open | neither snow nor rain

[nadasharillen]

WHO: Nari, Lexie, you~
WHAT: Guardian catch-all for some ladies. (Well, one Lady and one elf.)
WHEN: The Present!
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: prompts I have promised people will be appearing below as I get to them!

Nari

I.

With the sleet keeping everything near-constantly coated with ice, Guardian is hardly the right month to be jaunting about between the Gallows towers and the towers that hold the massive machinery designed to raise and lower Kirkwall's immense chain net. The massive machinery that hasn't been used in two decades, ever since Viscount Threnhold had used it to strangle Orlesian trade and the Divine had ordered the city's Templars to 'convince' him to lower it. Threnhold's successors had been loathe to use it with such a tangle in the recent past, and so its mechanism is full of two decades of largely untended metal shifting, weathering, rusting in places.

The winter seas are rough enough that an assault by sea isn't likely, but the thin dark Dalish woman had shrugged and said that the Archon's Palace raising into the sky above Minrathous hadn't been all that likely either, and so here she is, on her way to the Chain tower, a pack of tools slung over her back. A pack that has been repaired several times, and by the look of it is about to need one more: something heavy looking is inching its way out of the back of it with every step she takes. Won't be long before that's lost. Hope it's not important.


II.

What Guardian is the right month for is being here near the hearth in the Hanged Man's taproom with a hot mug of mulled wine and a mallet, tapping chairs back together and listening with quiet amusement to a harper on one side and two tipsy men one-upping each other outrageously in order to try to take the same woman home on the other.

The important thing, really, is that the weather is outside, but the entertainment isn't unwelcome.

“Are you listening to this?” she asks, looking up briefly with a crooked grin spreading across her face, “The taller one has gone from fisherman to ship's captain in the space of five minutes.”


[ or something else! ]


Alexandrie

Winter here has not brought the lovely romantic fluffy pristine snow she'd dreamed of. It's desperately horrible in Kirkwall, and what work she can do from home she does from home with great relief. Unfortunately there are still meetings to be had, new correspondence to discuss, and every so often new books, scraps, and sheafs of paper arrive for the Inquisition that are in need of translation. All these things are in the Gallows, and so, begrudgingly, is Alexandrie.

She can be found now, looking far less disgruntled than she actually is, sitting at a table in the library with a letter in one hand—at which she is frowning with extreme delicacy—and a painted porcelain cup of tea in the other, her maid doing a spot of embroidery close enough at hand to refresh it when that becomes necessary.

“Ah!” she exclaims quietly, her glance warm and pleased over her painstakingly painted smile, “C'est parfait. Have you a moment to spare?”


[ ...or something else! ]

Comments

Myr-- It's a Banana :(

[coquettish_trees]

"Politeness," Alexandrie is saying, a cup of exceptionally rich drinking chocolate held lightly in one hand while her other gesticulates gracefully with a small puff of pastry filled with cream, "the which I know very well you have quite the talent for, Knight-Enchanter, is already a form of politic falsehood. Being as you are also well possessed of a sound and clever mind that has been further trained by a life of being needfully ever-wary of demonic manipulations, a sharp memory, and a rare ear for detail—" She gestures again. Despite the gentility of the movement, it dislodges a flake of pastry which is efficiently whisked off the fine white tablecloth by a young man in wait for just such an eventuality. "—I believe this shall go quite well."

it's a small off-duty czechoslovakian traffic warden!

[faithlikeaseed]

The Maker, author of all Truth, knows and judges men's lies when they seek to deceive one another. So Myr's believed all his life and so he’d let the ethic of truth-telling shape him into a young man despising falsehood and the oft-claimed need for it. The necessities of life in a Circle blunted his fanatic's edges but made total honesty all the more appealing; a life lived (and loved) openly, without shame or need for daily subterfuge, glowed as the brightest jewel in his heart's treasures.

By contrast, it made the Game seem monstrous and alien from a Marcher's remove. Or maybe his horror of it went beyond uncomprehending xenophobia into self-recognition: You put on the glad mask and iron self-control because you can't survive the world without them.

