faderift | MOD PLOT: SHOULD GLORY COME AT SUCH A PRICE, Part I

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MOD PLOT: SHOULD GLORY COME AT SUCH A PRICE, Part I

WHO: The Inquisition's Minrathous delegation
WHAT: A diplomatic visit to Tevinter's capital
WHEN: Mid Solace
WHERE: Minrathous, Tevinter
NOTES: Slavery cw. OOC post here.

I. SWEET DIGS

The Archon's palace is a vast complex at the northeast of the island, buildings of stark black and white stone drawn straight up out of the ground and shaped by magic alone. Ringed by a wall of the same, it is made up of the palace proper and dozens of outbuildings, stables, barracks, baths, gardens, and the like. The Inquisition delegation is housed in the guest quarters, a single long hall in one wing of the palace. They are not its only occupants: special emissaries from the Anderfels occupy several rooms at one end of the hall, and other visitors are scattered throughout—trade envoys, out-of-town courtiers, relatives and guests of the Archon. There is also a veritable army of staff, constantly fetching, carrying, cleaning. Skyhold will have sent stern reminders for the Division Heads to pass down to the rest of the party: assume you are being watched at all times and mind your tongue accordingly.

The areas of the palace open to foreign visitors are somewhat limited: aside from the Archon's personal apartments, several wings apparently house massive bureaucracy behind the throne, and guests are not permitted without an appointment and an escort. The library and hall of treasures are free to be wandered, though they are carefully guarded against theft or vandalism, and the gardens are lovely and imposing testaments to the wonders magic can wring from nature.

II. GUIDED TOUR

The delegation's first day in Minrathous is fully booked, beginning with a guided tour after breakfast. The tour focuses on the nicer parts of the city and is led by a friendly elven mage, Caeso, who works for the Archon—someone is trying to make a point, perhaps, about how high elves can rise, as long as they're the right sort.

Minrathous is ancient, and it shows, with not even the care and pride Tevinter has in its heritage able to stave off signs of wear. The buildings are enormous and dark, made largely out of black stone and metals, but they indicate a majestic history more than a majestic present. There are also signs of magic, everywhere. The foundations of many buildings seem to have been pulled up straight from the earth, rather than built on top of it, and towers and bridges that should have collapsed ages ago are permanently enchanted to defy gravity. While he doesn't take them inside any of the buildings, Caeso points out the Argent Spire, the headquarters of the Imperial Chantry and Divine; the Minrathous Circle, the oldest in Thedas; and the Ambassadoria, where dwarven ambassadors work underground to preserve their castes. Then he guides them through a colorful central market where they're able to have lunch around a fountain and enjoy open displays of magic and enchanted objects by street performers and merchants. He's happy to answer basic questions about the city and Tevinter in general, and after lunch provides everyone with maps that are, possibly, designed for tourists who aren't particularly trusted (or aren't believed to be particularly bright). They only show significant landmarks and the streets required to reach them from the palace.

III. FANCY PARTY

That afternoon, everyone is due back in time to dress up, fix their hair, fix other people's hair as needed, and sit down for dinner with the Archon—distant, at the end of the table, and quiet—as well as a number of members of the Magisterium and other notable figures, with an over-the-top sixteen course meal served by a quiet, respectful staff that may be slaves or may be servants. Afterwards, and after a break to allow a little bit of digestion, the entire group migrates to join even more guests for an evening of music, dancing, and mingling in a ballroom adorned with floating lights.

The locals will shy away from discussing anything too sensitive, like Corypheus' origins or Tevinter religion and politics, but they'll be happy to discuss history and to ask questions of the delegation. A southerner is as rare a sight for them here are a Tevinter is in the south.

IV. FREE TIME

Under the Archon's protection as long as they remain his guests, and despite what the maps they're given might suggest, the delegation has been given more or less free rein in the capital, with only sensitive areas of the palace, naval yards, and the Circle and Spire off-limits for casual visits. Minrathous is a city like any other: tightly-packed buildings, bustling streets, opulent theaters and rundown shops, markets selling vegetables and flowers and fabrics, cafés packed with students arguing politics or beleaguered bureaucrats taking tea, pristine gardens filled with elaborate topiary, or small squares of green tucked between buildings, flowering vines draped down their walls. Of course it's also like nothing they've ever seen further south: street performers here make common use of magic, not just breathing fire but shaping it into a flock of birds or a dragon in flight. Slave markets are kept to the outskirts of the city but those near the docklands are vast and busy. In the harbor, among the forest of masts of trading vessels from every corner of Thedas, sits the Imperial Navy, four ships always on guard at the broad mouth of the harbor, a reminder that this is a nation at war.

