faderift | [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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

[OPEN] That which makes you different...

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i am so sorry oh my god

noooooooo this is great!

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