( OPEN ) | something borrowed, something blue

[indissection]

WHO: Byerly, Sidony and guests (everyone is invited)
WHAT: The best sham of a wedding Thedas has ever seen
WHEN: Now
WHERE: the Toad and Flagon
NOTES: The Best Wedding Ever ft. a kidnapping

You are hereby invited to the wedding of Byerly Rutyer and Sidony Celogera Allegra Venaras. The venue is not quiet nor is it beautiful; the gambling hall is loud and intense, with all kinds of smells and dirtiness to carry along with the strangeness of their wedding. There’s some attempt at draping, some attempt at making it look as though some kind of party is taking place here, but it certainly doesn’t look like there’s going to be a wedding at all. It’s hastily done, hastily put together, but at least it’s something, which is better than nothing. There’s about an hour until the wedding is due to start and both the bride and groom are getting ready - whatever that means to the two of them. Food is not provided. There are no drinks bought. There's a table for gifts to one side, with a little plaque with their names on. Prostitutes and gamblers wander between the aisles and chairs, laughing and making jokes with one another, completely avoiding setting the scene of a proper wedding.

Comments

II. the wedding (ota, mingle)

[indissection]

The leadup to the wedding is simple and exciting. There’s no alcohol provided, of course, but there’s a place to buy your own drinks and order some food if you’re really interested in it. People mill around and talk, chat, half of them uninterested in the events taking place and the other half curious about the fact that Byerly is getting married; there’s certainly a reputation to be had, even if Sidony herself has never stepped inside the place before in her entire life.

At least there doesn’t seem to be any kind of drama unfolding, which might be expected in the midst of a wedding in the middle of a gambling hall.

The minutes begin to tick down and time continues - it’s getting closer and closer to the time where the wedding is due to begin. People start to make their way towards the tiny aisle set up for the couple to walk down, the most reputable looking Chantry brother standing at the other end, looking for all intents and purposes as though he is bored with everything that has been happening in his life up until now.

For the next hour or so there is mingling, talking, a little dancing - someone is playing music, even if it is not the most fitting or appropriate - and attempts at making some kind of event out of it. There's no bride or groom to be seen, at least not yet, and the members of Riftwatch that have been invited are being given some very odd looks by the rest of the attendees - they're not used to having so many people here, especially people of importance or stature.

Then, eventually, music begins and the doors open, the wedding beginning - and that’s when hell breaks loose.

ota.

[murderbaby]

It occurs to Mhavos that he hasn't a clue what the bride or groom look like. And yet, this is a good enough way to meet them as any. He has a package under his arm, a gift, the best he could provide.

If he's honest, he's mostly here to meet people in this damned organization he's signed himself over to.

He'll greet whoever politely and convivially. "Excuse me. Do you know the bride or groom? I've no clue who to give the gift to."

[cozen]

One response: "How many people have you asked so far?"

Bastien has not gone out of his way to dress nicely, given the setting, and could be one of the tavern's unconcerned gamblers as easily as a wedding guest, save for the fact that he's sitting alone and looking fairly attentive to the front of the room and the bored Chantry brother sitting there. He pauses that to look at the gift-bearer instead, all friendly interest.

[murderbaby]

Mhavos dips his head, reflexive to the accent. "You would be the honored first." Yet, despite the deference, there's a hint of irony in his voice.

[cozen]

"Ah," Bastien says—noting the deference and the irony both, commenting on neither, because that's not how these things are done—"a shame. I hoped to be impressed by the honesty of the room. A whole string of onlookers admitting they knew nothing, and not one taking your gift and disappearing with it."

He shifts in his chair to not have to turn his head so far to look at the man.

"Dalat, isn't it?" He's good with names. And voices. And faces. "With the sonnet."

[murderbaby]

"I'm an elf, not a fool," he says with no bite. It's a joke, one he can endure. He likes to think he can spot a liar, most of the time.

Though the tips of his ears to color pink when he realizes he's been spotted. "Did everyone read that? I- That's generally not the sort of-..."

He realizes the other man may just be toying with him. Mhavos sighs. "Yes, Mhavos Dalat, with the dirty sonnet."

[cozen]

"It could be worse," he offers. "Seeker Pentaghast and the Nightingale could still be listening to everything we say."

And that's quite enough prodding, judging by his ear tips. He gestures to the empty seats beyond him in silent invitation, and politely remembers to answer the original question:

"I know the groom. He has dark hair a mustache—" An eyebrow. Do you see where this is going? But it's only half of a joke, abandoned unfinished. "—but he is taller than me, much better looking, and very aware of it. I am not sure who they have appointed to collect their gifts. I would not be shocked if they did not think of it."

