open | back in the atmosphere

[coquettish_trees]

WHO: Lexie, Loki, Lea, Yseult, you
WHAT: complaining, spy things, catch-all for all your Lexie-based needs
WHEN: Presently, just after her return from Val Royeaux
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Hi again <3

Loki:
The carriage is unloaded, its driver paid, and its riders retired within the estate to trade their road-dusted travelwear for something eminently more comfortable. Tea is made and delivered to the sitting room followed closely by a robed Alexandrie finger-combing her released curls who disdains the other plush chair beside the small tea-bearing table in favor of wiggling herself into the space between the long droll stretch of her husband and the arm of his chair, tucking her head beneath his chin and sighing with gusty finality once settled against his side.

“Merde.”


Leander and Yseult:
It’s easier this way; all three of them, in Yseult’s office late on the evening of her return, Alexandrie still standing, uncorking a bottle of exceedingly fine wine retrieved from the family’s cellars in Val Royeaux to soften the frustration she brought back along with it for them—and to soften whatever local frustration she’s to be briefed on.

“Shall I begin?” is her query over the quiet pop of the cork releasing, “It will be a thing of depressing brevity.”


Wildcard!
[Come at her wherever; home or studio in Hightown, Gallows office, library, somewhere completely different!

Alternately, come at me, and we can figure something out if you like. shaestorms or shae#7274 on discord]

Comments

jeshavis party

[sarcophage]

Please, Leander might answer, were his behaviour not presently subdued by the Scoutmaster's presence. He may play around elsewhere, but knows when it's time to be quiet and still and studiously respectful, and to listen a little more than he speaks—and if he's out of his depth in this position (which he is, in some respects), he's never seemed fearful of it. Caution without insecurity.

His silence is relaxed; he's here to learn.

(And he's glad to see Lexie back.)

[hassaran]

There are only two chairs typically arranged in front of the fireplace in Yseult's office, but a third from before her desk has been carried over to make room for both Lexie and Leander. She sits in the third, legs crossed at the knee beneath her skirt, watching as Lexie pours the wine into slender-stemmed glasses at the sideboard.

She nods once, a slight sideways slide to it accepting the forewarning about the nature of the report to come. "Please do."

[coquettish_trees]

"You will remember, I think, the rather shrill letter from Lady Pasquier," Alexandrie begins, her skirts swishing as she turns to offer Yseult and Leander their glasses in turn before settling herself in the vacant chair with her own, absently smoothing the fall of fabric over her knees as she does so. "As it transpired, the rumors she so diligently reported did lead to a 'horrifying web of dangerous deceit, poised to suffocate the heart of our beloved Empire'," the quote is delivered with the affect of one in the grip of just such a horror, immediately thereafter cast aside in favor of wry irritation, "albeit one entirely of native construction. In the wake of our dealings with Baron Deshaies and other such true agents, it has apparently become a fashionable play in the Game to fabricate and accuse one another of Venatori connections and allegiances." Alexandrie touches the bridge of her nose delicately, ruefully. "And if one is both ambitious and very confident of themselves, as we eventually revealed the Lady Pasquier to be, to add gravity by luring the obvious personal attentions of Riftwatch."

A sigh. "As it is," she continues, spreading her hands, "my lord husband and I spent a month chasing the hat, and gained absolutely nothing that will be of use in further operations save the knowledge that our ostensible allies are woefully insistent on making our intelligence work even more difficult."

She gestures with her glass, words far drier than the wine it contains. "One hopes that our eventual shaming of the Lady will dissuade her peers from attempting similar feats, but it is equally—if not more—likely that one or two of the shining stars in the firmament of the Royal Court will decide that successfully manipulating Riftwatch into removing a rival is a crowning trophy for their wall. We shall needs watch sharply for such things."

sorry, i forgot we decided to skip

[hassaran]

Yseult takes the offered glass, sipping as she listens. She isn't much given to reactions, despite the frustrations of the tale and its animated telling, but at the close a line forms between brows and she hums a note of agreement.

