open | your baddest behavior

[cozen]

WHO: Alexandrie, Bastien, Byerly, and their captive audience
WHAT: Mandatory etiquette and dance lessons
WHEN: Justinian 15, 9:45
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: See the OOC post and IC announcement for more information! If you didn't sign up, you can still participate in Parts A and D, and just handwave the other two, without needing to sign up or get an assignment. If you want to do B and C, you can find your own dance partner/seating group OOC, or you can sign up now and we'll dole out new assignments if we get enough latecomers to do so. If you signed up and are missing from the lists when you shouldn't be, I'm sorry and please tell me!

disclaimer: event less fancy than pictured

Seating Assignments
— Table One: Gwenaëlle, Iorveth, Matthias, Athessa
— Table Two: Flint, Ilias, Darras, Med Seller, Yngvi
— Table Three: Julius, Thranduil, Anders, Brienne
— Table Four: Benedict, Colin, Valentine, Six, Derrica
— Table Five: Teren, Salvio, Bartimaeus, Osana
— Table Six: Freddie, Petrana, Kain, Merrill, Silver
— Table Seven: Yseult, Cosima, Steve, Inessa
— Table Eight: Sidony, Fifi, Nell, Fingon
— Table Nine: Thor, Nathaniel H., Solas, Skadi

Dance Partners
— Cosima & Nathaniel H.
— Athessa & Anders
— Teren & Flint
— Freddie & Bartimaeus
— Yseult & Darras
— Nell & Julius
— Merrill & Colin
— Skadi & Benedict
— Gwenaëlle & Solas
— Petrana & Salvio
— Osana & the Medicine Seller
— Sidony & Matthias
— Six & Thranduil
— Brienne & Valentine
— Fifi & Steve
— Thor & Fingon
— Ilias & Iorveth

Comments

(A) A Lecture

[cozen]

ooc | one thread, open to everyone—lexie, bastien, and byerly are going to talk a lot, but anyone is welcome to interrupt with questions or their important opinions.

First are introductions—Lady Alexandrie, Bastien, Byerly Rutyer, each varying degrees of gracious for everyone's cooperation in being taken hostage—and an overview of the plan for the evening.

"Before we get into the particulars, we have some general advice," Bastien says, from where he's sitting on a table. They haven't started yet. He can sit where he likes. (Good posture, though.) "First: unless you are one of the elite, or attempting to fake it, you do not need to know everything. If you do know everything, it may be best to pretend otherwise. They do not want you to be as good at following their rules as they are. They might feel threatened if you are."

[coquettish_trees]

"Just so." Alexandrie nods. The bright copper of her hair is swept up, a few ringlets let to fall forward alongside a gilded half-mask; she is pearls, feathers, and several layers of white flounce trimmed in gold.

"It pleases many in the peerage to be charitable to those who comport themselves well, assuming they adhere to the standards of whatever class they appear to belong to. Act too poorly and you are a hazard to associate with, too well and you shall seem as if you aspire beyond your means. Both attract attention, and likely suspicion as well."

She holds up a hand in an attempt to forestall the possibility of grumbling (whether successfully or not). "While I am sure a great many of you are already cross about the distinct likelihood of being condescended to and about how terribly unjust you find the class structure across Thedas, I implore you remember for what cause you endure."

(B) Dinner

[cozen]

ooc | one thread per table! eat and talk amongst yourselves, and lexie, bastien, and/or byerly might stop by to say hello or tell you to get your elbows off the table.

Dinner is served in courses consisting primarily of small portions of foods designed to thwart their eaters: Antivan bruschetta topped so generously that moving each piece is a balancing act; a tomato-based stew with large cuts of beef and vegetable that will leave splatters of red on the table cloth and bystanders' clothing if not carefully transported from bowl to mouth; cuts of sticky fruit; whole fish baked with honey and still in possession of its many tiny bones and its sad blank eyes; jellied pigs' feet, to test any gag reflexes that withstood the fish eyes; corn on the cob, of all things; and cakes so small that one might be tempted to try eating them by hand but that will absolutely leave sticky glaze and crumbs on one's nose tip if one gives in.

