coquettish_trees: (thinking)
Lady Alexandrie d'Asgard ([personal profile] coquettish_trees) wrote in [community profile] faderift2019-05-15 10:59 am

closed | we could do revenge, revenge, revenge, revenge

WHO: Anders, Byerly, Colin, Lexie
WHAT: Planning the downfall of one trash-heap Templar
WHEN: Nowish (before we all start spouting the opposite of nonsense and Anders leaves to be tragically murdered rifp)
WHERE: The balcony of the apartments, where all the best vengeance plotting happens
NOTES: cw: probable discussion of sexual assault, suicide attempt may come up, maybe some links later?




The weather is not fine, on the whole, but it is fine for this manner of gathering: the sound of light rain, the droplets themselves hardly visible in the light haze of mist that is the remnant of the ambitious heavy fog that covers the city below that has made it all the way up to Hightown, and mild enough to sit out on the covered balcony of Alexandrie and Colin's apartments. It is mid-afternoon, but even so, candles had been set out along with luncheon to combat the particular shade of dour grey seemingly unique to Kirkwall. Alexandrie's staff sets a fine table, even in the relative informality of the balcony setting, and while the purpose of the gathering is hardly the meal, Alexandrie primly insists on conversation about lighter matters until the last plate has been cleared and replaced by a cut-crystal decanter of brandy set out on a tray with four small matching glasses.

"So. The matter of Balfour," she begins, taking up the decanter and raising it slightly along with her eyebrows—anyone? The man is denied both given name and title; not a small mark of disrespect from the mouth of the ever-solicitous Alexandrie. "I assume we are all in agreement that he is well deserving of what recompense we can deliver."

keenly: (and I am never broken)

[personal profile] keenly 2019-05-15 05:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Colin ate little, while trying to distract himself with the conversation. As Lexie brings up the subject at hand, he quickly offers his glass to be filled. Once a finger or two of brandy have gone in, he tosses it back before holding the glass out to be refilled. His mother used to insist that all Antivans have a strong tolerance for brandy surpassing their tolerances for other types of alcohol. He's going to test that tonight.

"What do you need to know about him?" he asks with greater composure than he feels.