closed.

[cozen]

WHO: Bastien, Athessa, Alexandrie, Darras, John, Marcoulf, Petrana, Yseult
WHAT: A small apology tour slash charm offensive.
WHEN: Vaguely Drakonis
WHERE: Val Royeaux
NOTES: OOC post.

Background: Riftwatch is in Val Royeaux to make it very clear that they support the Orlesian military and Exalted March and definitely do not condone desertion or harbor deserters. This is necessary because someone in Riftwatch (Bastien) helped someone in Orlais (Vincent Suchet) who was harboring deserters, including, nearly, the son of the Baron and Baronness Auvray. They take a lot of pride in their family's history of valiant military feats and were on the verge of being horribly embarrassed by the whole ordeal before they managed to turn it around and paint it as an insurrectionist conspiracy that tried and failed to lure their son away from his duty. Enough circumstantial connections to Riftwatch came up during Suchet's quick and dramatic trial that the rumor mill went a little wild, so now everyone is here to tame it!

Except Bastien, who's here to put his fake printer name back on and tell some solid lies to the Chancellor's office when they ask him what the deal is, to ensure there's no real non-gossip trouble, and then to have a little bit of a meltdown. 👉👉

Comments

[sulahnan]

"In case you haven't noticed," Athessa says, composure snapping like a dry twig and springing her up out of her seat. "It isn't betterment to the ones who lose those wars."

And now she's on her feet, feeling a rage she didn't even know was waiting just under the surface. Clenching her hands into fists, but looking like she realizes just how ill-advised it would be to cause this particular scene. Athessa breathes deep in through her nose, and forces her fingers to de-claw and smooth her dress again.

"Forgive me, I must have had too much wine." She turns and briskly walks out and turns whichever direction leads away from the crowds. The garden, maybe.

[staysail]

The Orlesian woman puts her newly-released hands to her mouth--not touching, hovering over the lower ridge of her half-mask. "Mademoiselle," she begins, a note of shock coloring her tone--but by then, Athessa has turned and walked off, cutting away from the lurid colors of the partygoers and the music that is still carrying on, bright and loud, as the dancers turn on the floor.

The woman turns to Darras, her mouth drawn into a frown. "There was no cause," she says, somewhat stiffly, "for that--if she cannot hold her wine--"

She reaches for her own glass and takes a quick sip to fortify herself. Darras does as well, his eyes following Athessa until she disappears past the edge of his vision. Then he turns back to carry on the conversation.

Not much later, he's followed Athessa, as indirectly as possible, so as to not look as if he's following her. She might be difficult to find, besides, but when the way she'd gone terminates at a door out to the garden, he ducks out as well. The night air is cool and perfumed heavily with flowers. The season is wrong for them to be growing naturally. They were brought here, and set into the planters so as to look like they're growing. Darras, with two wine glasses, wanders through them, giving a smile to the strangers that he meets, looking for Athessa.

[sulahnan]

She's not hard to find, sitting on a garden bench with her shoes in her hand. Even though the lawn has been specially made to be as unlike the natural state of soil in the soggy season, most seem keen to spare their soles the indignity of getting smudged, so stay clear of the grass.

It's a peaceful little getaway for social pariahs.

Athessa turns upon hearing someone's approach, and smiles ruefully when she sees that it's Darras.

"And I was doing so well, too."

[staysail]

Darras returns that smile, a few clicks closer to kind on the scale. Well. "Could have done worse. It's a small comfort made greater by the magnitude of the self-control involved in choosing to walk away. Second comfort--"

He holds one of the glasses out to her. This one has been overfilled, past the point of decency and portion size.

"Might as well make good on the excuse you gave her."

[sulahnan]

The rue stays as she takes the glass in hand and looks at it like it's a glass of foul tasting medicine.

"What a time to have quit drinking," She sets the drink down on the bench beside her, and slides it about an inch further away. A small, silent signal that he's welcome to take it back if he doesn't want it to go to waste.