Of course, the greatest test of patience and grace might be enduring the company.

Table Four

[keenly]

Colin has never attended anything like this. He sees absolutely no issue with cutting the big chunks of beef with knife and fork so that they are manageable. He knows how to de-bone a fish and has no hesitation in doing so in front of everyone, nor in eating the cute little eyes or the meat from the head. Quickly, however, he finds that he is in the minority in finding none of this objectionable and gets a self-conscious look.

"Um. Anyone need me to, um, debone a fish? Or anything?"

Table Nine

[pinprick]

Nathaniel has had to eat all sorts when with the Wardens, but somehow, the most infuriating thing on these plates is the corn on the cob. After everything, giving him something that will leave bits of things in his teeth that he isn't allowed to pick out is adding a great deal of insult to some minor injury. He tries circumventing the problem with a cross look on his face, taking his sharp knife and cutting off the corn daintily.

"Has anyone read any intriguing articles, of late?" he asks while trying not to burn through the plate with a dirty look.

table one.

[elegiaque]

Iorveth had said he wouldn't attend unless blazed out of his mind, and Gwenaëlle, who doesn't want to be here any more than he does but is slightly more prepared to acknowledge that it isn't a completely stupid fucking idea, had said—fine, and wrestled him into the fine white clothes she'd altered for him months ago when they were still sharing a bed. Including herself, she's dressed three quarters of the table she's sitting at, having both flung a dress at Athessa and then, considerately, made sure she could actually get into it.

(It's not very impressive that she mastered that high, it simply speaks to experience.)

Her own dress is a pretty, gauzy thing that she considers simple; she has, for the occasion, deigned to dig around under the bed for the wooden box where she kept the masques with too much sentimental attachment to sell or otherwise be rid of and produced a delicate moonstone-set thing that fastens into the high tumble of her curls. She certainly looks the part that she's never very skillfully played, but she also looks (for anyone more than glancingly familiar with her) in suspiciously good spirits for having been obliged to attend this.

Cheerfully, “What a fucking shitshow.”

table six.

[ipseite]

The purpose of Petrana's elegantly cut dress is twofold: it is more than suitable to the occasion, and moreover, it is an excellent opportunity to demonstrate how to make taking great care not to dip one's elaborate sleeve in one's elaborate dinner look effortless. Arranging her hands in front of her before she even sits to ensure the drape settles at her sides, and not in her lap—

It is safe to say that Mme de Cedoux appears to be in her element, for all that she takes such pains not to appear too far out of it at any given time.

“It is wonderful to see everyone making such an effort,” she says, pleasantly, which is an opportunity for everyone else to remember that pointing out it's bloody mandatory would not be at all diplomatic.

Table Three

[overharrowed]

Julius has studied ahead of time, at least to the extent of seeming confident in which fork to use and confidently making use of the finger bowl for its proper function at the appropriate time. He is not wearing robes, for once, but a well-tailored tunic, shirt and trousers, but if the change of costume is causing him discomfort, he doesn't show it.

Instead, he seems purely focused on the conversation. Anders he knows, and he's worked with the provost on and off in the past, so he starts with the unknown quantity. "I understand you're a recent arrival. How are you settling in so far? I've no doubt it must be quite an adjustment."

Does he even need to look at the fish? It isn't obvious, but he seems to be eating it and not choking on bones either way.

table five.

[radiosa]

While they're waiting to begin, Osana straightens her silverware (which didn't need to be straightened) for a second and then pulls her hands back and into her lap in a rush—is touching the silverware rude? where do hands go, in general, ever?—and keeps them there, picking at a thread on her skirt beneath the table but otherwise managing to look somewhat collected until the bruschetta arrives.

Then she says, "Oh, I know this!" with an Antivan accent to underscore why.

She's instantly aware that she sounds like a rube. But she's glad, anyway, that they aren't being given anything that requires specialized tools to eat, so her subsequent pursed lips are still most of a smile.