Outside of specific missions, everyone is free to wander the city and explore, though they are given strict instructions to stay out of trouble—no matter what. They are also asked to keep their eyes and ears open as they do, to mingle and talk with anyone who seems willing, and to keep watch for anything unique on sale in the markets. Rare books, unknown potions, unusual enchanted objects should all be purchased if spotted: this may be the Inquisition's only opportunity to get its hands on the wealth of magical and historical knowledge hoarded by Tevinter (and reimbursements will be offered, within reason).

Potential agents are another invaluable commodity, and the delegation is charged with taking note of anyone who seems sympathetic to the Inquisition's cause and bringing their names and information to the attention of the Scoutmaster and her aides. Those capable of carefully sussing out the depth of that interest are to do so, but given the delicacy of the situation everyone should proceed with the utmost caution, and under no circumstances is any non-member of the Inquisition—no matter how friendly—to be trusted.

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“How should you like to begin the middle of an affair?” Alexandrie asks, her affect one of light amusement.

This is something she has often done, when she is about ready to move on, whether it be with whomever it is she is engaged in the play with or someone else entirely. If it induces any jealous response, then she may pick a fight over it or be entirely unconcerned and dismissive, and in both cases prove her reputation for utter infidelity still stands. If it does not, then she needn’t worry herself any longer about the entanglement she is escaping.

The difficulty is that Alexandrie is not about ready to move on. In the slightest. Which sours the entirety of it. Firstly, she does not actually want to. She wants to be in bed making the second son of House Asgard chuckle quietly under her cheek. Secondly, she is all too vividly aware that she shall perhaps be honestly hurt if such carrying on doesn’t seem to bother him, but really, what is the alternative? Admit defeat? Hardly.

Perhaps she simply should have begun to avoid Loki entirely. She’s brought the idea up with Benedict now, however, which means this particular die is cast.

Bene turns her again, then, still intrigued, asks: "an affair?" Is it foolish, childish, that he's never had one before outside the various ins and outs of his social group in Minrathous? All trifles, all with other boys, never overtly publicized or acknowledged as anything other than the follies of youth.

But a proper courtship is something else entirely, something he's admittedly avoided for reasons he chalks up to being too busy to care. Not that 'an affair' is a proper courtship. It sounds like mischief. If Loki's involved, he's interested.

“Quite!” Alexandrie exclaims brightly.

Everything says Bene is the correct choice. They’d already been observed in some light back and forth, which had already been lightly irritating. He’s the heir to his House, which will introduce the possible side thought that she’s making some sort of attempt to aim even higher in terms of furthering her own station—absurd, of course, but it’s another small piece. Add that to the fact that he and Loki obviously have some shared history that has the high probability of making this particularly irritating, and there really is no-one better suited.

Whatever small guilt she has that besides being otherwise perfect, Bene is not, given everything she’s observed, someone she would normally consider targeting with her games is utterly eclipsed by her rising agitation on the subject of her own heart.

And so: “You are a fine flirt, my lord,” she says, making a small adjustment in the length of her steps to bring her in a bit closer, leaning her head towards him as if in more intimate confidence, “which is utterly enjoyable, and I insist must continue, but I would be much obliged if you would consider this little game of ours permission to take further liberties as if, perhaps, we have been rather closer than we have.”

Wait. Does this mean....
It would be foolish and infantile to ask after Loki, and even moreso to ask if she means they'll be bedding. He plays it cool, with a suave and confident smile as Lexie leans in, but Benedict is full of questions.
"--liberties," is all he gets out, then clears his throat and saves it with "of course." I, a man, love that you have woman things like breasts that I obviously want to touch for some reason. This is my whole purpose in life.

Maybe he can make d'Artagnan sleep with her and she won't notice.

