunately, Zapp had been forced to leave the vast majority of his formal attire back at his own estate. Kif had barely been able to tow the two trunks of clothing he'd brought along. The poor elf might've had a fainting spell if he'd insisted on the other three.

Zapp wasn't cruel but, sadly, because of his kindness he was doomed to be under-dressed...or so he thought. When he'd heard that the First Enchanter had brought up her personal tailor he'd headed right over to see what could be done.

The end result of this decision was, of course, Zapp strolling up the stairs to Vivienne's balcony one fateful mid-morning. He was clad in his preferred attire (some casual velour disaster, tights, and very finely made leather gloves and boots with absurd filigree) and glimmered considerably in the sunlight. His gait was the wide and pompous stroll of a military man who had never much bothered with combat.

"Ah! Madame De Ferve," Zapp greeted loudly as he stepped onto the balcony. "Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last! I should have sent my man Kif up here sooner but, well, you know how it is. No good help and all that."

While a great many people present in Skyhold approach the Iron Lady with trepidation, it's always refreshing to encounter someone who is more relaxed and self-assured. Rather than be put off by the casual greeting or botching of her court nickname, she's amused. This shows in a smile that lights into her eyes. That she's known by sight is no surprise to her, however, she expects it.

"So good to meet you, my dear. I'm terribly afraid we've not been introduced and your name has quite escaped me." He's so Orlesian, it's practically adorable. "I do understand how hard it is to acquire good help at this distance. The trek up the mountains is so off-putting to all but the most desperate."

Skyhold is an astounding fortress, but it's impossible to refute that it is still a military encampment with refugees and apostate harboring Wardens outside the gates. And then gaudily dressed members within. Thank the Maker he's not wearing plaidweave, however.

Edited 2016-11-29 20:14 (UTC)

"Ah, of course!" Zapp bends in a sweeping, overdone bow before her and then rights himself. "Zappherey Brannigéne, Chevalier and decorated Military Man, here to assist the Inquisition in whatever way I can."

Despite all logic, Zapp is fairly well known. His exploits, numerous and almost impossibly overblown, are common, lighthearted tales among the common folk of Orlais. He puts in appearances at almost every major event, and almost never in passing. He is a banal, harmless figure in the Game and definitely has the air of a man who is resting on his laurels. If it weren't for the startling wealth of his family and his loyalty to Gaspard, one might assume he had simply wandered into this military outpost on accident.

As it stands, his agenda and how he intends to see it accomplished are about as transparent as he generally is.

"Today, it seems, I need your help my good Lady," Zapp continues after his introduction and idly tugs his glove back into place. "I've been told you have a tailor here, yes?"

Recognition alights on her face immediately. The only thing Orlesians love more than gaudy fashion trends and pet nugs are thrilling stories of brave exploits, regardless of their veracity. This one is the source of plenty of them. And while he's no real person of consequence in the Game, it'd be foolish to put off someone so wholly connected to Gaspard. Vivienne might be the Enchanter to the Emperial Court for Empress Celene, but she's smart enough to know that keeping Gaspard pleased as well is necessary. He is Celene's heir until the civil war is settled. More than that, the Grand Duke is her own Bastien's son-in-law.

Vivienne acknowledges the bow with a dip of her head and then beckons for him to join her. The tailor is hovering nearby and immediately hastens to collect his measuring tape. "I do indeed. Though I had to bribe him to make the trip with promises of ample work to make it worth his trouble. He's a very pretty wife in Val Royeaux he was loathe to leave." Possibly because said pretty wife is also a very flirtatious wife. These sorts of details are invariably inferred.

"You will be attending the ball at the Winter Palace, won't you? I know my dear friend Elodie is simply aching for someone to liven up the guests in attendance." Even in the best of circumstances, Orlesian parties can devolve into boring without some drama or scandal to liven things up.

"Of course I shall; wild darkspawn couldn't keep me from such a grand fayte," Zapp assured her, his usual bravado bolstered by both her recognition and friendly welcome. So many people in Skyhold were either elves or Ferelden that barely any of them knew who he was or had heard the tales of his grandeur. To meet someone who was...better informed was a boon.

"I was reluctant to go dressed as I am," Zapp explained and waved a hand dismissively over his shoulder. "I mean, this is fine for mountain cabins and keeps, but one needs an outfit with some class if they intend to travel to the Winter Palace!