[murderbaby]

He lets out a sigh, deeply grateful to be left off the hook. "I don't know the man from Andraste, but I found him pleasing conversation. However, I... did listen to his other conversations. There seems to be some commotion surrounding him."

A vague statement, meant to elicit commentary. He'd like to know.

[sarcophage]

In this case, Whoever greets him first. It isn't by accident—he's overheard the voice and thus come to investigate.

This particular Whoever is dressed with an eye for fashion, not richly, but through the creative application of a Riftwatch wage. His hair's been vaguely tamed for the occasion. There's a drink in his hand and a positively boyish flush across his cheeks. (It only takes half a cup to bring that out; he wears it like a mask.)

"You seem a bit lost," he says, from one side and a little behind—it'd be sudden to someone who's not paying attention. (Is he paying attention? That's often worth knowing.) With a gesture to the parcel Mhavos carries, "Are you with the wedding party?"

[murderbaby]

Mhavos is always paying attention to his surroundings. Mhavos is also usually not showing signs of it, trying not to draw obvious suspicion. How good he is at handling both tends to depend on his mood, the seriousness of the matter, and who, precisely, is watching.

So there is a momentary stutter-stop of surprise when he hears someone whisper behind him. A flinch, as though expecting something more than words. He is an elven servant, and a fighter in darkness-- it's a respectable response for either.

He turns to find a human with a familiar voice, pleasant and soft.

"I was invited by the wedding party." So was everyone in Riftwatch, but. It's worthwhile to defend his right to be here. "Have we met...?"

[sarcophage]

An elf, flinching: not an uncommon sight. He reacts to it not at all, perhaps just drunk enough not to notice.

"In a manner of speaking," he says, a playful twinkle in his eye. Get it? Gosh he's clever. Moving on, "A naughty poet brought us together, if I'm not mistaken. Mhavos, isn't it?" He pronounces it well, having done a little preparatory practice in private. "Sorry for startling you, there."

(Perhaps not.)

[murderbaby]

Mhavos' first feeling is... relief. Relief and disappointment, but mostly relief. A human. He doesn't have to worry about the pressure of... attraction. He has enough on his plate right now.

He nods his head. "Yes," he says, "Mhavos. You would be Lea, then. A pleasure to meet you in the flesh, as it were, startled or no."

But his expression is calm, pleasant, average. No nerves or charm.

[sarcophage]

You would be Lea, met with a tip of head and shoulders, pleased to be recognized (even if he did make it easy).

"Likewise. I don't think I'll ever really get used to those crystals, but they do add an element of mystery—you know, wondering who's on the other side. I've yet to be disappointed thus far." Ask him about his first day on the island some time. And since that was merely a seasoning compliment, he goes on without much pause, "You're still quite new, aren't you—have you been assigned anywhere yet?"

[murderbaby]

"Perhaps. I find them easy to forget about, until they start attempting conversation."

All polite, almost demure, finely placid. His smile never reaches his eyes, but it doesn't need to. Genuine delight isn't required.

"As a clerk, I'll likely end up a jack of all trades. If you've an assignment for me, I'd love to hear it."

[tender]

This is the second event Derrica's turned up at with little idea of what she's meant to be doing or any real familiarity with the people she's meant to be working with. Though she has some hopes that this will be more productive than the etiquette lesson. At least most people arriving don't seem to entirely resent their presences here.

Though as Mhavos speaks, her eyes drop to the package, then lift back to his face. She grimaces slightly, flushing.

"Were we supposed to bring a gift?"

Even as she asks, she realizes, yes, she probably should have brought a gift. Also, the implied answer to his question: she is not part of the wedding party.

[murderbaby]

"I assume you're not the bride, then," Mhavos says dryly. Which is rude, honestly, but rude is something he's allowed to occasionally be, so why not.

"I think the groom expected a great deal of things, many of which he will not receive, from the sound of it. In that light, I believe gift-giving is a personal choice."

[tender]

The rudeness angle doesn't register immediately. Derrica's halfway through shaking her head in answer before it sinks in and she frowns slightly, reproachful, but lets it pass without comment.

"I don't know either of them. I've heard him on the crystal before, but he seemed..."

Derrica trails off, failing to come up with a polite descriptor. Giving up on it, she shrugs.

"He wanted money, in the end." Derrica does not sound as if she thinks highly of that preference. "Is that what you got them?"

