closed | why you gotta be so rude

[coquettish_trees]

WHO: Lexie, Gwenaëlle, Byerly, Merrill, Wysteria, Leander, you maybe
WHAT: A collection of prompts!
WHEN: Right now!
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Hit me up on discord (shae#7274) or shaestorms if you want to do a thing. :)

Gwen

[ their friendship a well worn glove at this point, Alexandrie has little compunction about sweeping unannounced save for her footfall into the chamber that Gwenaëlle and Thranduil share. The latter is keeping office hours, and she cares little about the state of readiness of the former, only that she is in residence.

So, sweep she does, and continues her curving trajectory until she is near enough the bed to fall gracefully upon it and stare upwards. ]

Ah, Gigi, [ she intones dramatically, ] I am a fallen woman.


Byerly

[ Time passes, and true to her word each Thursday finds Alexandrie at the same table, at the same cafe, at the same time, the same chair sitting empty across from her. One week she reads. One she embroiders. Another she spends watching the bright birds of spring return to the still barren trees. Always, she looks like a seawife standing on an outlook who watches for sails out of habit rather than hope.

This week, it is finally warm and clear enough that they have set tables outside and they have quickly filled. Alexandrie sits at one, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders to stave off the still persistent chill of the breeze, a bit of finework in her lap. She is partway through a stitch when the sound of the chair pulling out comes, and she begins to speak before looking. ]

I am afraid I still require that, I am waiting for--

[ Stitch pulled taut, her gaze finally swings upwards, and her smile is like the dawn; small, and furtive, and spreading with the promise of brightness. Softly: ]

I did not think you would come.


Merrill and Wysteria

It came by courier, in both cases an enterprising looking urchin who stood a little straighter for the fun of being on a posh errand. A little rectangle of very nice paper with a little watercolored rose in the corner for the purpose of informing the recipients (one Mademoiselle Merrill and one Miss Wysteria Poppell) in very lovely handwriting that their presence was requested for tea the next Saturday at one o'clock at the residence of their mutual friend (one Lady Alexandrie de la Fontaine). They should feel free to wear whatever they liked best (with a note appended to Merrill's that if what she liked best was to poke about in the hostess's closet she was welcome to come early), and to let her know directly if they should be available to attend. (A true répondez, s'il vous plait.)

And lo and behold, all is made ready at the appointed time: a complete tea service, down to the matching porcelain cups and saucers, cloth napkins folded carefully to the swans of the de la Fontaine crest, and a little wheeled cart topped with shining engraved tiered silver platters of little finger sandwiches of varying types, another smaller tower with a selection of several tiny pastries and cakes, and several exquisitely carved boxes of tea from which to choose. One butler, for the purposes of greeting, one butler's son for the purposes of coats, one maid for the purposes of serving, and one hostess, who looks particularly pleased with everything in its entirety including an extra bit of pleased to see you.

"Ah, but it has been so very long since I have had a proper afternoon tea," Alexandrie sighs happily, sweeping into one of the three chairs placed equidistant around the circular table set in the middle of the room which, naturally, is precisely the correct size for a genteel afternoon with your girlfriends.


Colin

She's been going out on Thursdays. Always leaving at the same time, always returning at the same time, always gently insisting on going alone without even Marie to attend her, and always with the air of someone going out to look again for something lost long after the search has been called off. She returns the same: empty handed, expecting to remain so. But it is a gentle thing. There are no tears, no sobs muffled in her pillow on the rare occasion that she spends the night at the apartments.

One day, though, a small smile. And for Colin, as she passes the door to his room, seemingly apropos of nothing,

"You may meet here again, if you like."


Lea

At 5 o'clock on the dot, there are pastries. They can be smelled from the entryway, as if the apartments themselves were an Orlesian patisserie. Let no-one ever say that Alexandrie de la Fontaine doesn't keep her word.

Upon his arrival, there is a cheerful call from the sitting room.

"Has he both arms and legs, Marceau? Do not let him in unless he can properly account for all four, I shall have no oathbreakers in my home."

(Let no-one ever say that Alexandrie de la Fontaine doesn't insist on parity.)

Comments

[elegiaque]

Are you?

