faderift | whisper campaign!!

[ cue the heist team assembly montage set to peppy top 40. ]

He arrives when he's called upon, as he'd said he would. Thor's pack is on the larger side, saddlebags very full, because if they're going to socialize with nobles he's absolutely not going to be underdressed or underprepared. If he thought he could get away with it, a servant would be taking care of his bags. That likely wouldn't go over well.

"Silver. Are we ready?" he asks once he's near the pirate at the mustering point. There could still be a few details to clear up, but hopefully it's nothing big.

Alexandrie had no such compunctions regarding servants and arrives with Marie in a carriage she had arranged for, the respectable set of trunks loaded on it almost certainly hers. Her smile twitches as she leans out the window of it. Thor, ever the soldier.

"There remains room in here with me, should anyone wish it," she remarks cheerfully before leaning her cheek on the curl of her hand at Thor. "You could have had a seat already had you only waited, my lord."

Of course, waiting for her would have involved standing around and enduring her excessively sweet and rather extended leavetaking from his brother, so...

Silver is already aware that traveling with this many nobles is going to be...something. And yet, somehow he was not prepared for Alexandrie.

"I think we're all ready," John answers. Nothing in his tone betrays any apprehension. "With any luck it'll be a short, uneventful journey."

Such optimism. When has anything in John's life been uneventful?

Notably, he has the least in the way of luggage. Traveling light is easy when you own next to nothing.

A second carriage draws up behind Lexie's, with nearly as many trunks strapped to the back and a young footman in livery seated atop them. Freddie leans out the window in accidental mirror of the other noblewoman.

"I've room for two if you're friendly and won't mind or add to Mireille's snoring. Goodness, Silver, that can't be all your baggage? Aren't you the architect of this whole endeavour? Lexie, we may need to take him to a tailor, don't you think?"

Edited 2019-04-18 14:18 (UTC)

"We can hope for a short venture, but I can't imagine it'll be quite that simple," Sidony comments, a small, wry smile on her face. Her hands are settled behind her, watching with a flick of her eyes as she takes in all the people around her. Thor she knows if only from reputation, Alexandrie is... Well. The rest she will come to know better, she suspects.

"I have only myself and one bag, if no one minds the trouble."

Some of us are poor, humble pirates, Freddie!!

"I'm sure we can purchase anything you might need once we arrive." In Ostwick? Hm. "Now, if we can be on our way..."

Without further commentary on what John does or doesn't have packed. Formal wear??? He has something clean and minimally blood stained.

Noblewomen. Then again, Loki is as much a clotheshorse as any of them, so Thor isn't entirely unused to this amount of luggage coming along for the ride.

"We are ready," Thor says as he gets on his horse and gets situated. A carriage doesn't give a good view of the road or any sort of vantage point for a battle if they're attacked. Once he's up, he glances back at Silver.

"You could use a better jacket, at the least." It wouldn't do to look poor when they're trying to seem reputable.

"Send someone riding ahead with your measurements to find a reputable tailor," Alexandrie suggests from her window, "and then it shall be done upon our arrival." She leans a bit farther out to address both Freddie and Sidony. "Color thoughts?"

[ downshift to a more solemn yet fancy musical cue ]

So, they finagle themselves an invitation. They get in the door, and then—

Silver finds that Flint was right. This is fairly more complicated than simply getting up in front of a hoard of pirates and stomping his foot before announcing a mish-mash of scuttlebutt. This is more complex, even with the groundwork having been laid in the form of stolen Venatori letters carefully planted. Any given search would discover that strain of evidence, but the trick of triggering enough hysteria to provoke a search was going to require all of them doing their work very well tonight.

At the least, John is a curiosity. He isn't so welcome here, but he has the weight of semi-scandalous interest on his side. It means he can murmur his way through conversation about what he's heard about certain individuals and hasn't anyone here heard about their scandalous associations...?

At a point, he breaks to circle away, angling towards any friendly face.

"How goes it?"

Hopefully well. John would very much like for this night to turn out a success.

She steps up to his side, the second he looks to her. Gently taking his hand to curve it around her arm. Letting them walk together as she falls into step next to him. It's been - quite some time since she'd played these games, this way, but oh she takes to it well. Glittering like a temple statue she might have been once, like she never had spent a day on the streets. That arrogant confidence that she was more than anyone's equal.

