faderift | and there's a glass on the table, they say it's gonna ease all my pain

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and there's a glass on the table, they say it's gonna ease all my pain

WHO: Mia Rutherford and OPEN
WHAT: She spends a lot of time taking care of everyone else. She needs a drink or five to unwind before getting back to it.
WHEN: Current
WHERE: Herald's Rest
NOTES: Alcohol? Bad decisions?

She's not proud of herself for this. But there are breaking points, and she's nearing one, and it's better to deal with them pre-emptively than not, and have a fuss be made later. There are things that are completely out of her control, Maker knows, and she needs to make her peace with them.

Wine helps. So does the ambiance of the tavern, even if she sits alone. There's a homesickness that claws at her, though she refuses to let it take root too deeply. There's work to be done here, after all--

No. No work tonight. Just...relax. Listen to the music and the noise and the banter and try to let it go.

Easier said than done, but she'll muddle through it. Stubbornness is a Rutherford family trait, apparently.

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"And I shall be grateful for your thoughtful minding, Bella." It is easier to trickle back to the flirting with such a lovely expression of arch sarcasm turned upon him- Zevran grins and leans an elbow onto the bar, smirking at Mia. "Tell me- are you wed?"

Well, the smarmy looks are a vast improvement to that threat of melancholy. Imagine that. He'd found a reason for her endure. Clever boy, after all.

There's a short scoffing noise at the query. "I am not. Certainly that must diminish your notion of a challenge," she counters dryly.

"Not in the slightest. It simply means you have exacting standards." And those are more often than not a greater challenge than a husband.

"Is that what it means? And I had imagined it was lack of desire for a husband or unsuitability that rendered me a spinster." Her tongue clucks faintly. But it's clear she's less annoyed than amused with this line of questioning.

"I have yet to find anything unsuitable in you, bella. Whoever says such things is either blind or mistaken." He lifts her glass to her in a lazy salute.

"Flatterer."

Mia scoffs lightly. "I know my vices as well as I know my virtues, and I'd be ill-suited to married life. Romantic affairs in general, if we're being completely frank here. Which we may as well be," she adds, with a glance at her brandy. "Damn waste, if not."

"Affairs of passion, then? If not affairs of romance. Surely a woman such as yourself has found herself no lack of admirers and suitors." Common, yes, but kind. Striking. Stern. Compassionate. Things one did not often find in free women- let alone those quite so well settled in their own skin.

A derisive noise arose from her, the brandy swirling in her glass. "My younger sister was always the one to receive the attention from the local men. And I was quite happy to let her have it, honestly. She blossoms under their praise and devotion as I never would."

She'd have liked Zevran, almost certainly. Rosalie was always prone to romanticizing the world around them, to an almost worrying degree. Mia can only imagine what she'd make of the dashing Antivan assassin, admittedly not hard on the eyes or unskilled at banter.

For all that those things were worth.

"Affairs of intellect, then." There must be an angle she's of a mind to indulge. Fereldans did not often put much weight in academia as there are more pressing matters, not dying, rebuilding from the blight, bringing their country into it's own honorable power. A hardy, principled people indeed.

"...yes. As a matter of fact."

Alright, clever of him. But she's resolved not to be too terribly impressed by him. Still, the corner of her mouth quirks upwards. "We weren't terribly wealthy, our family. But my mother was well-read. Sometimes when the traders came through she'd barter for a book or two."

Her eyes drift to her glass, somewhat wistful for a moment. "The chess board was my father's idea. He was a terrible tactician, but a gracious loser. Of course, Cullen and Branson soon wanted to play against me as well. Young as they were, they were perhaps not so very gracious."

"Ah, that. Nobles in Antiva play something similar, although with fewer pieces. The particularly wealthy would have their gardens fashioned in the shape and pattern of the board and order their servants about in order to play." Three hours in the sun while the Don waffled over his next move during a long lunch.

A truer test of patience and stamina he could never consider.

"So from that, I do know some of the rules; though you may have to explain the extra pieces and their movements to me."

"Trust the nobility to make such excess even of a chess board. As though marble and gold-gilt pieces were not enough. Did you also have to duel whosoever's space you attempted to take?"

Her lips purse faintly as she regards Zevran then, still...no, not cautious. That's not the right word. But she doesn't trust his motives, either. If he still thinks to win her over, he has another thing coming.

"I could, were you so inclined."

But chess is harmless enough.

