faderift | { CLOSED } An Unexpected Engagement

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{ CLOSED } An Unexpected Engagement

WHO: Christine, Church, a rival suitor, Korrin, Araceli, Sam, and Jim
WHAT: Christine's mother plays matchmaker and the groom has come to collect his bride-to-be. And to rid her of her current beau.
WHEN: mid-Justinian
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: No tag order. Just throw yourselves in as often as you want!

It's an hour before supper when an impeccably dressed man enters the Inquisition's holdings along the docks. Guillaume Thiebaut walks stiffly but with purpose, carrying a long, thin briefcase with him like a man on a mission. He stops the first person he sees to ask where one might find the man called Leonard Church. This random person doesn't know, and points the visitor along to someone else. Eventually someone has actually heard of Church, and directs Guillaume towards the Gallows. The man pales, adjusts his tasteful coral colored jacket, and offers to pay for someone to fetch the man from the island. He sets his briefcase down at his feet and waits, staring out towards the imposing group of towers, and sets his hands on his hips, turning out his foot like a true Orlesian gentleman.

But waiting is boring and his foot taps impatiently. His gaze turns shrewd as he looks about him at the members of the Inquisition. Perhaps a little more information on this man he's about to face is needed.

"I do beg your pardon. Would you happen to know a man named Leonard Church?" The first rule of battle? Know thy enemy.

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"With the Orlesian elite, sometimes all it takes is not kissing ass to their satisfaction or even just existing." Korrin snorts, crossing her arms, sparing a glance for her companions but mostly watching the spectacle. "Church ought to remind him that this isn't Orlais...hopefully with his other fist."

Any snippiness is taken in stride, Korrin knowing how passionate Araceli gets about the subject even though the Vashoth herself can't muster the same. Oh, it's worth stopping to observe, but that's where it ends. Humans can afford such things as honor or reputation; there's no way a 'giant ox' could participate and have it be viewed fairly. But she'll hold her tongue about that for now, since this isn't about herself and she's more interested in watching the show.

"You'd think our actions on the field would be enough to keep our reputation solid, but this is Orlais we're talking about. Some of the elite would be awful enough to side-eye us for something like this." She shakes her head, because the Orlesian elite and poor priorities go hand in hand. That was spelled out clearly enough for all of Thedas to see, with the civil war.

That elbowing gets a smirk from her, though mention of her Mal has it faltering for a moment. He still hasn't returned and at this rate, she's stopped expecting it to happen. That brief heartache is not something she wants to dwell on, though, so that smirk returns. "Missing the dueling life, kadan? You seem fairly itching to have one of your own. At any rate, Church couldn't ask for a better mentor. If he can hold back from more punches, that passion will carry him far."

Even if Korrin privately thinks hitting below the belt would be more entertaining, and more in line with what the noble deserves.

By the time Guillaume has settled his jacket down, smoothed down his shirt, and adjusted his frilly cuffs, he turns to see Church holding a gauntlet of all things. Brow furrowing, he begins to say, "Surely you can't be--" when Church swings it at him and he shrieks, arms raising in fright. This doesn't, unfortunately, shield him from the hit, which lands square across the jaw where Church struck him earlier. This time he does lose his balance, collapsing to the dirty ground and whimpering brokenly, before he turns and looks back up at Church. At this rate, he'll be dribbling soup into his mouth off a spoon because his jaw will be broken.

But you know what? This Orlesian pretty boy is in pain, dirty, and steaming mad. For the moment, all decorum is thrown out the window as he lets out a guttural cry (that really hurts his jaw) and leaps forward to grab Church around the knees, hoping to pull him down to the ground.

"Yes, of course," he says, in a tone of voice that suggests he'll brush this fact aside in another minute or two. Yes, the Inquisition has done great things in Orlais, but that doesn't mean he considers them belonging to the world. He's wholly removed from them and their mission, and he wishes for Christine to be removed from it as well.

He glances sidelong at Araceli, wanting to voice how people from rifts can't be trusted but, well, then he sees her hand too. He can't allow his future wife to dally with a possible demon. He doesn't even want to spend too much longer talking to this one, whether she's a native with a shard, or from some demon world.

"My purpose is just, and the matter may be solved quickly. But it is necessary above all else."

It's a lobstered gauntlet. Very fine. Not the heaviest but not the sort of thing a man is going to want to be smacked in the face with.

"It was this, an alchemist's gloves - I don't think I would want any of us to touch the outside of those, I don't know what they've been fiddling with - or a blacksmith's glove. I did not think the polite gentleman would wish to be struck with something unclean." Araceli smiles as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, that very same smile reflected half a hundred ways in the gauntlet, all polished and glittering

Because Guillaume deserves to know what he's been smacked with after all. Actually-- "I'll need that back," she steps out of the way when he lunges, "it belongs to a very obliging guard, she could break you both."

