[ 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

miles | ota

[forwardmomentum]

Most fortunately for Miles, he's had the chance to visit one or two of the tailors so generously recommended to him, and so he shows up actually dressed for the occasion. While it feels good to be back in clothes that actually fit again, it still makes him feel weirdly exposed -- the oversized clothes had at least somewhat masked the twist of his spine, and while Fitch's seamstress friend did her valiant best to make Miles's clothes in a flattering cut, it's doesn't render invisible his slightly hunched back.

Still, with his usual electric energy, it seems to combine into a look that works for him. The colors are subdued neutrals, flattering shades of gray with a few navy accents -- he's never had that much of an eye for color -- and he wears it well, because at least years of excruciating attendance at Barrayaran court had drilled that grace into him. This party, though, is a substantially more relaxed affair, and everyone seems like they're going to get very drunk, and that's a situation Miles finds himself comfortable with.

i.
Miles has attended plenty of fancy parties, many of them against his strong preference, which means he has had plenty of dance lessons, but he feels more comfortable with his judo throw than his two-step. Besides, what woman likes to dance with a man half her height, anyway?

"I wouldn't say I've got two left feet," he'll try saying if anyone pulls him in for a dance, "but I can't promise what condition your feet will be in after a dance with me."

ii.
Miles is a lightweight under the best of circumstances, so he's nursing his drinks slowly tonight. But it is nice to drink -- the hostess's affair reminds him a lot of a good Barrayaran party, actually, the sort that you don't really remember ending, and some of the spirits on offer are...very good, actually. He wasn't expecting to find good wine at a "thank god we're all alive and bathed again" party, but he's certainly not going to complain about it.

But as the night goes on, he does start to enjoy the pleasant buzz. He's not on a mission, he reminds himself, for the first time in a while -- he's not on anything. That's a depressing thought, but he shoves it aside in favor of so maybe you should actually try to relax a little for once?

The fact that he's hearing it from himself is a dire enough hint. Miles swirls the last of the red in his glass, then, with a decisive nod, tips the rest of it back smoothly.

wildcard
[ throw me whatever or hit me up at runawayballista for planning! ]

ii

[cozen]

From his left, Bastien slides into polite conversational distance—close enough to risk being stabbed if someone really insists on trying, but not close enough to allow it without witnesses seeing clearly who is to blame, which will put most people off.

Not that he expects to be stabbed. It's only a comfortable old habit, to match his comfortably nondescript clothes and comfortably poised posture.

"Was that the Seleny Song?" he asks of the wine.

[forwardmomentum]

Comfortable habits are comfortable for a reason. Miles's habit, for instance, of noting the exit of every room he walks into has certainly kept him more comfortable in his covert ops days, though is perhaps not quite applicable in this exact setting. Well, you never know. He tilts the wine glass in acknowledgment of his new conversational partner, eyebrows raised slightly in thought.

"I believe that was the name on the label," he says, examining the empty glass, as though he might divine the rest of the label like tea leaves. Alas, no dregs in this glass. "But I'm afraid I didn't catch where it was from. No offense intended to our hostess, but -- it was rather a lot better than I was expecting at a party like this." His mouth curves into a half-grin. "Where I'm from, they usually only put out the good stuff for the first hour, till everyone's too drunk to care or notice the difference later."

[cozen]

"Perhaps where you are from, the good stuff is what we would consider the bad stuff," Bastien says, because focusing on those mundane little thought exercises is the only way he can begin to approach the holes rifters punch in his understanding of the world. But in this case, "No, no, that is good wine. It is from Antiva, as most good wine is. Lady Sonia is being very kind to us all tonight."

[forwardmomentum]

Miles lets out a bright laugh. "If that's the case, then I suppose I've lucked out by landing myself here," he says, though it's with cheer that rings hollow in his head. No, he's still very...very homesick.

"Antiva," he repeats with a nod and one last waft of the empty glass. The Seleny Song. Yes, he's going to commit that one to memory. "Is the Lady Sonia from Antiva as well, then? Gifting us with the bounties of her homeland? She does seem the generous sort."

[cozen]

"Very generous," Bastien agrees, "but Fereldan. Nous devons lui pardonner." And because Miles is a recently-arrived rifter, he does him the favor of dropping the joking magnanimous tone and clarifying, "We must forgive her."

