( 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

[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.

[bouchonne]

"Stop that," Byerly growls, pushing at Colin's hands when he realizes what the boy is doing. "You're just exhausting yourself."

Exhausting himself, admittedly, so that By can recover faster. And maybe it's absurd, and hypocritical, to snap when he's not permitted to move and to snap when Colin's helping him to move sooner, but - But he does anyway, because hypocritical absurdity has never stopped any nobleman and it shan't stop him.

"I can stand without fainting now," he says, and starts sitting up again. "Just give me an elbow; that's all I need."

[cozen]

Ridiculous men. Both of them. But Bastien's arm is promptly where it might be needed, to stabilize if not to lift. He's looking at Colin for permission for that, first.

[keenly]

Colin's teeth grit. He stands, sways, and briefly closes his eyes. After a second, he steadies himself and takes a deep breath. He needs a lyrium potion.

"You'll have two elbows," he sighs, "and get up slowly. I will come with you."

He's not convinced Byerly will be able to go very far, but there's no controlling a person, not really. If Byerly is determined to press forward, he will try to do so, but Colin will be damned if he lets a compromised patient out of his sight, least of all when he's headed toward men who have already stabbed him once.