( 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.

[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.

[cozen]

"He is a degenerate scoundrel," Bastien says, with all possible affection, "and the lady could surely do better if she wished to—but who among us is not at least a little weak for scoundrels?"

[murderbaby]

Mhavos shrugs, one shouldered, as if to say, well, me.

"He must be an exceptional scoundrel," Mhavos says, "to inspire such ire over simply having a wedding. I thought standards of matrimony were more lax outside Orlais."

[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."

[sarcophage]

"Mmm," a lilt of interest that expedites him swallowing this little sip of his drink. (The littlest sip, just to taste.) He gestures with the hand around the cup, one finger extended. "I might, actually. Have you any interest in artefacts? Or the cataloguing thereof?"

[murderbaby]

"Oh, yes," Mhavos says, immediately. He's heard of several projects falling under this category so far, and all interest him. "It sounds like fascinating work. Far moreso than organizing Orlesian tea sets."

[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."

[murderbaby]

"Were we forced?" Mhavos says, head tilting slightly. "I was under the impression the invitation was open, but not mandatory. Then again, I'm even newer than you; I don't know all the social morays quite yet."

[tender]

"The wedding isn't mandatory. The etiquette lessons last month were."

Derrica lifts a shoulder, half a shrug. She's been here long enough to know that Riftwatch does what it does and certain things probably aren't worth questioning.

"If this wedding weren't so sudden I'd have thought they were trying to prepare us to behave properly at this service."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos allows an annoyed groan. "I'm rather glad I missed those, thank you for informing me of my luck.

His mouth tilts slightly into a knowing smile. "I doubt quick weddings such as these are for the benefit of any but the bride," he says. Yes, he assumes someone is Suddenly Pregnant. He's far too polite to say it, but how can you not assume that?