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OPEN | coldest comfort, safety glass
WHO: Wren, Anders, Gwen, and OTA.
WHAT: Arrivals at Skyhold & Junk.
WHEN: Post-Winter Palace. Catchall.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: I'll edit if anything comes up!
WHAT: Arrivals at Skyhold & Junk.
WHEN: Post-Winter Palace. Catchall.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: I'll edit if anything comes up!
Starters in comments. If you'd like a specific starter, or to make plans for later in the month, just let me know on plurk or Discord (oeste #8807). :)
GWEN | Delivered by someone or another.
[ There are advantages to attaching one’s name and face so publicly to the Inquisition’s cause. Those interested in your work know where to find you, for example. They might even make certain inaccurately favourable assessments of your character, before you ever meet.
This is also a notable drawback. ]
Lady Vauquelin,
I represent the interests of a small number of Chantry mothers committed to the Inquisition’s cause.
[ Or at least, now that it's proven to own a little staying power. ]
They have expressed a deal of interest in your Observations. It requires a patient voice and even temper to put ink to these chaotic times, and their recent absence has been missed.
If you are available, perhaps we might discuss your future literary plans, within or outside Skyhold.
— Ser Luwenna Coupe.
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there are certainly worse things in the world, and she can see a use for such an association. it couldn't hurt to hear the woman out, especially when she's inclined as ever to position herself as a friendly ear to those templars as make their way to skyhold and the inquisition. a note with a runner returns to wren with a suggestion that they meet on one of the hold's quieter balconies; when she arrives, gwenaëlle is already there, tea set out because some things they beat into you really do stick, but no lady's maid, no companions. only gwenaëlle, who is in some ways upon first sight a darker miniature of her uncle; favouring a similarly dark colour-scheme as he always had, high cheekbones and intelligent eyes, the same tendency to fidget when left to her own devices.
in this case, with a set of thinly-rimmed gold spectacles that hang from a matching chain at her waist. she is a creature of orlais from the top of her coiffure to her toes, though she's evidently eschewed the necessity of masks within the inquisition; vivienne doesn't, and what's good enough for vivienne is certainly good enough for gwenaëlle. some people - like, for instance, vivienne - do not require the mask to be difficult to read.
lady vauquelin is not one of those people. frankly, she wears her moods so obviously it's like as not the mask doesn't help when she does wear it. )
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If the Order's taught Wren anything over the years, it's how to keep a straight face. Even so, something in the back of her throat catches, is as quickly released. She'd never be so blind to their situation as to call Gervais a friend, but at times the resemblance was uncanny.
As it is now. ]
Lady Vauqelin, [ She dips into a short, polite bow. Wren's forgone armor (it would have been inappropriate — and a rattling mess on the stairs) for a simple tunic, stitched unsubtly with the Chantry sun. ] I must thank you for your hospitality, particularly on such short notice.
[ She can't keep her eyes wholly from the chain's flicker. It really is as though someone's carved him into one of those little dancers, the kind in Dwarven jewelry boxes. The idea's absurd enough to shake her back to the task at hand. She lifts a bag from her side, withdraws a small sheaf of documents. ]
I hope you will forgive my brevity, words have never been my particular strength.
[ At least, not while speaking honestly. She'd prefer not to lie to this girl, not Gervais' little niece and favourite conversational shield. ]
May I ask how it is that you came to lend yours to the Inquisition?
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( -- and the instant she opens her mouth, some of that resemblance...dims. where gervais is, perhaps, ultimately too kind a soul to have thrived in the game as does his elder brother, there is a deftness to the way he moves through the world, how he interacts with the people in it. he does not speak unconsidered, and when he does speak he manages expertly how it is he wishes to be seen. gwenaëlle...
gwenaëlle has tired of embarrassing herself with failure, and has settled for brazening out the fact she's never going to be able to do that the same way. there's a quirk of her mouth, not quite a smile but not unfriendly, and for her edges she isn't without charisma. she does try, as much as she can, to turn herself to best effect - it's just she's decided to work with what she has, instead of forcing what she hasn't. )
My father sent me here after I - ( how to put this. ) - received a shard from a rift near our property.
( slightly too calm. slightly too deliberate, like holding wren's gaze is how she holds her own composure when she thinks of it. it's fine. she's fine. all of those demons are dead. everything is -
just fine. )
I'm not suited to idleness, and I'm not exactly going to pick up a sword and go close rifts, obviously, so - I invented a need and filled it, I suppose. Tethras might've done it if I hadn't. Might still - I think he ought to. I never knew the Herald personally, as he did.