Rather than answer him directly, she laughs brightly like he's said something absolutely thrilling, and uses it as an excuse to lean in. "Mister Silver, say that's not true- " it's pitched the same way she knew how to carry her voice on battlefields, to make sure that the words could be distinct before she leant in conspiratorially like they had a great secret to share.

Which was true, granted. But now other people would want to know what it was. Leaning to talk close to his ear. "Well, very well, so far. I think we are making quite the impression."

For all the uncertainty of this venture, John knows he's chosen well here. Gwen's advice had been useful. His companions are all far more at home in this room than John is, even if one would never know it from the way John's carried himself.

At the least, they've gotten a fair amount of attention. John's eyes find Thor across the room, try to pick out Freddie or Lexi and fail, before he turns his obliging grin fully back to Lakshmi.

"I don't think you're capable of not making an impression," John tells her, casually complimentary. "Even if no one follows up with an investigation, I think our efforts have been insidious enough to catch on."

Maybe before they go, John will spend a day or two on the docks. If they can't throw the entirety of the nobility into chaos, John can at least rile up the dock workers and merchants. But he'll consider that more seriously later.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Silver," oh it's wicked, her laughter, at his compliment. Pleased as always, to do just that, and so completely unapologetic about it. But still, she gives his hand a fond squeeze as if they knew each other better than a brief bit of huddling post-battle. "Did you earn that name from having a silver tongue, I wonder?"

But she nods, shifting, trailing her eyes over the room, always, to it and then back to him. Something on her tongue about telling them they saw the woman whoring upstairs, and see how many of them ran off to check. The last attempt, truly.

Granted, his question, she looks back for, meeting his eyes briefly. Pretty blue things, they were. Like gems sitting in his face, like the statues carved in temples she only could half remember now. "Truthfully?" A huff, deep in the back of her throat. Something that wants to get out, and she is tired, perhaps, in her own way. "I despise it. But I suspect that's not surprising."

The question gets a smile but nothing else. No, there's no telling where he came by the name. No, there's no delving into the man he'd once been before he was a cook and a pirate and a boogeyman Billy's using to terrorize whatever's left of Nascere.

There's more pertinent topics to consider anyway. But even with the damage they're attempting to accomplish at hand, he still asks:

"The party or the gossiping?"

Since there is some difference between the two. He knows nobility when he encounters it, though Lakshmi is...something else, to understate her entirely. He suspects she dislikes both, considering what he knows of her.

She pauses when someone comes close, a deliberate little hover like they are sharing some secret that has been interrupted, eyes following them as if to make the point that they shouldn't be listening. A half protective, half suggestive curl against John's side, all glitter, all gold, that warms her words by his ear. As if they all don't know it doesn't make them want to listen more, being in such a whispered quick place.

Courtiers. All the same. French, English, Maratha, Mughal. Birds of a particularly ridiculous feather. But oh, how they could flock. They might fancy themselves peacocks, but they were ever crows. Ready to pick the eyes out of the dead for the sweetest bits.

"I dislike anything with this veneer of falseness." She speaks once they are left alone again. "If you mean to play in these games, learn that of them. Learn that not even your letters are safe. If they are willing to carve their own bodies this way, it will be nothing compared to what they will do to you. At least a soldier will hold a blade and you can both be honest about what he intends to do with it."

"It is true that she would do wonders for strengthening Tevinter," Alexandrie remarks to Thor. She is smiling brightly, holding what looks to be her fifth glass of champagne (she's had one in total. Legerdemain is immensely useful), and affecting the volume that only the tipsy think is discreet. "Such views might once have served the interests of the Southern Chantry, but with the Circles broken, the chains she means to place again on the mages shall only make the North seem more welcoming. Perhaps someone ought to begin drafting a letter to express gratitude to the Grand Cleric for her aid in what rebuilding efforts shall come after the war is done."

They've taken up a spot at the side of the dancing that looks like it ought to serve discretion, but Alexandrie has faced them such that it would be a simple matter for the curious to maneuver to read their lips and the acoustics of the space will slightly aid the carry of their voices rather than dampening them. Not that Thor needs all that much help in the latter. Which is a boon in this case, since his accent will do much to begin to get those who overhear them speaking to think of Gertruda in association with Tevinter. And hopefully by the end of the conversation, in association with the Venatori.

