[ 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

yseult | ota

[hassaran]

Yseult has not dressed up for the occasion--still wearing the neat skirt and crisp linen blouse that are staples of her summer office wardrobe--but merely drifted over once the noise of the party grew loud enough to echo between the towers. She slips into the room just on the heels of some louder arrivals, side-stepping around them to survey the room before choosing her perch.

i. the drinks table. It's hardly polite to arrive empty-handed, especially when your presence could have a chilling effect on the festivities. The bottle Yseult sets on the drink table is dark, the label entirely in Rivaini. Rum, of good but not excessive quality. She uncorks it and pours a glass for herself before setting it with the rest of the liquor, taking a moment to browse the various offerings. She'll return a few times throughout the night, each time choosing to pour from a different bottle on the table seemingly at random.

ii. the divan. The seat she chooses is out of the way but hardly hidden, set at an angle to the main dance floor, so it neither seems like she's looming watching their every move nor like she's lurking in a shadowy corner. Royal blue skirts are neatly arranged over legs drawn up onto the seat in a casual pose, the neck of her still-pristine white shirt unbuttoned an inch or two further than usual in deference to the heat of the room, collarbones still a shade too pronounced after a month in the jungle. She is almost never without a glass in one hand, setting it down only to applaud the musical performances (Bastien's most heartily, if anyone is keeping score).

ii

[unshut]

"He has a very fine voice, I must say. It's a shame about the cello." Keeping score is, as it turns out, something of a specialty for Fitcher. Remarking on it is even more so, and she is most happy to do it as she slides down onto the divan beside Yseult.

It's clear from the particular cut of her dress that Fitcher has made some deliberate choices with respect to her wardrobe for the evening, but the ease with which she arranges herself there on the divan is so similar to her loose hold on a glass of wine that one might be forgiven for thinking otherwise. She hooks one elbow along the back of the sofa, fetches one leg over the other, and with a slight shift in the line of her shoulders it's as if Fitcher's been there forever.

"What is Riftwatch's approach when it comes to thievery? Do we cut fingers off?"

[hassaran]

Yseult twitches the hem of her skirt clear of Fitcher's downward path, and reaches up to pat a loose wisp of hair back toward her loose chignon, and when she has finished the angle of her shoulders has reversed, weight shifted, the easier to tip her head back into a conversational angle.

She begins with a scoff. "And leave half the company short-handed? No, I've something far crueler in mind." The glass she's raised pauses in midair, dangling from fingertips. "I think perhaps I will force them to teach."

[unshut]

Which warrants a sharp look of dismay and a frankly mortified rise of both eyebrows.

"Andraste preserve them. If you leveled that threat by crystal, we'd be rid of the scoundrels by daybreak."

[hassaran]

"Someone ought to tell the Chantry," Yseult replies mildly, after that delayed sip of what looks like wine, "We've found the secret to disbanding Riftwatch at will."

[unshut]

"I believe I've an old friend in Antiva with connections. I'll write to him directly with the good news," might almost be quite serious indeed were it not punctuated with a little laugh and the following faux sotto voce confession: "Between the two of us, I doubt they'd have much trouble if they really cared to see Riftwatch finished. Divine Beatrix must see some value in our existence. That, or the Viscount is so desperate to keep the Gallows occupied that he's secretly been making the case for us himself these many months."

[hassaran]

"A week's work at most," Yseult agrees, maybe exaggerating. Maybe not. "We do serve some purpose, if only as a nursemaid for those with anchors and a convenient scapegoat should one be needed."

i

[exsecutus]

"What's the order?"

Nikos' gesture encompasses the whole of the table, the bottles that run the gamut from cheap ales to mediocre wines and fine rums.

Obviously Nikos is here for the drinks. That means he's had the opportunity to notice the scoutmaster's particular ordering of her selections. Not at first, but slowly, over the course of the night, as the lack of repetition became more plain. Insignificant, probably, and if he'd not been conducting his own sampling, Nikos might not have said anything at all.

[hassaran]

Yseult lifts her head and one eyebrow in unison, and then drops both with a shrug and a little shake. "No order."

She is hovering presently over a trio of bottles, two red wines and an amber spirit with a label too torn to read. She gives up dithering with a dismissive flick of the wrist and picks up one of the wines. "Old habit," she explains, sort of, as she pours.

[exsecutus]

"No order is an order."

The wine looks good. Nikos looks down into his half-full cup of a different wine and considers how quickly he will need to drink it in order to refill it again.

"When do we post the notices that Riftwatch is no longer leaderless? A party is a good first welcome. But there must also be enemies who were hoping you were all gone for good. And who weren't invited."