Anyway, it gives me something to do that isn't just mindless busy-work.
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[ It's a small crudeness, but she hopes it's enough. Wren lets her own expression slip, a crooked little half-smile of its own, more sympathetic than amused.
To be drawn into such violence, so suddenly? Maker knew even some Templars took it poorly — and Gwen's stillness is too stilted to be genuine. It doesn't suit her. As the girl locks eyes, Wren resists the urge to stare, instead blinks slowly as she might with a barn cat. We're alright, you and me. There's nothing we need watch for.
She slips the papers to the tabletop, and her hand lingers at the edge. ]
I've little doubt Tethras' volumes will inspire, [ If only a number of ripped bodices. ] And the Herald must be remembered. But you've done well to remove Lady Trevelyan from the role.
[ If she's being truly, horribly pragmatic, Wren considers that the Inquisition's been better-served by Evelyn's death. So many more can close the Rifts. So many more can bring resources to bear. ]
Those who would grant her no sentiment will still rally for a symbol.
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I wrote art critique, before this. For some of my father's patronages and other artists drawn to my attention. I suppose in a way that's still what I'm doing.
( although for different reasons - less pragmatically immediate, but perhaps equally ruthless - gwen does share the idea that dying might've been the smartest thing the herald did for the rest of them. lady trevelyan may well accomplish more in death as a symbol than she could have done as a complicated, living person. it's what she always would have been, in the end; she walked out of the fade and into legend, but she was fallible, human.
it is just as wren says; those who might not have rallied to the woman's leadership will fall in line behind her symbol, so long as there is a new narrative. in putting her pen to paper, gwen has done her level best to give them one. )
Instead of trying to bring new artists to light, I'm trying to convince people not letting the fucking world end is in their best interests. ( drolly. )
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[ With more than a hint of familiarity to the concept.
She stoops to collect a teacup. Perhaps the heat will be enough to distract, whenever the Vauquelins begin to blend before her eyes. It had been so much more difficult to win that first little admission of amusement from Gervais. Hard to get an honest smile, with a sword in your hand. But the positions are different here. ]
There's always profit in a tragedy; I've never seen so many miniature stalls as I did in the weeks following the Conclave. [ A languid shrug. ] It's the only way that many will ever see this time. The painted dish that their mother hung above the door, or a statue on the high road.
[ It's not the audience Gwen writes for, and Wren knows it. But these things trickle down. ]
Until I came to Val Royeaux, I thought that Havard had only one enormous eye. Our first muralist was... unskilled. And whenever someone did a new one, they used his as reference.
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the tea is strong. steeped, bitter, likely some expensive blend squirreled away in her rooms where it can't be wasted on the general populace; there's cream and honey on the tray, but also lemon, which is what gwenaëlle has added to hers. she stirs it absently as she says, )
I'm the first voice - the only one, for now, and with everything still happening - so I have to mind what I publish.
( 'nothing yngvi has ever said' - but also nothing that could potentially be used against them by corypheus. it's a fine line to walk, stirring up support for the inquisition while remaining vague enough about the specifics to protect those for whom an ill-considered word might mean the difference between life and death. wren's comments put her in mind of another way, however; )
But I hope my writing isn't so ...
( her lips purse together as she stares down into her teacup and in that particularly girlish tableaux she is not an echo of anyone but just - a young woman, finding her footing. trying to do important things, correctly.
carefully, ) If you have to have been educated the way that I have to follow what I've written, then I've done it wrong. I think at least I should be an alternative to the plate. An interesting one. You can see both of my eyes on the covers of the pamphlets.
( yes, and a suggestion of her bosom. orlais! )
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[ As useful in its immediate impact as it is in distracting from the gaps. Wren nods approvingly, considers how to phrase this without sounding too much of a hick. That Gwen hasn't sneered or scoffed at the notion of common art, it's promising. But she's spent years around the sons of lords, and she's keenly aware of the divide, how quickly it can pull apart. ]
The town I'm from is called Charlans, and perhaps half the residents might spell it. [ A sip of bitter tea, a small luxury she's content to savour. ] They are not dull people, but many get by upon numbers, and the consultation of their learned relations.
When news comes, it is most often recited to them. A sister of the faith might cry the events after services, a sister of blood might recount it at dinner. When they do, you can always tell whether it was intended to be read or heard.
It is this latter point which is of present interest to the Chantry.
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In what way?