"A shame your time was wasted," she agrees, "But better to chase a phantom than leave a true Venatori agent at large in the court. Likely you're correct we will see more of this. So screen such requests with extra care in the future, and make greater use of our sources already in place before involving our own personnel, but let's take care not to let the false reports blind us to a real one."

[coquettish_trees]

Alexandrie raises her wine in acknowledgement of the direction, then turns her head to consider the dance of the flames on the hearth.

"Quite so, Scoutmaster," she agrees, "It merely... galls more than it once did." No matter that sometimes the Game drew blood; that she had. Minrathous had made it different. Ghislain. She looks back, tilts her head curiously. "And what have I missed?"

[sarcophage]

Leander's done a very good job of listening politely without looking like he wants to interject. Sitting there, pleasantly attentive, like handsome furniture. He accepted the glass from Alexandrie with a polite incline of his head, and since then he's merely held it with practised elegance.

His gaze flicks between the two women before he answers, evenly,

"Enough to make you forget all about the misuse of your time. Nevarra's gone to war with itself, and it would seem there's a growing trend of secret sedition among our ranks."

It would seem.

[hassaran]

The wine swirls slowly in her glass as the stem rocks between Yseult's thumb and forefinger, held delicately, but without particular attention. She is inclining her head in acknowledgement to Lexie, and then turning her focus on Leander as he chimes in.

"Indeed. Perhaps you could bring Lady Alexandrie up to speed on that," she suggests, wine a steady, constant speed around her glass. "Before we delve into the politics abroad and work to be done."

[hwaaaitsme]

"Eloquently put," Loki agrees, unmoving and relaxed against the chair. He'd taken the seat, sunk into it entirely, and did not intend to move for anything for at least an hour. She perches half alongside him and half against him and he shifts just slightly to settle his hand against her. It is the barest pretense of wrapping his arm around her, but it is the gesture that counts.

"You know I once enjoyed Orlais," Loki muses. "Strange how exhausting it seems now."

[coquettish_trees]

Alexandrie, having been thinking just that, hums her agreement.

“I cannot tell if I have become terribly dull or she has,” is her rueful reply, as she seeks out his hand with her own. An absent gesture, well-worn and comfortable now. “But whichever it may be, it is a certainty that being obliged by circumstance to grant credence to the machinations of petty little fools is deeply tiresome.” She resettles her head at Loki’s shoulder so she can observe him with a fond little smile.

“I should have perished of it, I think, had I not been so favorably accompanied.”

[hwaaaitsme]

"How they have not perished of it is a mystery to me," Loki replies a bit dryly and shoots her a sidelong look. Her fondness does not shift his whole expression but it sharply tempers his exasperation with something a bit soft.

It had been amusing, watching the players of the Game attempt to reconcile their obvious fondness and how that would require adjusting strategy. They were not as adept at it as those in Tevinter, their fumbling would have been their deaths if they'd had a proper goal in mind.

He sighs.

"Perhaps it is that they've nothing we want. It is a challenge to manipulate a disinteresting opponent, after all."

[coquettish_trees]

His sigh might as well have come from her lips. The words after it, though, spark some livelier thought.

Indeed, in the end, those they’d gone to investigate had had nothing desirable; nothing for Riftwatch, nor for Alexandrie herself. While it had briefly been fiercely satisfying to watch the blood drain from the Lady’s face when they’d finally arranged the board such that she was caught publicly at her game of falsehoods, something about it had still rung hollow.

Nothing we want.

“What is it we want, Loki?” Alexandrie murmurs after a moment, slender fingers rising to rest beneath his chin, pulling gently to turn his face to hers so she can meet his eyes properly. It’s rare enough to hear from her like this, his name. Not replaced by title or endearment as is her custom outside more intimate circumstances that render it hiss, gasp, moan, or prayer.

Something of special import, then.

“Not for Riftwatch, nor even for the House—although I grant the outcome may lay favorably over all, if we are skillful.”

Her gaze searches, curious.

“What is it we wish for ourselves?”

