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persephone sits in a courtroom dress as green as summer trees her lipstick red as blood
WHO: Gwenaëlle Baudin, Thranduil, assorted guests.
WHAT: It's a nice day for a white wedding.
WHEN: Haring 30th / Wintermarch 1st
WHERE: The de Coucy residence, Hightown.
NOTES: The OOC post. Your character wasn't in the chapel unless you play Romain, Coupe or Legolas. Post co-authored with![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rowancrowned. Questions section of the OOC post still open! This is a mingle log; top level, tag amongst yourselves, hit us up if you have particular needs or desires.
WHAT: It's a nice day for a white wedding.
WHEN: Haring 30th / Wintermarch 1st
WHERE: The de Coucy residence, Hightown.
NOTES: The OOC post. Your character wasn't in the chapel unless you play Romain, Coupe or Legolas. Post co-authored with
rowancrowned. Questions section of the OOC post still open! This is a mingle log; top level, tag amongst yourselves, hit us up if you have particular needs or desires. 
Despite the events of the previous month, the winter's afternoon wedding of Gwenaëlle Baudin and Provost Thranduil proceeds as planned—or at least, close enough that any last minute discrepancies are invisible to the eye of oblivious guests (and indeed the bride, having taken approximately zero interest in the planning). In the ongoing absence of a suitable Chantry, the ceremony itself takes place in the modest chapel within the home to a select few witnesses hand-selected—chosen mainly to avoid any untoward rumours that it might not have been done properly, including the acting Viscount, the Gallows Forces commander, and a handful of others whose stature within Kirkwall lends them the sort of credibility this wedding is in dire need of being lent.
With the ballroom ripped out and redesigned for another purpose, the estate doesn’t possess the space to host the number of guests invited to the post-ceremony fete, instead making use of the courtyard in its center. Guests are shepherded there, and are not entirely left out of the wedding itself when they are joined by the happy couple to publicly sign the legal documents some who've not previously attended weddings between people with money may never have seen before. To ward off the midwinter cold—to varying degrees of success, based on one’s proximity to them—braziers have been set up at intervals throughout the garden everywhere but the space cleared for those moved to dance, and servants in de Coucy colors bring round trays of small, hot food and enough drinks to stave off the worst of the chill.
The decorations betray the groom’s tastes over the bride's. Holly and juniper and other such evergreens make up the majority of the arrangements, bright red berries a better ornament than the inexcusable expense of hothouse flowers. There is the underlying reminder that both halves of the couple are Inquisition members, in the smart dress uniforms that half the guests wear as they mingle with the better part of Kirkwall society.
This is a pageant, the diplomatic arm of the Inquisition flexing the agreement made with the Rifters and also the normalcy it seeks to restore. But it is a pretty pageant, and an easy excuse to wear something stunning and dance and eat food purchased with Orlesian coin—and, perhaps, to enquire about making a donation to the Inquisition in support.
With the ballroom ripped out and redesigned for another purpose, the estate doesn’t possess the space to host the number of guests invited to the post-ceremony fete, instead making use of the courtyard in its center. Guests are shepherded there, and are not entirely left out of the wedding itself when they are joined by the happy couple to publicly sign the legal documents some who've not previously attended weddings between people with money may never have seen before. To ward off the midwinter cold—to varying degrees of success, based on one’s proximity to them—braziers have been set up at intervals throughout the garden everywhere but the space cleared for those moved to dance, and servants in de Coucy colors bring round trays of small, hot food and enough drinks to stave off the worst of the chill.
The decorations betray the groom’s tastes over the bride's. Holly and juniper and other such evergreens make up the majority of the arrangements, bright red berries a better ornament than the inexcusable expense of hothouse flowers. There is the underlying reminder that both halves of the couple are Inquisition members, in the smart dress uniforms that half the guests wear as they mingle with the better part of Kirkwall society.
