( 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

ota but also feel free to ignore to go fight some npcs

[bouchonne]

It happens far too fast. He doesn't even have time to react. Foolish of him - stupid - to think that the reports of her family's delay were to be trusted - to do this publicly, instead of quickly and in secret -

"Don't - " By surges forward in the arms of the men holding him back. It may be a surprise to see lazy, feckless Byerly fighting with true panicked desperation, and fighting dirty, and fighting well; with real agility, he takes down one man with a hard knee to the groin, and slams his elbow into the throat of the other. "Stop them - " The fear is real in him, all the playacting gone, as he pushes through the crowd to go after Sidony.

But he takes only half a dozen steps before he runs into another of the Venaras' men. And this one does not hesitate; he pushes a dagger into Byerly's stomach. By goes down, collapsing with a gasp, clutching at the wound.

[keenly]

Byerly’s assailant is suddenly flung across the room, neck snapping as he hits the wall. Colin drops to his side and erects a strong barrier around them both.

“There you are,” he says calmly, as if finding Byerly in a perfectly normal situation. “Let me see that scratch, please.”

He roots around in a pocket for a clean handkerchief he can use to put pressure on the wound. Finding one, he folds it into quarters. His hands are steady, but this is one of the worst things he can think of, tending to a friend with a potentially lethal wound.

[bouchonne]

When By lifts his hands from the wound, it seeps blood at a truly alarming rate. The handkerchief is quickly soaked through; By trembles and gasps, eyes rolling back to fix on Colin. What a way to die, he thinks to himself. Stabbed for acting perfectly honorably. Perhaps it's the Maker's punishment upon a monster, for having the gall to pretend he's a man -

Ah, fuck. One bloody hand comes out and hooks around Colin's wrist. "Go after her," he urges him. Which is a stupid thing to say; he recognizes that at some level. If Colin goes away, By is going to die. But in his state of shock, all he can think about is Sidony. "They're going to ruin her life."

[keenly]

Ah. That must be why Byerly has been acting so strange.

“People are going after her right now,” he explains calmly, setting the cloth against Byerly’s wound with his free hand. “You leave them to their work while we get on with ours.”

He puts pressure against the wound for a few seconds before taking a peek at it. It’s a small wound on the outside, but deep. No organs are slipping out. It’s safe to heal. The cloth goes back on; Colin’s eyes shut and his face goes vacant while he channels the spirit’s magic. A blue glow surrounds his hands and the wound begins to knit together.

[bouchonne]

By's ragged breath turns more even as the pain fades. The tension in his muscles fades. His color scarcely improves, though; he's lost a lot of blood, and even that crafty little spirit of Colin's can't pour that back into his body.

Even so, he tries to push his way up to his feet. He knows he ought to be reflecting upon the joy of being not-dead, or his gratitude towards this boy who really is rather too good to him, but - "Help me up." (He is in absolutely no state to be getting up.)

[keenly]

The flow of magic ceases. Colin sways in its wake with the exhaustion and vertigo typical of such an outpour of mana. There will be scarring for Byerly, and even the magically healed tissue is very new and delicate. Magic is a good healer; time is a better one. Colin holds the man’s forearms as firmly as he is capable.

“You need to lie still,” he tells him evenly. “People have gone to rescue her right now. Just sit tight and she’ll be back before you know it. You’ll be no good to her if you tear your wounds open again, will you?”

[bouchonne]

He stops trying to push upwards - more from sheer pain than from the effect of Colin's very reasonable exhortations - and slumps back instead. He utters a curse vile enough to blister in Trade, then another in Orlesian, then a third in Antivan; then, slowly, he rolls onto his side, and allows himself to let out a miserable agonized breath.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to go..." He clenches a fist, then says - "We got through the ceremony. Enough of it. The marriage is legal. This is a kidnapping - we'll have the force of the law behind us, at least."

[keenly]

“You knew someone was coming for her,” Colin says quietly, “and married her to protect her. That...sounds a lot like you.”

Colin looks up at the inkeep and asks for a blanket. Blood loss will make him feel cold, as will any shock coming from this. He turns back to his friend, gently placing a bloodied hand on his shoulder.