"I think of it instead," he says smilingly, "as a challenge to view everything in its most charitable light. Responding to the ideal in everyone, rather than the actual--" He trips a moment over the thought when that same politeness, Circle-egalitarian, makes him turn attention to the help and smile a bemused thanks. He's still used to exactly none of this--

Thus, of course, why he'd come. "--and making the world a little brighter for it. But I take your point," he lifts his own cup in salute to her, "and the artist's assessment of the raw materials, as it were. Where do we begin?"

Wysteria-- Right of Croq-way (thread-jackable by Lea, I do believe?)

[coquettish_trees]

"The third hoop is in the kitchen!" is Alexandrie's helpful call from around the corner and farther down the hall. From the same direction a moment afterwards there is a quiet thud, and a blue ball ensconced in a carefully crocheted cozy of the same color—it had been noted earlier on in her indoor croquet career that the marks on the walls the un-cushioned balls made during more energetic play went roundly unappreciated by the serving staff—comes rolling into view and stops neatly in the near-center of the arched entrance to the sitting room. It is followed shortly thereafter by its ebullient striker, who minces around it with great care that her skirts do not disturb it on her way to look for her other ball.

"Ah, miséricordieux Andraste."

Apparently she's remembered the black ball had gone what passes for 'offsides' and she had been forced to place it in the penalty position, which is to say, beneath one of the artfully carved chairs that had been moved—along with the rest of the furniture—from their usual arrangement to along the walls to allow for this particular bit of fun. Despite the oath, Alexandrie doesn't look put-out at all. Rather, she beams at Wysteria as if she might be able to dismiss the dour weather entirely with her good humor.

"Do not fear to give it a sturdy thump," she says brightly, leaning briefly on her mallet as she watches, "the apartments are rather larger than a standard court."

[heirring]

A sturdy thump indeed follows, the resounding WHUCK pleasantly muffled by the red ball's crocheted second skin. It goes hurtling across the parlor, narrowly skirts the black ball in the doorway and lands with a mute bump against the carpet edge there. Straightening, Wysteria hooks her mallet cheerily over her shoulder.

"I expect the knitting takes something out of the swing as well. When summer comes and we can play outdoors, we should use them as a handicap. We'll be well practiced hands by then and no one will want to play against us otherwise."

The afternoon finds her in good enough temper that she doesn't think, Though maybe that's for the better. But that is, of course, reliably the case on any afternoon spent in the De la Fontaine house. There is such a easiness to the house and its denizens that she finds it quite easy indeed to forget entirely about the troubles outside it. A war? That can be a tomorrow worry. Bickering over the sending crystals with pig headed men? As if it occured to someone else entirely. Hitting a dead end with her research? A mere complication.

"Now, you promised you'd tell me something of Madame-- oh, you know, I don't know that I know what Gwenaëlle's proper name is now, actually. But in any case, you must describe everything so it can be as if I was there myself."

Leander-- Happy Accidents

[coquettish_trees]

The moments they'd spent together surrounded by truly appalling creatures whose near every movement had made the back of her mouth taste bitter hadn't been all that long, but within them Alexandrie had found something she'd missed more than she'd thought. An artistic peer.

She'd kept up with her own work, of course. Had found several titled men and women who dabbled, or who patroned artists, but it would hardly do for her to take tea and sit for discussion with a lowborn civilian painter. It was the Inquisition alone that cut through those boundaries, and now, finally, another artist within its ranks. As soon as she'd gotten off the quite literally cursed island, she'd sent someone to find him with a little handwritten card inviting him to call on her at the apartments.

The large space attached to the roofed balcony of which she is in the midst of turning from sitting room to studio when he arrives. He'll be greeted by an austere fellow in his middle years who looks rather as if he has never deigned to have an expression in his life who will both gesture for a maid to come and take—and dry, and perhaps press—whatever outerwear Leander has entered in and to, with a slight formal bow, offer to usher him to where the Lady Alexandrie is expecting him.

She is frowning at the dark and dour sky as if it has caused her great injury, but lights up at his appearance.

