[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

[thorndergod]

"I would be glad to tell you anything you would like to know, Lady Galadriel." He bows over her hand before placing a brief, dry kiss to the back of it and then releasing it. Even if he doesn't know of her house or where the named places are, there's authority to the titles she claims and her bearing does not make him inclined to doubt her.

"And perhaps you can tell me some of Lorien." He's never heard of a Rifter's world before, and he hasn't heard of a new-to-him land in a very long time. There are a lot of possibilities for conversation and he's pleased by that knowledge.

[laurenande]

"Lorien?" Galadriel repeats, a note of honest surprise in her voice. Even among those who had asked her much, asking about Lorien was uncommon.

"What would you wish to know of my lands?" she wonders and settles her hands before her. Thor has been courteous and this party is a kindness. She does not expect duplicity from him and is loathe to check.

"I would happily share but I expect you shall never see them."

[thorndergod]

"That is why I am curious, because I will never see them myself."

He's honestly surprised by her surprise. There are so many possibilities represented by these Rifters; does no one ask them of their homes?

"Tell me something that you like about it. As for me, near my own home, there is a marvelous beach. The sand is blisteringly hot, but the breeze that comes off the water is perfect and the water itself is clear enough you can see the creatures within. When the sun sets, the waves look touched by flame. It is the most beautiful sight I have seen."

[laurenande]

Galadriel listens to his description and, for once, it is something she can only picture. It does not bear similarities to any beaches she has seen, though admittedly that is few. She considers his description and then, gradually, answers him.

"Lothlorien, they are called, the woods that surround the city. Beech trees rise above the naith until you cross the Silverlode, a glistening, swift and silver river that marks the edge of the city lands," Galadriel explains and ponders how to proceed. She only spares a moment before she continues. "The woods beyond the Silverlode are mellyrn, trees taken from my homeland, and they are unlike anything in Thedas.

"Their trunks are white and silver, they grow to staggering height, and their leaves and flowers are gilded in bright and shining gold. In the dawn light, during the spring, the sun rises and casts all the woods in a rosy golden halo. In the shade of the trees, even the mists above the grass are cast in shifting shades of dappled brilliance. It is...magical, I suppose, and my favorite sight in all the world."

[thorndergod]

"It is like nothing I have ever heard of." He's not that well-read or well-traveled, but he's heard stories of all sorts of places, real and literary.

He is a little amused, though. She's not like other elves - tall, actively fit, able to hold a good conversation - but she chose to speak of trees. All the same, they sound like trees worthy of being described.

"I do not think Thedas has anything to compare to trees like that." There's a pause as he ponders if what he wants to ask is rude or acceptable. It seems like it should be safe, so: "How are you finding Thedas? It must be strange to be here."

She's a Lady in a world where elves decidedly are not.

[laurenande]

"It is not so different than what I expect, though it seems..." She looks just aside from him as she considers how to explain it. It is troubling, the lack of words, but Quenya provides nothing more accurate. She frowns and moves again to the cases of staves that line the walls of this room. They are channels, that she knows, but it is so odd to see them and not feel power coming from them. How then will she explain? Her hand reaches out and nearly grazes the glass before she pauses.

"It seems less," she says at last and her hand hovers. He would not know it was the one that bore a ring just mere months before. "It is narrower here than my home; in this place where magic is a feat. I struggle still with that word, magic, for it is not something distinct to me. To weave power, your will, into the world is to breathe, to walk, to live.

"It is odd here, yes, but not so strange as you might think," she decides as she withdraws her hand back. "If you wish to see one of the mallorn, there are two that grow in these lands now. One is in Halamshiral, the other was just planted above a grave near this city."