"To the death, on occasion." His smile is wide and bright enough for it to be seen as false. A duel, yes, but to the death? Not even nobles were quite that excessive. But the option to learn chess, to spend more time in her company? Appeals to him.

Conversation is how he wins those over that are not lured in by his eyes or his voice. It is a nice change of pace to have to work for someone's regard rather than have it handed over so easily for his name or his body.

"I am so inclined, though I do not know where we might find a board at this time of night."

"As it so happens, I own one."

One hand props beneath her chin as she stares him down, considering. She's been drinking, likely to not be as on her game as she generally is. So he ought to stand a sporting chance. "It won't take long to fetch it. Provided your attention doesn't stray elsewhere in the meanwhile. Normally I wouldn't blame you, but it is quite heavy."

"Do you now?" Well what a surprise- actually. It is not much of one at all considering what he's heard of Cullen's habit. A hobby shared is terribly common among siblings. Though he is willing to put coin on her being the better player.

Women tend to be more patient.

"I shall wait here for you with bated breath."

"Certainly."

She doesn't know if she expects that to be the case or not, and the long look she gives him once she's risen from her chair says as much. But if his attention strays then she's lost nothing except an odd bit of company. Right?

Her steps aren't slow, just the same. She doesn't rush herself, but she moves quickly back to her quarters, finding the board with little trouble amidst her scant belongings, and briskly making her way back to the tavern, her skirts flaring around her boots.

She's not sure what to expect when she returns, honestly.

A table prepped and waiting for both her and the board, a bottle of wine, and a small platter of cheeses and dried sausage. Comfortable finger food that he could make into a game of seduction but honestly, earnestly, only asked after as he was hungry. He brightens when she arrives, waving her over.

"Ah, a fine board it is indeed. Was it a gift?"

Whatever it was she'd had in her head, this wasn't it. There's a moment as she takes it all in, her expression going a bit soft around the edges. Well. Maybe she'd misjudged him after all.

Quickly pulling herself back together she gives a brisk nod, pulling up her chair and carefully setting the board on the table before opening the lid, little pieces lying in carved boxes that set alongside the main board.

"It was. My father made it for me when I was young. I would get dreadfully bored and we couldn't afford as many books as I might have liked. So he taught me to play."

"I am willing to bet you were a fast learner, yes? You strike me as a terribly clever woman." Intelligence, grace, and integrity. there are shades of the fine ladies of Antiva in her- with none of the fripperies, none of the delicacy. Solid like marble rather than spun glass. The not quite so hidden steel in her fascinates him- and that she is not at all charmed by him nor is she so disgusted as to send him away.

She is interesting. He enjoys interesting.

Maybe it's flattery or a simple guess, but Mia finds herself smiling just the same. It's a small thing, full of memory.

"So much so that I was beating him more times than I lost, before long." One by one the pieces were set into place, nudged to sit properly within their little spaces. "My brothers then set themselves the challenge of learning to attempt to beat me. Perhaps teach me humility."

"Because every lady needs to be humble, yes?" He snorted, making an elegant, vague gesture. "Give me a woman of skill and forethought and opinions over those that are humble and demure any day."

The former were engaging on every level, enticing and bright, cutting with their wit. Demure ladies...weren't to be bothered, to be tainted, to be touched.

"Some ladies do naturally exist in such a state, through no fault of their own. But I've little of that particular virtue, as my brothers would discover."

The pieces in place, she sat back, retrieving her glass with an arched brow and a gesture towards the board. "There we are. Now, am I right in guessing you'd prefer to play black?"

"What may frustrate them is my gain." He sipped from his glass, peering at the board. "It all looks so very different when you are the one moving the pieces, but yes. I shall take black."

He thinks that was the better color for someone that was only passingly familiar with the rules. Cards he might cheat at, but chess? He needed to learn how it was done before he began to bend things.

"Are you familiar with the way they move, from this angle? We can review, if you're feeling a little rusty."

She has the feeling he's a canny bastard, though. If she takes it easy on him, he will take advantage. But it's only fair if the field is even to start. One finger rested delicately atop a pawn. "Forward two to start, one after the initial movement. And to take a piece..."

It's left open to prompt his memory, to chime in if he recalls.

"They move diagonally, yes?" He remembers that much. Or. He thinks he remembers that much. Hand resting upon his cheek he peers at the board and her hands rather than her face, trying to recall the tactics he'd been taught.

Elves do not play chess in Antiva. This is new.

and there's a glass on the table, they say it's gonna ease all my pain

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