faderift | Player Plot | From Tevinter, With Love

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Player Plot | From Tevinter, With Love

WHO: Alexandrie, Benedict, Byerly, Fifi, Hanzo, Isaac, Loki, Merrill, Romain, Thor
WHAT: A diplomatic dinner and mysterious murder most foul
WHEN: Mid-Harvestmere
WHERE: the Asgard estate in Hightown
NOTES: OOC Poast, CW: rich people being garbage, elf related racism, other updates to come as they apply!

In the wake of the events in Minrathous, there has been a great deal of reshuffling of power and alliances both within the Imperium and between those within it and the surrounding powers. A particularly well-off Laetan merchant by the name of Flavius Aurelius is one such alliance shuffler. He has holdings in the south along the border and a number of cross-country trading caravans and has made overtures of aid in getting Inquisition personnel into (and around) the country in exchange for protection against having his lands occupied and used to do the precise opposite of what he's offering.

This is a rather good deal for the Inquisition, especially since it involves more risk on his part than theirs, and so all attempts are to be made to convince him that he'll be a valued member of the cause. By his countrymen in particular, who may enjoy particular success in doing so for a variety of reasons. Thus, the Tevene contingent of the Inquisition—as well as diplomatic representatives from Ferelden, Orlais, and a wayward Dalish elf—find themselves in the position of doing this due diligence, in the hopes that this will make things go smoothly—better than smoothly if possible—at the meeting established for the next day to discuss terms.

What better way than a small dinner party?

[ ooc: toplevels will be added beneath as they happen! ]

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In the evening, Flavius Aurelius arrives. He's a well-dressed and slightly rotund fellow with a really quite glorious mustache and the both the exacting air of a man who knows the precise value of everything he sees—and of the proposition that has brought him to Kirkwall—and the self-important air of a man who expects to be catered to because of that proposition, with a little smugness added by having that catering done by a house quite above his station. Being a wealthy merchant, he's brought a number of gifts for the house with him that will go quite well with dinner; a crate of fruits that are no-longer easily importable, a few bottles of particularly good wine from Vyrantium, and one of brandy that's absolutely impossible to get outside Marnas Pell (he knows his audience).

Once all are seated save Alexandrie, who has decided to make one of her favourite entrances between the first and second courses as it requires everyone to stand up in the middle of dinner and watch her fall over herself in beautiful apology, and service of the first course—a rather beautifully plated savory soup—is complete, Aurelius proposes a rather long and windy toast to the liberation of Tevinter from this new threat through the joint efforts of its still proud and defiant people and the Inquisition.

It's really a very good soup.

The quality of the conversation, on the other hand, depends on its participants.

[ ooc: one thread for this! ]

Edited 2018-10-19 02:50 (UTC)

Somehow, in the spirit of their new alliance (and in the spirit of not getting hurled out of this hideous house before the meat course), Byerly swallows his questions about whether it counts as a liberation when it seems mostly like removing Corypheus from Tevinter would be like tearing a favored doll out of the arms of a spoiled child. No, he's behaving himself today. And so, after that toast, he rises to his feet and proposes one of his own.

"Another drink. Nothing so lofty as yours, esteemed Flavius Aurelius - but I'd like to propose a toast to our dear hostess and her impeccable eye." He lifts his glass ceilingward, to where Lexie is no doubt waiting to make her appearance at just the right moment. Perhaps she's even listening in. "In all my days, in all my life, I have never seen a Tevinter home look as lovely and appealing as it does now."

All right, he's sort of behaving himself.

Edited 2018-10-19 14:42 (UTC)

Ever gracious, Benedict rolls his eyes when Byerly proposes a toast, but raises his glass as well. It would be untoward not to, even if he despises nearly everyone here.

"What a short addition, we thank you for the brevity Byerly," Loki praises and his intonation is just this side of perfectly deadpan.