( gwenaëlle tilts a glance down the end of her nose, her reading glasses perched there quite charmingly, sat atop the covers and working with her lap-desk. she sets it aside, although she doesn't take the glasses off— )

Honestly, I thought that part would take longer. You're catching up to me very quick.

[coquettish_trees]

I have ever been a swift student.

[ Alexandrie throws an arm over her eyes and heaves an immense and heartwrenching sigh, pauses for effect, then rolls over onto her stomach, kicks her feet up behind her girlishly—an amusing look, given that it causes her petticoats to settle in a thick poof of fine fabric over her back—and laces her hands to perch her chin on them.

While she looks terribly nonchalant, and she's smiling prettily, there's somewhat in her eyes that betrays an honest hurt. ]

I have received word from Papa that the Game sweeps forward without me. Those who had most to gain from my losses have kept firm tabs on me and waited, and the company I have chosen to keep [ an elfblooded false heiress her closest confidante? A famously murderous Tevene mage her devoted lover? A common mage living as a peer in her home? ] has proven more than adequate fuel to significantly damage my influence.

Tch. [ She examines her nails. ] I am quite sure the vast swath of the court Loki fucked his way through have all decided to pretend they were above such a thing. [ A wryly amused smile. ] Which they may well have been.

[elegiaque]

( ah, her company—yes, gwenaëlle can more than draw her own conclusions. that, she supposes, is the difference in swiftness: the company that she kept, in that first year, had flirted with influence that she might yet have learned to wield. that she did, on occasion, albeit more as bludgeon than scalpel. she had cosied up to power, initially.

as has alexandrie. in a different way. )

You know Orlais.

( sex is not the same as association. these orlesian girls with their dreadful ideas—that they learned somewhere, from someone. that did not happen spontaneously in their empty, curly little heads. she pokes lexie with her toes— )

It's not "without you" if you don't lie down and die, it's just you're standing in a different place. With different leverage. That's the trick no one wants you to notice.

[coquettish_trees]

[ Alexandrie sighs as if she had been filled with air, and the poke of Gwen's toes released it. ]

I still have a hand I might play, yes. It is simply that I mislike having my keep taken. I built it rather carefully, after all, and still had use for it.

[ Especially now, when the Sunburst Throne waits for its eminent new occupant, and the court overflows with information and gossip like honey from the comb. ]

[elegiaque]

I find it very hard to believe you didn't know what you were doing in giving it up.

( the life alexandrie's living and the life she left behind were never going to peacefully coexist; it has seemed clear, from this near distance, which she'd decided to prioritise.

she supposes it doesn't mean not grieving the loss, but it seems a little too cute by half to suggest it was taken from her. )

[bouchonne]

[ He's not sure what to say in return. Some bit of sarcasm is tempting; so, too, is sincerity. The issue is that...

Well. He doesn't know what to expect. They had been pretty words in her letter, no question of that, but they'd been - strange words. They've never talked to one another like that before. Honestly, he's never talked with anyone like that before. It leaves him feeling, still, uneasy and unmoored. But, well - Here he is. In a rare act of courage, here he is. ]

If you didn't think I would come, why defend the seat?

[ It's murmured softly. His face gives little away. ]

[coquettish_trees]

I promised to.

[ Simple words, for what they say. That she'd meant what she'd written. That she meant to be faithful to it, despite no guarantee that the letter should ever have been read at all.

Even though her hand rests on her work as she looks at him, Alexandrie holds the needle still. Deft between her thumb and forefinger, waiting to see if he will stay or if its watch will begin again. ]

[bouchonne]

[ He turns his attention from her for the moment. Lifts his hand with his usual lazy elegance to summon the attention of the waiter; then, with all the assured arrogance of nobles all over, orders a bottle of brandy. Perhaps it's not the most responsible decision, but, well - If he is to endure heartfelt conversations, he has no desire to do so sober.

Before the waiter leaves, By asks Lexie - ]

One glass or two?

[coquettish_trees]

Were you planning to join me in it?

[ It's said with exceptional innocence. Her lips twitch slightly. The needle tucks into the cloth. ]

[bouchonne]

I see nothing but tea in your chaste cup, dear mademoiselle. You cannot pretend this inspiration was yours.

