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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Church does not make a habit of explaining his own in-jokes, and he's not gonna start now with this guy, so he lets the color debate slide and crosses his arms. "So what do you want?"

Ah, so this is Church. Guillaume straightens his spine in the hopes of making himself look a little taller, since he is -- regrettably -- the shorter of the two. Taking a moment to clear his throat, he then says in his most formal tone: "I am here to request you break off all attachments to Mademoiselle Delacroix, as her mother and I have arranged that she is now my betrothed." Church gets one polite request before Guillaume starts pulling off his glove. He's actually hoping the man refuses, because he's itching for a duel. So many end up tied in negotiations and apologies and never get to the actual swords part.

His eyebrows creep up and up...and up. This guy's serious right now? "Her mom picked you? Yeah, that's nice and all, but it's a real damn shame you came all this way for nothing. Bye now."

"Yes, she picked me." As he speaks, he starts removing one glove. "It is not easy to find an Orlesian from a well-to-do family willing to marry a mage, but I have been assured she is intelligent and of an even temperament." Because no one wants a wife who will fly off the handle and light the curtains on fire.

"Since you have refused to back down, I am calling you out, ser." And with that, Guillaume flicks his wrist and slaps his glove against Church's cheek. "I challenge you to a duel for the hand of Christine."

That sure is a flare of fucking anger. It isn't that Chadwick McDouche or whatever the fuck his name is is wrong--of course she's intelligent and of an even temperament, but it's just the brazen way of saying it as if he's been told about a strong ox with good genes or something. And you bet he's gonna say something.

Right up until he's slapped with a glove.

It's a surprise and a sting that makes him jerk his head almost like getting punched. What the fuck. What the fuck. People actually do that?! Slap with gloves?!

He stares for a hot second, flabbergasted.

And then aims a right hook to his jaw.

Perhaps Guillaume should have expected a man such as Church to do something outside the boundaries of good taste, but punching him? It's so unexpected that he doesn't have any time to react beyond a flinch right before the fist connects and Guillaume's whole body jerks in response. His balance is thrown off and he stumbles to his right, just managing to stay upright, but doubling over in pain, his hand coming up to his jaw. Maker's breath, is it broken? Can a punch break a jaw?

This is not how he envisioned things going, and when he straightens himself, he's really trying hard not to cry.

"You can't do that!" he protests hotly, face turning red. Does Church not realize there are rules to this sort of thing? "I had heard the Inquisition was a noble group, bringing peace and order to a world gone mad." His voices raises, waiting everyone around to hear this. "But did you know you have a brute amidst your ranks? A man who will not even follow the protocol of a duel like a gentleman?" The hand not massaging his jaw balls into a fist at his side. He really wants to hit Church back, but he will not lower himself to such uncivilized tactics.

Can a punch break a--wow, has this guy ever been in a fight before? His fists go loosely up, ready for a comeback, but the guy just...goes red and starts a scene.

"Hey, you're the one that hit me first! A guy's got a right to defend himself, doesn't he?"

Wait, but he wants a duel. Like...a guns drawn at dawn kind of duel? Swords? Swords drawn at dawn? That's so stupidly quaint. "What the fuck makes you think I know anything about the protocols of dueling?" He opens one hand, letting the eerie glow of the anchor shard be seen. "I'm not exactly from around here."

Smart idea in the middle of a public gathering starting to form at the docks? Absolutely not. But if it'll help get this guy off his back, then whatever. He doesn't make it a secret.

"I hit you with my glove, not my fist! That is how one starts a duel!" Now this whole thing has gone the completely wrong way. Guillaume has taken fencing lessons. He knows how to duel. He doesn't know how to brawl like a common street thug.

His eyes go to the glowing green hand and he feels sick. Those people who came through the rift: demons, some call them, or they at least consort with them. He can't allow Christine around such an individual.

"I am going to fight you for the hand of Christine. You'll be lucky if I leave you alive at the end of it!" A bold claim, but he's a bit of a performer. Plus confidence is key, because a guy with a demony glowing hand just punched him. Guillaume is trying not to wet himself right now. Act brave and bravery will follow.

"Her hand is not up for grabs, and if you really want to give it a shot, then grow a pair and ask her yourself. Or you can run on home to Mama Delacroix and tell her to stop being such a bitch about her daughter's life." His fists raise again. "She's not fucking cattle to be bartered or traded or sold or won, listing off her qualities like you're describing a pedigree dog. Fine. We can duel right here and now. Nut up or shut up."