Loki is seated in a position of little note, a preference of his, and is dressed as he is wont to at fancy functions. His robes are quintessentially Tevene--black with green accents and gold, enchanted embroidery splashed about. Their home is decorated with a flair that speaks volumes about his relationship with Lexie, but as she hasn't started actually tearing parts of it out and replacing them, it is a veneer over a very, very expensive and traditional Tevinter villa. Aurelius has thus far enjoyed their home and the more...traditional manners he is permitted to enjoy. The servants have bent and scraped to nearly the level of slaves and his personal valet, a properly trained valet from Tevinter, has attended to Aurelius personally.

He wants for nothing and, as such, Loki can only imagine that he will find the full personality of the sons of Odin to be more amusement than anything else. It speaks to a level of invited familiarity that a Laetan would never otherwise achieve. To be so very catered to by a famous family like theirs is a far cry from how other similar folk would be treated. There is little need to go about being entirely polite (at least, to the other guests) when thinly veiled politesse is so much more Tevinter.

"Yours was more appropriate, but that's hardly shocking given you are our countryman," Loki replies to Aurelius and then goes about stone-facedly ignoring Byerly.

"I do hope your travels to Kirkwall weren't entirely taxing, the roads here can be...tiresome and very...quaint compared to what we are used to in the Imperium."

Hanzo feels a level of discomfort he has not felt in a very long time, feeling as though there are chains around his arms. He is bereft without his bow, left vulnerable and unsure, sick to his stomach and knotting inside him, stones on his chest. Ten years has not been distance enough from the pressure of Tevinter society, it seems, and old habits die very hard; he is straight backed, intense, dressed well and formally, looking exactly like the Magister that he had tried to deny being.

His fingers grip at his glass, wishing it was something stronger. He's glad he has not had to speak much, that he has not had to do much to make himself more obvious to the rest of the table. It's true that some here - Benedict, Loki, Thor - might know who he is, behind the shadowed eyes and secrets, but the others...

Lifting his glass, he nods his head in the toast, taking a long drink once it's done.

He tries not to look at anyone.

Aurelius happily drinks to Byerly's toast—he seems like the kind of man who'd happily drink to anything—and then nods at Loki with a brief smooth of his mustache. "Kind of you to be concerned," he says, "It was a bit bumpy, but the welcome of House Asgard has made me entirely forget it.

"Will we be seeing your Southern bird this evening, Lord Loki? It seems unfortunate for her to miss a toast dedicated to her. She must be so pleased to have her title back! A bold and civilized move by the Inquisition to push for mages to be rightfully recognized, I must say."

He seems genuinely excited about it, and raises his glass again to toast the crawling of the South into some proper ways. It's aimed generally, but especially at Hanzo. Keep drinking, man, stop being so tense. It's a party!

Thor's gaze rests only briefly on Byerly. Fools will be fools, even at dinner parties, and he doesn't know enough to say whether the secondary insult regarding the hostess is deliberate or incidental. For now he'll not rise to it. Instead Thor looks pleased enough, relaxing in black, red, and gold robes, looking every inch the near-magister he is.

He raises a glass to drink to both toasts, sips, and nods to Aurelius.

"A prudent move. The southern mages," he glances at Isaac, "no offense meant, but the southern mages are getting a taste of what it is to live. Countries would be wise to placate them now so they forget their fears and are easier to conquer again."

They've sat in their fortresses ignoring their power and potential for how many Ages? There may be a few lions among the flock of sheep, but Thor won't put faith in them gaining any lasting success at the current rate.

"But perhaps that will not be the case. There are always alliances to be made." Like with House Asgard.

The Duke de Coucy, for his part, is mainly quiet, though attentively so. He's wearing a mask -- no one in attendance other than Lexie has seen him without one -- but it would be safe to guess his thoughts would be little easier to read barefaced. He drinks the toast politely enough, however.

(If one might guess he'd hope a different, non-Tevene romantic entanglement for Lady de la Fontaine, well, it would be the work of educated guessing and not observation.)