He snorts and shakes his head, looking for all the world like he's absolutely enjoying himself. It's not too far from the truth, but Thor is actually having to work here. Yet again he's trying to use skills that he's never truly focused on as his brother has had those angles covered previously.

"It will be good to get more fresh blood in Tevinter, The houses are old, and new mage bloodlines marrying in will serve us well." It's only after he's spoken that he's very glad he'd been clear after the first sentence. Thor doesn't hold with blood magic, but it's not taboo back home the way it is here.

Now he lets the smile slip, hoping the change of expression doesn't look fake. "But I do have one small concern, as it is not the families and houses I trust in power right now." Houses he trusts. As if that's actually a thing.

Alexandrie nods her quite-serious agreement—wouldn't do to have them associated with Corypheus's faction—and then her eyebrows lift as if something has only just occurred to her. Her eyes briefly dart from side to side to see if anyone is watching. Although it looks a furtive check to make sure no-one is, it's rather the opposite. One fellow quickly looks away. Good. She looks reassured, as if she'd not seen anything to alarm her, but sidles a half-step closer to Thor even so.

The man, of course, still has a good sight-line.

"You... do not think the Grand Cleric means to deliver the mages of the South to the Venatori." Alexandrie titters nervously, her fan snapping out to flutter with the same energy.

"Of course not." But there isn't confidence in his voice. This doesn't even take acting - he fully believes the South will use whatever means it deems necessary to wipe out their current generation of mages and control the next.

"But if... She is not a fan of mages." He's thinking as he speaks, which is probably good. Maybe good. "The move would benefit her in the short-term, weakening Tevinter proper further, getting rid of mages she does not want. It is possible she has not thought of the long term, empowering the Venatori. They practice blood magic, as I am sure you know." There. Now he can use that fear to their advantage.

Also maybe.

Alexandrie naturally blanches immediately and looks faint at the barest mention of blood magic, her eyes widening with brief horror. Her fan speeds up, and she valiantly 'gathers herself'.

"But surely a venerable and experienced Grand Cleric such as Gertruda knows threatened mages made apostate are vulnerable to such bedfellows as the Venatori and may be dreadfully encouraged to turn to such dark rites in their fear." She shudders. Prettily. "But yes. Yes. Quite so. I am sure you are right, and she simply... has not thought so far in advance." She puts on a show of trying very hard to be reassured...

But not quite making it there.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you, my lady." It's hard to fake apologize. The words feel clunky and wrong, and he knows she's not actually afraid. No one who is easily frightened spends any sort of time with Loki.

"The Venatori are not looking for new bloodlines as much as they are looking for the use of blood, I fear. My House abstains from such unpleasant activities," at least he can manage that lie, protecting Loki has nearly always been second nature, "but there are many who see opportunities in the chaos and it is known that there is power there. And those who want power, Grand Clerics included, are sometimes not picky about how they gain it. She will need to gain stability fast, in these times. It could be... expedient."

He puts on a face that's meant to look heavy in thought, and effectively looks like he has a headache. Close enough.

It's fine, of course. The gracelessness of his false apology only makes it look like he doesn't believe his own reassurance about the Grand Cleric either.

With his next implication, Alexandrie's fan stops entirely and she shakes her head quickly. "You must not say such things, my lord. A Grand Cleric, willingly consorting with a threat to us all in order to consolidate power in the..." She swallows visibly and looks away, focusing on the chandeliers that light the ballroom, and hopes at least one of those watching can in fact read lips.

"Do... do you think she might be counting upon Corypheus and the Venatori being satisfied with the conquering of Tevinter? Treating with him, even, to gain such swift stability?" It is a near whisper, albeit a terribly well enunciated one.

He shrugs at the first, and thankfully that's genuine. He has no real faith in their fake Clerics and Divine here. Why wouldn't a Grand Cleric consort with anyone and everyone for power's sake? The Black Divine is the true head of the church.

To the other, he manages to look concerned... because he is a little. No one in the south counts Tevinter as a loss. If they could end the war by giving up Tevinter, they'd do it, no matter how they'd be fooling themselves and giving Corypheus time to build up and consolidate.