( speaking of being frank. they are, she thinks, beginning to approach the point. she's still cautious, more reserved than enthusiastic about the prospect of doing anything for the chantry - or some part of the chantry - but wren hasn't said anything yet to make her outright balk.
there's still time! )
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[ Anything much more direct would be inappropriate, Gwen's no preacher or scholar of the faith. ]
Those sisters are naturally much varied in opinion. As such, some put less than their full effort into the delivery. They may draw it out dully, or so that points of importance become lost and overlooked.
[ Cleverness often begetting, as it does, a certain sense of will. ]
Out of an injured sense of independence, some remain contrary to the Inquisition, against their own interests. With the current state of affairs, it would be unwise to use a heavy hand to draw them into line. They require the appearance of favour.
The illusion of more information would aid us in this. A short letter perhaps, alongside the publication, granting an aside on some point which bears particular retelling. They are more like to give the matter consideration if they believe themselves so privileged.
[ This would all of course be mildly blasphemous and terribly rude, were the wrong sort to overhear it. That's half the point. ]
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but what she can't accomplish in person, she has a gift for in prose. she can be gentler; she can consider her words. working on her current project has taught her the need for and importance of persuasive writing, and some might agree with her that she has thrived in it. this templar, certainly, seems to agree enough to have come to her at all. )
Details that didn't merit publication, ( she posits, thoughtfully, ) presented like a shared confidence.
( she might even get a few chantry mothers in her pocket, if she plays her cards right. )
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[ Excuses abound — as they do here and now.
Gwen’s work has grown into an unexpected boon for the Inquisition, that’s true, but such things might still be accomplished by an agent within the Chantry itself. They have never lacked for cunning women with pens, some of whom certainly maintain ties to the former Left Hand.
Ostensibly it's her status as a noblewoman — and her father's particularly exciting reputation — that gets them further than another might. Life within the Faith can be stifling, tediously isolated; the window onto another point of view a welcome one. Even as they eschew worldly goods, they'll cherish the idea that anyone of means is thinking of them.
Still, Thorn agreed too easily. Wren is certain her interest in the Vauquelins has been noted, and for the moment, set magnanimously aside. ]
There is no need to come to an immediate decision, I will be stationed at Skyhold for the foreseeable future. Should you have questions that I cannot answer, a meeting with one of the Mothers may be arranged.
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( and necessary for her to decide whether or not she wants to move forward - know who she's dealing with, not only the go between, for all that luwenna coupe herself is too immediately interesting for that thought to be a dismissive one. a careful one, only. a particularly compelling messenger can get a person into all sorts of trouble.
but she's tempted, just as every opportunity to leave her fingerprints on history has tempted her before. it's unlikely that she will, ultimately, say no - but she needs to be smart about what she commits herself to.
she already tries her luck so often. )
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[ She's choosing to take it for what it's worth — which is plenty. A maybe is better than an outright no. Perhaps Gervais would have been proud to know his niece owns some caution. ]
Her Reverence the Mother Thorn will be attending Halamshiral, to speak with the remaining survivors. I am certain she would be pleased for the company. Else, I have known Verchiel to be lovely this time of year.
[ She hasn't. She hates Verchiel, mostly because it's far too close to fucking Montsimmard. But other people than her have told her that it's lovely, and most of them have had money. ]
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it might work in her favour to be seen with a chantry mother speaking with survivors of halamshiral, but on the other hand: she knows what she sent for publication and how close to celene's grasp being in that city would place her, immediately forfeiting any benefit of not being worth the effort to take a swipe at all the way in the frostbacks...
guilfoyle would be with her every step of halamshiral. her brows draw together, just a little, her mouth tilting sideways as she weighs her options. maybe this is another decision she shouldn't make too quickly. )
I'll give that some thought, ( finally. ) I've only just now unpacked my things, you see--
( a little twist of her hands, poorly disguising cunning with girlishness. she doesn't expect coupe to buy it, but she does expect her to give her the out she's clearly looking for. )
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But there will be more tea in the kitchens, and that connection is truthfully no connection at all, not with one end of the string severed. There's no sense in stubbornly attempting to linger. They've both been given enough to chew on for the time being. She moves to stand, returns cup and saucer to place. ]
A task which I should also see to, [ All four or five things she owns. These small absurdities are the price of courtesy. ] I thank you for your time, Lady Vauquelin. When you are ready, a raven will find Her Reverence in Apcher.
[ The slightest hesitation, as she moves to leave. ]
As with all the Inquisition, [ sure jan ] If there's anything you require, please know that you need but ask.