Table Two

[meds4sale]

The Medicine Seller had made something of an effort. An approximation of one at least. For starters, he was wearing shoes instead of the socks and geta. He'd also forgone his heavily patterned attire for something one might actually see in Thedas (albeit with some personal touches). Baby steps, but steps nonetheless.

He also didn't want to be here and was thinking longingly of his various recreational "medicines" stashed away upstairs and a small pile of books to curl up with and peruse at his leisure. He could even be out doing his actual job - anything but stilted smalltalk for the amusement of those with more "Good Breeding" than sense.

The Medicine Seller was torn - some particularly petty side of him wanted to play dumb and invite the ire of those who'd thought this up. Passive aggressive sabotage was always appealing when he was in one of his Moods. But he was also the only elf (or at least something that looked like an elf) at this table, and it was a matter of pointy-eared solidarity that he show up his human dining companions with how perfectly well-mannered he could be.

"There are restaurants in my home," he remarked, picking up one of the fish forks and turning it over in his manicured fingers, "that serve with this western-styled arrangement. They are quite the fashionable novelty these days."

Table Seven

[youwonscience]

The thing she should have anticipated, actually, is the vegetarian problem. It's probably fair that Thedosian nobles are not going to take well to "I can't eat your food, sorry, it's not you it's me." (She mentally adds this to the list of reasons she should not be assigned field work.) The bruschetta is good, but the stew is a bit of a challenge.

She should have smuggled Franklin in, she thinks, feeding beef to the dog under the table is a time-honored "dispose of food" technique.

So this is Cosima, seeing how long she can effectively mime eating this course before someone says anything. "So what happens in a real setting if you do this wrong, do you think? Regular jail, or do they have a special jail just for fork violations?"

Table Eight

[untiltheyarent]

Wearing the finest thing she owns, and absolutely concerned about how appropriate it is for a) this situation, b) her age, and c) her position here, Fifi has the look about her of someone who has gone to the trouble of Looking Nice but would very much like to be noticed as little as possible.

She sits at the table with her hands in her lap, staring at the silverware and saying nothing, not daring to move until she has seen someone else do it first so she can copy their manner.

(C) Dance Lessons

[cozen]

ooc | pair up and dance. lexie, bastien, and/or byerly might interrupt.

While the tables are being cleared, Bastien draws names from two bowls (with only a little bit of sleight-of-hand cheating) for dance partners, because he's been around this block a few times, and he isn't about to waste time watching people mill around awkwardly because they can't stand to ask someone to dance with them themselves.

To begin, there's no music, only someone keeping time with a staff on the stone floor—which does at least make conversation more feasible—and the very basic task of moving in squares without running into anyone else or stepping on anyone's feet, but after everyone has been given a fair chance at getting that down, things get slightly more complicated. But only slightly. Advanced lessons will cost extra.

colin + merrill

[keenly]

It may be terrible, but Colin is immediately relieved to see he is dancing with a Dalish elf and not one of the fine ladies in fine gowns who care whether or not he looks like an Orlesian servant in his embroidered green silk tunic. He smiles nervously at the tiny elven woman and holds out a faintly trembling hand.

"Colin."

Cosima and Nathaniel

[youwonscience]

Cosima likes dancing, in theory, but this is definitely not the sort of dancing she's got any practice with. Usually dancing with a stranger has involved a lot less counting to four and significantly more alcohol.

"Sorry in advance if I step on your feet," she says with good grace, quietly enough not to be disruptive to the lesson part. "I feel like this would be better with actual music, though."

Osana + The Medicine Seller

[meds4sale]

The Medicine Seller had never done this particular dance before. But he was athletic, graceful, and most of all, coordinated. On top of being rather good at aping humans (he'd been doing it for the last millennium), he was not the worst inexperienced dance partner one could wind up with.

...For the most part.

When their names were called, the Medicine Seller greeted Osana with a polite bow and his usual flat affect.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Osana."

Petrana & Salvio

[assistente]

Salvio's hand is very dry. Is it too dry? It must be too dry. He had hardly dared a look at Madame de Cedoux when their names had been called together, when they'd first come together in the cleared-out hall. Mumbled a greeting, tried to keep the train of her dress in his periphery so that he does not tread on it. Now they are set to begin. The soft sounds of footsteps around them, the rustle of clothing, as others find their partners and their places.