“Who took her? Where are they going with her?”

[bouchonne]

"It's not - " The description of that being a lot like you makes Byerly want to bristle. Colin doesn't know the half of him or who he is. What gives him any right to say what is or isn't like Byerly? But - But no time for that.

"That was her family. Blasted Nevarrans. I expect they'll be taking her home, to force her to marry the fool they chose for her, so they can keep her under control - " He hisses in frustration as much as pain when he shifts and the wound pulls. "But I don't know Nevarra. I don't know for sure. If we can't keep them from leaving the city - then maybe the Averesches would help. Maybe."

[keenly]

It’s what Byerly is like to Colin. How many favors has this man spent on his account?

“Lie still,” he insists again. “Anders has gone after her. No one knows the city better than he does, and he will never let them get away with her. Do you want me to contact anyone on the crystals?”

[bouchonne]

"Hell." He presses a hand to his eyes. It's a mistake; he leaves a smear of blood across them, one that he has to use the sleeve of his wedding-garb to clear from his lashes. He's quiet a moment, then says - "Yseult. If anyone would have the prospect of recovering her, it'd be her. Don't - " His voice goes sharper, and he looks up at Colin. "Don't bring the Averesches into it. Not yet. I truly don't know whose side they'd be on."

A long hesitation. Finally - "Alexandrie."

[keenly]

Colin gives an understanding nod before looking up into the crowd for someone he can trust. He reaches up to snatch Bastien’s sleeve with a bloody hand.

“Bastien! I need your help.”

[cozen]

Bastien is easily caught, on his way from a nebulous here to a nebulous there, trying to find a way to be useful. How convenient to be handed one, even if it does come with bloodstains on his sleeve.

"Of course," he says, and then freezes for a moment, looking down at Byerly on the floor. He's well enough acquainted with dying men to know he isn't one of them; he's well enough acquainted with puncture wounds and blood loss to understand how he might easily have been.

Mark it down as the first time he has considered magic more helpful than horrifying.

[bouchonne]

By, though, doesn't have much time or patience for being stared at like he's some half-rotted beggar on Denerim's dirtiest street. He grunts in annoyance at that look on Bastien's face, and reaches up his hand for assistance.

"Get me up," he orders. "I'm going to catch something I don't have yet from sitting here on this floor. Or give the floor something new. Stand me up."

[keenly]

“Don’t do that,” Colin says to Bastien. “You are to make sure that’s exactly the opposite of what happens. Keep him talking so you can monitor his alertness while I talk to a couple of people on the crystals. If anything changes, call for me.

“When I get back,” and he turns to Byerly, “if you are still doing well, we will see about sitting you up, slowly. You want me to tell Alexandrie to come here, right?”

Because if he wants to ask her to go looking for the woman she thinks he chose over her after giving her no warning about this wedding, Colin might leave him on the floor so she can kick his face afterward.

[cozen]

Bastien's hand, on its way to offer Byerly the assistance he wants, detours smoothly to cross his chest and make a fist over his heart instead, a mimicry of the Inquisition's salutes, in Colin's general direction. He doesn't interrupt, when the healer's attention shifts back to Byerly's and his half-rotted beggar impression, but he does mouth, keep him talking to himself, eyebrows flexing for emphasis on keep.

That part should be easy.

[bouchonne]

"Come here? For what purpose? So she can fuss over me like a nursemaid?"

When By is injured, frustrated, exhausted, angry, the nobleman in him comes out. His manner is usually self-deprecating, in a foppish sort of way - arrogant in a way that always smacks of self-deprecation, or other-deprecation. But every once in a while, in times of stress, he seems to remember that people of his class were born to command and to be obeyed. This is one of those times: his words are clipped, contemptuous, and imperious.

"I want her to use her contacts. If they're headed west, then we need forces from Orlais to block them in. Ensure they can only go so far."