Forget fighting Church for Christine, you'll go through Araceli too and she's an accomplished duellist. Seriously, she will fight you for Christine and your moustache will run off in shame Guillaume.

"You might want to smile," Araceli nods to someone that serves, more or less, as her unofficial runner since she picked up her new post. "You are in our heart now, it isn't a place to be without a smile on your face, a man from Orlais with manners like yours must know how these things go, I would be very disappointed if you didn't. There is a return voyage you have to make, and I am the lady of the docks."

(Guillaume might not know who she is or isn't but Araceli smiles serenely, keeps walking one step at a time to where statues once stood sentinel, looming large above all.)

"Just frequently varies depending on where a person was raised and from what height. That and how hungry or thirsty a man might be. But I will go do my best to fetch Church for you, Lux!" The fox comes running at the shout from out of nowhere. "Please keep this fine gentleman company?" Yes she makes that sound like an insult just by the very nature of being a fine gentleman, it's just who she is Guillaume.

There's a lot of her life she's missing and if she's taken to Kirkwall then it's because it soothes her homesickness as much as it makes her long for the docks and the harbour, for the islands stretching out far as the eye can see, for the palace looming large and her place in the world. Her work was something she could see the end result of and the world loved her for being her, not universally but there's a difference here that she feels keenly. Understands.

Duelling used to keep her place in that world. Before she was ever a guard and after. It was who she was and how she was measured, now she always has to measure her impulses against bigger things because the rules are different. It's no different to what people here have lived with their whole lives but she's not so impulsive as she was. Not now. Not ever again so long as she lives in Thedas.

"I was the one that fetched the gauntlet," she says instead, because she needs to say something to fill the silence as a place opens up in her that roars like the sea and laughs like the guards and Leandra when it's the end of a long day and they're all calling one another out for imagined slights to make their queen laugh because they love her. "It was that or a filthy glove. What else was I to do? That's tradition too, I had to teach him quickly."

She was meant to fetch a glove. She hasn't answered the first question. She won't. She can't. (It feels very odd even now not to be someone's guard.)

A nod is given back to Korrin in mutual quiet greeting seeing as this fight was their primary focus right now. "Actually it sounds like they've never met, but the guy did mention there was some delicate business he had with Church. And I don't think he was talking about his jaw."

The offhand question is silently retracted, as Korrin gives her a gentle squeeze with that free arm, brushing her lips against the top of her head. Ignoring her own sore spot doesn't mean she wants to prod Araceli's own, and as painful as missing loved ones can be, it has to be worse when they're a world away. She makes a mental note to be more mindful of that, and check the market for more of Araceli's favorite spices and oils by way of apology.

"I wouldn't have minded my glove being used to strike that pompous twit. If something like this happens again and I'm around, it's yours." White dragonhide gloves, very high quality and made from one of the dragons killed at Emprise du Lion. She normally won't part with them, but in this case, it would be a welcome exception.

"I saw him coming up at the docks then we happened to meet again," in that way that things can just 'happen' although this time it did but sometimes she wants to have the same air of mystique as she would when the rooftops belonged to her. "There was explaining to be done then and there, not much time to go looking for people. The guardswoman was very obliging."

Imagine that, an obliging guard floating around the Gallows. Or: Araceli is very good at batting her eyelashes and saying the right things as she asks for a gauntlet she promises to return right away, if you please, this is a matter of utmost urgency, my reputation is at stake too Serah and maybe how a foreign word rolls off her tongue tends to do it.

"You can use cloths too, or you can where I'm from and we would sweat our fingers off in gloves but it's Church and I love Church." Araceli can say that freely because he's one of her best friends, able to make her laugh and smile, someone she can easily just sit with and talk about less comfortable subjects. "Of course I was going to give him something like a gauntlet, he needed the advantage."

"Yeah yeah, it's all about being nice to the--hey!"

Church, naturally, flails his arms wildly when he's grabbed, tries to kick out, flails more, until finally falling with an oomph right on his ass. "Foul! Foul, I call foul, this doesn't seem like it's in the chivalrous spirit of duels!"

There's a moment where Guillaume is confused about why he has to smile, but when she says that surely he must know how these things go, he's quick to comply completely, offering her his best charming smile. Yes, he's a man of Orlais; he can totally play the Game and isn't being led around by the nose right now at all.

But the smile fades when he looks down to see the small, wild animal before him.

"Ah... that is a fox?" he asks, as if expecting Lux to suddenly not be one, or for Araceli to explain herself.