"Um," he says, and holds out his hand to her. Is dry better than sweaty? Is it more remarkable, to be a man with a dry hand?

But the moment the staff begins to tap out that rhythm, more regular and regimented than a heartbeat: something comes over Salvio, a man called to attention, a puppet with its strings pulled. He stands straighter as he begins the count in his head, meting out the meter and the time. A kind of bassadanza, slow and elegant to start with. He can tell by the count.

"You, ah. You are familiar with this style?" He dares not assume too much. de Cedoux is intimidating, for someone so diminutive in stature, and she possessed a grace and a presence that Salvio has seen before. It speaks of someone that would know how to dance. But she is also a rifter, as easy as that might be to forget, so perhaps he ought not to assume-- "It is somewhat--simple, I think. Well-chosen, for the, uh. For the lesson."

Kain and Inessa

[in_death_sacrifice]

At least this time, Kain has his own dance partner along... so he needn't be haunted by flashbacks to long, dreary sessions where he'd been forced to dance back in the day with random partners. That will get rid of any awkwardness over this portion of the lesson. He sighs heavily all the same, as he moves into position alongside Inessa. "Follow my lead, and we should get this over with as painlessly as we can... Thank you for suffering alongside me today, by the way."

At least Inessa is dealing with the whole situation better than he is. But he does indeed know what he's doing, and it shows in how fluid his motions are.

Teren & Flint

[doneisdone]

In her gown, gloves, and fancy leather eyepatch, her hair all done up in a somewhat nicer bun than usual, Teren has managed to make herself even more formidable than usual. Her head turns to the captain, unsmiling, as he approaches, and she extends her hand for him to take with only the faintest hint of wry challenge in her visible eye.

"Have you done this before," she asks, her voice missing some of its usual gruffness.

Benedict & Skadi

[altusimperius]

By the time the dancing is about to begin, Benedict has grown rather impatient with the whole ordeal, and it shows in how his eyes wander the room while he stands waiting for his partner-- what kind of a name is 'Skadi'-- with his hands clasped behind his back in a display of uncharacteristic gentility.
This quickly dwindles when he catches sight of the person approaching, but he at least makes the effort to school his expression into something other than the horror her appearance merits. He has to dance with that?

six + thranduil

[swordproof]

It's more than obvious that Six is entirely out of her depth here. She had never been taught to dance in her own world; she had been too gangly when she had been a child, too quiet and hidden, the village too aware of the damage being done to her, and as an adult, she had never been in the position to learn. Now she feels too big and too heavy to do something as dainty as dancing, especially with a partner that makes her think of the elves of her home.

She looks almost nauseated as she steps up to stand in front of Thranduil, her eyes wide and almost panicked.

Breathing out, she nods her head and looks at him, trying to appear as bold and determined in this as she does in battle, in fighting, in all other things.

"Good evening."

Val + Brienne

[degenere]

"I," Val announces to the tall, tall woman, "abhor this sort of dance."

Still: he offers his hand to her with a smile somewhere between mischievous and charming. To the untrained eye, he would appear to be dressed in a highly Orlesian fashion: from his brocade tailcoat, close-cut and well tailored in the chest, with daggered lapels and tails and fine golden buttons, and its bolero trimming of iridescent fabrics and leathers that has been styled to look like green dragonscale--to his fine boots of green leather, over the knee and supple enough to permit movement--right up to the velvet hat, soft like a cream, with a bejeweled brooch and four blue-and-green feathers to top it all off.

Of course, it is really a very daring and fashion-forward outfit, in Orlais. One sported only by the young and the rebellious, uninterested in the traditional upholding of traditions. But Val does not expect anyone here to realize as much, except perhaps his fellow Orlesians--though, then again, they are all rather a shocking set, with perhaps just one of them donning a mask constantly--and besides, this woman is no Orlesian.

She is striking. That is for certain. And probably controversial, in some way. He must figure out how.

"If we vary from the prescribed steps, we might cause a scene."

