faderift | [open]

"Perhaps," Alexandrie replies with a light unconcerned lift of her shoulders, "but then I should not be able to properly add the trees, or the trellised vines, or the lovely flowers that attracted your attention so."

She's not all that bothered by the buildings or their chimneys. In fact, she is merrily editing them all out. Her sky is wide over the gardens. Her light, extrapolated, is unhindered by the grey dour walls.

"You are new to us, yes?" she inquires, wiping her brush and setting it down to indicate she'd be pleased to begin a conversation, her head tilting slightly towards the chair to her left that she has brought along for such eventualities as visiting with the others who regularly frequent the space.

Well. Who is she to turn down conversation, particularly when it doesn't come paired with dose of suspicion or the soft, overly placating tones of someone doing their best to explain to an imbecile how the sun rises and sets as it does. She feels between the Hightown ladies and the Inquisition members doing their best to make sure she didn't fall into a hole the minute she stepped outside the Gallows, she's been subject to quite a lot of both lately.

A normal conversation - or as normal as one is likely to get - is something of a relief. Gamely, Wysteria circles around the planter to join the woman at her easel.

"That's right. Quite new, as it happens." What a perceptive young lady to guess as so much. But then she imagines there are all kinds of people coming to and from Kirkwall on account of the Inquisition's presence - people who do so willingly, more often than not. One would hope anyway. "I'm with the Inquisition here in Kirkwall. Technically speaking. --Oh this is really rather nice!"

She's close enough and at the right angle now to see the work in progress on the canvas. It's a much better fiction than the reality. "My mother would love it. She's very passionate about drawing."

Part of the Inquisition 'technically speaking'. A Rifter then. She hums, pleased, to hear about an artistic mother, and then tilts her head with a sympathetic smile.

"I imagine it quite the difficulty, to be separated from ones family and acquaintances so." Sympathy in her tone as well, and genuine rather than too-saccharine or patronizing; after all, Alexandrie is quite far away from hers... albeit not as far. "Especially in the circumstance when one is of good breeding that is very suddenly outside what is considered so by ones new surroundings." She inclines her head toward a walking couple, dressed in the height of what is very distinctively Free Marcher fashion. Not that Wysteria would recognize such after her short time here.

"With the Inquisition bringing so many peers from so many places, those who 'belong' here are all too happy to inform the rest of us of that distinction."

Wysteria would ordinarily make a remarkably less subtle examination of the passing couple in reference, but she's spent all morning shooting people like them sidelong glances from under the brim of her hat and has seen quite enough, thank you.

"I find myself quite sturdy against it, actually," she says, all cheer and good temper. "But I've had practice and haven't been in Kirkwall so long that the rest hasn't caught up to me."

No, even before falling through a hole in the sky she'd been anticipating quite the separation from everything she knew and cherished, the frequency of letters from home included. Give it a few more weeks and she may yet develop some real heartsickness.

"--Oh, but I have found a way to been rude in the mean time, haven't I? You must call me Wysteria. Or Miss Poppell if you prefer. Are you with the Inquisition too, miss, or only just far from home for some other reason entirely?"

They really need lapel pins or matching handkerchiefs to be worn in a particular breast pocket or something.

When familiarity is offered, it's always a bit of a balancing act to decide which way to go. The title, coming from a Thedosian peer, would perhaps grant a modicum of respectability to a woman obviously accustomed to it. The given name's use a gesture of familiarity... which in this case ought to grant the same respectability of the first option with the addition of a new kinship; at least if she offers her own in return. And so:

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," she replies with a tilt of her head and nod of acknowledgement. "Lady Alexandrie de la Fontaine, lately of Orlais—and even more lately of the Inquisition—but if I am to call you Wysteria, then you must call me Alexandrie." Here we are, strangers in a strange land together.

'de la Fontaine' has such a lovely, continental ring to it, she thinks. The roll of it is just similar enough to a few Carteen vocabulary that it reminds her pleasantly enough of summer morning lessons taken as a girl and spent in the gardens rather different from this one. In any other instance she would of course curl her lip at the very reference of her governess given the vast majority of these lessons had been quite miserable, but when viewed through the lens of memory from such a distant vantage it's very easy indeed to be slightly more generous.

In any case, Carteen is a perfectly lovely language regardless of how well she can or can't speak it. So: a nice, perfectly lovely reminder from a perfectly lovely name.

"I'll take all the pleasure in doing so, Alexandrie," she declares. "Tell me, what brings you so very from Orlais? Not the unrest there, I hope." Part of her quarantine had involved being told lots of things about multiple fighting fronts and one of them had been chewing its way across that distant half of the map.

