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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[ Richard is torn, blind, from the comfortable burrow of his thoughts -- Val de Foncé jarred rudely into center focus for all 5 senses. Dick blinks at him, not entirely unlike a leather-winged opossum trying to make sense of being ripped from a hollow tree, mouth opened and shut, brow furrowed late for the insult(s).

He is pulled along, falling into natural step in spite of himself. ]

Where are we going?

[ ...is the most relevant question he can work up to quickly and under pressure, inferior vintage in one hand, empty glass in the other. ]

[In an undertone of a confidant--]

There is a guest among us who was not invited. At least she was not invited in the formal sense. No invitation was presented to her and she has not a crystal of her own with which she might have overheard the call of the hostess. And so her presence here tonight might not be welcomed, and we must rescue her.

But first, we must find her, my friend. I know that I can count on you.

[They are skirting the dance floor together by now, steered by Val. And here is his smile again, buoying and bracing and possibly some other words that begin with B.]

[ Intertwined as they are, Val will feel tension catch into an instinctive balk between Richard’s shoulders when they veer dangerously close to the dance floor. He’s only half-listening, preoccupied, out of his element, but there is a distinct beat where something slides into place, and he sees the sea of bodies ahead for what it is: a haystack.

He hoods his brow, and looks from the festivities to de Foncé in incredulous aside.

Then down to his own feet. ]

[If he had a gold piece for every tense shoulder that he encountered, Val would be immediately more solvently wealthy than he is at present. Which is to say that he is undeterred, and follows the line of Richard's sight with some amusement.]

A good guess already. But no, we shall have to look harder. Here--

[Away from the dance floor. Perhaps that is a blessing. There is a small grove of chairs on this side of the room, of mediocre upholstery that someone has brushed into respectability. This is where Val stops their progress.]

Here is where I last saw her.

[ Val is a comely gentleman, but wine is a far cry from psychoactive lichen. Richard has regained his faculties enough to set his glass aside upon their arrival in this grove of furniture -- which appears to be invitingly devoid of human partygoers. He surveys the scene in silence, but only for a moment. ]

I’m not getting involved in this.

[ Plain to the point, he turns (prissily) to Val so that he might tell him so directly. He also produces a slender knife, with clear intent to prize open his subpar vintage while they’re over here. ]

My nose isn’t entirely clear of the stink from last time.

You are not getting involved, you are, already--you are here, are you not?

[Please. Val moves into the circle of chairs and begins shoving at them by walking into them, letting his shins and knees do all the work. The chair legs scud across the floor, with much scraping and low hooting of wood on stone.]

I would not have called upon you if it were not of the utmost urgency. If you intend to be of no help, you might quit Riftwatch altogether. These tasks are precisely what it is that we are called for, among others. Hm--

[--Which punctuates Val getting down on his hands and knees and peering into the thicket of chair legs. Hmmm, again; he leans a little lower, his cheek practically against the flagstone.]

Is it a red or a white?

[The wine. He does not bother to define.]

Red.

[ Richard has worked the blade straight down into the cork, twisting it out now with care taken to step well back from bumped chairs, lest he catch one to the shin if Val de Foncé gives it a late push. To that same end, he keeps one eye on the initial search effort as it’s unfolding, with a grudging awareness for any peripheral scuttling, flapping, or scampering. ]

Setting aside the question of how ‘she’ made it into the party in the first place, [ this doesn’t require so much of his attention that he can’t also pour himself a glass, ] why don’t you tell me what she is, and I’ll be the judge of whether or not this is a matter of national security.

[ He hasn’t left, now keeping a natural lookout over Val and his chair circle. Already involved, as was said. ]

[Red. Val heaves a sigh.]

This is not a nation, my friend. Is it a matter of Riftwatch security? I-- ah!

[He scrambles forward abruptly, bowling into the chairs. They scud against the floor again, their protest louder this time around. Val slaps his hands on bare flagstones--curses, then tries it again--curses, again--]

Give me the bottle! The red will have to do. We can distract her. Quickly now, please, or she will get away once more--

[ At this latest jolt and creech of wood on stone, Richard turns to clock whether or not anyone’s taking dedicated notice. No? Probably not? There are too many faces to read, and the music hasn’t stopped. He sips from his wine, only to immediately chase it with a deeper swallow at de Fonce’s demand.