He is interested to see when and how she'll enter. There are a few ways to play this hand. In the meantime, he watches Flavius without seeming to do so particularly, looking for hints of any secondary motive. It's quite possible that the pride and vainglory is exactly what it appears, but it is also possible they are covering something subtler. Romain doesn't need much to go on, and he can take his time. After all, parties are for the young. No one wants to hear from an old man on such occasions.

Loathing most everyone present (every previous term of Imperial alliance offered the Rebellion) is no reason not to smile.

"Impossible to take," Offense. "I'm certain."

For all he's equally certain the Lady de la Fontaine is no mage. His eyes move from Thor to Loki with pretended ease. Is that how they're doing this? A correction might do something to endear a merchant — it would also likely send word slithering back North.

Maker only knows what the snakes would make of it. The brothers both look long in the tooth to carry on with affairs unwed; a title carries expectations.

"But I trust you'll not take it for the fear of one conquered when I vouch that cooperation has gotten us this far. Certainly no nation can run upon magic alone; Mssr. Aurelius might attest."

Merrill has gotten herself lost. How she has managed to get herself lost indoors when so many of the High Town houses look the same is beyond her; she imagines it has something to do with the combination of Orlesian decorating amidst the Tevene and Marcher decor. Either way, she isn't who's supposed to come into dinner late - but she does it anyway.

She's at least mostly dressed up for the occasion. Merrill has on a green dress that Martel had had made for her when he was alive, and Fifi has done a wonderful job of adding some color to her face that accents both her eyes and her vallaslin. She has some accessories that are clearly Dalish and some that are clearly of other make; a silver necklace with a griffon on it, a wooden ring. There are no shoes, but her feet are clean; she has her staff, but it is of a lovely wood and clearly well taken care of. Merrill herself is- well, rather surprised to have just stumbled into dinner, but manages to change her halla-in-the-headlights look into a polite dip.

"Please excuse-" her interruption? her presence? her people? "-me."

Preferably with no murder.

Byerly lifts an eyebrow at Merrill and nods in appreciation - both of her charmingly late entrance and of her remarkable appearance. Lexie, apparently, wants to display some of their finer exotica, and it's hard to do better than this tattooed beauty. He has no doubt that the ignorant Tevinter slug will be impressed.

"Oh, just so, just so," Aurelius is saying to Isaac, "why without the Soporati who drive my caravans, never mind the slaves, it would hardly be possible to—" he cuts off, seeing Byerly's eyebrow raise, and he stands to turns and greet what could have been easily assumed to be Lady Alexandrie, tugging his robes back into place as he does so, instead finding a wide-eyed elf — a wide-eyed tattooed elf — dressed and made up with a beautiful simplicity that is utterly enchanting (look, she's not wearing shoes!)

Aurelius looks at Merrill. Then Thor. Then Merrill. Then Loki. Then Merrill. Then rapidly between both the brothers. Sotto voce, he asks "Is she...?" Then makes a gesture at his face and mouths Dalish with obvious shock and sudden extreme interest.

Oh no, she's standing right there!

He gestures quickly for a glass, which is provided, and pours wine into it for her with an earnest nervous hurry that would be actually endearing if he hadn't just said 'slaves' and hadn't then said "An-uh...-radan ateashan," both incorrectly and with a truly atrocious accent besides while offering it to her.

Edited 2018-10-30 03:29 (UTC)

Between the toast and now, Benedict is already on another glass of wine, which makes this his third since arriving; a young man of his slender build is not likely to drink that much without it beginning to show a little, and he can't help but give a loud and quite ungentlemanly bark of laughter at the spectacle of Merrill-- and then this clod, this absolute simpering idiot, trying to speak the Dalish tongue to her.

Though he covers his mouth, the damage is already done, and he's clearly still grinning behind it. "No one can say Loki doesn't have standards," he says as he cups his hand in a stage-whisper to the person beside him, a bit of his wine sloshing onto them in the process.

The Dalish girl is... quite the sight. It would not be done, ever, in Tevinter, dressing her up and welcoming her to a formal meal.

But what is also not done is showing how amused he is by how poorly their guest is reacting to the mess. Thor stands to refill their main guest's glass with a benevolent nod as if he's accustomed to Dalish wandering around everywhere.