Regret isn't one of Bastien's defining features, but he will maybe potentially possibly regret this later, in particular because it's a miscalculation, not an entirely accidental and ignorant misstep. He listens. He's heard their bickering stream out of the crystals. He's curious.

"She is the Ambassador's cousin, actually," he says, like an idle afterthought, and pauses for a drink before adding, "I know you are familiar with his accent."

[forwardmomentum]

It is an effectively attention-grabbing miscalculation; there is an immediate tightness in Miles's smile, but rather one of irony and not of irritation.

"Yes, quite familiar," he agrees, keeping his voice mild, although his smile shows teeth. It doesn't come as a surprise that his general disagreement with Byerly has gotten around, so to speak. It's infuriating, the way the man gets under MIles's skin; that's his bit, dammit. But it's followed by a blink of unmasked puzzlement, because he distinctly recalls Byerly's wife saying she had no knowledge of any other relatives in Riftwawtch.

"Really now?" The surprise is genuine as he briefly glances Sonia's way again. "I wasn't aware he had relatives in Riftwatch. I was under the impression that he's not on very good terms with the rest of the clan."

Yes, Sidony had been pretty specific on that point. Why claim ignorance of a relative, anyway? God knows the Vorrutyers of Barrayar are prone to the most flamboyant of scandals, and judging by Byerly's flamboyance alone, that doesn't seem like a stretch. Miles tries to keep his tone neutral, light even, but he's curious.

"Are we about to be at ground zero for some explosive drama, then? Ought we move out of the splash zone?"

[cozen]

"I imagine there is always a chance," Bastien says first, as a disclaimer, "but as far as I know, they get along well. She seems so charming, it is hard for me to imagine the sort of person who could manage to provoke her into, ah, explosive drama."

ii

[overharrowed]

Julius isn't in robes this evening (a result mostly, though not exclusively, of Petrana's ongoing influence over his sartorial choices). Instead, he's styled neatly in a tunic and trousers, flattering but not flashy. He'd spent the beginning of the party mainly catching up with the people who'd been gone, serving as a willing audience for tales of daring escapes or laundry lists of complaints with good humor.

As the night wears on, he's circulating a bit more haphazardly. When he spots Miles, it seems natural to work his way over to say hello. Miles is a new enough arrival that Julius isn't sure how many acquaintances he even has yet. And his conversation had been pleasant on a first meeting.

Once he's close enough not to have to shout over the din, he says, "So, how does it compare to parties where you're from?" Also hello.

[forwardmomentum]

"Julius!" Miles says, raising his now empty glass with great cheer. Always nice to see one of the first friends he made at Riftwatch, and he seems like he's doing substantially better now, his arm healed and dressed in properly fitted clothes. "Oh, this is about the sort of casual soiree thrown by a socially ambitious young Vor lord or lady. I don't know much about the hostess, but I believe I heard someone say she's Fereldan." He grins sharply. "Maybe Fereldans party like Barrayarans, then."

[overharrowed]

"She is indeed. As am I, though I've never actually been to a party thrown by the Ferelden nobility outside Riftwatch." He thinks, briefly, of the awkward welcome dinner Bann Selwyn threw and immediately rejects it as a possible exception to his statement. He lets his assessment stand. "What do Barrayarans party like? I assume music and alcohol are staples."

[forwardmomentum]

"The more you know," Miles says, grinning, glad to learn a little more about Julius. He finds the man genuinely interesting, and Julius possesses the special and rare trait of being able to tolerate the occasional toddler-level barrage of questions. He chuckles at the question, glancing around idly to see if there's another bottle to hand. He shouldn't drink too much, he's got the constitution of a bawdy toddler, but it's...nice, just to have a drink with a friend. It feels blessedly normal.

"Just so," he says with a nod, "usually loud music, suited to dancing -- the elegant waltzes and line dances at the finer sorts of parties, more stomping and swinging at the baser ones. The music's always loud, though. And you cannot have a party on Barrayar without alcohol. Actually, you can't have much of anything on Barrayar without alcohol. It's generally considered impolite." He grins, all cheek. "We've got our fair share of vineyards. Lots of vodka. A fun little concoction from my home district we like to call maple mead."