Wordlessly, he steps and leans to offer the bottle down through a gap between the chairs Val is bumping through like a blind seal. He’ll wait for it to be pulled from his grasp to withdraw. ]

It’s not a centipede, is it?

[ Richard swirls his glass before he lifts it. ]

Centipedes are unnatural. [ So many legs. ]

[What. Val turns an incredulous look on his friend.]

They are very natural. Some of the most natural creatures that there are. Do you know that in the archaeological sites, one can dig up rocks with the remains of centipedes pressed within them from Ages past? In the Chant, there is passage which makes reference to a centipede. Which means that Andraste herself walked with centipedes. You are wrong, I am sorry to say--

[He takes the bottle and crouches down again.]

--But I do not blame you. How would a Rifter know such things unless he is told? But now you know. And no, [as he begins to pour the wine upon the floor, enough that a small puddle begins to take shape,] she is no centipede.

[ Richard’s curiosity has fully gotten the best of him.

His friend Val de Foncé will know because he has crouched down with him, elbows to knees, thumb and forefinger lax around his now half half-full glass. Light from his shard diffuses through the stem, rift green. Disjointed chairs clutter the party scene between them down here. ]

Well if Andraste walked among centipedes. [ There’s a cat’s tongue prickle to the derision in his emphasis, narrow in his eyes. ]

You’re staining the flagstone.

[Who could resist the lure of such mystery! Pleased, but not surprised, Val favors his friend with a smile.]

Do you feel so deeply for a floor? There are people who clean such stains.

[He waves a hand over the wine spill.]

This is to promote the smell of it, so she might be tempted to come out from where she has hidden herself. I hope I have chosen a likely place for this, or else we will have to make similar spills throughout the party, and then we shall begin to attract attention. And I do not want her to be noticed just yet. Not before she has had time to grow to a more impressive size.

[Is that a faint chittering, somewhere there in the forest of the chair legs? Perhaps not. Val is engaged with dribbling more wine into the pool, and does not so much as glance up.]

It’s not your floor.

[ A few puzzle pieces are sliding into place, here. Aspects of Val’s nonchalance are beginning to make sense. For the first time, Richard looks closely at how he is dressed.

He also sinks the rest of the way into a sit, cross-legged, posture only as lazy as the wine can make it. The spirit is willing but the structure is bony, and the brain is particular about appearances. ]

Where did you study, if you don’t mind my asking?

[ He does glance to the chittering, if it is chittering, sidelong and discreet. ]

[Wine poured, Val sit back on his heels.]

What a question. The University, of course! Is there any other? Ahh, shh--

[Eagerly, he leans forward again. From the darkness beneath the chairs, two antennae emerge, waving cautiously in the air--followed by a pair of mandibles, each about the size of a man's thumb--and a big bulb of a head--and two glittering lidless eyes, each faceted like the surface of broad flat diamond might be.

It is an ant. An overlarge ant, half cowering in the shadows--but eagerly looking toward the wine, antennae twitching with anticipation.

Val is already beaming at her.]

Veronique! Welcome.

Yes, of course.

[ The University.

To Dick’s cold-blooded credit, his expression doesn’t change at the warning wobble of antennae that betray the creature’s alarming size even before the mandibles have clipped below the chair’s frame. He watches her emerge intently, and over his glass, which he has wisely just decided to drain.

Welcome, Veronique.

Richard places the glass slowly aside on a chair -- the furthest one he can reach without standing. His silence is telling, while it lasts, his hands smoothed over his knees. He is very still, apart from a cock to his chin when he looks from the ant to the look on de Foncé’s face. Subtle. ]

I’m very curious to know your thought process behind bringing her here.

[Veronique steps cautiously forward, so that she is out about halfway from beneath the chairs. Her feet are prevalent in a way an ant's feet never get to be, unless they are being viewed beneath the close scrutiny of a magnifying glass. Her antennae do another round of waving, and she tilts her head so that she can look, cautiously, at her audience.

Then she moves forward, ambulating at a quick pace. Her body--head, thorax, abdomen like a distended teardrop--has a sort of glisten to it, even in the candlelight. Her steps clack quietly against the flagstones of the floor.

Val sits back on his heels, in order to give her space.]

If she is to be a member of our company, she must become accustomed to our fellows. The shapes of them, their noise. What better place for this than a party? [Perhaps more importantly--] And she does so love wine.

[Veronique has reached the puddle by now. She stands over it, antennae passing over its surface, like a mystic with a scrying glass.]