Imagine.

Sidony and Matthias

[inkindled]

Matthias had sidled up to his assigned partner like a mongoose approaching a snake. His sidle might have looked a little like a swagger, because he was trying, manfully, to look as if he knew what he was doing.

He doesn't. At all. And Sidony Venaras is very pretty--as in, very pretty, unfairly pretty, with a gown that looks made of money--and probably knows how to dance already, probably doesn't need these lessons at all--whereas Matthias has only ever done tavern dancing, campfire dancing, the sort of dancing that comes of mania and ale and everyone being high off their own freedom. No coordination and no finesse and no choreography.

Which means that Matthias' hand is sweaty in hers and he's spent most of their time together glaring at his own feet as the staff taps out the count.

"S' better if there's music," he mutters at one point, resentfully. But truthfully he probably wouldn't be much better even with music--and, truthfully, that's probably obvious.

(D) Break It Down

[cozen]

ooc | free for all: if you want to swap partners, ask someone specific to dance, bow out and observe from the wall like a loser, etc., go for it.

After everyone seems to have the hang of the steps, or else has proven too much of a difficult case to be helped by a one-hour lesson in a dining hall, things continue in a less organized fashion. No one who insists on leaving will be stopped, at this juncture, but those who stay can give the dancing another go with real music—courtesy of Alexandrie on a pianoforte carted down from Hightown by poor souls whose backs we won't dampen the mood thinking about, Byerly wielding a violin, and Bastien alternating between a cello and a lute depending on the song—rather than a human metronome.

Eventually, assuming everyone hasn't walked out or been forcibly removed for being disruptive, the music shifts without preamble into something much less stately and much more like what can be heard in Lowtown after the mines and the docks go quiet for the night. No lessons are provided for these dances, but they're more difficult to do wrong than to do right. Provided instead is a respectable amount of alcohol, in case anyone needs the courage or just feels entitled to a reward for their good behavior.

Romain (OTA)

[toujoursdroit]

The duke arrives late enough in the proceedings that there is no chance he will have to sit through a lecture or a meal. He paid handsomely to avoid both, and is not inclined to argue about them. However, he does think it prudent to see the event for himself, principally for two reasons: first, to evaluate how his money is being spent, and second, to make sure that his granddaughter hadn't caused any sort of serious incident by insulting the wrong person.

At some point while Alexandrie is still playing the pianoforte, he can be seen walking the edges of the room, observing from behind his mask. He will not avoid an attempt made to engage him, though getting him to dance will be a trick unless your name is Gwenaëlle.

For Gwen (open to the band and anyone who feels like staring)

[coquettish_trees]

[ Alexandrie had been watching Gwenaëlle with private amusement all evening; the slightly lagging lassitude of her movements, the absence (mostly) of the sound of her astringency among the other tones of the evening’s conversation. She’s been, relatively speaking, almost docile.

And now she’s made the mistake of making eye contact with her audacious friend at the pianoforte between songs, who smiles as if something delightful has occurred to her (it has) leans back to say something to those playing with her without looking away, and then begins to play the introduction to an Orlesian art song that she happens to know very well that Gwen knows very well.

Any confusion as to her purpose in doing so will probably be alleviated when it comes to the vocal entrance and she doesn’t open her mouth, instead smiling a bit more broadly, batting her eyelashes with innocent expectation, and settling into a softer holding pattern as any accompanist might for their singer. ]

[elegiaque]

( there is a brief pause where it does seem as if gwenaëlle might leave her accompanist hanging, and certainly alexandrie knows her to be perfectly capable of doing just that. tonight, though, she's in a warm mood and floating on a pleasant combination of intoxicants and for the time being still more or less able to stand up unaided; she obliges by stepping forward to lay a hand against the pianoforte as alexandrie plays, and lilts into the first, familiar lines.

which are orlesian, so does it even count as inappropriately, bawdily altering the lyrics if only a small segment of the room is likely to understand what she's done? she sings them as prettily as she might the song as originally intended, all doe eyes and lovely tilted face,

but what she proposes is questionably anatomically feasible. )