MOD EVENT ↠ IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE

[faderifting]

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: Some dreams
WHEN: Harvestmere 9:45–Wintersend 9:46
WHERE: The Fade
NOTES: OOC post!

Comments

The One Where Byerly Is The Bann of Dragonmount

[bouchonne]

[ Bann Byerly isn't exactly the classic image of a Fereldan noble. Slender, well-dressed, sharp-eyed, and soft-handed; the sword at his hip looks uncommonly ornamental, the armor a rather absurd pretense. The older nobility - and even some of his own generation - smile derisively when he speaks, and mutter to each other about the Bann would do better as a Comte and give gifts of Orlesian wines and Orlesian court-masks - to honor his heritage, of course, no more than that, they say.

Well, if they don't like him as a Bann, he doesn't care for himself in this job, either. When hearing petitions and appeals, he looks bored more often than not. So if you are a petitioner, he'll hear you, but his attention will wander quite quickly, attracted by some motion in the crowd or some other conversation going on. So talk fast.

He's more approachable during a feast, not least because he's surrounded by people he clearly likes and who clearly like him. Most prominent of these is a young woman who is very obviously his sister - one might mistake them for twins, so close is their resemblance and so intimate is their chatter. Given how utterly focused they are on one another, it's easy to understand the rumors that follow the two of them around, even if you don't believe them. But who cares about bad reputations; this Byerly is lively and laughing, in his natural element. ]

feast

[indissection]

[ Sidony has never much cared for rumour or reputation; enough follow her around to make her realise the nature of them.

She is dressed in full black, as she ought to be, given her station. With her brother at home to manage the estate and breed more little children for the Venaras family Sidony has been allowed to do as she pleased, and what has pleased her the most was stepping into the role of mage, of Mortalitasi, of seeing the way the human body changes in death, the way that magic can be used to preserve, to help, to heal - a mixture of necromancy and healing that has baffled her tutors and her mother both. There is no more whispering of marrying her off to the nearest noble, not when she causes such a stir already, dangerous and deadly, coy and flippant despite what skin she shows and what she hides behind whispers and promises on the cusp of lies.

Her reason for being here is simple enough: her mother wanted her to be. It's not something she wants necessarily, but she intends to make the most of it, a glass of wine in her hand and her eyes flicking around the room, trying to see who might be best to talk to. She wants conversation, stories, humour, and she has heard enough of darling Bann Byerly that she thinks he must be the best target. Seeing his laughter makes her own smile turn coy, flirtation, and she steps over, heels a soft echo behind her. (It means very little that her eyes stray to the woman at his side, considering, thoughtful and appraising, seeing the difference and similarities between them and appreciating it all the same).

Handing off her drink to whichever poor servant is close enough to carry it, she settles before him and offers a low, deliberate curtsey - enough to show the gaze of her eyes under her lashes and the shape of her cleavage in the cut of her gown. ]

Why, ser, you must be the dear Bann I have heard so very much about.

[bouchonne]

[ It's the problem with foreign visitors. Is this woman trying to be provocative, or is this just how Nevarrans are? They are a strange people, those of the North, and Nevarrans more than most.

But, well - He hardly minds if she is being provocative. There aren't many who get provocative in his general direction lately, after all - certainly not in comparison to his comparatively carefree youth; instead, it's a lot of relatively stolid, humorless courting, as the bachelor Bann gets older and his unmarried status appears to become more and more of a challenge to the social climbers out there. Always feels more like a business transaction than the thrilling mutual pursuit that something like this should be. ]

We scarcely know each other, and already I am dear?

[ Nadine, Byerly's sister, apparently recognizes his interest. Her response (sensible woman) is to shake her head, and sit back, disengaging from the conversation in favor of amused observation. ]

The Mortalitasi are soft-hearted, it seems.