"Ah! Trés bien! Perhaps the two of us together shall be able to convince the clouds to part so that I can remember which parts of the room have the best light."

arrives so late my starbucks is cold

[sarcophage]

An attempt to arrange his hair in an intentional-looking fashion was undone by the ferry ride over, so it's a bit of a wavy mess when he arrives, but at least the evidence of effort remains in his overall cleanliness, which he's worked down to the least detail, eyebrows and cuticles and all.

Once his mantle's off and his scarf is unwound (both could use some care, honestly), his collar's relaxed enough that it's probably considered vulgar by at least one of these people, or so he hopes. Alas, he's got no chest hair to let creep above a neckline, otherwise he'd have made a point of that too. There's only the top of a scar—a straight vertical line, centred, beginning just below his collarbones—and that will only peek if the angle's just right.

Anyway, enough about his attributes: Leander deliberately chooses not to emulate the help by greeting their mistress with a bow. Instead he crosses the room to meet her and, once he's near, raises his hands to request one or both of hers. "Darling Lady," he knows just how cheeky he's being, "just flash it a smile, that should do the trick."

Sidony-- Café au Lady

[coquettish_trees]

After everything that occurred during those two awful days trapped in the Gallows, Alexandrie is not thinking about Byerly Rutyer. She is not thinking about Byerly Rutyer so entirely that she has invited Sidony to join her at the café in Hightown she favors most, determined to put the little tiff she'd started behind them in total, and will be sitting at what has become her favourite table when the other woman appears.

It is in a cozy corner. One can see the goings on in both café and street quite easily whilst not being forced to endure the dropped temperature near the windows and sacrificing little privacy of ones own. There is a small selection of tiny pastries already arrayed across it, but Alexandrie has apparently waited on Sidony's appearance before ordering anything to drink.

"Lady Venaras!" she exclaims in greeting, standing with a small sweep of skirts and a broad smile. "How good of you to make the trip in such weather. Do tell me you did not walk."

[indissection]

Sidony's understanding of the disagreement between the two of them is vague at best; it seems to her only that Madame Alexandrie is unable to take a jest in good humour and might have taken her crystal suggestions far too seriously, but it's not something that's worth investigating or demanding an answer for. Since the Provost's wedding they've had no reason to have any more kind of terse interaction - far better to imagine the two of them back on the pathway towards a good friendship and leave it at that.

The cafe is quiet enough that Sidony is able to make her way there dressed as beautifully as she likes, which she appreciates. Dressing down for surgery and her work in the infirmary is not so terrible a trial - it means she does get to do what she wishes, after all - but there are times where she longs for the silks of Nevarra, the sort of things her mother and father would buy her to try and quiet her pleas for more tutoring. It only worked sometimes.

"Lady de la Fontaine, surely we are at a first name basis now," she offers a curtsey, shaking her head as she rises. "How else would I get here? The Gallows has yet to afford me a carriage, so my feet must do."

Cade-- in daylights, in sunsets, in midnights

[nadasharillen]

Nari isn't really good at this.

She's not good at her birthday, she's not good at thinking about the time that's passed without Sina, and she's not good at this. But one night she's waiting anyway, already home before Cade comes back—a rarity—sitting on the couch with her legs folded up and fidgeting with the cup of tea cradled carefully in her hands.

Despite expecting him she still manages to look a little startled when he comes in, chuckling through her nose in the windy way she has after it fades.

"Hi."

There's probably more where that came from.

ME FINALLY

[onlyhymns]

It's been a decent enough day, not a lot of stress, some interesting writing for Myr, all the things that make a day decent for someone like Cade. His head is somewhere else when he comes through the door, but he immediately notices Nari sitting there so expectantly, and pauses before he can close it, looking like he's not sure if he should run or come closer.

"--hello,"

Alexandrie

[malavhenan]

Finel has been making himself very acquainted with the library since his arrival. There's something so wonderfully comforting about the quietness, the smell of the books that entices him to stay for hours nearly every day as he's able. It's something he's never really had access to before, but the sheer volume of knowledge that could be held just here in one place seems overwhelming.

He's on his way to return a book to its proper shelf when he's stopped by the young woman as he walks past her table. It takes him a moment to fully respond, distracted briefly by all of her finery.