Loki has made it a personal point to avoid being seen too obviously with Alexandrie. This is half because he finds himself very fond of her presence in an earnest way that puts her in danger, and half to entice the people who might be inclined to use her to spite him. To be too obvious with entanglements invites suspicion. Alexandrie had assured him that she could handle herself, and her grasp on knife-work was impressively advanced, all things considered, but these people were not to be trifled with.

Well, not unless trifling was the point.

Of course Loki is present for dinner and dancing, this is his sphere, but he has only kept mild tabs on the Lady de la Fontaine. So imagine his surprise when he turns and finds her not only dancing with Bene, but dancing far too closely to be accidental.

Unnecessarily closely.

It is odd, but only in that there is nothing to be achieved by it.

Bene has no actual value. Nothing about him is worth the effort to exploit. If there was, Loki would have done it already.

It was confusing, enough so that when their current dance ended, Loki approached them openly.

"A lovely is slightly curious display," Loki comments, a brow arched.

With the combination of facing the possibility that she might actually have to instruct Bene on how this sort of thing is meant to go-- it's a blessing that she'd decided on the veil rather than half-mask, as the latter would have done little to disguise the look of actual disbelief she'd been unable to quell at his throat-clearing and slight hesitation-- and the near immediate approach of the fellow it was meant to be targeted at, the dashing figure cut by whom she can't help but admire, Alexandrie is rather holistically regretting stepping her elegant slippered foot outside Orlais in the first place.

Yet here she is, determinedly releasing Bene's hand slightly too slowly, turning from him to face Loki with an equal lag as if she really would have preferred to continue whatever conversation she'd been having. Her smile is bright and wholly impersonal, she is irritatingly conflicted, and she is privately seething about all of it.

How dare the man have made this necessary.

"Ah, well! It is difficult to not be lovely when partnered so expertly," Alexandrie replies lightly, sweeping another exacting curtsy to greet Loki, slightly shallower, as is prescribed.

Relieved though he is to be given the momentary reprieve from pretending to be enamored of Alexandrie, it comes at the cost of Loki having approached and looking so handsome-- but that's entirely beside the point, and a dangerous line of thought.
Bowing graciously back to the lady, Bene's eyes raise to meet Loki's with a knowing, cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk, as eager to see this play out as Lexie is.

She had made some mention of a public dalliance, to make her more acceptable and welcomed in his enemies beds. He wondered, perhaps, if he was meant to explode, to engage in some overblown, dramatic moment for the crowd? If he was to do it, she had given him no sign...nothing apart from her conversation with Bene, that was.

Alexandrie was far too meticulous for that.

Then again, she was also given to bursts of a strangely Orlesian sort of spontaneity.

He bows slightly, much less than he does in Kirkwall, because here he is not expected to offer a show of deference to either of them. Perhaps to Bene...but the slight is one that will not be answered either directly or indirectly. He settles his hand beneath his elbow and holds his drink on level with his face. It is an idle gesture that accompanies his dissecting stare as he looks the two of them over and thinks.

"Indeed," he says in a rather disaffected manner. After a moment, he decides his first instinct must be true. This is meant to be an explosion in public.

Clever of her; the majority of their targets do litter this room. Bene, however, is a complication.

"And would you care to remain with your current partner? Or shall I have a private word with him before I cut in?" The suggestion is said calmly but with just enough venom to draw the attention of the nearest Qaestor.

At first, she is rather pleased that it had worked so well. And then a bit confused. This is altogether more public than she would have expected from a man as collected as Loki—

Wait. Bordel de merde. In her distraction she'd entirely forgotten that she and Loki had planned something exactly like this, since they had not yet had the manner of public falling out that might lure those targets she was meant to be entrapping. Some overt and shameless flirting with a Magister or an heir, an obvious tiff, her flouncing off venomously to be an easy and tempting target for anyone who might want to get at him.

It's almost fucking exactly what she'd intended to make real, which makes the play useless.

Fine. Fine. This can be salvaged. Resume the original plan, but continue to dance attention on Bene despite his not being a necessary working part of it, pretend to have been caught up enough to actually throw Loki over.

"I suppose I could be convinced to part from him if I must," she says with a rather rueful affect, "after all, I really ought not play at favourites, and he and I shall have ever so much time available upon our return to Kirkwall."