"You started it!" Guillaume yells like a petulant child. He searches for something to throw at Church, but nothing is near enough at hand, so he ends up just shoving him away and trying to stand back up. Already, his face is starting to swell, the skin red and irritated from the blow.

"But I am still willing to fight you the proper way, should you actually follow the rules!" He eyes Araceli suspiciously before adding, "You can use her rapier, but I will use my own." Sorry, but he's not trusting you as far as he can throw you anymore, Araceli. That was rude.

This is a thing men say women are good for sometimes: smiling when they're told, talking when they're told. When you get men to do it for you it makes you feel about ten feet tall. (Even better if you get to take their legs out from under them but that's not Araceli's to do, unfortunately, she saw that look, it's boiling in her to do it as much as it is to keep her jaw from clenching, her smile soft and natural.)

Lux sits, cocks his head.

"This is Lux, my truest companion, thrice as smart as a mabari and though of course not as strong or given to battle, light on his feet, fast and fleeting as shadows passing. I have had him since I was only a girl." As Araceli speaks with such open fondness, Lux extends a paw like the most proper gentleman you could ever meet in your life, good day to you fine sir, how do you fare, the food here in the Gallows is dreadful but what can a man even do?

"You were the one to come all this way with a challenge, if there is one to go laying blame at the feet of another, it is the man who comes all the way from Orlais looking for Church in the first place."

Did you want the commentary track guys? You're getting it. She's also assessing if she might just casually step on your balls Guillaume if she happens to need to get out of the way because look at you. Also you were rude, you insulted her friend like that when you looked at her that way because she comes from through a rift same as him? What did you think was going to happen you idiot swordtail?

"These rapiers were passed to me from my duelling master Marjani, a respected and feared woman. The Felicisima Armada? Where I am from, she was something like that in her younger years." Araceli's smile is not friendly as she moves closer to Church, her hands on said rapiers, confident and far too calm for all of this. Sharks smell blood in the water from a long way off and the duel already has her blood up. "These blades tasted blood at her hands and mine, I would be honoured to see them used by my dear friend against a swordtail like you."

(No one knows what that means but from her tone, from her curled lip? Yeah that definitely means the worst sort of thing.)

"'Happened', uh-huh." Yeah, Korrin's not buying it though Araceli's mysterious timing amuses her more than anything else. "You probably made her day with that, it might be the most excitement she's had in a while. The usual guard routine doesn't count." Catch pickpockets, thieves, gang members, rinse and repeat. At least this is entertaining and not illegal...or not enough where a guard feels need to deal with it.

She darts a fond smile at Araceli's admission and looks on with a chuckle. "I'm sure he appreciates your thoughtfulness...and the weight of that thing. Count Pompous won't, but if he's going to be a stickler about honor, then too fucking bad.

...now I wish the food carts were closer, this deserves snacks." But who wants to leave and potentially miss something exciting? No one gathering around, apparently.

"Being that sort of guard must be very boring." Said as if Araceli doesn't know the ins and outs of guard routines from both sides through the queensguard are always running around or planning; Araceli has never known how to stop doing something unless she's asleep. Kirkwall has too many ears so she can't really say too much. "No one thanks them for their service. If a pretty girl smiles and flatters her to charm something off her hand for a little while then maybe it comes close."

Korrin knows Araceli's life. Knows Araceli wouldn't overstep even if this is still (over a year in) a new thing but she darts a glance up of her own to check that she hasn't read it wrong when it comes to flirting with other people if she wants to get something from them. So let's talk about Church again because zero danger there. "I could send Lux to fetch something if you're that desperate but usually? You don't eat at a duel - what terrible books have you read?"

Araceli reads trashy romance novels in her spare time. There are a lot of duels. If she wanted to turn herself into a martyr she'd point out all the inaccuracies but she needs to have her own escapism too.

"...What she said," Church adds, lamely, with a sneer, dusting himself off and getting back to his feet.

"I might not know all the ins and outs of fancy-prance duels here," no offense, Araceli, that's why he said here as opposed to...anywhere else more civilized, "but I assume we gotta pick a time and place for me to kick your ass?" He spreads his arms. "You're the guest here; I would be a rude motherfucker to assume you didn't already have something in mind."

The glance is met with an unconcerned shrug in response; a little flattery for a greater purpose really doesn't bother Korrin in the least. She's explicitly stated in the past that she doesn't share, and that's not going to change, but some harmless flirting for a gauntlet? That's nothing approaching a breach of trust, though Araceli's consideration is heartwarming.