"Ah - yes. Can I help you with something?"

[coquettish_trees]

"I do hope so," she replies, making a graceful gesture of invitation toward the seat open beside her.

"There is a continuing argument in the Venatori correspondence I have been translating and making note of about whether or not the artifact that seems to be greatly aiding, if not entirely enabling, our ultimate foe is of Tevene or elven origin. The argument against it being an elven artifact seems rather spuriously based on national pride and dismissal of your people," An opinion I certainly do not share, says her intonation, although whether it's to ingratiate herself or her true belief is negotiable. Of course her thoughts on elves are hardly relevant, "Thus, I am inclined to believe it indeed elven.

"The Dalish keep a good deal of old knowledge, do they not? Know you any tales of such an orb?"

Lexie

[thorndergod]

He looks at her, considers her appearance. When last they'd talked, they'd quarreled. He can't trust the smile. Or the welcome, for that matter. But apparently she's back in his brother's life and it means she's not yet a liability to Loki. She could even perhaps be an asset. In truth, there'd been a moment or two when Thor had thought it possible for her to be a friend, but she plays games nearly as much as Loki does and he doesn't know that he has the energy for that.

Maybe an asset or ally, then.

"Of course," he says and returns the smile, settling in. "Do you have anything stronger than tea to drink?"

[coquettish_trees]

Her smile and welcome are as genuine as anything that contains ulterior motivation can be. She's not quite forgiven him for his truly horrendous timing in requesting she undo the decorating she'd amused herself with, and they have not yet broached the subject of their dangerous mutual knowledge of Loki's true lineage, but Thor's is support they're going to need. And there had been one or two brief moments on in which she had thought that they could, indeed, be at the very least amicable acquaintances.

"The tea becomes stronger the longer one leaves it to sit, but I hardly think that is what you mean," Alexandrie's eyes twinkle with subdued amusement beneath the careful arch of her brows. "Alas, no, I am ill equipped to truly entertain. The librarians discourage it.

"What has brought you to the literary resources of the Inquisition?" The Asgards, she knows well enough, have a substantial library of their own. That, and she'd wager 'cracking a book' means something entirely different to Thor than the usual.

Off Again On Forever-- Loki

[coquettish_trees]

There is a very certain kind of light in the library today; the kind that Alexandrie always wants to touch with paint. Bright, but made soft and diffuse by the ice that still coats the windows.

He is looking at whatever it is he'd come to the Gallows archives to leaf through. She, with her cheek leaning on the curl of her hand, her own book forgotten in her lap, is looking at him with a small smile as soft as the light. With the kind of warm absorbed attentiveness which would be uninterrupted even should someone drop one of the heavy reference volumes directly behind her. The kind of attentiveness that means she can time her rise and movement behind him to lean forward and set her cheek against his to allow her to reach to turn the page for him.

"You," she murmurs in Tevene, "are very handsome when you read." and then, returning to Trade, "Have you learned anything terribly interesting?"

[hwaaaitsme]

Loki, for all his adoration of the woman beside him, had fallen into old habits and allowed himself to be consumed by the tome before him. He had been embroiled in research and, until she leaned over him and set her cheek alongside his, he hadn't even noticed her move. He starts, just so as she purrs over his shoulder. Out of the side of his eyes he can make out the curve of her cheek and her long lashes.

He, still unsettled, answers in Tevene.

"Am I?" He preens a bit and sighs. "Is being handsome not enough, now I must learn interesting things?"

Byerly-- His life ♪ Ain't gonna be nothing like our lives ♫

[coquettish_trees]

Finding Byerly's door wasn't terribly difficult.

Only slightly moreso was lying in wait for him to return just far enough along the curvature of the hallway to remain unseen.

(And only slightly moreso had been convincing Geneviève to leave behind her old broken-in riding boots that could be reliably quiet.)

Once he does return, once the latch clicks, she moves. Even in the old boots with new skills he'll hear the sound of quick footfalls just before the full-force shove, granting him a moment to look, or prepare. Alexandrie can hardly overpower him, but she doesn't intend to. All she needs is a small slice of space for her slender form, clad in leggings rather than her regular preponderance of skirts, to slip through so she can take up a defensive position in the room beyond.