[keenly]

"Hm?" he asks coherently, not looking up from his writing. When she doesn't answer him, he aims his face at the door to his room and repeats, louder, "HM?"

[coquettish_trees]

There's laughter down the hall and Alexandrie reappears, gliding across the room to wrap her arms loosely about Colin's shoulders and kiss his cheek to leave a full print of her lips in recompense for his inattention before leaning her head against his.

"You. May. Meet. Here. Again. If. You. Like." She peers at his writing with an affect of terrible affront. "What is more interesting than I, I shall not abide it."

[keenly]

It still takes Colin a second to work out who she means. When he does, he grins broadly, sets aside his writing, and stands to give her a hug.

"You spoke with him!"

[coquettish_trees]

"Oh, I see, you shall put your work down for mention of him."

Implicit: yes. Alexandrie makes as if she's trying to fight her way out of the hug, cross at being now third best, but she eventually settles into it, turning her face to the side so she can rest her head in the hollow of his shoulder.

"He spoke with me, rather." It's said more gently. Apparently she's done with her teasing for the moment.

[keenly]

"No, I mean--" Colin breaks away and grips her shoulders gently to look at her "--I'm putting it down for you. I'm really proud of you, Lexie. What did Byerly say?"

Byerly's name causes a slightly different sort of smile, and it doesn't go away. He doesn't notice.

prepare for trouble & make it double etc etc

[chainlightning]

Merrill does, in fact, come early to poke through Lexie's closet. She is well aware that there are different standards for style, and while she has some finery - the dress she wore to Halamshiral and to Thranduil's wedding, mostly - the rest is practical. Armor, leather, and furs seem out of place in Lexie's home, and as much as Merrill loves who and what she is, she also quite likes the frills of Orlesian fashion.

Sometimes, a girl just wants to look pretty.

Lexie knows that better than most - which explained why there was, in all the pink and gold and white of her wardrobe, the green dress that Merrill found. In her measurements. In her designs from Thranduil's wedding. Lexie made no mention of it being a gift, but Merrill had thanked her profusely for, if nothing else, allowing her to wear it. It looks a little wilder on her, with her vallaslin and bare feet and her staff; partnered with the leather jewelry and the white griffon feather she has braided into her hair today, she looks like a wild thing walking in civilization. But that is what she is, and honestly? Merrill kind of likes looking the part.

"I don't know if I've ever had proper afternoon tea," she muses, taking a seat in one of the other chairs. "I've had tea, but not as much more than a drink."

[heirring]

The young lady sweeping into one of the chairs after her is by far the least fabulously dressed of the three of them. Even given Alexandrie's considerable kindness in those early days when she first arrived in Thedas (my! it seems like only yesterday!), and despite the play formality of the occasion, Wysteria Poppell's tastes even now have the mortifying habit of trending toward the nipped bodices and ankle length skirts of - perish the thought - Ferelden. But she uses them to great advantage, having to do little or no arrangement of skirts about her shoes before she's able to collapse into her chair with a cheerful sigh. She's still slightly flush and breathless and the pin in her hair is coming ever so slightly loose. The ferry had been late and she'd all but sprinted up Kirkwall's innumerable stairs to reach the De la Fontaine apartments at anything like a reasonable hour.

"Oh, they are marvelous. You'll see they're quite the relief in the middle of the afternoon. Nothing quite like having a reason to put one's feet up and stop rushing about for a few minutes, if you ask me. You musn't tell anyone, but I'm rather a fan of having excuses for things like that."

[coquettish_trees]

"And I rather a fan of providing them," Alexandrie replies with a bright impish smile. Her position affords her the opportunity—expectation, even—to continue to have such social occasions. That they also function as excuses to sit for a bit to the hardworking members of the Inquisition that count among her personal friends is a nice little bonus.

"Do say what kind you should like. There are..." she retrieves the boxes one by one to pass them around the table in order, "A lovely fragrant winter berry and citrus, a rather invigorating ginger and spindleweed, and a fine earthy nutty one with a bit of warm spice to it that shall wake you up directly if you are feeling as if you need a second burst of such a thing."

