[ open: all arise! ]

[vorbratta]

WHO: you. yes, you there. you're invited
WHAT: Sonia is throwing a big party, because everyone needs an excuse to get good and drunk together right now. And dancing. There is always dancing.
WHEN: Justinian, shortly after the return of the jungle crew
WHERE: The suite at the top of the mage tower
NOTES: ♫ have some party jams ♫

The month in the jungle was a long one, made longer by the total lack of any alcohol to mitigate the experience. Utterly unthinkable. Sonia is addressing a public need by throwing a grand party -- a public service, even. Besides, it's what she does. When was the last time she got to plan a party, anyway? Granted, this is not a Denerim soiree for the young nobility, but the venue doesn't matter. Only the people and the drinks, and Sonia is assuredly rich in both. It is also a fantastic excuse not to think about any of the bad things that have happened since she was last in Kirkwall.

The decoration in the residential suite at the top of the mage tower would be best classified as improvisational -- one of those drapes tacked along the wall for ambience may be a bedsheet -- but it's the spirit of the thing that counts. One makes do with what one has. In one corner are a few tables laden with spirits, some provided by Sonia, others by generous partygoers. There are a few Barra vineyard vintages in the mix, highlights of her personal collection, a testament to the celebration she considers tonight to be. There's a small selection of food nearby, mostly for snacking to go with the drinks, though guests are free to bring whatever they like to share.

And there is, of course, music. Someone here has brought a fiddle or a flute or a bunch of pots masquerading as a drum set. Maybe you've brought your very own a capella choir. Whatever the accompaniment, there's something to dance to. Sonia makes sure there is dancing.

Tonight is not for licking wounds or swapping grisly stories of terror and survival. Tonight is for feeling alive, getting properly and delightfully drunk, and having a good god damn time.

Comments

Poesia | ota

[bloodandsand]

1. Dancing Queen

Now this is a perfectly delightful end note to their charming jungle trip. The dancing harkens back to the days before her Beloved called her into her service and she delights in it whole heartedly, shifting easily from one partner to the next, one song to the next. She will eventually sit, only a little out of breath and turning to beam at the person next to her.

"It's a lovely party, isn't it? Do you suppose it'll turn into the sort without clothes?"

2. Iron Gut

Poesia drinks a substantial amount of wine and ale and whatever else happens to be on offer. It doesn't seem to have much of an impact on her. She lounges very comfortably in a chair, only getting up when someone topples over to lean over them.

"Hello, dear, are you quite all right?"

3. WILDCARD
[poesia's got a qunari tolerance for alcohol, but also is gonna taper off pretty fast when she finally does start getting drunk and wander off to find somewhere to nap. ]

1

[cozen]

Bastien turns his ear toward her in acknowledgment without looking away from the remaining people dancing around the room, who he's been watching with glaze-eyed half-focus and a faint smile while nursing a glass of wine.

Her question makes his smile a little stronger.

"Nothing is impossible," he says. Then, after a moment, with less loftiness: "But many things are improbable."

[bloodandsand]

She pouts a little, for the lack of his full attention and his answer.

"That's too bad. It's been absolute ages since I've been to that sort of party and everyone is really lovely."

[cozen]

He glances sideways at her, briefly, to check that her face is what he expects, given her tone. And it is.

"C'est vrai?" he asks. "Where did a dear little reaver find parties like that?"

[bloodandsand]

That pleases her enormously, which is more than enough reason to reward him with a honey sweet smile.

"Oh, I never found them! I was sent there! As part of my schooling, you see, before I took the High Lady's blood and was passed to the Reavers. All the pretty ones are taught courting to start with. It was terribly interesting and such fun, but I was utterly awful at it," she says, laughing gaily, "I do like the flirting and sex is delightful, but needing to remember what one is and is not meant to say is terribly vexing, don't you think?"

[cozen]

"Mm, no," Bastien says, tone agreeable despite the disagreement. "I have always been good at that. Even as a child. But I know a lot of people find it frustrating, so you are hardly alone."

He takes a drink of his wine and shifts in his seat to angle toward her, though a laugh or a flourish from the dancers still occasionally grabs his attention for a moment.

"How old were you, then, when you became a reaver?"

[bloodandsand]

"That's because you're clever, precious," she says with the confidence of one who is stating fact, "Clever people always know the sorts of things they ought to say."

Poesia leans forward, setting her elbow on the table and pillowing her chin in her hand. She seems to pay the dancers much less mind, focused on Bastien.

"Oh dear, it was quite some time ago... I suppose I officially joined the ranks when I was seventeen or so, perhaps a little older." It's very difficult to think of those early days without slipping back a little, drugged and dreamy and bloody, "Time was rather liquid for me." A few moments and she rises back out of the feeling to ask, "When did you start learning to be clever, precious? Were you clever in the cradle?"

[cozen]

"Not that I know of," Bastien says with a smile, watching her more closely now.

He almost feels a kinship. The sort of kinship you feel for a relative you wish you weren't related to, perhaps, but there's no escaping it, your cousin is your cousin even if she strips naked and smears herself in blood sometimes, et cetera. And that's why—well, that and the fact that it isn't really a secret any longer, in any meaningful way, when so many people within Riftwatch already know, so why not—he mirrors her forward lean and lowers his voice to a volume fit for sharing confidences.