This is a pageant, the diplomatic arm of the Inquisition flexing the agreement made with the Rifters and also the normalcy it seeks to restore. But it is a pretty pageant, and an easy excuse to wear something stunning and dance and eat food purchased with Orlesian coin—and, perhaps, to enquire about making a donation to the Inquisition in support.
fancy ladies~
They do make a rather striking pair however, she and Merrill, cleaned and pressed and primped and dressed extravagantly to match with the Lord Provost's choice in decoration; Alexandrie laced tightly into a dress of heavy red velvet, the back of the skirt split by a carpet of holly leaves that widens from her waist into a short train, her hair woven into a thick braid twined with white berried mistletoe in place of her pearls, and Merrill shining in ivy-beaded green the same red berries that grace the courtyard peeking out brightly from where they're strung through the dark of her hair. Similar strands of them are woven into a delicate lace-like net that spans her waist and spreads to hang along half the side, half the back of the skirt of it, delicate beaded slippers peeking out from under the folds of it when she moves. Rather than wear a mask as her companion does, the lines of her vallaslin have been carefully traced with silvery dust so that they shimmer in the light from both sun and fire.
Merrill, being both lovely and genuinely buoyant company, has made it easier for Alexandrie to affect her light careless laughter, the bright sparkling smile she wears below the evergreen themed half-mask—the bride is Orlesian, they are at the Duke de Coucy's estate, and the purpose is political after all. The Game came in at the door with the guests.
Which means mouths will shortly be moving. After all, a peer on the arm of a Dalish mage—Champion's companion or not—is several statements made at once.
“You look gorgeous,” she says, tilting her head towards Merrill in a way that both displays the curve of her neck attractively and allows for confidence, “and anyone who so much as raises an eyebrow at you in any way save appreciatively is entirely unworthy of the time it takes to notice them doing it. Shall we go and greet the happy couple?”
[ feel free to interrupt them both, one, or the other. :D ]
no subject
Sure, this was a wedding between an elf and an elf-blooded woman, but still. They had listened. That, in Merrill's opinion, was something most Orlesians (and humans in general, really) sorely needed to learn to do more. The fact that her presence on Alexandrie's arm was like a dare and a knife all at once, for some? All the better, for both of their purposes.
Her pleased flush in response to Alexandrie's compliment is easily written away as the chill in the air and the shimmer of the dust along her inked cheeks. She smiles in response, ducking her head demurely for a moment. "Thank you. You look gorgeous as well, of course." And anyone whispering about them will- well, be giving them exactly what they want.
"We should," she smiles, lifting her head up, glancing around the courtyard. "Though I'm sure everyone is, so it shouldn't be a problem if we get a bit sidetracked on our way."
both/either/gay panic
She does not know what to do with herself when she spots Alexandrie and Merrill walking in.
The wine in her hand slips a little and she has to force herself to grasp it, to tilt her head down to make sure she hadn't made a fool of herself by staining her dress, acting as if she was a drunkard when she has had barely enough to make her blink. Alexandrie is stunning in red and Merrill practically glows, leaving Sidony unsure where to leave her eyes - on the woman she had left quite sourly or the elf who makes her want to trace -
Pushing herself up, she shakes her head, pushing hair from her face. If there is going to be a time to attempt repairs between herself and Alexandrie - who she had counted as something of a friend, despite their rather shaky nature with one another - then in the company of nobility and wine is as good a time as any. Dress curling around her legs, she approaches with a smile, offering a one-handed curtsey.
"You both look wonderful."
oh it's *gonna* be both
In such a way that does not muss either of their lips or faces, of course.
"Ah! Lady Venaras! How pleased I am to see you well recovered from your ordeals at Ghislain, and making such a fine show of yourself besides." The last is delivered with an approving smile and look that considers the entirety of both her form and dress. She looks at Merrill and tilts her head curiously, "Have the two of you made acquaintance yet? If not, I shall be most delighted to have been the vehicle of such."
WINKS AGGRESSIVELY also sorry for the delay friends ;;
To that end, Merrill does not curtsy. Merrill bows, one hand swept in front of her and the other behind her back. The bow is deep, and formal, and Merrill straightens to stand as tall and proud as a tree.
