Player Plot | From Tevinter, With Love

[coquettish_trees]

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! ]

Comments

[wythersake]

Cheerfully, under his breath:

"You look like a prat." Isaac adjusts one of his own sleeves (shabby beside a duke, but aren't they all?) to briefly sweep in. "Pretend you want to be here."

He's hardly alone in disdaining circumstance, but glowering like a gaudy statue in the corner is only so charming.

[eruit]

"That is the point."

Hanzo isn't here to look like a handsome young man, after all. Hanzo is here to be a particular face, to look the part, to act as though he is still some kind of member of Tevinter society even though he has been away from it for a long time. His nose wrinkles, just a little, but he stands a little taller all the same.

"No one from Tevinter wants to be anywhere. Acting otherwise would be foolish."

[wythersake]

"And what's that say about why you're presently outside it?"

He smiles, drinks (juice; thank you, Maker knows how much the fruit cost).

"And what capital —" Lack of it. "— Your involvement has to offer?"

[eruit]

"I am a friend of House Asgard. That is enough."

He thinks, for now, at least. He is a friend of House Asgard and... Something to Benedict's house, whatever is happening between the two of them. That's something he doesn't want to spend too much time considering.

"Whatever capital I am worth depends on what they see in me. It is for them to judge. That is how it is." Let them see that House Asgard has found and befriended the errant leader of House Shimada. Let him see what happens as a result of that.

[wythersake]

Isaac restrains himself from squinting. It’s a narrow feat, worthy of a medal.

(At least a prize ribbon.)

“Are you quite certain,” It’s very possible he’s misjudged the situation — Isaac’s place upon this little outing is as an acceptably-servile stand-in for the South; the position from which he’s used to negotiating these affairs has never been one of advantage or pride. But also: come on, “That you should be here?”

Maker knows people will judge. That’s the point of diplomacy: Swaying the verdict.

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[eruit]

"It does not matter if I am certain or not. I am here."

Hanzo is, at least, another body at the table, another person to be polite, to be formal, to nod his head and understand the games of Tevinter. He knows them as well as anyone else might - he knows them as well as anyone could. He was a Magister; it is in his blood to recognise and understand, to rise above it all and keep himself held high, at least for now.

He motions to himself, carefully.

"I am from Tevinter. I am an ally of the House. There is no reason for me to leave."

Oh, there are many reasons, but...

[wythersake]

"Not even for the sake of privacy?"

The lilt in his eyebrows might be mistaken for a baser overture by outside observers — and that's as intentional as it's decidedly not his intention. A callback, instead: I would prefer the matter of my position to be kept private,

No, he hasn't forgotten that little exchange upon the crystals. Or Hanzo's terribly secretive insistence upon making it clear that he has a secret ever since.

Kostos might be aware of what it is, and Isaac will (under duress) admit to generally trusting Kostos not to cock it up. He'd still sooner know.

[eruit]

His eyes turn to Isaac and he watches, sharply, for a moment, drinking him in and assessing.

Hanzo knows what he is saying. One whispered comment, said out of place, and it hangs around him. It was a mistake and he curses himself for it now, shamed and frustrated with himself. What the secret is - that's something that the other man couldn't possibly know, but that doesn't matter. There's a tension in his shoulders now, something sharp and dangerous, and he breathes out.

Slowly, he pushes himself up, stands a little taller, lets the breadth of his chest betray how hard is he trying to be confident, to have control of himself, to have the power.

"Not even for that."

[wythersake]

Even standing eye-to-eye, there's no mistaking them: Hanzo is built like a ruddy siege engine — Isaac, for his part, has always been better-suited to sprinting in the opposite direction. It's effort not to blink.

But there's no armor between them save very fine cloth, no weapons but the hands at their side (but what they might bring), and he thinks he's a shade too bitter for fear tonight.

"Then find a reason to stay." Orlais has planted its flag steadfast inside this hideous mansion, hostile territory for them both. "As Mme. Yseult would wish you. No?"

With a hand clapped to his shoulder — look, we're friends! — Isaac pulls away.