"I have had a lot of training. But my bardmaster took me because I had made friends with all of the city guards, so I suppose some of it came naturally."

[bloodandsand]

Her gaze sharpens when he leans closer, something predatory lifting it's head briefly before settling back down under the whisper haze of wine.

"My dear precious one is a songbird," she says, earnestly sweet and affectionate when she smiles at him, mindful not to raise her voice and mimic the volume of his. She maybe horrid at courting nobility, but she is very good at following instructions, even if they're not spoken. She continues: "It hardly surprises me you were well loved. You were deplorably sweet to me the first time we spoke."

i

[degenere]

Val clicks his tongue against his teeth, dismissive.

"This Riftwatch is all talk. It will not come to pass. And I will not be sorry that this is the case. Too often those that derive thrill from social violations have little else to their persons. They let the violation stand in place of their personality. They put upon acts of tittering resignation and animalism because they believe it is expected of them. The result then bores, rather than thrills, but they are so small they cannot see it."

[bloodandsand]

She understood perhaps every third word, blinking in bemusement before a delighted smile blossoms across her face.

"Oh, you're so clever, dear!" she says, "You know I've barely any idea what you said, but goodness, it sounded smart. Are you a scholar then?"

[degenere]

Well. It is a truth, but also can not the observance of truth, even a simple truth, be a compliment as well?

It is enough, at least, that Val gives her a little smile.

"Valentine Nicasius Maxence Mérovée Olivier de Foncé, of the University of Orlais. Generally known as a scholar, yes. And besides hopeful of an orgy, and an excellent guesser of professions and backgrounds, you are--?"

[bloodandsand]

His name is so ridiculously long, it's a bit of a struggle not to laugh. Fortunately, Poesia has had rather specific training with regards to not laughing at the ridiculous nature of heathens and heretics.

"You may call me Poesia," she says, her own smile sweet in response, "And you must tell me if there is a shorter name you prefer, dear. I can't imagine how anyone would manage to get the whole thing out in bed."

[degenere]

"It is a test of endurance." But he relents: "Val de Foncé, if it is simpler. Does your tongue require simplicity, dear Poesia? Or is it preferred?"

[bloodandsand]

"Val de Fonce," she says, Nevarran accent careless with the Orlesian emphasis as she tips her head to regard him innocently, "You know, it is difficult to say. Rather, the saying of things is very difficult, but I find I've never had any complaints when I apply my tongue to difficulties that are physical rather than verbal."

[degenere]

It is lucky that the mispronunciation is charming. Better besides that it be rendered in her own accent. How it would hurt, to hear his name spoken inexpertly, to have the effort made and only failure.

"Some situations call for no words." With utmost solemnity, he nods. "To have a tongue that might correct a difficulty is a skill to be treasured, mademoiselle. Do you find much difficulty to be corrected here?"

[bloodandsand]

She gives that a moment of consideration before answering, "Oh, I don't think so. It certainly can be terribly confusing at times, but if there is a thing that requires correction, I would not be the person to decide whether or not it should occur."

1

[thereneverwas]

It's just happenstance that they meet again this way; Barrow, too, is dancing with just about everyone who crosses his path, and he isn't about to shrink away from Poesia just because they have history.

Still, that's quite a question.

"I admit I hope not," he says with a sheepish grin, "or if so, that I'm long abed."

[bloodandsand]

Poesia herself certainly does not shrink, but rather greets him as though they're far more bosom chums than a jungle fuck and messy encounter with paralyzing frog might suggest. She laughs sweetly and pats his arm.

"You are so retiring about the most unexpected things," she says, fondly, "I think you look perfectly nice undressed."

[thereneverwas]

This yields a laugh from him, but there's definitely still a touch of awkwardness in the way he glances around the room when she pats his arm.
He's kind of an idiot, isn't he.

"Well thank you," he says, and his smile is genuine if embarrassed, "but that's not really my point."
He unfastens his mug from his belt and, seeking the nearest bottle, pours himself some of whatever it contains.

"I suppose you could say I didn't comport myself well with you. I apologize if that's caused any confusion." He doesn't think it has, but it's worth the discussion anyway.

[bloodandsand]

What an entierly mystifying thing to say!

"I can't imagine why you would think so, bunny," she says, "We had a perfectly lovely time and I would be delighted to repeat the experience, but I certainly don't have any expectations of you." She hums thoughtfully and taps her chin, "It does seem to have caused you a bit of trouble. The woman who slapped you is terribly beautiful."

[thereneverwas]

He looks like he's about to argue, but instead seems to completely deflate instead, all the wind leaving his sails in one breath.

"...she is, isn't she," he mutters.

[bloodandsand]

She pats his arm comfortingly.

"Poor bunny! You really must be more careful if you're going to commit indiscretions!" As if the outing of their affair had nothing to do with her, because frankly it didn't. "Do you suppose if you crawl to her and beg most pleasingly she'll forgive you?"

[thereneverwas]

The "hmmmm," he gives in reply isn't so much thoughtful as grudging, like an old dog who's too lazy to snarl at the puppy biting his ear.

"It's worth a shot," he grunts after a moment, drinking from his mug to punctuate it.

[bloodandsand]

She leans against his arm, pouting prettily up at him. "But will you? You did seem terribly sad when she slapped you. And you certainly didn't tell me if you liked that sort of thing."

The slapping that is.