[indissection]

[ It's not too different in Nevarra; Sidony is blessed with an excuse to hide away from balls if she has chosen to be bored with the occasion - and an open invitation to come if she wants to show off some new dress or a spark of magic, to breed envy in the hearts of maidens who dream of having her poise and power.

This, at least, will be a real kind of entertainment. What she has learned of Byerly is enough to know that any conversation she has with him will not be dull, and that is something she is desperate to avoid; boredom kills what little desire she has to mingle. He is handsome enough, her eyes flicking up and down, and she thinks her mother might be pleased to see her even daring to talk to a man of marrying age - although she is unsure a bann would please Madame Venaras.

Very little does. ]

Would you rather be something a touch more scathing?

[ It's said coyly, leaning forward, her eyes trained dutifully on his face. One glance takes in Nadine's movements, a spark of curious interest, before she focusses on her target once more. ]

Not soft. Merely without pretence.

Petitioner

[okayimin]

[ She's meant to be doing this the proper way. The Orlesian way, possibly, since that's how these Fereldans see her, even if she's no more Orlesian than she is Nevarran or even Fereldan. So far the only thing that Fereldan and it's Chantries have over Orlais is they're all slightly less obsessed with politics. Slightly.

Which means it's Sawbones here to petition the Bann for assistance with matters of Denirum's alienage, which have reached comedic levels of horrible. Someone has been selling food that's either intentionally poisoned or spoiled beyond belief. Elves keep going missing. And also there's apparently some fucking Duster wandering around at night who likes hacking off bits and pieces of folks and leaving them there to be found or bleed out. And no one gives a screaming nug fucked shit because none of it is happening outside the alienage.

On top of that, none of this should even be happening, she shouldn't even be in this blasted fucking country. She can't begin to explain where the fuck she's meant to be or what she's meant to be doing, but there's an oppressive feeling of wrongness about this whole blasted place.

And now, after waiting all fucking day to make her case, this Stone dumb sun touched nug fucker of a Surface Deshyr is ignoring her. While she's trying to explain that this morning they discovered the scraps of meat someone had bought had been infested with flies and another child had gone missing. ]

Is there a problem, sir.

[ Said with all the gravitas of someone who is earnestly considering murder and high treason. ]

feast

[vorbratta]

Once upon a time, Byerly had been fun. When Sonia was young, when they had met as cousins from time to time. His sister, too, the only girl so close to her own age, had quickly become a favored cousin. Her own closest cousins were both boys, and far too old to tolerate the whims of a little girl. But Byerly had tolerated her, back then, and with fondness, or so it had felt at the time. It was Byerly she saw the most, still sparingly even so, but she looked forward to those rare occasions when the Barras and the Rutyers met with full families in tow.

He was funny, indulgent, knowing how to pull a laugh from her even when in tears. Even as they grew older and saw each other less -- and his sister even more scarcely -- they exchanged letters, and she had confided in him things she never could with her sister, and she had learned from him things like subtlety and timing and how to tilt one's head just so. They had been friends, dear cousins, and Sonia loved him a great deal.

And then the letters stopped. At first she took it quite personally, but the next time she saw Bann Byerly Rutyer in person, she realized there was nothing personal about it. It was simply the fact that by being put in charge of something, you were immediately robbed of anything even remotely interesting about you. Being around the Rutyer siblings became something stiff and uncomfortable. Distant. Sonia didn't like it, and so it was fortunate enough that she didn't have occasion to see either of them much these days.

She hadn't even really wanted to come to this party, but her father had impelled her with a look, and she didn't really have a good reason to be stubborn about it. Besides, she likes parties. She can always find a way to entertain herself at a party, and she doesn't see any particular reason not to get fantastically drunk at this one.

She catches Byerly in a rare moment away from his sister, a couple of drinks in. It would, after all, be incredibly gauche to come to this feast and not speak to him at all. "Ah, there you are," she says with a practiced smile. "Hello, dear cousin. You look well. And what a lovely soirée you've put on -- you always do throw a good party."