[murderbaby]

"Don't we all?" He shrugs. Mhavos doesn't quite understand why everyone is so derogatory toward the groom, but then, he's sure if it's a just judgement he'll understand eventually. It just rankles, being out of the loop, even slightly.

He looks at the gift under his arm. "Yes. A book. The only sort of gift I'm qualified to give, I'm afraid."

He dips his head slightly, and offers a hand. "Mhavos Dalat, a pleasure. I'm rather new to this... organization."

[tender]

"Derrica," She tells him as she takes his hand. "I only arrived here last month."

And she still hasn't really gotten the hang of anything. Worse, she suspects she was less than helpful during the journey to the Arbor Wilds, though no one has said as much to her.

"There were etiquette classes then, so I think you're slightly better off with a strange wedding."

Even by Derrica's extremely low standards, this seems to qualify as a strange gathering.

"It's easier to know people when they aren't extremely resentful of being required to participate in something."

ota

[heirring]

She'd come, she said, to prove Byerly Rutyer was being nothing more than an oafish card tricking people into putting money in her pocket. And if she's honest, Wysteria isn't yet completely certain that isn't the case. Would this be an elaborate arrangement for the sake of earning a little coin? Certainly. But where her confidence in the man might fail in nearly every other respect, she is certain of his mind and its propensity toward cultivating needlessly elaborate nonsense.

She was at Saturnalia. She saw that costume. This is hardly more complex than any of that. What's truly bewildering is--

Baffled, Wysteria turns to the Riftwatch member nearest to her. "You don't seriously believe any of this, do you?"

[hornswoggle]

"No," John answers easily, possibly the worst person to put the question to.

John's presence here is some uneven mix of being vaguely fond of Sidony and the need to be at least adjacent to whatever's happening in Kirkwall to keep an eye on it. This is in some respects a more trying event than others. There isn't even wine provided for them.

"But I assume I'm thinking that for different reasons you are."

The setting and lack of any particular type of formality doesn't necessarily bother John. (In truth, he's thinking too much of Madi, about what any kind of vow he could ever give her would look like.) Simple weddings and bored Chantry brothers are fairly standard, in John's experience. But Sidony had never struck him as impulsive, and he still isn't sure what to make of this entire affair.

[heirring]

"Well. Nevermind the reasons, Captain. I'm comforted in the knowledge that there is at least one another sensible person along to witness this whole charade from a similar perspective."

Wysteria takes a sip from her cup - paid for with her own meager pocket money -, the contents of which are decent enough to be a relief. "Trust Mr Rutyer to find a pit with something drinkable on tap," she grumbles, evidently entirely to herself as she follows much more clearly with:

"What I don't fully grasp is how Miss Venaras is involved."

[hornswoggle]

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Wysteria's disgruntled reactions to all of this are diverting in and of themselves. So at the very least, this whole evening hasn't been a loss. John folds his hands over the smooth-worn wood of his crutch, eyeing the other attendees.

"I don't pretend to believe that our miserable trek in the deep roads means we know each other, but she didn't seem the type for a spontaneous marriage."

Or a simple wedding, but maybe that's just a failing of John's assessment. If Sidony were truly, urgently in love, perhaps it wouldn't matter to her.

Though that theory hinges on the if. Which sets them right back at the start of all their questioning.

[heirring]

"No, I doubt spontaneity has much to do with it. Their association, I mean. The marriage itself is questionable, but I'm certain they've been--" How to say this without casting aspersions on the allegedly soon to be Mistress Rutyer without implying something untoward? "They have been familiar with one another since Saturnalia at least. I recognized Miss Venaras' dark hair and fashion sense then despite the mask.

"But no. I rather think this whole arrangement must have some ulterior motive driving it. And it must be one which benefits the lady as well, as I cannot imagine she would simply humor him either. She seems rather humorless." A pause. Wysteria clears her throat. "I say so in the sense that she is quite graceful and I believe one sometimes usurps the other."

[hornswoggle]

"Do you suppose it was the botched kidnapping that did it?"

John does not think it was that entire, blasted ordeal that motivated Sidony. But he thinks Wysteria will find it interesting to consider, and it diverts them from the obvious bit of speculation.

While John continually traffics in gossip, he can't bring himself to put his entire weight behind the rumor that Sidony might be pregnant. Forming attachments to people. It's continually an inconvenience.

"People do strange things after they've escaped death, I hear."

Says John Silver, who gave up a fortune and went all in piracy after nearly being killed defending his crew.