"No one can say my brother does not like to keep things interesting," he says to Benedict's failed whisper. Standards? At least she's a mage. Unlike some of the people here at his table.

"She is Dalish, and she can speak for herself, I believe, if you wish to ask her." It costs him nothing to be gracious, and could give them so very much.

A dancing bear in a menagerie.

"Radiant,"

Agreeably. And she is — truly, whoever's seen to her has a dab hand — but that's not why she's been brought, is it?

The itch in his fingers reminds itself, uncomfortably close to the wine. Considers knocking over Benedict's; gives it up for a bad job. The sooner they're all done with this, the better. May it be before the glow of attention can sour.

Bless his heart.

The shem is trying, at least. It's almost flattering. Merrill doesn't giggle, despite herself, and luckily she's not yet of the disposition to roll her eyes at- well, at all of them, really. Instead, she ignores Benedict's snort (you're afraid of caterpillars) and smiles.

"Andaran atish’an," she returns, both a response and a polite correction. "Yes, I'm Dalish." Or was; no need to go into all of that with the number of them. Instead, she comes around to one of the empty seats, settling into the chair.

"My name is Merrill, former First of my clan and companion to the Champion of Kirkwall." You know, since they're wondering why she's here. "It's a pleasure."

There's a moment where it seems as though Hanzo is prepared to push himself up, to clamber to his feet and move away - the urge to flee as soon as the Dalish appears is something that he cannot swallow. He expects a fight - he expects danger - and it curls around him, prickling at him, unsure and uncomfortable. He breathes out, the tension falling from his shoulders when their guest welcomes her.

Slowly, he pushes himself to his feet. He moves around, carefully, and - since it seems she might be staying - draws a chair for her, ignoring anything else anyone might say. It's near enough Aurelius that he won't be offended, but far enough away that she would be safe from anything that he might wish to do.

"Be seated. Please."

If he has misstepped, well. He hasn't been in Tevinter for ten years.

Aurelius is either unaware of or purposefully ignoring Benedict's loud mirth. There are a number of very trained eyes at this table, however, and some of them are certain to judge it the latter. To catch the brief sharp glint of irritation in his eyes, or the way his neck is tensed as if to prevent turning to look.

He is a wealthy merchant, after all. Perhaps not simply by virtue of inheritance from a parent less bumbling and vainglorious than he appears.

He does, however, seem genuinely delighted by Merrill's return greeting, and mumbles it quietly in repetition to fix it in his mind (doing much better at it than before). He smooths his mustache again, smiles, then hands the glass of wine he poured to one of the attendant servants and gestures that it be taken to her before seating himself again after she sits.

"Companion to the Champion, you say! A toast to Messere Hawke is always warranted, I think." Up goes the glass! "Quite proud to do it with the finest wine Tevinter has to offer, as well. After all, I've heard she made the august decision to send that Somniari fellow north to study with us, and took a stand in support of the mages during that horrifying business with Stannard. Not to mention—" his eyes light up, "—were you there when she put down the Arishok and drove the rest of those horned brutes from the city?"

Hanzo is flashed a smile and a quiet "thank you" as she settles in the offered chair. Merrill will definitely drink to Hawke, lifting her new glass in turn. The mention of 'that Somniari fellow' has her eyes light up, and Merrill beams at Aurelius over her glass. "Oh, Feynriel! Yes, that was quite the event."

She sounds quite fond of him - probably because she is - but there's also a bit of underlying curiosity about what Aurelius knows about him. Does he know he's elf-blooded, for instance? That he stayed with her clan until he could no longer do so?

There's a sip of her wine and Merrill nods. For the moment, despite the spotlight on her, she seems comfortable. She loves talking about Hawke, loves Hawke- for all the insane things the group had done, they were family.

"Yes, I was there. It was- I'll never forget that fight. There were times when I could have sworn Hawke wouldn't get up but she kept on going until she ended it."

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Player Plot | From Tevinter, With Love

I. Here's a Health to the Company

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