[Open] A Proper Party

[thorndergod]

WHO: The brothers Asgard and everyone else.
WHAT: Loki and Thor throw a party for everyone.
WHEN: Right after the quarantine is lifted.
WHERE: The Asgard Estate in Hightown.
NOTES: Loki gonna Loki, probably other things. Directly corresponds to this rookery post.

The new manor has come a far sight from where it had been, cleaned and updated significantly, but the aesthetics are still in keeping with Kirkwall standard...mostly. The exterior features a large iron scrollwork fence with matching gates, currently flung wide open, and a cheerful array of fresh floral decorations. Beyond the gates there are a number of hedges, bare but thick enough that once spring has properly taken over, they will likely be shaped into large living sculptures. There are a few torches scattered among the flora, but they lead toward the front of the manor.

The building's superstructure has not been overtly altered, but there are several exceedingly Tevene touches. The front doors, once made of hardwood, have been wholly replaced by a pair extremely detailed, solid, white marble doors. The fittings are all custom made, snake themed, and plated in gold.

The interior of the building is far more obviously Tevinter styled. The floors are the original wooden, polished to a mirror shine by the staff and bedecked in places by rugs with complex woven designs and thick piles. The foyer is well lit by a series of gold, wall-mounted sconces, and a large chandelier made of serault glass with a distinctly magical light-source in the center.

The staff, all elven in matching black uniforms, are waiting just inside the threshold and are ready to assist anyone who requires it. First and foremost they will offer to take any coats and curtsy with proper depth to anyone who passes by.

There is still some construction going on, deeper in the house, but it is up the grand staircase and beyond the realm of the party. Occasional hammer-falls resound from upstairs but they can only be heard if one is being very quiet.

Comments

[arlathvhen]

Victorious, Beleth slips inside the room, quickly closing it before she takes a look around. Odd. Another bedroom, one that is obviously seeing use—and not by the servants, certainly. Surely Loki doesn’t need a second bedroom, not a stones throw away from his first one? But who else could the bedroom belong to? She makes a note to ask Fifi if there are any others living in the house that she’s noticed; if not, that says as much as if there were. That, along with the door, and the low lighting, paints a picture of a mysterious, secret guest.

Or, she reminds herself, maybe Loki just wanted two bedrooms. Rich people were weird. Benedict had a swan garden for just his family, maybe two bedrooms were normal.

The room is quickly inventoried, a quick glance at the stacks of paper in Tevene summoning a scowl before she moves on. That is it, she’s learning Tevene somehow. A pity Benedict would be a horrid teacher.

The desk catches her eye, and she moves over to it. A locking lid seems promising, and maybe there will be letters or notes that give away the identity of whoever is using the room. Slowly, glancing at the door occasionally, she begins to search. Hopefully it’s not all in Tevene, but she can copy whatever she finds down to translate later, if need be.

[hwaaaitsme]

The desk lid comes up with very little actual effort, but the contents of it are painfully banal. There are sheets of parchment in neat stacks, a box of sealing wax, several wrapped grease pencils, some graphite ones, and pens and ink. There are a small parcel of envelopes, opened, tucked into one of the cubbies atop the desk. As Beleth rifles through those they are a...less than standard fare for a Tevinter Magister.

They just seem like normal, polite letters. All those received are accounts of family and children and, in several places, the weather. There is one waiting to be sent and it is simply asking how family is doing, telling people the author is doing well, boring nonsense, really. Ultimately it is unsigned. The handwriting is absolutely beyond reproach, as fine as one would imagine Loki's being, but the contents are...easily dismissed. If they are a ruse to prevent people from searching deeper into his affairs, they are a poor one--no one would think that Loki of House Asgard had anything to do with this if not for the handwriting.

If she continues searching, Beleth will eventually locate the false panel behind the center drawer. Inside that compartment, there are an array of letters in Tevene and common and a small map. The map has several markings on it and an attached sheet of coded data.

There are only three of the letters in common and, of them, the recipients are unnamed. Each letter thanks (What one can only assume are two Orlesian Lords and One Antivan?) the recipient in rather florid language for their condolences during this trying time. Only one letter details what that trying time is and it appears to be the first written in the set because the others are very, very similar to it. These are letters about the passing of the Scion of House Asgard? They go on to request small things, tokens or favors, each seeming inane by itself but...together they are more pointed. It is hard to say what the pieces will come together to become, but they are not anything close to being random.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth looks through the letters, from the ones that she can read, to the ones that she can't. Considering how the ones she can read all seem to say the same thing, it's likely that they do, as well. But still...She pulls out a small notepad and quickly copies down what she can of what is approximately the same area that the other letters hold their requests for items, as well as the items from the letters she had been able to read.