[hwaaaitsme]

That is...overall...an interesting question. He had left the fate of House Asgard to Thor, as his father wanted, with the hopes that his brother might be murdered during his attempts to right things. Until then, however, it was entirely possible to ignore the fate of his House, or even Tevinter on whole, eschewing both for the possibilities he could attain with her. His wife.

He arches a brow at her, following her train of thought, and the tiredness behind his eyes sharpens to something more lively and keen. His smile is subdued and slow, but it overtakes his face after a beat or two.

"Now that is an interesting question, Alexandrie," Loki replies lightly and his hand, in hers, shifts so he can drum his fingers against her wrist. "After all, we must have a goal in mind, a future we can obtain, must we not?"

[coquettish_trees]

She loves him in stillness, she loves him in motion, but most of all she loves him like this; in the moment just before movement. The taut kinetic sparkle beneath his skin that escapes through the tap of his fingers, the snake-strike spread of his smile. Alexandrie shimmers in response, her eyes bright summer skies brimming with warmth enough to keep the sharpening slice of autumn’s chill at bay.

“Mais oui, we must,” she agrees, before making lightly amused admission: “Happiness has made me slothful.” Her fingers trace Loki’s jawline briefly before relinquishing it.

“But all things hang in the balance during wartime, and we stand within an organization that makes itself more than visible time and again; how romantic Riftwatch is, a band from all countries, standing visibly against an ancient force that splits the sky.”

She tilts her head, leans to speak against his skin. “The Chantry has its March now, but once Corypheus falls all will wish for peace eventually. They may have their sneering fun at our expense now, but with clever effort we might position ourselves to become a tale that joins nations.”

[hwaaaitsme]

She extolls the romanticism inherent in the Riftwatch, the strong undercurrent of heroism and the implied adoration that might accompany it and while Loki doesn't actually grimace at the thought, the expression he grants her is a bit dry. He knows full well that he is not the heroic type, however much she might disagree, and the joining of nations is a skill neither one of them truly possesses...but her proposition has a few notes of appeal in it and he looks over her face as he considers.

"A lofty goal, my dearest," Loki congratulates, earnestly despite his own personal distaste for the idea. "But perhaps something simpler."

He sighs softly and shifts his hand in hers to stroke along her fingers.

"Perhaps a bit of power spread about, enough that we might not have to vie for favor or negotiate in the face of future marching. Either by the chantry or otherwise. A simple, reserved homestead...in our own private corner of the world?"

im in ur office

[untiltheyarent]

Thor's departure occurring in the absence of Lexie and Loki left Fifi briefly in the lurch, but she had taken it upon herself to continue her duties until instructed otherwise.
Such instruction has come, and she finds herself genuinely relieved to be back in the Gallows, still under somebody's employ but less alone among the household staff of an Altus. And though Alexandrie may qualify as an Altus now, Fifi doubts she'll ever be less Orlesian, for better or worse.

Fifi is already waiting in the office when her employer arrives, and is peering out the window onto the Gallows. She turns to greet Lexie with a little smile and a curtsy.

!!!

[coquettish_trees]

Marie had been somewhere between pleased and huffy to be released from the duty of interminably accompanying her Lady to return to the work of a full-time seamstress. Granted, Marie had been somewhere between pleased and huffy to have replaced Emile as Alexandrie's lady's maid in the first place.

The Lady, for her part, is only pleased. After all, Alexandrie had been slowly trying to steal Fifi from her brother's service ever since she'd found out he had La Vulpesse in his employ, glinting like a diamond among bits of crystal. And so her return smile is bright and pleasant with a hint of victory, her head cocking to the side in acknowledgement of the curtsy as she sweeps into the room.

"Have you needlework or somesuch?" She asks in their shared mother tongue, "Since my appointment I find myself obliged to have a terribly sedentary schedule, and one can only count the number of folds in the curtains so many times."

[untiltheyarent]

It's difficult to feel like much of a diamond when one is scrubbing semen stains out of the carpet, but that's always been an element of La Vulpesse's illustrious career and some things never change.

But at least this has. Rising from domestic servitude to the more clerical kind is something her father would be proud of, if he only knew.

