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

[keenly]

"Brilliant." Colin beams at her and gives a wink. "Look at these."

He unfolds three slips of paper that were partly underneath his writing.

"Pizzicagnolo needed help responding to some of the complaints people left. You'll love this." He begins to read from one of the papers.

"Name: Anonymous. Complaint Details: We did not join the Inquisition to not be able to watch people practice their swords without shirts on. Recommended Response: Tell the staff to lose everyone’s laundry for a few weeks."

[coquettish_trees]

The subject prompts Alexandrie to spend a wistful moment in missing Resa's company, but she is soon nodding emphatically.

"Quite so. I think you ought to forward that to Mademoiselle Jester. It seems entirely under her purview as Morale Officer."

[keenly]

A chuckle. Colin is more likely to just tell them no. But that's not the point.

"You'll need to read this one for yourself." He passes her the paper. It reads:

NAME: anon
COMPLAINT DETAILS:

BOX TO SMOL

RECOMMENDED RESPONSE:

LESSE SMOL BOX

[coquettish_trees]

A chuckle.

"Too small, is it? I wonder what it is they wished to place within that is not paper."

[keenly]

"And this is the best one." He clears his throat and begins to read aloud.

"Name: Brother Jehan. Complaint Details: On several occasions the figurines of Andraste and Hessarian in the alcove shrine in the mage tower have been rearranged to imply a romantic liaison, and I found the following freshly carved into the back of one of the pews in the main chapel:

"Maferath wanders unforgiven,
twisted, lost, yet always driven,
not by regret for the flames,
or schemes to yet escape the Fade,
but hope at last he'll end his hunt,
and once more taste Andraste's--"

[coquettish_trees]

To that, she throws her head back and laughs delightedly before fixing Colin with a mischievous look.

"Did the good Brother trail off, or did you?"

[keenly]

Colin passes her the note so she can see for herself. The poem is a rubbing taken from the pew, and the rubbing does not go past the letter C on the last word. He keeps reading.

"Recommended Response: I would ask for additional personnel to watch the chapels but I know they cannot be spared, so in lieu of that, everyone might just stop."

[coquettish_trees]

Alexandrie emits a quiet pleased chuckle in response. "The good Brother, then."

"Near perfection," she pronounces, "although the third and fourth lines fit neither rhyme nor rhythm of the rest of the verse and really ought to be something more like..." She pauses for a moment, casting her gaze upward to think before delivering, "Not by regret for the flames he lit, or by yearning to yet be absolved of it." A pause for effect, and then, "Recommended response: compulsory prosody lessons for the entire Inquisition."

[keenly]

"Are you constructively critiquing the lewd poem about the holy mother? What on earth would they say in Val Royeaux? Can you imagine the scandal?"

[coquettish_trees]

"Mais oui, mon cher, what manner of devoted faithful woman would I be if I did not desire to grant the nether regions of Andraste their proper due?" Alexandrie clucks and shakes her head in mock reproval.

"I imagine in Val Royeaux they should say, 'Ah, such insight! The Lady Alexandrie truly does justice to couplets of coupling,' which is the sort of reputation I should deeply enjoy the cultivation of."