"Lady De La Fontaine has an excellent eye," she smiles, one hand gesturing between their dresses. "We've spoken briefly over the crystals, but not met in person."
npnp
"We have. It is a pleasure to meet you in person, my lady." Sidony offers a curtsey, politeness first, before she looks between them. Lexie has picked well, absolutely so, and the two of them look remarkably good together. That is something she is jealous of, if nothing else; she wishes that she looked even a little as charming in a pair, or that she had a pair herself.
"You might well outshine the bride tonight."
thanks for the notif, dw
For being a 'wild elf' and fair made of sunshine, the woman had sharply astute teeth and a readiness to ply them.
Then to Sidony again, with a nod at the glass in her hand, "It seems you have done your reconnaissance of the refreshments already. If it should please my companion, I might venture to beg you escort the both of us to where we might do the same?"
it's so kind like that
She resists the urge to rub the back of her neck in embarrassment, but she does twine her fingers together.
"I wouldn't mind looking at the refreshments," she adds after a moment, smile widening a bit. "Especially not with the two of you."
what a cockblock
They're both so very handsome. She's not entirely sure what to do with herself, not when she can feel herself getting flushed and warm.
"I would be more than happy to do so." Sidony smiles, offering her arms to the two of them. Let her walk with two beautiful ladies on her arms - she doesn't think that she could be happier. "I can even point you to a suitable vintage."
either/both, as you prefer! hello, ladies!
Myr'd only been saved from staring at the Inquisition's previous formal engagements for lack of eyes, and now that he's got them and the opportunity--
Well. He's his manners to keep him in line, at least, as he moves among the wedding guests--not drab himself, in Inquisition dress uniform, but here as a different sort of presence than the more gaily dressed among them. This is business for him, after all: Relating to the Chantry, and doing a credible job at it with every ounce of warmth and good humor he has at his disposal.
So focused is he on his conversation with some minor Chantry functionary he doesn't notice the latest scintillating pair to arrive; but he cannot help but notice when a flash of color passes behind his conversation partner. He glances toward them--catches his breath--then promptly and politely excuses himself to go greet Alexandrie and Merrill. (The sister, an older woman with a kind face and abundance of flesh, looks after him and smiles indulgently to see what's caught his attention. Of course; it's in the nature of young men.)
There are others, of course, come out to see them and Myr takes the first chance he can to insert himself in the line and approach. "You two," he says, with an absolutely guileless smile on his face, "are lovely. Absolutely lovely. Merrill, is that--"
He reaches up to touch his own face in mirror, in curiosity, to finish the question. Someone's a little dazzled.
(◡‿◡✿)
Let them see the De La Fontaines still stand with the Southern Chantry, and at least have those whispers be done. Simultaneously and neatly cut along with any implications that her sympathy for the mages was due only to her lover. That he is an elf cannot be helped, but egalitarianism is surging as all prove themselves worthy combatants and leaders, especially in the wake of Scoutmaster Ashara's continued success.
"How fortuitous! I had been wondering who the dress uniform of our organization had been initially patterned for, and here you are cutting such a fine figure that I find my musings immediately requited."
no subject
"Added along the lines of the vallaslin, yes," she laughs, one hand reaching up to gesture at her face. It's tempting to trace along the lines herself, but the silver will come off on the tips of her fingers.
(Let someone else do it. Start a rumor. It seems the Orlesian way.)
"Lady De La Fontaine is right, of course," she adds, with a nod toward his uniform. "Red is a good color on you."
no subject
Laughingly--at himself--Myr returns both bow and curtsy with a bow of his own, hand pressed to heart in fine Hasmali style. Let anyone who's looking on not have that to hold against the Inquisition's unorthodox choice for Chantry Relations--
Since they will be looking; he's little enough experience in this arena but he knows that much, at least. But let any worry that sparks bide for another time.
"There--you've come out to take no prisoners," or all of 'em, "with the charm, I see." He grins at them both, this time altogether less addled. A knight-enchanter might get caught flat-footed, now and again, but he doesn't stay so for long. "And might fairly count my wits as one of your casualties. How are you both?"