"So that brings us to the point, my dear lady, might I borrow your man? I'd loan you Kif while I do but he's off playing with a dog somewhere, the loveable scamp. Ah! And speaking of my manservant, I'll need to commission a matching garb for him, if your tailor has the time. Can't have him dressed poorly out there, after all."

Before Vivienne can even answer, the tailor's eyes are already lighting up with visions of gold before his eyes. This of course, being the reason why he was coaxed into trekking up a mountain leaving a wife behind to cuckold him: profits. Gerrard is just as eager to accept the work as it seems Zapp is to have it done.

"I wouldn't dream of speaking for Gerrard..." She doesn't have to, he's already nodding his agreement, "...but I'm quite certain he'd be delighted to attend to both of you. We cannot have our Orlesian heroes arriving at court looking anything but their finest."

She does wrinkle her nose delicately. Playing with a dog in a Ferelden fortress is almost a guarantee to be one of those smelly mabari they're so terribly fond of. "Though you might wish to coax your manservant into the hot springs for a good soak after romping with the dogs." They are decent to have in a fight but their odor is strong and pervasive.

"Naturally," Zap agrees, his own expression going a bit seriou, as though the threat of Kif stinking like a dog were truly grave. "I can't bring myself to stifle the poor elf's enthusiasm for nature and all that, but I would never allow him to do his reputation harm by stinking up the Winter Palace."

Zapp pauses and regards the tailor. The man already seems enthused enough about taking his order, and Vivienne had already granted him leave to use the tailor, but she was still here. It would be positively barbaric if he failed to include her in decisions about their apparel. Insteadof speaking to Gerrard he addresses his next question to Vivienne.

"Say, you dont suppose I should hedge that bet and have a pocket sewn into Kif's jerkin? Something to hold oh cloves or something citrus, you know, something to drown out that dreadful local perfume. I've heard tell that the scent can linger for quite some time?"

The threat of any servant smelling of Ferelden wet dog in the Winter Palace is serious indeed. Vivienne is relieved to see there is someone who understands just what a terrible faux pas this could be and willing to take actions to prevent it. Sometimes she really thinks that the Orlesians are the only ones with any sense of civility to them.

"What a marvelous idea. An interior pocket with cloves." Body heat would warm the cloves and yet keep the lines of the outfit from being marred by an exterior pocket. "It's quite true about the smell. I had to consign my whole wardrobe to the flames just from a short stay in Haven. There simply was no getting the odor out of the fabric just from being in close proximity of mabari owners. I never touched a one of them."

Zap is not, on the best of days, particularly skilled at hiding his reactions to things. He has never seen the value in schooling his expression and, frankly, he isn't about to, not with masks readily available. Unfortunately, he isn't wearing a mask today, and so his look of horror as he glances over her current outfit and back to her face is on full display.

"The whole of it? Maker's breath, this will not stand." Zapp's expression toughens and, were he actually standing in armor and not his casual clothing, he might've looked rather picturesque and heroic. His attention snaps to the tailor immediately.

"You, there! I'll have interior pockets sewn into all my garments, all Kif's garments, and--" He pauses and shifts back to Vivienne. His expression is grave but sympathetic. "Please allow me to replace some of what was lost to the tragic ravages of Haven. I'll see if I can't have some proper perfumes shipped out here, I only hope there's enough time.

"We can't stand for the ruining of perfectly good clothing by simple proximity to Ferelden."

The vigorous nodding from the tailor is not merely joy at the rapidly compounding piles of money he will be making from this single transaction. It's relief that finally finally someone else appreciates how serious the clothing situation is with all these Fereldens and their dogs. Vivienne shares that sense of relief. It's been an uphill battle convincing anyone not Orlesian the importance of putting forth a proper impression. Or to stop wallowing about on the ground with the mabari for fun.

Zapp's offer is gratefully received with a smile. The Iron Lady is not about to turn down any opportunity so generously made. It'd be so dreadfully rude to say no and deprive him of a chance to be magnanimous. Even if Bastien had rather laughed about the bonfire of clothing and offered replacements himself already.

"My dear, what a treasure you are! You will allow me to gift you with a bottle of spiced brandy I've brought back from a little trip to Antiva to thank you, will you not?" She in no way expects to be told no. "It's such a relief to have an ally who understands the importance of quality attire."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[OPEN] That which makes you different...

Chapel

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Courtyard

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Chapel

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balcony

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i am so sorry oh my god

noooooooo this is great!

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Balcony

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I'm laughing my arse off right now

AS AM I

/brb loling forever