faderift | [ open: all arise! ]

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[ open: all arise! ]

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.

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Easy...

[ People leave all the time, don't they? How is it so easy for them? It used to be easy for her, before this. But now it feels different. ]

Where would you have gone? Someplace sunny?

Mais oui. A beach, first thing. But eventually I am sure I would have gone home.

[ He bends the arm closest to her up to tap her on the tip of the nose, without looking. If she moves he'll miss. ]

If I had left.

[ She flinches, because while she was staring off at nothing she didn't see the boop coming. Then she smiles and rubs her nose. ]

Heh. I'm glad you didn't.

[ She puffs out a breath and nudges against his shoulder. ]

Who else would bribe me with stale coffee on sparring day? Doesn't seem like Lexie's style. Don't tell her I called her Lexie.

Ha. I would not be able to bring myself to say it, even just to quote you. Such impropriety.

[ He's not serious. Or only a little serious. He's never called her Lexie in his life, not even when they were younger. But of course he could if he had to.

He's quiet for a moment—having meandered to the edge of saying something sincere and sentimental, or worse, making some sort of promise, and realizing now the leap would have been easier to make if he'd taken it running. So he turns back. ]

How are you?

[ Athessa smirks, her fallback response of a scoff and "fine, why wouldn't I be?" at the ready. But to allow that would be to reneg on that whole heart to heart thing they had about pretending to be okay, acting strong, whatever. ]

I dunno. I'm not dead, so. That's something, I guess. Trying to make sure everyone is having fun tonight, cos I reckon they've earned it.

[ She rests her head against the wall and puffs once on her joint. Watches a spider in the far corner tap'dance over the stone. ]

What about you?

Disappointed the war did not resolve itself while we were gone. Happy to be bathed and to have a mattress.

[ Simple things. But he's a simple man—or one who's simply pleased, at least, if not overall quite as simple as he likes people to believe. He stretches his legs out ahead of them. He'll have to pull them in if anyone else tries to use the corridor. ]

And to have a door I can shut and not see anyone else for a while. I am not pretending to like people, you know. I really do. But there are limits.

You mean you don't like catering to a non-stop barrage of other people's needs and wants? Weird.

[ She's only been at that one night, in any kind of comparable capacity to his. No wonder he looked so tired before. ]

Jamais entendu parler. Absurde.

[ It’s said very lazily, without any attempt to fake even playful offense. ]

And if I wanted to make sure that you had fun, because you deserved it, what would you recommend?

Hmmm...

[ Athessa purses her lips. There are a few things she could ask for just to feel better, but to have fun?

She holds out her hand. ]

Dance with me?

[ He squints with teasing suspicion for a moment, because if she were trying to make sure he had fun that would be a good way to do it. But he takes her at her word, after that moment, and holds his cigarette in his mouth while he takes her hand and twists up onto his feet. ]

[ Let's pretend she's already snuffed her joint between two fingers and tucked it behind her ear for ease of movement. She hops up and tilts her head to listen for the muffled rap music playing in the distance. ]

Sounds to me like they're playing this one.

[ She holds up her hand in the first position of the dance in question because yes, she means dance in the hall, without music, and not back in the party. Not yet, anyway. ]

[ Bastien strains to listen for a moment, too. Not because he doesn't trust her ear; he's falling into place already. But once he catches enough of the melody, he's able to pick it up himself, with humming and the occasional da da da mumbled through the side of his mouth that isn't keeping his cigarette off the floor.

He has no objections to dancing in the hall. He's surefooted, turning around her as the dance requires, but also a little floppy and languid, devoid of snappiness and propriety in a way he wouldn't be if anyone else were watching. ]

[ She'll add her own little hums and da da das to accompany Bastien's, but she doesn't know the dance near as well as he does. She's only learned it once, and never practiced, but neither of them need to worry about doing it right, so Athessa lets herself add silly flourishes here and there, trips over her own feet once and then pretends that it's on purpose the next time around. ]

[ He keeps his laughter quiet, when she stumbles on purpose, because drawing anyone else out into the hall to investigate would ruin everything. But he's delighted. At the next opportunity he adds a trip-hop of his own along with hers.

During a moment of relative calm, he pauses the humming to ask, ] What are Dalish dances like?

Depends on the occasion, but there's a lot of spinning. Dancing in circles around trees until you fall down, that kind of thing. Oh, and like this--

[ She grabs his hands and starts them both spinning, leaning back as they do so they don't knock into each other. ]

[ He goes along with it, laughing—which is hard to do while keeping a cigarette in his mouth, and it's hard to do both of those things while breathing. So after a few spins he stumbles to a halt and holds up a staying hand while he takes one last good drag. Then he puts the remnant out on his tongue, because he's a little bit of a show-off that way. ]

And do the Dalish crack their heads open very often?

All the time, [ she laughs, also kind of winded, and bracing her hands on her knees momentarily. When she straightens, she pulls her hair back from her face and points to a faint scar near her temple. ] Learned how to check for concussions real early.

[ The scar is from falling out of a tree, not from dancing, but why split hairs? Get it? Split hairs? Because she split--never mind. ]

[ While he pockets the remaining third of his cigarette, he leans in to look and makes an approving noise. Good scar. ]

Were there many other children in your clan?

[ She thinks about it mid-way through shaking her head and changes the gesture to something less certain. ]

None my age. They were mostly older, or babies.

Aww.

[ He steps away to lean against the wall. ]

Babies. Were you old enough to look after them?

Only inasmuch as I could stick toys in their faces and make sure they didn't tip over.

[ Athessa assesses Baz briefly, pacing a few lazy steps this way and that. And because I, Beka, The Writer, can't remember whether or not he's shared this information before, she asks: ]

Did you have siblings?

Nathalie, Aousten, Luis, and Élodie.

[ Those weren’t their names. But he lists them off easily, without hesitation. ]

What sort of toys did you have? Were they the same? Am I asking too many questions?

[ Knowing her, the likelihood that she'll even remember those fake names is minimal, especially while she's processing three questions at once. ]

I do get the feeling like you're trying to uncover some kind of secret, but otherwise I don't mind. Most of the toys were stuff like carved halla or little dolls. Rattles, sometimes.

[ He makes another aw sound, shorter this time, then shakes his head a little. ]

Everything I heard about the Dalish as a boy was—you know. Racist bullshit. I just like to know what it was really like. The correct details for imagining how adorable you must have been.

Oh, at least as adorable as I am now, but about...this tall, always missing a tooth, and smudged with dirt.

[ She leans against the wall beside him and scans the ceiling for what she might tell him. ]

It was a lot like camping, I guess? Like our stay in the jungle but with fewer constant threats. Or maybe the same number of threats but more familiar. Sometimes we'd stay in one place for a long while, other times we'd only settle down for a day or two to trade with locals.

[ Shrug. ]

Probably easier to debunk the racist stuff than to just run you through day-to-day life that I experienced eighteen-plus years ago.

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