The shock at hearing Madame Delacroix called a bitch is written all over Guillaume's face. He sputters, completely caught off guard for the second time since this conversation started. Well! He will be sure to relate this tidbit of information to Christine when he sees her, after he's rightfully won her.

"Fine! I will fight for Christine's love and her mother's honor. I have brought dueling swords, since I am sure you don't have a proper one." No, the sword hanging from his belt doesn't count. Dueling swords are beautiful weapons meant for a man who can wield them with finesse.

"You want me to cut you? Is that what'll make you go away? Cuz I've got a sword right here." Whoops, yes he does, he'll unsheathe it, too. "I don't need a fancy sword. It'll probably give you an advantage anyway, and where's the fun in that?" Church no.

As if called by some instinct deep in her bones, deep in her soul, deep in the very core of her being comes a face Guillame has spoken with at some earlier moment and a face Church has known very well indeed. The duel calls Araceli Bonaventura like moth to a flame, a fire in her belly, a light in her eyes, standing as tall as a girl all of 5'2" can.

"Gentlemen," she interrupts with the balance of sharpness and politeness that implies they are right now very far from neither, "I think we are letting our tempers get the better of us right now, there are rules of engagement, etiquettes that must be followed."

Placing herself closer to Church because hey this is where her allegiance is, fuck you and fuck the interfering mothers of Thedas they can line up and come fight Araceli their damn selves, she sets a placating hand on her friend's arm. The other on her own rapiers, the smile for Guillame's benefit. "I believe that these would more than suffice, they have served me faithfully in battle and in duels throughout my life."

Church, no. Guillaume has gone completely pale as he realizes Church isn't going to follow the proper protocols and will just stab him before he can even get his own sword out of its case. Luckily the Antivan/Rivaini/whatever she is turns up to talk the madman down, and Guillaume releases a breath, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at the perspiration across his forehead.

"Yes, I would agree to use your own, if that will satisfy this brute?" He glares at Church, suddenly back to being confident since a tiny woman just saved his stuck up ass.

Fine, if that'll make matters better, he'll put his sword back. And keep glaring daggers at Fancy Frenchie. "Araceli, maybe you could help me sort out the details of what Jackassicus Maximus wants to satisfy his stupid bloodlust. ...First question being, do I get to call him names the whole time?"

Taking a deep breath in through her nose, Araceli smiles at Guillaume then drops it completely as she turns enough to hide her face from him, trying to be a buffer between him and Church. Because this is what tiny girls do when they know how duels work apparently.

"Church," she chides without any heat, "calma, calma. Where I hail from it is allowed, I would even go so far as to say encouraged to call out the other party as one sees fit. A challenge must be issued correctly however, terms agreed to - a glove, has a glove been fetched? I can fetch one."

A gauntlet, she'll fetch a gauntlet for this Orlesian prick's smug face to see if that moustache can be smacked clean off it.

For the time being, Guillaume is willing to let Araceli deal with the unreasonable man. To think: they don't have proper duels wherever Church comes from! They all must live in chaos, brawling in the streets. While the others talk, Guillaume removes his jacket, looking for a place to lay it and wrinkling his nose when all he sees are barrels and crates on the docks. Perhaps he could hire someone to hold his jacket for him. He glances around, spots a Qunari watching him, and pales. Everyone else appears to be too busy, and he's not asking an ox to hold it. So with a resigned sigh, he carefully lays the coral colored jacket on a closed barrel top as gingerly as he can. He touches the pocket to make sure the letter from Christine's mother is still safely tucked away there. It explains all and hopefully will aid in bringing Christine around should she prove to be stubborn and not agree to the terms of the duel that he will obviously win. Then he turns back to see if Church is going to behave properly.

"Sure. A glove. I mean, look, I could just go back into the settlement. And ignore him. Because, what is he going to do, march on in? I could probably have him barred from even looking this direction."

But Araceli lives for duels. And she's apparently going to see this through.

And then she fetches a gauntlet. "...I really get to smack him right back with a glove, right?" He says with a shake of the gauntlet and a spreading look of chaotic glee on his face. "As per the dueling rules and all."

Guillaumo del Fucko might want to duck, or he can face being smacked across the face, with none too little force, with a gauntlet. His choice, cuz Church is going to swing.

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.

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."

"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!"

"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.

"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.)

"...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."

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.

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just skipping ahead in order because this is the perfect setup

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