That comment about terrible books prompts an easy laugh from her, probably the most merriment she's displayed since certain qunari revelations. Those still tear at her heart, but for just a moment, she can block them out. "Varric's, of course. And some of yours, when you're done with them. Maker, you can't go a page or to without someone loudly challenging someone else." Not that she's criticizing, it's still fun to read even if (or because) it's trash. "I didn't know it was all so set in stone. Are there any other hideous sins I need to know about before I commit them, too?"

"I see," he says, glancing down at the creature and reassured by the fact that it seems well trained and not about to attack his ankles. It's not unheard of for Orlesian children to beg for a pet fennec, though he thinks it such a pedestrian creature; something a Ferelden child would want to stand apart from all the dogs running about, smelling up the country. He had had a pet bird with beautiful plumage. Of course, he quickly tired of its constant cawing or whatever it is that birds do, so he had his father get rid of it.

"Then I will await you here." With your pet. Ugh.

Yeah, sorry, Church. Araceli is great at the speeches. And Guillaume is just a puffed up swordtail who hasn't really come up against people before who won't just give him what he wants, so if he wasn't already in a foul mood from the injuries he's taken, he would still be Little Lord Pissypants.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Guillaume brushes a curl of sweaty hair back off his forehead and moves to retrieve the little briefcase he set aside earlier, opening it to retrieve his dueling sword. It's a fine weapon, and though it's a similar size and shape to Araceli's, his has a cup hilt displaying a figure of Andraste with the Maker's light as a sun's rays behind her.

"Let's get this over with. Right here; right now." Guillame really wants to stab Church. Like, a lot.

"Have the terms been agreed to?" Araceli raises her voice just enough that it might get through to them because this is the important part. "First blood? To the death?"

Hopefully not the latter as she gives Church the pick of her two rapiers before she actually looks, really looks at Guillaume's, biting down so hard on the inside of her cheek she tastes blood. "Señor, you are certain about which blade you will be duelling with, sí?"

Anyway, that should buy her some coaching time with Church, up on her toes to better look him in the eye so she might impress on him the seriousness of this, to attempt to distill so many years handling her weapons in a few moments. "Rapiers are blades for thrusting, not hacking and slashing the way the big clumsy swords of Templars and warriors here are. Your blades might meet but you look for the advantage, the opportunity to strike. Quick and nimble, that's the key." Church. Listen to her. Look at her face right now and the fact that she's not laughing, she's not smiling, she really means everything she's saying because this actually matters and she doesn't want you getting hurt even if it might only be a cut and your pride.

So she's probably done more outrageous things with nobles at parties, or the promise of it but everything is making her feel strange in Kirkwall. Too many things stirred up all at once and she'll settle again, she knows she will but sometimes she does expect to see certain faces and introduce them. To wonder how that plays out. The sort of conversations she stopped having when she said she was Inquisition first but maybe that doesn't go away, maybe it's the same as her thinking she sometimes might see Martel in this new library or hear him call her a fond and awful pet name as she appears from above.

"Well if I ever see Varric I will throw the book at his head from a rooftop." Seriously, she will. The Tale of the Champion doesn't help when you arrive in Thedas and you're actually trying to figure out what the hell really happened in the world not so very long ago. "You lay down a challenge, you agree to the terms - usually it's to first blood or the death, but sometimes it's whoever can score so many hits or best a person to flat on their back in a time or out of three or five. I liked first blood, that was what I always fought to when I was setting the terms. There's a chance of a public apology too or another way to make it up, money, goods, favours - you know what nobles and rich folk are like, especially the young men when they realise what they're up against."

That tends to be the thing about them; they're all swordtails as Araceli likes to say, all flash and no substance, and once they realise they're against someone prepared to go at them they're terrified of what'll happen to them when some common girl and a thief at that bests them.

"I'm surprised that hasn't happened to Varric already, for several reasons." Which isn't to say that she doesn't like him or his works, but some of his critics...well, case in point. Araceli's just the most convenient example right now. She nods thoughtfully as her kadan lists off the rules and variations for the participants, nothing truly mind-breaking there. "First blood makes sense for the simple stuff, why draw it out even more when you can settle it quickly? I've heard of more duels to the death, though. Count on Orlais to prefer the extremes, it's a wonder that there are any nobles left to live them."

And then she pauses and stares and snickers because it's the first time shes' gotten a good look at the fop's hilt, which is...something else. "I wonder how Andraste would feel about her tits taking part in random duels. And yes, they're slapped on staves all the damn time but with sword hilts, they're practically fondling them!"

"The term delicate business never bodes well when it comes from a noble's mouth," Kirk grumbled as the two carried on. "It usually means nothing good for anyone involved except the noble." Or so he had found, which made him want to cheer for Church all the more, even letting out a whoop of encouragement.

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{ CLOSED } An Unexpected Engagement

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just skipping ahead in order because this is the perfect setup

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