"Non, Créateur soit loué. My family's land is far to the south of the front. I came to join my sister Geneviève." And to see the Grand Tourney, and to see if there was anyone who'd been drawn by the recent popularity of the Inquisition who might be worth marrying, and to see if her heroic world-saving absence from court would particularly inflame the hearts of any of her suitors there, and to absent herself from the two that had been demanding she choose between them. But really, who's counting?

"Her presence alone would have been enough, although," she adds, leaning forward a hair and smiling conspiratorially, "I admit I soon found other reasons to remain in this dour city as well." The Inquisition does take a bit of a third place to Evie and Loki, but she cannot imagine the organization complaining of the quality of her endeavors on their behalf.

"Since I meet you only now, may I assume it is because you have only now been released from that wretchedly named island?"

"That's right. Only very recently. I'm afraid you meet me as I'm packed perfectly to the gills with all kinds of facts and figures that make very little sense at present. Give it a few days and I'm sure to have sorted it, but today I think you could look in my mouth and see a hundred questions looking back at you. But I'll do my very best to be congenial company, of course. I've decided to limit myself to asking no more than five things of people I meet going forward. To pace myself, you see."

A quality she seems particularly ill-suited to, even given such a short acquaintance. Still, it's the effort that counts. She believes that much very sincerely.

"What brought your sister here? Certainly not the weather or the loveliness of the city."

That leaves just one question left, doesn't it? Drat.

"Whether or not one hundred questions are considered congenial company varies upon the person one is keeping company with, I suspect. I, for one, would be quite pleased to hear them. Although, I might suggest adjourning to a cafe in that case," she replies with light amusement, "I imagine one hundred questions might cause one to develop a need for some manner of sustenance over time. Or at the very least tea or coffee to aid in their emission."

Why pace oneself if one has the ability to continue on? Moderation is not Alexandrie's forte, the which she is entirely unbothered by.

"As far as my sister's motivation, it is, as ever, her sense of duty." It is spoken with the fondness one shows for the eccentricities of their loved ones. For herself, duty is filed along with moderation. "She is a Chevalier--a knight of Orlais--and was assigned to join the Inquisition as an emissary from their ranks."

She's had rotten luck with cafes lately. Or over their tables anyway. Not that one terrible outing makes a trend exactly, but-- well, she makes a face over the thought of it anyway.

Luckily there have been all manner of distractions to keep her occupied since and here is no exception.

"A lady knight! How perfectly romantic!" And Wysteria does look delighted, brightening as the sun. "Oh that's what I like best about this place. There's such a natural understanding of the veracity of women. I heard the commander of the Inquisition's forces here is a woman as well. I must say, it's all very gratifying."

"She is indeed, and terribly fierce."

...And terribly willing to starve a civilian populace to remove a resource from the hands of their enemy. After learning about the Red Lyrium cultivation possibilities, Lexie is wavering on whether or not they had done the people of Minrathous any kindness by preserving the supplies, but Thor had been so very sure then, and the brothers were alone enough already in the South without her taking another side. But none of that is really appropriate afternoon talk with a new acquaintance, is it?

"The heads of the scouting and diplomacy divisions as well, and three of the four who lead the organization as a whole from Skyhold. Orlais has an Empress, Ferelden a Queen," An altogether acceptable state of affairs. "Is it not so, then, from whence you came?"

"Oh queens exist, certainly. Or have. Kalvad hasn't had one for some time, but there's a perfectly barbarous Empress to the West. And naturally there are a number of women ma--uh--" She jumps through at least two verbals hoops to bend the incriminating vowel into something different: "--military...officials. Doing their service rotation. As a certain number of us do in exchange for our educations. But it's a rare thing, I believe. Or has been. It's more common now for a girl to go to university than it was when my mother was a child."

She bowls onward. "I suspect that's more common here as well. I've heard lovely things about the academies in Markham and Orlais." Well, the first one at least. But she has the distinct impression her tutor in that might have held some bias. "And I wonder if that's really all it takes to even things out a little - a proper education, I mean."

"A quick wit and the gained knowledge on how to apply it is a great equalizer, to be certain. We may have a chance to see for ourselves if it is so, as under Empress Celene's rule the University," for really, there is but one of special note in the world, "has begun to readily accept elves who prove their thoughts to be of some note. It is not entirely a popular proposition, of course. Much noise is made by those who would rather not see the world change so, but it is hardly the fault of the more progressively minded that those who have more in their pockets than in their heads and little more to recommend them but the roundness of their ears fear to be surpassed."