"I can occupy myself," Fifi replies, approaching with her hands folded in front of her, "unless there is needlework that my lady needs doing."

[coquettish_trees]

A brief wave of Alexandrie's hand as she sits at her desk says there isn't.

"I know little of what attendance you were required to dance on Lord Thor; I imagine slightly less time spent in the mornings?" Her smile twitches with mirth, thinking of Asgard's eldest son with his hair piled with painstaking elegance atop his head.

A little over a week since she returned

[keenly]

Colin doesn't really mean to freeze her out or anything, or for this to be a punishment. He just knows that if he talks to her, he'll want to argue, and he hates arguing. He would rather wait until he's not angry anymore, and they'll pick up where they left off. It's not like an argument would make him feel better about any of this. He even feels stupid to think she wouldn't be like this. It's just that after all this time, he never met anyone on the other end of her destructive power that he cared about.

The door opens and he doesn't automatically think it's her. Servants come and go, after all, and he's busy stress-cooking.

[coquettish_trees]

But the heavy sound of richer fabric skirts, the delicate tick of the rather ostentatiously shaped glass jar of Heartland grape preserves placed down on the counter beside him, and the brief affectionate brush of a greeting kiss on Colin's cheek mark it, indeed, the lady of the house. She peers into the pot before withdrawing, her eyebrows arching upwards.

"Belle Andraste! What haunts your day, mon chou, that it produces not only paella but the recipe with the little peppers?"

[keenly]

He ducks away from her kiss, and immediately feels guilty. She saved his life. She has always been there for him. And yet.

"You put one of my friends in prison," he says flatly. Which isn't quite the point, really. Benedict put himself in prison. Colin purses his lips. "Cruelly."

[coquettish_trees]

Stung, her lips thin in response, expression flattening out quickly through hurt to irritation to neutrality. Her tone has all the lightness of a strung tripwire.

"Ah, do you mean my terrible cruelty in taking great personal risk to arrange for a suspected traitor and heir to a House that publicly supports our avowed enemy, who is proven to be dangerously susceptible to the manipulations of its Magister, who has, by his actions, no doubt cast further suspicion on my House, to be able to turn himself in for the leniency such an act might provide rather than be dragged before tribunal?"

[keenly]

Colin isn't buying this martyr act. He raises a hand briefly before continuing his work.

"I'm grateful you let him turn himself in. Now he has the chance to do his time and become a better person. It's sending Leander after him I take issue with. And you really can't defend that one, if you knew what he's like."

[coquettish_trees]

Granted, she had been coldly furious in equal portion to her sympathy after hearing Kitty's tale. The risk one of her own dearest friends had taken, the fallout she bore. The care Benedict refused to take, even knowing—or being stunningly ignorant of—who House Artemaeus served, even knowing—or being stunningly ignorant of—the precarious position the Tevinter members of Riftwatch occupied as the war continued to heat.

Further suspicion at her husband's feet she could not abide.

And so, on her mission of mercy: Leander.

If Alexandrie feels guilt for it, she stubbornly refuses to show it.

"Leander is second in command of our efforts to counter espionage—which this may well have been, not able to properly judge until I spoke with Lord Benedict if he was at the purposes of his mother—and able to pass unremarked where I cannot. He is disarmingly congenial and to my knowledge singularly above being bribed, manipulated, or otherwise turned aside by his—" prey "—targets."

She knows well enough.

"I should have gone myself where I might have been marked, unable to truly counter magic? I should have sent you, with flowers?"

[keenly]

"You should have sent me." There is heat in Colin's voice now. And, in some grand statement, he slams the spoon into the pan and leaves it, wiping his hands on his apron and turning to her. "Or you should have at least asked me, or anyone who knew him. You should have done at least as much research as you did when you helped me disgrace Lutair, who was a truly evil man, which Benedict is not. Benedict is lost, abused; and now, he is assaulted at your orders by a man not worthy of being in this organization. Or am I wrong? Is this organization more tolerant of a sadist than of a fool?"