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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Everything is in order for Aurelius's arrival. With the brothers having taken up positions in the Inquisition that necessitate more work and Alexandrie now far more often in residence at her paramour's home than her own, she has taken up the work belonging to the lady of the house. If there is a bit of Orlesian influence along with the Tevene in the way the flowers have been chosen and arranged and the manner in which the table is laid, well, she's never been one to avoid indulging herself. It is however, on the whole, a picture perfect and precise setup for a small intimate dinner for a guest of Aurelius's social standing that one wishes to honor.

Once Benedict arrives looking properly dashing she leaves everything in his care, and excuses herself along with Fifi, once she'd finished with her friend—they were cute, and Alexandrie was feeling kindly—to get ready before anyone arrives.

[ooc: for your arrival and preparation threads and anything you'd like to do/discuss before our guest of honor shows up]

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)

It takes Hanzo a little while to get ready. It's been a long time since he went to anything resembling a proper Tevinter dinner party - almost more than a decade, now, adding in his time with the Inquisition. He has to take care to adjust his grooming, to reshape his face, to clean himself up and to hide the dangerous circles that rest under his eyes. He has to dress better - in proper, formal attire - and he has to make sure his spirits are quiet.

He shows up a little earlier than he was told to do, looking better. His bow is with him, but he is more than willing to allow it to be placed somewhere safe - and close - for the duration of the dinner. What is most obvious, to those that know him, is that he actually looks like a proper Tevinter Magister; he is standing taller, his hair is tied properly, his golden tie firmly in place.

He looks dangerous and he's well aware, even with his tattoo covered.

Until the dinner starts, Hanzo settles himself on the edge of the gathering, jaw tight and expression set. He is here because it is in his best interests to know what is happening with Tevinter and because it is best for him to keep an eye on Benedict, too, despite the circumstances.

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.

"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."

"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?"

"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.

It takes Benedict a little while to finally shake Flavius (so revoltingly surnamed with his own father's given name), and it's with a sneer of distaste that he steps over to Hanzo, as much for cover as for anything else. "You look the part," he says, in a tone that suggests he is either playfully joking or.. very much not.

There isn't much Fifi has in the way of fine clothes-- most of her nicer dresses were lost in the various perils on the way from Val Royeaux to here-- but she asked Merrill to bring the finest thing she has, and failing that, there's always something borrowed from the ever-magnanimous Alexandrie.

When Merrill arrives, Fifi greets her with a grin and beckons her away from the door, toward the stairs to the servants' quarters so they can prepare.

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.

"That was the intention."

Hanzo doesn't turn to look at Benedict, at least not immediately, but he takes a deep breath and looks over. It feels odd, to be so well dressed, to appear as what he is rather than what he is pretending to be, and he can feel it twist around him. There's a burn of something anxious in his stomach, but he forces it away. Here, now, he is the image of a Magsiter, at least in appearance - his heart does not have to be in it.

"It would be meaningless if I looked... Myself."

Benedict unsubtly glances him up and down, casting a snide little smirk at Hanzo in reaction. Cute.
"Well," he says primly, "let's hope our friend here drinks himself to forgetfulness." Lowering his voice, and in a mischievous tone, he adds, "or, you know. More. Anything to prevent him coming back."

He stands taller beside Benedict, trying to match his height despite the disparity between them. There's something sharp about it, about trying to prove that he can be what he had abandoned, trying to act as though he is what he... Isn't. It's a mixed, complicated thing, and he has to force himself to stand as tall as possible, to be superior, to be the slave owning, magic wielding master of the Shimada clan.

The smirk doesn't help, and he gives Benedict a sharp look, one only just softens as he looks away. He can't let the man think he gets away with everything, after all.

"It no longer matters if he remembers my presence or not." Hanzo's voice is lower, softer. "I... I am unsure what my future may hold, but it may include my family." Why tell Benedict this? Because, a small voice says, Benedict is one of the few people who knows the truth.

There aren't many pieces that Merrill has that most people would consider fine - or 'civilized', for that matter. She has a green dress from the ball in Orlais, though, the one that Martel had insisted she have - and she has a few accessories, both from that ball and from her travels, that she thinks might work. Her staff is not one of those accessories, but she brings it anyway. It's a Tevinter estate and she is not going to be the only mage without a staff.

Any worries about that are forgot, however, when she shows up and meets Fifi. She grins back and follows her, free hand fiddling with the silver locket around her neck.

"It's funny how similar the houses in Hightown look," Merrill muses. "The Hawke estate is fairly similar."

The sharp look affects Bene briefly, but the smirk only returns and more fully once it's over. "Then I suppose you'd better remember how to hold a fork," he says, with a vain toss of his hair, "and calm down. You look like you lost an arrow up your bum."

"These Marchers have no imagination," Fifi remarks chipperly, leading her down, "all straight lines and slave statues. Say what you will of Val Royeaux's wealthy, they have style."
She comes to her room, blessedly a single, and guides the door open to usher Merrill inside. It's a modest chamber, with very little in it to suggest the presence of any one specific person, though a nail on the wall above the bed holds a woven collar with the name 'CLOCHETTE' stitched in.
There's also a single mirror, albeit with no vanity, but Fifi ushers Merrill in front of it and stands behind her.
"Would you like anything on your face?" she asks, with barely concealed delight, "I can paint you like a dancer, if you like."

As ridiculous as Benedict is, being around him is soothing some of the more ruffled and uncomfortable parts of Hanzo. He breathes out, shaking his head, trying to shape his face into a mask of superiority rather than discomfort. It has been some time.

"I recall most people from Tevinter looking much like they had a quiver there, not just a single arrow."

Though Benedict doesn't laugh aloud, Hanzo's remark gets a wide-eyed glance of delighted amusement: oh my god you just made a joke.

His lips twitch for a moment, fingers brushing over his jaw in a thoughtful motion before he crosses his arms again. It’s not often that he makes a joke, but he is both in the mood and trying to repair a bridge between them. Looking at Benedict, he smirks.

"They didn't even remake most of the city when they took it," Merrill adds, shaking her head. Thanks for keeping the super confusing Tevinter magic symbols, Kirkwall. Not.

A bit uncomfortable in front of mirrors, Merrill takes the opportunity to look at anything but her reflection - the room, the collar, and Fifi behind her. The question makes her blink for a moment, and then there's a little giggle. "What are dancers painted like?" There's a gesture at her inked cheeks a moment later. "Would it cover the vallaslin? I'm not sure if that would be good or bad, in this situation."

"Red lips, dark eyes," Fifi replies, "I wouldn't cover it, unless that's what you want." A pause, a tinge of pink appearing on her cheeks, though she turns away to scoot a little box out from under the bed, "...I think it's lovely."

"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.

Facing each other or not, there's a tinge of pinks to Merrill's own cheeks in response. She lets her fingertips gently touch against her vallaslin for a moment; not many people have said lovely. Exotic, sure, but not lovely.

"I think I'd like that - the red lips and dark eyes, that is. Let's leave the vallaslin uncovered." Because Merrill is proud of what she is (was?), and because Fifi likes it.

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Player Plot | From Tevinter, With Love

Earlier in the Day

I. Here's a Health to the Company

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hanzo | ota

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for Merrill

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