They must have some kind of meaning to them, if the letters were hidden away as they were. The items, and the news of the Scion's death--Thor had seemed quite lively when last she saw him, just a few minutes ago. Did whoever wrote this know something that she didn't?

Well, that was likely. That's why she's here, isn't it?

She jots down what she can recognize from the map, and eyes the data, but she's working with limited time. Everything is moved back into the compartment, the false panel put back in place. Whatever she learns, it will do the most good if no one else knows that she learns it. Slipping the notepad away again, she moves to open the trunk. That seems the best place for any other information. Maybe something explaining just why the Scion might be dying any time soon, or what those materials were going to be used for.

[hwaaaitsme]

The trunk, unlike the desk, does not open easily. It is not locked, there is no mechanism, but there is a mild force holding it shut, almost like something inside had glued it that way. The lid does come up after a moment and there is an intangible sort of snapping sensation as it does. Apart from that brief irregularity, there is nothing notable about the box itself.

Inside the trunk there are an array of things. Smaller boxes containing a series of bottles and herbs, none of which are medicinal. There are bath oils, soaps, colognes, perfumes, cleaning tinctures, brushes of different makes and densities, combs, and several tins of polishes, creams, and some scented gels. There are a pair of heavy irons attached to the lid of the box, each marked with darkened glyphs on the side of them. The base of the box has a lit sigil on it and appears to pull out into a drawer.

Lastly, in a cotton sack against the corner of the trunk is a very large amount of gold coin. Only gold, only the one denomination, and only Tevinter minted. They are not well-used coins but they are definitely real and solid all the way through.

[arlathvhen]

The trunk’s locking spell is a little problematic—she won’t be able to replace the spell, and it’ll mean that whoever owns this room will know it was opened. But the lure of whatever the chest could be hiding that made such a spell necessary is greater than her worry for revealing someone was poking around. Maybe the mysterious person wouldn’t notice.

...And Beleth discovers that whoever it is apparently has expensive taste in personal hygiene. She pokes through the various assortment with a frown, occasionally smelling them. Who even needed this many ways to smell?

The coins, though. Her eyes widen at those. Unless this was the funds for all those various hygiene products—there was definitely something shady going on here. Something involving Thor’s death, and possibly Loki.

It’s enough to begin painting the outlines of a picture, but not enough to go to anyone with. So she reaches for the drawer, glancing at the sigil, and then attempts to pull it open with as much force as she can muster. She just needs enough for something definite. Something she can use, against Asgard, or for the Inquisition.

[hwaaaitsme]

The drawer comes upon with surprisingly little effort. The whole trunk jars forward and rattles loudly as the back of the drawer hits the facing. It all settles quickly enough, but the entire contents of the container are now shuffled.

In the drawer, now all askew, are ten identical glass vials with wax stoppers. Each vial is full of something dark and ruddy, filled almost to the brim. They are each labeled with a hanging tag, written in the same cursive hand, with what appears to be ten different Tevene names. Alongside the vials is a small, black, leather-bound grimoire. The whole of it is written in a very archaic version of Rivaini and appears to be instructions (if the images are any indication) on preforming bindings on living creatures.

All of this, while terribly interesting, however, is not half as interesting as the sudden smell of smoke. The sigil on the drawer is dark but the sigils on the two irons strapped to the roof of the trunk? Those are not and both irons are heating up with speed. The lid of the trunk is already smoldering and the paper lining it has caught fire. If the smells of the creams and various grooming tinctures are any indication, everything in the top portion of this trunk is ridiculously flammable and will catch fire in the next few seconds.

[arlathvhen]

Well, shit. So much for trying to be subtle about this.

Things are literally going up in flames, and so is the evidence. Once the fire hits those very flammable ointments--she has seconds before things get going in earnest, and it's not like she can very well call for help, not like this. She decides that the most important thing is this new, very damning evidence, and makes a grab for the vials and the grimoire. The vials are easy enough to hide, Beleth makes a point of her outfits having the ability to conceal various vials (usually filled with some manner of poison). The grimoire--there's no way that she's getting that anywhere.

But she's got it in her hands anyway, backing away from the chest that is smoking more and more heavily. The money...will probably be alright. Maybe. Metal does better than paper. And that's not nearly as damning (She hopes). A brief look around, and she goes to the desk, shimmying it just enough to stick the book between the desk and the wall. It'd never last as a hiding place, but she's hoping Fifi will be able to recover it later.

The seconds that she had have passed, and the chest is now quite on fire. The only thing left to do is to look appropriately tearfully shocked, and start for the door. Hopefully she can get out before anyone comes to see why things are on fire, but--luck hasn't been with her in this investigation yet.

[thorndergod]

"What is happening here?" Thor stands in the doorway, smile gone. He had come up for a warmer cloak, still not used to the chill of the south, and instead he has found the Scoutmaster in his brother's suite of rooms, setting things on fire? Or perhaps snooping where she shouldn't be, considering Loki's penchant for traps and snares and tricks.

