faderift | [Open] A Proper Party

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[Open] A Proper Party

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.

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This room is, thus far, the least changed by the new occupants of the manor. It still boasts rich wooden accents, polished wooden floors, and a fashionable hearth against the wall. There is a rather dramatic painting depicting the Magisterium above the roaring fire. The couches and seats are leather and fairly well kept but not nearly as bespoke as everything else seems to be. This room is in transition, thus nobody minds a few cigar burns. Speaking of which, there are cigars available on all of the tables alongside proper matches in long wooden boxes.

Out the back there is a veranda that overlooks a rather dead and winter-worn garden. The garden is nothing to write home about, partly due to the time of year and partly due to the stored lumber and construction materials, but the view of Kirkwall is truly breathtaking. At night the lights in the city mirror the look of the stars over the ocean. There are a few scattered chairs and tables, but nothing official. Servants run back and forth, from the kitchens to the main hall, but it is otherwise a very peaceful location.

This is the most heavily altered room apart from the foyer, it is easily mistakable for any given Tevinter estate. In the middle of the hall there is a large table piled high and very densely with various foods, largely local but some of the more dramatic dishes are clearly foreign. There are meats, cheeses, fish, and even an array of glittering sugary deserts, colorful chocolates, and an array of tiny decorative cakes. On a separate table near the wall there is a large construct of ice that contains several gallons of a dark ruby punch. Alongside that table there are several servants with trays of wine and champagne, ready to serve.

This room is the smallest of the available rooms, but the ceilings reach a height not matched by any of them. It boasts windows along the whole of the wall, all of them lined with heavy, green, velvet curtains. In the center of the room there are a series of fine instruments, detailed and polished to the degree that they might be artwork in and of themselves--there is a viol, a lute, and a harpsichord. The room has few sconces to speak of and is generally very dark at night, but against the wall that leads back into the foyer, there is a small fireplace that has been stoked and lights the room, now.

This room is a transition room, between the kitchens and the main hall but is, somehow, not being traversed at all by any wait staff. The floors remain hardwood and their polish is no less for the contents of the room. A rack of weights, heavy and made of various metals pressed into discs, takes up the span of one wall. A large, Qunari shaped dummy occupies the center of the room (it has a drawn on frowning face), and the other walls are taken up by a large, ornately framed mirror, and heavy, glass fronted cases, respectively. Within the cases, there are an impressive array of staves, both battle-ready and weighted for practice.

If one has managed to trick or evade the staff guarding the grand staircase and made their way upstairs, they will find a series of rooms that range from habitable but old-fashioned to completely destroyed. The house was not in good condition when acquired and these rooms showcase that with a staggering clarity.

The house itself seems evenly divided between the two brothers. The north side is bedecked in colors that Thor appreciates and the rooms are gradually catering to his belongings and aesthetic sensibilty. The south already boasts a vast number of fabric covered paintings and crates heavy with books as Loki stocks both his library and room to his tastes. In both wings several doors are locked, though not exceptionally well, though what lies beyond those is a mystery.

Attending more to see what they're about than out of social inclination, in black and bright embroidery, Gwenaëlle accepts wine when it's offered to her and regards the new decorating choices with an only slightly jaundiced eye. It'll be interesting, she thinks, to see who in the Inquisition might be willing, game enough or similarly inclined to keep the Asgards in view on the not insignificant chance one of them is up to something.

And getting the hell out of the Gallows for a bit doesn't hurt, either. She won't be lingering there much longer.

Edited 2018-02-15 22:21 (UTC)

His normal disinclination to stay away from a party like this, the impression it gives, the endorsement of his presence—all has been overwritten by his desire to be out of the Gallows. Restored, and with his secrets still his secrets, he is in good humor—even through the display of the elves (whom he lingers over with a careful eye, wondering if he’ll spot familial resemblances to another house’s staff) and especially once he has a glass of wine in his hand.

Good wine.

He makes eye contact with Gwenaëlle for the briefest of moments, noting her presence as he notes all the others, then continues to drift through the crowd.

One such servant can be found here and there, attending silently to guests and scurrying after the brothers Asgard with this or that refreshment, helping to keep the party moving with as little drama as possible.

Though of no particular status over the other servants, Fifi can most often be found near the brothers and directly attending the guests around them.

Edited 2018-02-15 23:25 (UTC)

Loki, dressed in some of his more presentable finery, is swanning about the hall with a cup of carved in one hand and the other gesturing to and fro as he greets people and speaks. Unfortunately, since this is his and Thor's party, he has taken to ordering his drinks in the fashion to which he is accustomed. Shattering the first few glasses had made the staff jump, but now it was old hat.

The only real courtesy he offered the staff was that the ice cups were enchanted to evaporate immediately upon being shattered. It was, after all, too cold here to depend on the water to clear itself away before it damaged the floor.

"You there, another," Loki demands idly and holds his hand out for the glass. He does not otherwise interrupt his current conversation with one of their neighbors.

Idiots both, but at least the blond one is more pleasant about stomping all over everyone. The greasy one is... well, the one who comes to mind when picturing someone from Tevinter.

Heaving a small sigh through her nose, Fifi takes the literal two steps it requires to get to the drink table, picks up a full glass, and takes two steps back to place it in Loki's hand.

"Welcome!" His voice is loud and boisterous, but his outfit isn't for once. Thor is in mostly black with accents of red, pants instead of robes, and no staff or hammer in sight. This is a social event, and supposedly there are fewer assassination attempts at these sorts of parties in the south.

"I'm glad to see my brother has not yet managed to chase you off entirely." He's not really surprised. Someone who didn't want Loki's attentions wouldn't have sent him a gift like that.

