[ 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

[coquettish_trees]

[ There are some dances where the floor, even crowded as it is, still narrows to two. Where the body knows so well its motion that it can be left to its own devices, abandoned to its well-practiced grace while the mind turns to the secondary dance of speech.

This is such a one. ]

Being permitted requires having made inquiry.

[ It is light, but... You never asked, say her eyes, sad for a moment above the unfaltering smile. You never asked, you never asked. ]

[bouchonne]

Ah, this old saw.

[ He sighs it as he touches his hand to hers. His intense intoxication makes his tongue bold and unguarded. ]

Whose fault is it. Recriminations for never having made the decisive move.

[coquettish_trees]

[ There is the spark of anger he’d wanted. It will not engender the desired slap though; only a crisper step, harder shoulders, the imperious raise of her chin, the tense of her hand against his. ]

You wished a calling card, perhaps? [ It is tight, clipped. ] Carefully penned in sweeping gold ink, scented with roses, reading “The Lady Alexandrie cordially invites you to join her for tea in her bedchamber”? [ A turn, return, her hand rejoining his a bit fiercer than warranted. ] For me to appear, without invitation, in yours?

[bouchonne]

[ With a wry smile, one that lifts only one corner of his mouth - ]

What, did you want mine?

[coquettish_trees]

[ piqueishly: ] Have you calling cards?

[bouchonne]

Precisely my point.

[ The smile goes even wryer. ]

She, a lady of the Orlesian court; he, a pauper, a barbarian, a bastard, driven away once already. What right has he to make the choice?

[coquettish_trees]

Right enough to respond when it is presented.

[ Tart to melancholic in the space of half a measure, then, as is her way. ]

But it is her fault that he trusts neither arms nor hands, words nor tears. [ Hand softens, fingers curl slightly, enough to touch him with her fingertips. ] And so.

[ And so she is married to a man, and he to a duty, and there is space between them—set and even—that they turn about even as now. ]

[bouchonne]

Oh, dear Lady, don't give yourself too much credit.

[ He shrugs casually. ]

One does not actually have to come to Orlais to learn mistrust. There was plenty to teach me the skill before I met you.

[coquettish_trees]

And nimbly you dance away again, insisting all the while that it is I who moves.

[ The corner of her mouth lifts in wry brittle mirror of his. ]

You may tell it to yourself, if you like. You may tell it to anyone else in the world, but do not dare look me in the eyes and say it is I who have denied you.

[bouchonne]

[ A laugh meets that, and he says - ]

Of course, of course. The fact that I came across you when you were irrevocably in love with someone else was irrelevant to the whole matter.

[coquettish_trees]

[ And that is the place of standstill. Her lord, his duty to his country, both chosen again and again. ]

How Fereldan of you to find that an object.

[ But... Shall I carry you back? he'd asked, the both of them soaked to the skin in a fountain on a late summer evening, his wet kiss on her cheek, hers on his forehead, and she had said, softly,

No.

Alexandrie looks down, watches her feet move with flawless grace as if from a distance. ]

So you will hate him, and I will hate anyone you favor, and when the music stops we will clap for the musicians and I will go to sit on the roof and miss you and wait just in case, like a fool, but you will not come, and I will drink, and you will drink and—

[ She watches his feet, and then looks back up at him with clear eyes, and a smile that only trembles slightly. ]

Dance with me.

[bouchonne]

[ And he dances.

But as he does, he says: ]

And if I were to come, and I were to offer myself to you, what would you do?

[coquettish_trees]

[ She answers with a slight lift of her shoulder, of her brows, a small and self-recriminating smile. ]

I dare not guess. I am so rarely right.

[bouchonne]

And so he continues to dangle.

[coquettish_trees]

What is it he dangles from?

[bouchonne]

A cliff above a river.

[coquettish_trees]

Has it long been so?

[bouchonne]

Are you actually surprised to hear it?

[coquettish_trees]

Yes.

[ it is low; more the force behind it than the volume makes it audible. ]

[bouchonne]

[ And he comments to the dancer beside him, in a voice that sounds light and amused - ]

The lady thinks me unfeeling. Can you imagine?

[coquettish_trees]

[ She thinks about kicking him in the shin during the next turn but instead remarks sweetly to the partner of that dancer; ]

I assure you the imagination pales in comparison to the experience.

[bouchonne]

Quite, quite.

[ A bland smile. To Alexandrie, again, now: ]

How dreadfully you have suffered under my icy companionship.

[coquettish_trees]

Such a tone suggests you do not recall thrice rebuffing my affections.

[ a pause as she draws back to sweep a curtsy before stepping to rejoin him again. ]

How much I must mean to you.

[bouchonne]

Name those three times.

[coquettish_trees]

The evening I came to beg you not train Colin to the task of becoming as we are.

[ it is even, smooth as the steps. ]

When the Fade splashed the cruelty of our respective pasts across the streets. After you married, and I came to yell at you in your new Diplomatic suite.