[hassaran]

"They've been kind enough not to show up uninvited thus far," Yseult replies, "Perhaps we might simply let matters lie. Presumably they'll learn of our return the same way they learned of our absence."

[exsecutus]

"Gossip? Effective enough."

He drains a quarter of his cup and gives its contents a disconsolate swirl.

"It would be nice to strike a real blow. Something definitive." The word comes out only a little mushmouthed. He's practiced at this.

[hassaran]

"Yes," says Yseult, taking a testing sip from her glass, "That would be nice. It would be nice, too, if the Venatori just gave up. And to have a horse that can run ten miles in a minute, and to change my hair color with a snap of my fingers. Bottles that refill themselves. So many things."

[bouchonne]

"Dance with me."

Byerly has dressed up for the occasion. He actually looks quite fine, in his usual rakish way - marrying the disreputable with the alluring with a grace usually found only in smutty novels. So they'll look a strange pair indeed on the dance floor. But even so, he offers his hand.

"I must imagine you a fine dancer."

[hassaran]

"I'd prefer you didn't imagine me at all," Yseult deadpans in reply, looking up at Byerly from her quite comfortable position, a half-full glass of sparkling wine in one hand.

But with a sigh and a distinct air of doing a great favor against her better judgment, she sets her glass aside and rises. She even takes his hand. "Very well. Just the once."

[bouchonne]

Ah, so this is to be the mood of the evening, is it? Well, so be it; he's smiled through considerably worse.

"You honor me," he says smoothly, and with an air of complete sincerity. And then, with a graceful step, he leads her forth onto the dance floor, and then places his hand on her waist to begin to dance, the music a decently quick waltz.

"A pleasant evening, no? My cousin has a talent for this."

[hassaran]

It was mostly teasing, the ease with which she agreed meant to give at least some lie to the reluctance. Amazing how difficult some people find it to detect her sense of humor just because she spends most of the time pretending she doesn't have one.

She sets a hand on his shoulder, quickly proving familiar with the steps and content to follow his lead. "So it seems," she agrees, "And she chose a good moment for it. It seems to be what many needed."

[bouchonne]

The slight prickle of offense is smoothed slightly by Yseult's easy praise of Sonia. It's difficult to maintain a bad mood when someone is being so overwhelmingly correct as to admire his astonishing cousin.

"I'm thinking of giving her a position within Diplomacy," he says. "She'd do quite well." And he waits to see whether Yseult will object to the nepotism.

[hassaran]

"What sort of position?"

ii

[staysail]

"This doesn't look like dancing."

In Yseult's defense, the music has only just started up again. Darras sets his empty glass on a nearby table, and offers his hand to Yseult. His bow is polite and expectant, and a little too showy besides.

"I think I remember you saying you came here to dance."

[hassaran]

"I certainly did not say that," Yseult protests with a roll of her eyes, but she's on her feet without delay all the same, her own less-empty glass set aside to free her hand to set in his. "But I do like this one."

As they cross the room she walks close enough for shoulders to bump together and tips her head nearer to admit in an undertone, "I've been trying to remember when I last went to a party without an agenda."

[staysail]

"I think if you can't remember, it's officially been too long."

It's a lively tune, but the steps invite fewer opportunities to hand off a partner, which suits Darras fine. He takes light hold of Yseult's hand as they step out onto the floor together, his other hand at her waist.

"We could give this one an agenda, if it'll ease the pain of it. Unless you're enjoying yourself, then I think we just keep up with that."

[hassaran]

"It depends whether we count the time we went dancing with Bastien last fall. Before that I think last was when we accidentally attended the baker's daughter's wedding. And I'm enjoying myself now," Yseult smiles, setting her arm around his shoulder, "But if you have an agenda in mind I'll consider it."

[staysail]

"I'll propose an agenda if I come up with something worth spoiling this for."

The pace stays lively, but not so quick that it would put anyone out of breath, or prevent conversation. Yseult is a good dancer, because of course she is. This isn't new information to Darras, but he notes it anyways, pleased and proud over something that has nothing to do with him. Just another thing he loves about her.

"D'you ever wish we'd have had a wedding? A bigger one, I mean, not just us in the Chantry. Would have been a small guest list, I s'ppose, so maybe impossible even as a discussion."

[hassaran]

They're well-matched, moving smoothly about the floor with easy grace through even the more moderately complicated passages. Yseult follows his lead, letting him spin her out and back before she shakes her head.

"No. I've always thought it was perfect." After a beat she adds, "Ridiculously foolish and hard to believe I really did it, in hindsight. But perfect."