[bouchonne]

The whole turn of events is so bizarre that he falls back before the assault. Alexandrie is and always has been a strange, capricious creature, but she's usually one a bit more graceful than this. And yet here she is, hurling herself bodily at him, like a bear with two wounded paws. A bear wearing trousers. Even if he did want to stop her, he's so taken by surprise that he simply wouldn't be able to gather his wits to do so.

So.

Once he recovers himself - and she's well inside by then - he does manage a decently sardonic murmur of, "Such a pleasure to have your company, dear lady." And a decently graceful bow. Then he sweeps his hair from his face (it's getting a bit long) and says, "May I pour you something to drink?"

Colin (action; post excursion with... did u take my wine?)

[coquettish_trees]

The apartments are filled, upon Colin's return, with the unmistakable smell of baking bread. This, followed to its source, will reveal a simply clad Alexandrie with her hair twisted into a low braid, staring into the flame of the small oven. Flour still covers the hand that holds her wine glass.

Her eyes are tired and dull when she looks over her shoulder before turning her face back to the rising loaf.

"Do you know," she asks it, "why I kept your acquaintance then?"

[keenly]

Colin comes in looking deeply disturbed. He starts to find Lexie there, doing the thing he least expected--baking bread. The question he was about to ask dies on his lips.

"No," he admits quietly.

nari~ ii.

[chainlightning]

There's a delighted giggle from Merrill, who had come to the Hanged Man out of habit - even without Varric and Hawke and the others, the Hanged Man was the Hanged Man, and they knew her here - and been pleased to find Nari there. She has a cup of mulled wine herself and is mostly perching on the furniture rather than sitting on it, but she does point out the chairs with the oddest wobbles, so perhaps it works out.

"I suppose if he's the only one in the boat, he's technically the captain..."

It's punctuated with another giggle and a swing of her feet.

[nadasharillen]

Nari huffs laughter through her nose, "That's fair enough." She finishes the chair she's working on with a final decisive thud of mallet against wood, and then stands to right it, testing the solidity of it with her foot, and then grinning over at Merrill. "What's the most grandiose title you could give yourself without technically lying about it?"

End of an Age -- Thranduil (during business hours, naturally)

[coquettish_trees]

The knock on the door is precise despite the slightly muted quality lent by the cloth covering the hand that delivers it. It is followed, after a moment, by a quiet inquiry.

"Lady Alexandrie, my Lord Provost. Might I have a word?"

[rowancrowned]

It’s not a moment before the door opens to Thranduil and all his glory—which is, at the moment, fairly non-existent, and with a nug asleep by the fireplace.

“Always,” he vows, and beckons her in—to close the door after. “The chill,” he says, by way of explanation. “Here to see my wife?”

He savors that.

Swan Song -- Colin again, but later on

[coquettish_trees]

Following her outburst, their sinking to the floor to weep jaggedly together, even after the time she'd spent calm and leaning against Colin's shoulder, Alexandrie is brittle and erratic and moves about like a stormcloud at high wind. She goes out.

The next morning, it's calm. And the next morning. And the next. She comes and goes at her regular hours. She says hello, and goodbye, and smiles, and laughs, and kisses Colin's forehead. She will go to market if he asks. She marshals the extra servants she's hired to move the remainder of her personal belongings across Hightown to the Asgard estate. She meets with a friend of her father's to discuss the planned renovations. She does her work and welcomes his interruptions warmly, although she gently directs the conversation to lighter things.

One early evening, he will discern the faint smell of burning paper. And following it, music. Melody. Quiet low repeated chords. Carefully counted measures of silence entire. Melody again.

[keenly]

He is scraping the last of their dinner into a bowl--how strange it is, to have any excess--and he smells something burning. Worried, he sets the bowl aside and follows the smell of smoke, and hears the music.

What is that song? It's serene and poignant, and he doesn't think he's heard her play it before. He opens the door to the room and peers at Alexandrie, then scans the room for signs of a fire.