Alexandrie clucks and shakes her head in mock sympathy, then turns back with some interest to whatever it was that had made Wysteria stumble over her words--certainly there was something to be found on the other side of those hoops she'd jumped through. "Did you say you had a rotation within the military?"

Blast. Well, of the options on hand it's hardly the worst thing to discuss. Best to speak of the distraction than the thing you've been making an effort to distract from. Magician, she'd almost said. Wysteria, you absolute imbecile. It's as if you didn't sit in all those discussions for two weeks in the Gallows about the sensitivity of the rift shard in your hand, the delicacy of the relationship between mages and everyone else. Not that magicians are really so much like mages; Anders had made that very clear indeed. But who knows what anyone else might think. Best to keep her mouth shut about the whole concept.

But military service. Of course. That's a fine enough topic of conversation, even if it requires skirting clumsily around a few of the most incriminating details.

"That's right. It's part of the contract for-- for certain people when they get their education. The schooling is provided in exchange for a commission of a certain length. Usually two to five years. It's of course entirely dependent on the individual's means and how much the state must provide to support them through their apprenticeship."

For 'certain people'--so, not women in particular, as they'd been speaking on. Wysteria is, then, of some status in her world apart from nobility, and one which makes her halt to speak of it even here in a world apart. Some manner of profession, if the mention of an apprenticeship is any indication.

Alexandrie wonders how far it is she'll be able to press without sending the woman into a full fluster or cause her to clam up. The former seems far more likely; Wysteria is a veritable waterfall of words... which is utterly endearing, really.

"I do so hope you were able to complete your education and apprenticeship before you came here," she replies, "I imagine it would be ever so irritating to very nearly complete a course of study and then find the means to finish it removed from you abruptly."

"Oh, not even remotely close I'm afraid. Though I appreciate the sentiment." She doesn't seem terribly broken up about it. "No, I'm sure my master would say that I've been pulled away at a time where I know just enough to be dangerous and nothing near being useful."

Here she laughs, a genuine kind of easiness in it. It's a funny joke, you see, for one because she's very much not in the position to be dangerous to anyone nevermind how little she knows and for two because Mr Ralston, the Master in question, would fundamentally never say anything so kind as implying otherwise. Ah well. Thedas may not have much to offer in the way of continuing her rather specific education, but it certainly has the simple pleasure of not having to tolerate that man's company for another hour going for it.

"Is that not what teachers say always?" She tilts her head with a terribly amused smile which widens a bit to hear Wysteria's easier laughter. Hurrah, we're comfortable again! Ever so necessary for being able to continue to pick away in the search for interesting information, although she's beginning to genuinely enjoy the company as more than a curiosity.

"Or is it simply that we are so warned because we share both a thirst for knowledge and a certain impetuousness in its usage."

"I suppose we'd have to find a third test subject - a real dullard with no passion for the application of their studies - to be certain. But let us say that's the answer, as it's both kinder and more indulgent."

That flashing smile persists. It's slightly too honest and too broad for a young lady with a mind to preserving her complexion or even the narrowest air of mystery, but it's at least also unremittingly earnest.

"Speaking of-- I can't express how much I appreciate your indulgence of my company this afternoon, Lady de la Fontaine," --the name said with all the rounded vowels it deserves; what a pleasure it is to say it-- "It's rather heartening."

"I am entirely pleased to hear so, although saddened to hear you were previously disheartened. Although, I suppose, I can hardly imagine I should feel any differently were I to appear suddenly in an unfamiliar place with—" Alexandrie's hand rises quickly to cover a gasp, then moves to touch Wysteria's knee ever so lightly with an accompanying look of concern. "Were there demons? Say no, or that you were not hurt at all. How awful!"

"Oh yes, actually." She's says it quite seriously, with the mind to give Lady de la Fontaine's knee the credit it's due. There's a kind of kindness to being so horrified, whether or not it's true and even when it's very clear that she made it through perfectly fine or wouldn't be here in the garden today.

"There were quite a few demons. But no, not a scratch on me and I'm very relieved to report it. Not from them, anyway." She laughs then, a bright sound in the sunshine. "But here, you'll find this funny. As I came through the rift, I was so surprised that I tripped and twisted my ankle and nearly fell flat on my face. I'm sure it didn't help that we were in a wood and the ground was so uneven, but there you go. Ridiculous from the start, I'm afraid."

"Far better to be ridiculous than rent asunder." In contrast with the morbidity of her words, Alexandrie looks bright and relieved to have heard so. "Well and so, I demand you take heart despite both demons of the Fade and demons of Kirkwall society, for now we have made ourselves acquainted and I shall happily stick a hatpin in both on your behalf."

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