And congratulations, Darras, you get to be a test subject for her new excuse, since apparently people expect you to defend your opinions when you simply say you don't like something.

"Though maybe I shouldn't be trying to better myself anyway, after that."

[staysail]

Not one to waste, Darras resists snapping the glass up again and takes a sip from the glass that he's holding first. He's been careful here. Among neutral company he can afford a bit of drink.

"If it bothers you, might say that now is the perfect time to be bettering yourself. Can't climb out of a hole unless you fall into a hole first, yeah? But no one ought to be asking you to compromise too much of yourself," he offers, in mild opposition. "Not when met with a truly ignorant opinion such as that."

[sulahnan]

"But if I don't fall into a hole in the first place, I don't have to climb out," is her admittedly somewhat confused reply. There's any number of things he could mean, when double-talk is the lingua franca at this party.

"How do you do it? Keep up a civil conversation with someone you disagree with?" She can make attempts with people she's not trying to impress, with middling success, but when she has to make a good impression? And worse still, making a good impression to someone who thinks elves are naturally less than people. "I don't know if I'm good enough at pretending to agree with them."

[staysail]

Darras' smile takes on a wry tint. "I don't," he says, a gentle correction. "I'm used to settling my conversational disagreements with a bit more dramatics. Ask my wife if you don't believe me. If I'd have been in your seat? I might not have had the sense or the control to walk myself away."

And it had meant something to her. Without asking, he knows that much. It was plain. He looks down into his wine glass and gives it a little swirl.

"I'm keeping it together by playing a part. That's easy. You can pretend to be someone else for a bit. Some're better at it than others, and some of the parts go on for a long while, but there's always you underneath the masks and paint and all. I don't know that I think you ought to let that go. Even when you're trying to blend in as a charmer at a masked ball for Riftwatch."

[sulahnan]

She hums thoughtfully and narrows her eyes a little, mostly just chewing on the concept Darras posed but also deciding whether she wants to insist you were in my seat, technically, or take a different tack entirely.

The different tack wins out, with a tilt of her head.

"You're married? I wouldn't have guessed that."

[staysail]

"Really?"

He spreads his arms so she can take a good look at the frock coat, and Orlesian-cut Orlesian-fashionable breeches, and very stylish Orlesian-style facepaint.

"Me, a prince, and you don't think I'd be married?"

[sulahnan]

"I always thought princes became kings once they got married. Don't they?"

Maybe shes wrong about that. Oh well.

"Anyway I'm pretty sure I heard Madame de Camembert call you a most eligible bachelor when she recounted what a good dancer you were."

[staysail]

He snorts. "Madame de Camembert is very hopeful to find an eligible bachelor. I heard from Madame Brouder she has seven daughters. All of them unmarried."

Having leaned in to disclose that fact, Darras leans back, and takes a sip of wine.

"Madame Brouder has eight daughters and only three of them are unmarried. And they are all better than the Camembert sisters in everything. Here, you're a lady, you tell me. How important d'you think it is, to play the harp?"

[sulahnan]

Her turn to snort.

"I'm no lady. I'm at best an elevated guttersnipe, thank you. So: not important at all."

[staysail]

He raises the glass in a kind of toast.

"We will take that into consideration when considering marriage prospects from the Brouders and Camemberts both. What instruments do elevated guttersnipes play?"

[sulahnan]

"Spoons," is her immediate response. "Or just singing. Most guttersnipes have tendencies toward...percussive instruments. And I'd guess that those aren't becoming for ladies."

[staysail]

He snorts. But, intrigued-- "Don't tell me you play the spoons."

[sulahnan]

"Okay. I won't," but her grin says you bet your ass I play the spoons.

Maybe when they aren't at a party where her playing the spoons would be as well received as a dog in a tutu hopping on its hind legs, she'll show him the one rhythm she can tap out on flatware.

"Anyway, why don't the Camembert sisters try finding lovers who can play the harp instead of learning it themselves? Being good with your hands seems like an important qualification for a husband."