[overharrowed]

"Wine and mead are familiar, but if I know vodka, it isn't under that name." The thing about Julius is that, while the charm is studied, the curiosity is entirely genuine. There's a reason he started in the research division before moving to diplomacy.

[forwardmomentum]

"Grain alcohol," Miles supplies by way of answer. "Usually potatoes, though we use wheat, too. And I'm afraid the term mead might be a bit misleading in this case -- we brew it with syrup from the maple trees in my district, but it's more like moonshine than honey mead."

[overharrowed]

"Ah, fair enough. Whisky is popular in a lot of parts of Thedas, though I confess only the slightest familiarity with the distilling process, so it's not as if I can claim expertise in even the local offerings. Though, I will say," he adds, a little lower, "if someone offers you Antivan Sip-Sip, keep a straight face and a small serving size."

Not being Antivan himself, he's aware that the name is ridiculous, but he has a hint of a haunted look that suggests he underestimated it at his own peril, once.

i

[tender]

"Don't worry, my feet can take it."

And Derrica's doing a half-approximation of what might be the formal steps to this dance anyway. She laces their fingers together, pulling him along with her towards the throng of dancers.

"Unless you'd really rather not."

A sincere offer of escape, if he'd prefer to stay out of the dancing altogether.

[forwardmomentum]

Miles was not expecting to be pulled into a dance, let alone by a pretty girl, but he can hardly object. Swallowing the immediate nervous jerk in his throat, he grins and says cheerfully, "Oh, no, if you're willing to take the podiatric abuse, I'll take this dance."

He manages not to trip on either of their feet, stumbling through the first steps of the dance, and it does help that she's only half a head taller than him. "I'm afraid I don't know the steps to, uh -- any of the dances around here, though."

[tender]

"I don't think it matters," Derrica promises, lacing their fingers together. "I don't know any of the formal kinds of dances. We can wing it."

There's some dances she knows, ones best performed on the deck of a ship in a pair of heavy boots, but none that are applicable here.

"Do you want to show me one that you know?

[forwardmomentum]

Miles grins wildly, nodding, and feels somewhat less nervous now, even though his heart seems intent on thumping along with the beat.

"Actually, there's a dance from my home planet I think you'll like. Anyone can learn it; you make up the steps as you go." He's moving to the music as they start to merge towards the crowd, his small, square palms flush against hers. He's not the world's greatest dancer, but can manage. "We take turns leading. You execute your dance move of choice, and the following partner has to try and pull it off in turn. It's a great deal of fun. You can get quite experimental."

ii

[bouchonne]

"Well done."

Byerly toasts the little man for managing to down a full glass of wine. The Miles he knows is certainly no great drinker - not a surprise, given his tiny stature - and so seeing the fellow actually attempting to get properly soused is almost a relief.

[forwardmomentum]

"It's wine, Byerly, not a tonic," Miles says with a snort. "It's not like it's a chore to drink."

It is his third glass over the course of the evening, deliberately paced to keep him tipsy, but not drunk, because as tempting as sweet oblivion sounds at the end of the day lately, a more or less public party seems like a poor choice of venue. Especially with Byerly around. And any number of people paying attention to him. It's not really paranoia if you more or less know it's true, right? He is not going to get actually, considerably drunk if he can help it. He holds the wine glass at length and examines it absently.

"It is very good wine, though."

[bouchonne]

"The hostess has fine taste," By agrees easily with a shrug. Then, with a very slight smile, "And of course it's not a chore to drink. I simply applaud courage when I see it."

[forwardmomentum]

"So I've heard it said. To be honest, I'd expected the presence of a little more swill at a last-minute party whose sole aim seems to be drunkenness. Usually this far into the party, people stop caring." Miles raises an eyebrow at Byerly's, then places his glass on the surface with a thoughtful frown. "So you think it takes courage for me to drink?"

[bouchonne]

"Does it not?" He spreads his hands, eyebrows raised. "You are not precisely possessed of a constitution that allows you to absorb much - " He gestures towards the drinks table.

[forwardmomentum]

Miles's smile twitches. "Yes, and left to my uninhibited devices, I'd surely drink myself into a delirium and embarrass myself fantastically. I guess it's a good thing for both of us that I'm a paragon of self-control."