He casts, spreading ice around the room while still standing blocking the door. They are in no danger as of yet and he is not certain he wants to move out of her way.

"You have a very odd view of how to relate to people." The smoke is now mostly steam, ice melting and dripping on the floor. Loki may be annoyed later by his valet's room being a mess, but at least it did not fully go up in flames. "You have people bar me from re-entry to the Gallows when you have given us rooms, you go through the things of people who have offered to be allies, those are not acts of alliance or hospitality."

Perhaps it's because she's an elf. He can't exactly expect nuance from her, and people have unfortunately let her think she could actually be a leader when elves are... not particularly gifted in that area.

"Do you wish to attempt to offer an explanation?"

[arlathvhen]

The face that looks up at Thor is not one that looks particularly leaderly, to be sure. Big purple eyes, filled with tears, stare at him in startled fear. She doesn't try to move past him, and in fact moves out of the way so he can have more room to cast, gesturing shakily at the ablaze chest--which is probably not exactly needed. It's rather hard to miss. But she doesn't seem to calm down enough to speak until she's sure that the house isn't about to go up in flames.

Despite herself, her first words are: "You weren't barred, we were under quarantine. There was a plague." It's hard not to feel rather irate at that particular point. But. That's not going to get her out of this without getting murdered or--whatever he can do to her. What can he do to her? Write to the Inquisition maybe, though she can't imagine they'd scold her for anything besides getting caught.

Still.

"I was s-supposed to meet your brother. In, um. His room." She sniffles, looking around the now slightly icy room. "This is his wing, isn't it? I thought it was his room. But he told me to fetch something from the chest, for. Ah. After the party. In his room." She gives a meaningful glance at Thor, here. Don't make her spell it out. Her cheeks redden slightly as she goes on, and she glances away, fingers nervously tugging at the sequins on her sleeve. "Unless he has tastes that are...very eccentric, I think there was a mistake. All there was in there was personal hygiene products. I started looking for what he asked, and...it burst into flames...?"

She rubs a hand against her sleeve, eyes downcast. "This is mortifying. Why does this always happen to me? Every time I try to meet with someone--anyway." She clears her throat quickly. "I am truly sorry about all of this. I don't know what I did wrong. But I clearly did something wrong. What a mess..."

[thorndergod]

There'd been an elf telling him he wasn't allowed in, which was... barring, in his books. Thor frowns at her, wondering why she's not acknowledging the shifting around in regard to that, but it's something to speak with Loki about later.

"You did clearly do something wrong." This is not the Scoutmaster he'd met previously, which is something to mull over. Subterfuge would be within the skillset of that division. The only question is whether she was acting then or she's acting now, and he doesn't have enough information to say either way. He'll not really put much past Loki.

"You went through things that you were not supposed to. My brother does not casually leave traps about. If he sent you in here, he gave you clear directions and you know what you did wrong." A beat. "I will go get him and tell him that you did not find what you were looking for."

Thor doesn't tend to concern himself in his brother's escapades, far preferring to avoid any thought of them. But he's not pleased to find someone snooping about and he wants to see her reaction to this.

[arlathvhen]

Joke's on you, Thor. Both of them are an act.

When he tries to lecture here, Beleth is torn between her indignation and having to look chastised to fit with her story. Luckily, the two mix into a believable look of sullenness, which could be an appropriate reaction for being told off like that.

"If you must," Is as reluctant as she allows herself to be, not wanting to attract yet more suspicion. At this point, it's impossible that Loki won't find out what had happened. "Send him my apologies, please. And let him know that if he wants to, ah. Continue our...discussion." Here, she looks meaningfully at Thor. Wink wink, nod nod. "My office is always open."

[hwaaaitsme]

Loki is...not recalcitrant, but not far from it, when Thor draws him away from his conversation. He listens, petulant in an idle, impatient way, and eager to return to bragging with the rich of Kirkwall as he drinks Antivan Brandy and shows off his new (albeit humble) abode. When Thor gets to what has happened, eventually, Loki's whole demeanor shifts dramatically.

The spymaster had been sorting through a trunk that caught fire? The only trunk bespelled with a silent flame rune was the one that belonged to his valet. His valet who was currently--well, nevermind what he was doing. Loki could not assuage his brother's concerns (and that was certianly the priority here, Beleth be damned) by being actually attentive so he swallowed around the sudden thread of panic in him and rolled his eyes.

"You offer to bed one elf if they can find the lubricant and, gods help me, they can't even get that much right," he complains and walks with Thor from the room. He passes his glass to one of their new servants and moves to the stairs at his usual gait.

"You can come with me to scold her if you like, we should present a united front when being affronted, but this was a rather more personal instruction she violated."