"She has never dealt with a war before," he says finally, in a lower-than-his-usual-loud-but-still-a-little-loud voice. "She has never had an enemy who is ready to bide their time and make decisive strikes. I have. I have fought the qunari who raid our shores for a long time, and I know to treat with him would be an invitation to future disaster. Would she? She is no battle-hardened warrior. She deals in battles of words, not blood, and a promise of temporary stability may be appealing to such a person."

Finally, the delicate court blossom looks as if she has had as much doomsaying as her poor constitution can take without needing a chaise lounge to collapse upon. Alexandrie's hand resumes its prior place on his arm, although it seems it's to steady herself rather than apologize.

"We... we would do well to keep our own council on the matter, my lord." She speaks audibly again, through a smile that is bright and sweet and a truly terrible mask for the depth of unease it attempts to hide. "We should... hardly wish to start a panic over something so..." Her eyes shift, looking everywhere but her companion. "Entirely unlikely." Again, laughter, although it is high and brittle.

"Tell me, do you dance?" she asks swiftly as the chamber orchestra at one end of the room begins another spritely number.

He glances around now, for the first time. Thor hadn't wanted to do it before just in case he gave something away, but now that she's spoken it seems the right cue to follow. Some seem turned enough toward them that maybe they've made some stir and gotten some word out there.

"Of course," Thor says a half-beat late, trying to pull himself out of wondering if he's actually helped. His smile returns and he holds out a hand. "I am the heir of my house, my lady, and dancing is considered a required skill for an heir to have. Shall we?"

She makes the rounds of her own introduction of the people she's had to mingle with as part of her position. In fact, she leans on it quite well, building off of Lexie's own gossip if in a different strain. The key she found is not directly telling them, but letting them feel so very clever all by themselves when they had discovered some grand conspiracy from separate sources.

Dressed in her finery, hanging with every bit of gold - ( at least she can make contacts to sell her material too on the side, being here ) - she makes note of why she thinks she has been invited when someone asks whether rudely or not what a Rifter might be doing here. "Oh - myself? I can only assume it is to do with the refugees we have coming out of Tevinter, there are dozens by the day. Many are mages, as many as not. But I am afraid they will not take to the news of the Circles well - I fear some division on their behalf, and it might drive them back to Tevinter." She shakes her head as if it was a terrible situation all around, "It is a precarious position for them, and many are at a swaying point themselves, I am sure any new Divine would be aware of it. I am sure many, very many, are deciding their policies upon it." But the tone there, as if she doesn't think it's an accident that it could happen that way, if it did, and anyone who was raising the issues of the circles, had to know of that outcome. Hangs heavy like a question in the air.

And in a war, goes unsaid in the murmurs, in a war like this especially, that could mean a matter of which army wins in the next field with their new displaced Tevinter mages.

Sidony, despite how she might have appeared at first, is clearly in her element. She's dressed in a fine set of clothes, just revealing enough to cause a touch of gossip but not so revealing that it might cause some issues with her modesty - a flash here, a curve here, just so. There's a hint of a smile on her lips as she moves, nodding and whispering to people gently, touching hands, arms, elbows, reminding people about her mother and father and her home.

It doesn't take much for her to come to Lakshmi's side either, slipping a careful hand into the crook of the woman's arm as someone speaks to her, tilting her head and offering a coy, gentle smile.

"My dear lady, I hope you're not being too terribly bothered."

The duke has kept to himself before the ball, mainly, though he's responsive when engaged—businesslike with Silver, a bit fonder with Alexandrie, neutral with the others—but putting him into a party gives the impression of releasing a predator into its natural element.

He's always believed in making multiple virtues of necessity. While his primary purpose here was to get them in the door, it can't hurt to get a pulse on Ostwick's nobility from up close. It feels a bit like cheating, with nearly no one else masked; he needn't even get particularly close, a lot of the time.

In addition, it can't hurt to expand his ties to the Inquisition as well, so he doesn't keep to himself all evening. "Well, we've certainly gotten attention," is his quiet opening gambit as he comes to one of his companions' side.

[ lbr, all post-ball morning after music is ed sheeran. ]

whisper campaign!!

preparations!

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the ball!

"i heard he thought camembert was goat cheese."

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Tevinter? I hardly know 'er!

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"i heard she sells carriages, in tevinter"

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late but open

the long way home.