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

[heirring]

Wysteria doesn't gasp, but her eyes do get very round and there's a particular light in her face that all but shrieks Tell me more.

"Oh?" she prompts in a way that might be very delicate if it weren't shamelessly nosy. "Really? Does that happen often? Being accosted by bears and bandits, I mean."

[coquettish_trees]

"To the ceremony, it is not common among humans as a rule, but is sometimes so with the joining of noble houses. A few close and trusted witnesses, immediate family," if one has it available. Alexandrie continues amusedly, "It provides some assurance against bears and bandits," and anyone else who'd rather not see the marriage occur.

"Now! I too should like to hear about how often marriage turns to melee."

[chainlightning]

That makes sense, Merrill supposes. It makes it- intimate, and also prevents assassination, which seems like the sort of thing noble houses have to worry about.

"Oh, it's not always marriage when we have to worry about it - the bears, at least, don't like all the noise and the fire. But it is quite dangerous, sometimes, living out in the woods. Plenty of humans attack us, and wild animals that are hungry or think we're a danger do the same."

She rubs the back of her neck, a bit sheepishly. "It's more dangerous during the courtship, I'd think; lots of hunters have to prove themselves to whoever they wish to marry, and the whole clan isn't there for that."

[heirring]

Wysteria has been rapturously consuming a small sandwich during all this, her eyes bright with fascination and attention pinned entirely on Merrill. The fact that she doesn't interject at key moments with roughly six hundred questions is, frankly, something of a miracle. The moment Merrill gets to the matter of courtship, however--

She sighs, a sound of definitive approval. "But that is how it should be done. I rather think it should be a requirement for all men who wish to marry - some test of their mettle to prove that they aren't completely useless. Don't you think, Alexandrie?"

Wysteria leans forward toward Merrill then, chipper as the sun is bright in summer. "Is it quite dangerous? What kind of things must a suitor do? And are marriages very rare, or would you say most of your young men rise to the challenge because it's natural for them to do so?"

[coquettish_trees]

Despite her desire to begin proudly rattling off the myriad ways her suitor has proven himself useful, Alexandrie only makes a noise of enthusiastic affirmation in response to Wysteria's inquiry and sips her tea, happy to enjoy the spectator sport of her friends' conversation.

[chainlightning]

"Oh- well, it depends." Merrill is not used to being the center of so much attention, save for when Martel and now Alexandrie had fussed over her for fashion purposes. Still, having the presence of her friend and Wysteria's friendliness makes it- not so bad.

She reaches up, tucking some hair behind an ear. "Typically they have to prove themselves as hunters, providers; they must bring home the pelt of a beast that they've hunted. And Dalish that bond will exchange gifts, too, of course." She hums in thought, stirring her tea. "It's not only that it's natural. There are arranged marriages, sometimes; especially if the Clan needs more mages. And we're a dying people, so having children is... encouraged. Only with another elf, though."

[heirring]

"Ah, so it's a way of proving that the arrangement is advantageous. That's understandable, if a little bloodless." A pause, followed by an amendment. "Well. Not that bloodless is a pelt's involved.

"Still. That's so much better than than proving ones self with titles and relatives with upturned noses and grand paintings in grander staircases. Not, of course, that there's anything wrong with those," she says, taking a delicate sip from her teacup. "I've seen one or two very good portraits. But there's a relative lack of personal investment in all of it. If you're going to have an arranged marriage, you might as well know the person you're marrying can do something useful with their hands."

Another pause, another short intake of breath as she realizes what that sounds like-- "Generally speaking. You know. For killing things. Or, er--" Something.

[coquettish_trees]

"I think you may count the little death within such a distinction," Alexandrie comments as she peruses the little sandwiches with exaggerated thoughtfulness, her eyes sparkling with amusement at Wysteria's backpedaling explanation.

"Has anyone been bringing either of you pelts?" She inquires, settling on salmon and watercress. "They ought to, you are both ever so lovely."

[chainlightning]

"The little..." There's a definite pause, a moment of clear confusion as Merrill puzzles over the words, before, suddenly, "Oh!" She giggles, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, right!"

Someone save her, honestly.

"I haven't gotten any pelts, but I did - a few years back, while we were at Skyhold - have someone help me pick out my warhorse? But he's been gone for... some time." There's a note of sadness, definitely, but Merrill at least doesn't seem too hung up on it. It's been literal years since Mal left, and Merrill... well, Merrill is used to people leaving.

She'll see them all again someday, she's sure. She has to be.

[heirring]

Were the company different, she might pause here for some considerable moment of mortification. As it is-- well, she's in a room with Alexandrie and a woman of the wilds. Small deaths hardly seem like the most scandalous topic of conversation they could stumble upon.;

That said, consider some small part of her - the part that sounds like her mother scoffing in horror - relieved as they veer back toward pelts and horses and who is bringing what to whom and blah blah blah. Sensing some edge of wistfulness, some glimmer of melancholy, Wysteria takes a fortifying swig of her tea and redoubles her efforts at being bright and cheery to make up for it.

"Was he handsome? The gentleman who helped select your horse, not the horse. --Although feel free to describe the animal in detail as well. I'm terribly fond of any horse with a charming face."

(Take that, Messere de Foncé.)