Bene's smile twitches smaller at Loki's suggestion, as he too perceives the venom and recognizes that nothing good can come from that tone, no matter how he feels about the man. He's about to weasel his way out when Lexie speaks instead, and his eyes cut to her, the impulse to shake his head rapidly barely contained. No weaseling here, he's officially embroiled.
He looks back to Loki with an expression that struggles to be suave and confident, something in his eyes simultaneously pleading for mercy.

Bene's panic is visible if tightly restrained and Loki's sneer, angrier than it ought to be, takes on a cruel and amused edge. He turns his gaze over to Alexandrie, his wineglass dangling off his fingers, and puts on a rather good show of being livid with her. Loki is, unsurprisingly, a very good actor and the chill in his affect is palpable.

"Oh, shall you?" Loki questions a bit louder than necessary. "I would rather not haggle for your attention."

He takes a sip of his wine and gestures to Bene.

"Remain with him," he commands, almost flippantly and turns his gaze back to Bene. "Be wary, Artemaeus, the gold veneer on Orlesian women buffs right off if you rub her too hard. If you're not careful they start to look as cheap as they are."

Alexandrie would let a smile twitch at the edge of her lips, but there are already one or two heads turning; apparently Tevene society can smell blood in the water just as well as Orlesian, and ah, with the coppery tang of the energy in the air she has her feet again. She knows this dance as well as the one she’d just finished on the floor, and despite everything, her spirit thrills to have such a partner in it.

So, instead of a smile, she produces her fan from seemingly nowhere—every bit as good as one, considering where she’d learned the sleight of hand for that trick—and flicks her wrist to open it with a loud snap, stiffening her posture in affront even as she fans herself as if she is terribly bored.

“Ah!” she exclaims, her volume the equal of Loki’s, “So that too-hard rubbing was you attempting to remove my gilding! All is illuminated!” Alexandrie turns her head towards Bene as if she is speaking to him, although it is obvious where her focus still lies. “And here I had thought it a simple lack of finesse on his part.”

Edited (for more lulz) 2018-07-28 06:57 (UTC)

Well that wasn't so bad, it was all directed at the girl. Bene relaxes slightly, watching the exchange and a bit confused but also somewhat impressed by Lexie's repartee.
He takes her hand gently and raises it as though about to start dancing again, offering his smiling comment a bit more quietly after hers: "You'd know." His eyes flit derisively over Loki's whole being before meeting his gaze. "After all, you get what you pay for."

On any other day Loki would have stabbed him for that comment...and yet, in this one instance, Bene's blanket scathing remark was absolutely perfect. Bene had, at once, accused him of consorting with whores and had called Alexandrie a particularly cheap one.

Loki laughs--it is a sharp and exceedingly unkind sound.

"As if you haven't tried, Artemaeus, but your mommy holds your purse strings," Loki replies and glowers openly at the boy before turning his attention back to Alexandrie.

"Keep her, I'm through with her!" He announces and turns, makes to leave, but pauses and twists back to deliver one final afterthought in a rather loud and harsh aside at Lexie.

"I thought you would be worth this; I was fond of you, you tart! What a fool I was to believe Orlesian women were smart enough to choose a superior house!"

Alexandrie had not properly expected Benedict to enter the fray, but oh how glad she is that he did. With that dual implication he'd delivered, he's given her the perfect excuse to become a true free agent in this scenario. She has a brief moment of sympathy for him, as she'd dropped him into something quite unlike what she'd floated, but brief is the operative term: after all, he had just called her a two-bit whore and then dared to take her hand again, so honestly, he's earned the next attention he'll be receiving from her.

But ah, nothing really compares to that very last parting shot. Loki really does get her the nicest things. Alexandrie builds her posture to a full statuesque rage to accept the serve, the frigidity she exudes nearly palpable, her voice dripping with derision as she replies as evenly as Loki had been harsh: "They are."

Lest any of the onlookers think she means House Artemaeus, she follows this statement with a clean whip of her hand from Bene's, then from her glove, followed by the truly aesthetically pleasing crack of a well-executed slap full across his face. (In small theatrical mercies, it sounds much more painful than it actually is.)