[keenly]

Colin has heard that tone a lot. He doesn’t care for it. Not to mention he can still hear Sidony’s screams. The look he gives Byerly is very suddenly icy, but he steps aside and quietly makes a call to Yseult. If the captors aren’t stopped in Lowtown, Yseult will almost certainly stop them at the docks. If not, then Alexandrie can be dragged into this. Not before.

[cozen]

Bastien, too, could do without it. He's arranged much of his life to avoid ever having to put up with it. But he can make allowances for a man stabbed at the altar and fretting about his abducted bride, so he only inclines his head thoughtfully, then drops down onto his knees to keep him company on the floor instead of towering over him.

"Ne sois pas une bite," he says, without any teeth. "We will have her back with time left in the night for a dance—and if you cannot stand, I will just have to dance with her for you."

[bouchonne]

"I'm not - " He is. When Bastien points it out to him, he knows he is. But he's bloody justified, isn't he, for -

For the fact that he fucked this up. All of this. Put her in harm's way. What right does he have to be cruel to others, when he made this marriage a public affair, when he allowed the audience to be comprised of strangers, all for the laugh of a scandal of a wedding...

He slumps back, the energy gone out of him. He looks up at Bastien, dull-eyed and miserable - for once, an unvarnished and undisguised Byerly. "You ought to leave, then. I'm not going to be any better as the night wears on."

shuffles

[cozen]

The eyes are worse than the bloodstains. Not that he isn't grateful, or won't be grateful at some point later, at least, to have caught a glimpse after all this time. But a glimpse is enough, when it comes to gaping wounds.

So he says, "Now you are being stupid," a little harder and sharper—snow is good for a soft landing, a bit of ice is better for finding your footing. "I can take it. But Colin just saved your life. Look at this."

He gestures to all of him, and the floor, too.

"You could paint a wall."

[keenly]

After a quick message left for Yseult, Colin grabs the bread and a cup of water from a waitress’ tray and heads back to Byerly, still with a sour look. The moment he kneels by him, he forces himself to smile kindly.

“Water,” he says. “I want you to drink all of it, and then I want you to eat. I know you want to do everything you can to help Sidony, but we must give other people time to do their jobs. Your job right now is to replenish all that blood you lost.”

He’ll prescribe a meal of stewed meat if he keeps down the bread, as well as some herbs when they get back to the Gallows. He glances at Bastien.

“Melancholia,” he says quietly. “Happens with blood loss.”

[bouchonne]

To that, Byerly snorts, loudly and pointedly. It's not the blood loss makes him like this, and his old friend Bastien knows that well. It's just how he is.

The bread is eyed with disinterest. The cup is taken, and raised to his lips - and then he grimaces, face twisting with disgust. "Brandy would be more effective," he says, before taking a dispirited and distasteful sip.

Then, to Bastien - "You should use it to paint a wall," he answers. "Or write some poetry with it. Go on, I'm sure it'd be quite fine, with your ear for verses."

[cozen]

"I do owe you a wedding gift," Bastien says, "since you went through with it," but he does not make any move to actually write anything in Byerly's blood. That would be disgusting. And potentially some form of crime under Chantry law. He would be fine, of course, but it seems like an impolite thing to toy with so close to a mage.

He looks up, around the room. The milling gamblers, unconcerned. However many lingering guests, more concerned, but likely equally useless, or they would be going after the lady. No one looks interested in finishing Byerly off, but he himself rarely looked interested in finishing anyone off, and yet.

He pitches his voice lower. Not so low Byerly won't be able to hear him, but the question is for Colin, and not any attempt to team up against him with Byerly in making any irrational and health-endangering demands. "When can we move him?"

[keenly]

“When he can stand without fainting,” Colin answers in a whisper, but still loud enough for Byerly to hear. “And that won’t be till after he eats and drinks.”

Which is true, and also hopefully it encourages Byerly to eat and drink. He can be stubborn all he wants, but he can’t cheat his own body. He sets a hand over the area that was stabbed, channelling healing magic into it to rid the man of any remaining injury. Evidently there is more than meets the eye, for Compassion works at it longer than Colin intended. When the glow dissipates, Colin is left pale and breathless, but his recovery will be quicker than Byerly’s.