open | 'til death do us part

[coquettish_trees]

WHO: Loki, Lexie, and everyone whose situational cost-benefit analyses came up benefit somehow (or got ignored)
WHAT: the dubiously legitimate wedding of Lord Loki of House Asgard and Lady Alexandrie de la Fontaine and some totally unpredictable fallout
WHEN: Pre Elf Times
WHERE: Hightown
NOTES: Questions? Find us! (Loki: hikuswing, Lexie: shaestorms)

Post-fight part of the log in a couple of days! ♥

Comments

I. Arrival

[coquettish_trees]

For this particular event, Loki has gone to some trouble to secure a more open and inviting ballroom than the few large rooms that exist in their estate. There had been some appeal in having the event at his home, of course, but one cannot hold all their parties in their own house, it would inspire rumors. So, one of Loki’s...business associates, a wealthy Freemarcher with a reasonably gauche estate in Kirkwall, had volunteered the use of his home and his ballroom which had, of course, been summarily decorated beyond recognition by the bride to be in the melded style she’d been cultivating for months now: the pattern of the cloth hangings Orlesian, but their drape Tevene, their hot-house’s wealth of northern blossoms arranged with the roses she’d had brought from Val Royeaux to add to the estate’s gardens, wine from the Heartlands being offered in goblets of Minrathous ceramic. There are a few obligatory touches that were clearly orchestrated by Loki, himself, but no one who was unfamiliar with the more eclectic religious practices of Tevinter would note them.

It is Loki who greets most of their guests--in part because he revels in making Alexandrie’s guests vaguely uncomfortable and (to a lesser extent) because it is traditional--and his valet, an older elf with a Tevene accent, guides them to their seats. The list is rather full, with guests from some rather impressive distances having made it, but Loki’s polite smile persists as they filter in.

“Yes, how are you? Glad to see you. You shall be shown to your seat.”

The conversations are droll but not quite so droll as the conversations available to those who decide to mingle before the ceremony begins. Who is there to talk to, here, apart from that old woman with a hat made from (what appears to be) an entire swan, taxidermied in place. Perhaps the Antivan couple will make for fine conversation if you can understand them through their accents. Or maybe the two surly looking dwarves who are to the side, critiquing the floral arrangements.

Oddly enough, the Priest is available and has taken up standing by the low podium at the end of the hall. It is odd to see a male officiant in the south, but who else would they import to marry them, given the current Divine’s tepid feelings on the matter?

In any case, the ceremony shall start once everyone arrives and the dramatic tension is acceptable. Until then, best occupy yourselves.

[swordproof]

While uncomfortable is usually a word allocated to Six in terms of her position in formal occasions - she has never felt as though she fits in the least, something awkward gnawing at her, reminding her that she has no place here and is simply being pitied, no matter how false the claim might be - she is doing her best to at least appear relaxed. Her hair is tidier than usual now, tied up in a tight braid with all the loose curls pressed behind her ear, clearly not something she has done herself.

Thankfully, someone has done the kindness of helping her look more than just a little presentable.

The dress she has slipped into is another thing she had clearly not done herself; it's not her usual simple, easy style and she feels out of place and awkward wearing it, petting down her arms and frowning. It's red to match what she thinks Thor might be wearing, an intentional plan to show that they are... Something, even if she is not sure what that something might be just yet.

She hesitates when she meets Loki - the man she has heard of but not spoken to much, other than their awkward meeting at the ball - and deliberately glances around, a head or so taller than most others, trying to see if she can spot any kind of familiar face. She must look like a child abandoned at market, but she's trying to find the strength to ignore the feeling.

[coquettish_trees]

Alexandrie is meant to be waiting in a room just down the hall, but an indoor flowering trellis and use of the pathways normally taken by servants provided the means for her to observe the beginnings of this particular gathering, and her curiosity had been far too great to let that opportunity pass in favor of letting Marie make further minuscule adjustments to the same ringlet over and over, her fussing interspersed with darting away to check the look at all angles.

While she's most engaged in admiring the minute variation in how Loki tailors his bearing and gesture for each greeting, Six's stature—and the brilliant red softness of her dress that almost manages to smooth the lines of her terribly uncomfortable stance—can't help but draw the eye. She pulls a very tiny pebble from the base of the trellis and tosses it to gently bump the other woman's back, beckoning with the tips of her fingers from behind the vines when Six looks.

[swordproof]

There's some kind of awkwardness that hangs around her no matter what she does, and Six's eyes flick over when she feels something touch her back. Her immediate reaction is to try and grab at a weapon that isn't there, her hands flexing over nothing before she breathes out softly, forcing herself to calm down and relax. This is a wedding, what could possibly go wrong in something as simple as a wedding?

Turning her head, she frowns, almost startled when she sees someone. It takes her a moment to pick up her skirts - obviously unfamiliar with the motion - before she walks over.

"... Greetings," her voice is soft, awkward. "Is... Is there something that I might do for you?"

[coquettish_trees]

"You might allow me to aid you in making yourself comfortable," say the flowering vines lightly, "I shall accept it as a wedding present."

The true owner of the voice peeks out shortly thereafter, a happy flush on her cheeks above a sparkling smile.

[swordproof]

A wedding present; that has Six pausing, her eyes widening for a moment before she realises just who this might be. She's met Loki, if barely once, but she hadn't thought she had met the bride despite being a guest at the wedding. This must be Alexandrie herself, which has Six hesitatingly flopping into an awkward half-bow half-curtsey, unsure which would be most appropriate given she is wearing a dress.

"If you like," she says, finally, stepping forward. "You look very handsome - beautiful."

[coquettish_trees]

Alexandrie dips her chin demurely in response to the compliment—or, at least, with an appropriately demure affect hoisted above her pride in her own display.

"I do like. Now. You must tell me about when last you felt most confident; when body and spirit felt light and dazzling with purpose and all seemed to fall into place about you."

[swordproof]

The last time she felt confident? She doesn't think it's something that might please the bride, especially considering how awkward she feels in her red dress, the skirts hanging around her like it is going to stick to her skin, and she sighs.

"In battle. Ghislain. I was cutting down those that threatened my allies and aiding those that could not defend themselves."

[coquettish_trees]

It seems to please the bride well enough; or, at least, her smile doesn't dim.

"High society is much like battle, if you think upon it," she replies. "You have allies and enemies, weapons and armor in your gown, your words, your comportment. It is not a battle you have been yet trained for, but you have a great deal to work with simply existing as you honestly are.

"Earnestness can be incredibly disarming. Coming upon such a person at such an event is akin to... expecting everyone to be wielding a rapier and coming upon someone with a greathammer. Lord Thor, for instance, is terribly earnest."

Thor is a useful allegory, as alike to the paladin as Alexandrie is to her groom, but he's also a useful point of gentle teasing. Perhaps Six can be induced to forget some of her self-consciousness in being reminded of who it is she's worn red to match.

[swordproof]

Six still feels awkward, even as she tries to wrap herself around the metaphor.

"It is a far more delicate armour," she admits quietly. She misses the weight of her greatsword on her back, the familiar feeling of a belt and a dagger, the knowledge that she can reach for a blade and care for herself easily that way. It leaves knots in her stomach to imagine herself dressed like this more often - she knows she does not suit such finery, that her muscles pull at the silk, that her hair is straw on her head.

The mention of Thor, however, makes her cheeks flush a gentle red.

"Lord Thor is more accustomed to this than I am," a frown. "And I think myself wielding a knife."