Immediately thereafter she whirls, her skirts blossoming beautifully as she does so, and stalks off like an angry cat in the direction opposite to the one Loki had taken, glove loose in one fist, and as soon as she passes someone with a tray, a glass in the other which, after the time it takes for an angry Orlesian noblewoman to down such that it contains, will find itself in crystalline and quickly disappearing shards on the floor with an impressive shatter as she makes her way to the balcony to await how the chips fall into place.

Exit Alexandrie.

Benedict's mind is fluttering from one jab to another, and he's gearing up to respond with no doubt scathing wit to Loki's remark about purse strings, when instead he finds his face turned with a stinging slap that merits an undignified, puppy-like yelp. It's only the second time he's ever been struck in such a way-- the first time being when Atticus split his lip-- and he clasps his hand to the spot with a look of abject shock, watching Lexie storm away like he actually genuinely cannot imagine why that just happened.
He looks to Loki, bewildered. An Orlesian woman of moderate influence just struck an Altus in public: can... can she do that?
His chin trembles.

It takes a truly impressive amount of self control not to start cackling at the show they'd just put on. His smirk is mild as she stalks off and, smoothly, Loki turns to regard Bene again. Oh dear, is he going to cry?

Loki stares, a bit disdainfully, and gestures to the exit of the room. He makes no move to comfort Bene, whatsoever, before downing his wine and stalking off toward the manor and not the balconies.

Good job everyone, what a delightful spectale.

Blessedly, Benedict doesn't cry, but he keeps his hand pressed against the red mark left by Lexie's hand as though a viper bit him. He stalks after Loki, waiting until they're out the door of the ballroom before he properly explodes.

"How dare she," he hisses through gritted teeth, "how-- I could ruin her for this, that little slut, who does she think she's trifling with?" Being that he isn't exactly in on the joke, it's safe to say Benedict's ire is genuine.

As soon as the doors close and Bene starts seething, Loki loses his composure and snorts a quick, sharp laugh into his glass. He grins at Bene over the rim, eyes delighted, and shakes his head.

"You can cease complaining," Loki assures him idly and shakes his head. "It was all for show, I'm sure she will be by with a suitable apology at some point during our stay here."

Of course he isn't about to detail their plan but he does produce a black silk handkerchief from his sleeve and holds it out for Bene. If he had both hands free he'd have conjured some ice for it already, but he can't well put down his wine.

Well, he won't put it down.

"Assuming I don't tell her that you called her a slut in earnest, that is."

The laughter only fuels the flame, and Benedict shoots a death glare at Loki, bristling. He slaps the handkerchief away, not about to be condescended-- at least not willingly.

"Go ahead then," he snaps, "since you're so desperate for her approval, can't be seen without your little Orlesian lapdog. Or is it you who's the pet?" He turns toward Loki, as though squaring off with him, shoulders quivering with anger. "You deserve each other."

Loki doesn't fight the momentum as his hand is slapped aside and simply arches a brow at Bene. He stares at him like an adult watching a toddler have a melt down. The only major difference here is the amount of wine Loki has already had.

"Feeling melodramatic tonight, Artemaeus?" Loki asks and shakes out the handkerchief. It bursts into green, smokeless flame and is consumed as he drops it.

"I can't say I'm disappointed she didn't include you in the scheming," Loki sneers. "But I didn't think you were this dull.

"My mistake." Loki pauses then to finish his wine and cast his class aside. Some slave will be by to collect it. "I was nearly proud of your acting for a while there, for that clever double insult that earned you a slap across the face. Odd that you didn't even consider that a possibility."

The visit to Minrathous had started out so splendidly, with Benedict back in his element and having the time of his life. Little by little it's going sour, and the jealousy that wells up in his chest at how readily Loki defends his-- and apparently Alexandrie's-- scheme is almost suffocating.

It's not that he doesn't recognize the truth in this revelation: of course, it makes sense now. They were never on the outs, he was just a convenient tool to make them stronger. Together. And here he'd thought getting rid of her might pull a little of Loki's attention, something he's wanted since... well, before he knew what it meant.

He stands there silently, staring at him, hurt and humiliation coursing through his being.

He really isn't any good at this.

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MOD PLOT: SHOULD GLORY COME AT SUCH A PRICE, Part I

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congratulations lexie, you played yourself

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