[ Richard continues to keep close watch of Val even as the terrible, glistening bulbs of Veronique’s segmented carapace motor tak-tak-tak-tak across the flagstone between them. He doesn’t focus back on her until she’s stopped to probe over her own reflection. ]

Mm, [ he says. ]

I can’t find fault in your priorities.

[ Frankly, fuck most of these people.

That he’s stayed viper still isn’t surprising; he’s comfortably upright, with his hands at rest. But he no longer has anything to drink and he is closer than he’d like to be to a giant biting, stinging insect without a glass barrier or a barbarian onhand to deny it his flesh. ]

Are we just going to wait here until she overindulges and falls asleep? [ a little arch. ]

Please! She is very young. I would not want for her to be so drunk as that.

[Obviously he is a very loving guardian. Veronique cautiously leans toward the puddle. Unlike the common ant, she is large enough that she can break the surface tension of water and other liquids. She does not need to have the sort of fight that her smaller relatives would.

Instead, this: her forelegs splay wider, and her great bead of a head draws closer to the puddle--her mandibles splay wider, too, and she begins to lap at the puddle of wine with a narrow tongue. It is barely perceptible amid the bristly hairs that are flecked on her mandibles.

The sound is a little distasteful, a slurp with a clack at the end. Val's smile renews all the same.]

My chief goal was to find her. This, we have done. She is safely recovered and will not meet an unfortunate end beneath the heel of a duller member of our company who does not think to ask if she has accompanied anyone here tonight. But now that you are here, I would hope that you would stay some time, so that she can become accustomed to you as well.

Unless of course you have urgent business at this party. I cannot imagine that you do.

[ Well if they aren’t here to watch an ant with gigantism get tore up from the floor up for science then what are they doing? The audible lap of Veronique’s proboscis-like tongue draws his eye down from de Foncé’s indignation, and he is briefly transfixed, in a worried about certain eventualities kind of way. It is all too easy to imagine blood in place of wine.

The sound of Val’s voice breaks the spell.

Dick listens without any change of his expression until the end, where his eyes narrow, and a crook catches harsh at the corner of his mouth.

He pushes to his feet -- not abruptly, or with any intent to spook Veronique away from the progress they’ve made, but certainly with conviction. ]

I’m glad to have been of service.

[Without looking around, Val grabs hold of whatever bit of Richard is nearby. He is aiming for leg, or similar, but as he is still looking at Veronique, he may miss in that goal. Not that he would be bothered.]

No, no. You have not understood, I think. Your service is not yet ended. Come, sit--look, she wants you to.

[In fact, Veronique seems to at least be looking at Richard. She has stopped drinking the wine. Her eyes glitter in the candlelight, dense and faceted. It is difficult to read anything in her eyes: wanting or otherwise.]

[ Shank. Richard tenses again -- unaccustomed, probably, to being grabbed at and hauled around the way humans here have a way of asserting themselves. There is a knife in his boot that stands apart from the tendon, like a third bone alongside tibia and fibula.

So caught, he looks to the ant, finds her looking back at him, and checks an uneasy glance back to Val, as if there might be some outward indication if he was in the process of being assimilated into a hive mind. What would that even look like? Probably a little like this. ]

Insects want food and a place to nest. [ He is 90% sure that is true. ]

Not everything thinks the way humans do.

Aha.

[Triumphant. Richard may sense he has made a misstep, because: he has. Val at last looks away from Veronique to smile up at him.]

I knew you were the one to assist me. I could sense it. A more pious man might claim a prayer had been answered, but as deep as my faith is, I would not make this claim. I would say only that it is the perfect arrangement that you are here.

Nothing thinks the way that humans do. [Happily, he smiles back at Veronique again.] That is what it is to love about them. I am thinking she will need to create a nest as she did in the place I found her. I did follow and find out about it. It is not underground. It is a kind of plaster, made with the spitting. I am thinking paper will suffice. We will need to be careful in how we requisition it.

Love is a strong word.

[ Tightly delivered. ]

If I requisition anything, it will under the pretense that you asked me to do so, and that I assumed you were passing on menial tasks you were too lazy or entitled to do yourself.

[ Richard shakes his leg free with a flick of his boot toe, plucks up his empty glass from a nearby chair, and swishes away with one last sidelong look of warning. Presumably, against Val de Foncé’s liberal use of ’we’. ]

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[ open: all arise! ]

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