[chainlightning]

The pair of them are lovely, and despite the difference in style, Merrill still feels like the odd one. Neither of them are anything but welcoming, though, and she finds herself relaxing; this is hardly the first time she's spent with Alexandrie, and Wysteria seems kind.

"It's good to take breaks," Merrill agrees with a chirp, examining the boxes of tea that are being passed out. "If you're refreshed, you're all the better for whatever your duties are." No matter what those duties are.

She decides on the winter berry and citrus after a bit of thought, glancing toward the other two to see what to do.

[heirring]

"Oh, I hardly even need to look. The nut and spice one, if you please."

Tea and cakes and the promise of a fine chair to sit in, as pleasant as they are, are hardly the most interesting quality of the table. No, of course it is the notable company. And so, after some moments of prattling and selecting teas and fussing with small sandwiches, Wysteria's attention promptly rounds on Merrill.

"Alexandrie tells me you accompanied her to Lady Baudin's wedding ceremony, Merrill? I've heard her version of the evening, but you really must share yours as well. You'll forgive me for saying it, Alexandrie, but I imagine your opinion is quite jaded indeed, having seen what I can only imagine is a hundred such parties. I would like to hear every detail as viewed by a fresh eye."

[sarcophage]

After twirling once to display all his company-appropriate appendages to the long-suffering Marceau, Leander leaves him with an armful of outerwear and a companionable pat-pat to the shoulder (which he surely appreciates very much), and goes drifting after the sound of the Lady's voice.

"My arms are exhausted, so I've left them at home today." He appears in the doorway, clothes tidy and hair in windblown disarray, just as usual, with both his hands posed at chest level. "How do you feel about paws?"

[coquettish_trees]

The Lady in question adopts an absolutely thunderous expression upon seeing the position of her guest's hands and pitches her voice towards the foyer rather than replying to him.

"Marceau! You know how I feel about paws!"

There is a reserved "Yes, Lady Alexandrie," from the doorway, where Marceau is holding Leander's already neatly folded coat over his arm. He stands there attentively as if he fully intends to grant credence to whatever it is she says next.

"I adore them," she finishes. Marceau bows slightly and departs, and Alexandrie breaks into a brilliant smile and gestures to the empty chair across the pastry-bearing table from her. "Come and have a seat and tell me what manner of beast you are."

[sarcophage]

Well, that was a slightly insane display at the expense of poor old Marceau. Leander grins after him, waves goodbye by just wiggling the fingers of one hand—paw, rather—and then gives up the clowning to make his way to the hostess like a relatively normal person might do.

By her side, he lingers just long enough to ask for her hand with a gesture. This seems to be his custom, as she'll have learned by now: no symbolic ring-kissing, no bowing, just a brief clasp of at least one hand in both of his own, and a moment of eye contact if he can take it. For her, he smiles.
(She may also have noticed that his smiles rarely fill his eyes.)

The seat, then: he takes it. "The savage and insatiable kind, starved for company. And for pastries, and frilly little cakes and things, as luck would have it."

[coquettish_trees]

The hand clasp is both received and returned warmly with a smile of her own. (Alexandrie's smiles, in comparison, rarely leave her eyes, although that means little enough from a woman like her.)

"I should quake in abject terror of such ferocity save that I have both company and petits fours as shield. White flowers for cream, red for jam, pink for chocolate," she points to indicate each, despite knowing the description would do well enough, "and the price of them only the story of how you came to art." A brief pause and tilt of her head, and then "Tea?"

[sarcophage]

"Please," he answers, as though he's done this many times before, which he most certainly has not—but he's not about to advertise it, even if she's already guessed. Which, he reckons, she probably has.

Leander carries himself well enough, but there are certain behaviours a person can only absorb by spending much of their time in refined settings, and while Circle mages are decidedly privileged in their own way, they're hardly royalty. He's also spent most of the last several years living in the wilderness, often without a shirt on. So there's that.

But his nails are impeccably clean, and his hand slim and graceful as it reaches for little white flowers.

"How I came to art... well, I didn't, really. It wasn't any decision of mine, it just happened, the same as my magic did." Interrupting himself with a single tut, "Look how lovely this is. It's almost a shame to eat it."