"How do you like the place?"

Thor absent-mindedly pats the elf on her shoulder as he steps past her to get a drink. The servants are here for their guests right now, he feels.

"You have worked parties before," he says. "The training shows."

It's more than he'd expected from servants here. They're not as good as if they'd been raised from children to do this, but he's pleased enough.

"Would you like me to set aside one of the small cakes for you?" A good servant should get a treat for good work.

One of her knees buckles slightly at the huge hand's impact on her shoulder, and though the drinks in Fifi's hands slosh around, nothing spills. She's an expert.

"Thank you, messere," she replies with a bare amount of inflection, a tiny smirk creeping onto the corner of her mouth. The training. Training of a kind, anyway.

"Don't trouble yourself, I shall manage."

"Of course." The offer is forgotten quickly, as much a nothing as her struggling with the pat, or even the smile.

A thought occurs to him. "You will tell me if anyone of influence arrives. I have not had the chance to meet most of them." He doesn't even glance down to make sure she's still there as he issues the order. Why would she go anywhere?

"Mm," Fifi intones, presumably in the affirmative, as she weaves her way through the crowd and passes the drinks to their waiting owners. She can't help but wonder if he realizes she's hardly been here longer than he has, but supposes if someone's important, they'll be likely to say so. That seems to be the way of things around here.

Barnabas is lounging by the punchbowl, sipping the dark punch and looking around the hall. Lot of people here, that means lots of potential sales. Time to make a splash. Reaching into a pocket and pulling out a oddly knobbed cylinder of metal, he takes it and puts one end into the cup of punch and pushes a button. The device lets out a high pitched wheedling sound, and around the probe, the juice starts to first freeze and then whir around the cup. A few seconds pass by and Barnabas pulls out the probe and takes a taste of the new frozen and whipped punch.

"Ahh...Much better." After flagging down one of the servants and getting a spoon, it's much easier to eat as well. A solid advertisement, now to wait for someone to comment.

It takes Loki barely any time to spot Gwenaelle in the crowd. She has turned him down, tricked him into a quarantine, and now lingers in the fringes of his house warming party. She clashes with positively everything in the room in that gown and, frankly, Loki would have it no other way. He strides over to her, passing the rifter elf Thranduil on the way, and offers up a dramatic bow.

"Welcome, welcome, so glad to actually have you here. I promise I shall not slam the doors shut in your wake."

"It's very much as I expected to find it," she says, mustering up a smile that's a solid halfway toward friendly; Loki is more or less something that resembles a friend, even if neither of them are entirely sure what that looks like when she tells him no, and she has nothing particularly against either of them on principle.

The suspicion is as much habit as anything else.

"Most of all it's 'not the Gallows', which currently serves as a very high recommendation for a place."

It occurs to her at this point that in all the previous chaos, she'd neglected to clarify a few things.

It'll probably be fine.

"You know, a moment ago I hadn't even considered you might try abducting me," she says, reflective, folding her hands the way she always has to avoid the clasped greeting so many noblemen favor. The fewer mouths pressed to her knuckles, the better she's long thought; it has equally long been considered a rude snub, but she isn't exactly known for minding to be thought of as unpleasantly aloof.

Loki takes it from her with some grace and then, quite casually, waves her off as if she had never been there in the first place.

"As I was saying, the view will truly be spectacular come summer--" Loki continues, gesturing at the gardens. His conversation partner humms and haws as the Tevinter noble rambles about his house and brags about the contents. Rich people talk, really. It is, by in large, excruciatingly boring to listen in on.

It is some time before they require another servant but when they do, Loki makes motion for Fifi.

"You, are there any more of the Orlesian petit cakes? Fetch some for this gentleman, would you?"

It is not actually a question.

Fifi's name is 'You' now, and she's accepted it. Strolling back over with a pleasant-but-bland smile, she shakes her head. "Pardon, messere, but there are none left," she replies, with a nod of acknowledgment to the guest who's being slighted.

Where a normal nobleman might've taken exception to this, might've demanded she check the kitchens, Loki simply frowns at his guest and puts on an apologetic affect. It's pretty convincing.

"Ah, a shame, but you know how it is with delicacies and parties," Loki replies to the man, twisting this small inconvenience into an additional chance to showcase his obscene wealth. He doesn't dismiss Fifi this time and, instead, motion that she follow as he leads the man toward the smoking room.

"In the kitchens, past the cellar doors, there is a stock of fine brandy. Do bring a bottle out for us."

In part, Fifi is relieved that this means she doesn't have to rat out Thor as the perpetrator and risk being caught between Stupid and I'm With Stupid in a cake-provoked feud.
Instead, he wants her to follow him, something she does with well-concealed trepidation until Loki's intentions are made clear. "Of course, messere," she replies, with a small curtsy, and goes to find it.

Returning several minutes later with the bottle and two glasses, she curtsies again and begins to set them out.

"Really? I did tell you I was from Tevinter, did I not?" Loki asks, only mostly joking, as he rises and steps alongside her. She has drawn her hands together and he is not so rude that he would snatch one and force them apart, but her new pose allows for a more...comfortable familiarity. His hand settles at the small of her back, lights there, as he urges her forward and to walk with him, toward the center of the Hall.

"In any case, welcome to my new estate, my dear. It is a work in progress but it is becoming more and more acceptable every day. Have you sampled the work of my new cooks? They are quite good."

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[Open] A Proper Party

Smoking Room

Garden

Main Hall

Music Room

Gymnasium

Upstairs Where You Assholes Shouldn't Be

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get your own drink

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Re: Main Hall

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