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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So you'd prefer to dance to a song like this, I take it?

[ Without any attempt to break her grip.

Like so many of their conversations, there's already a foregone conclusion. But Ellis can tease her a little. They are celebrating, after all. ]

Well, yes. Very much so. [It is so very serious an answer that for a split second it is quite clear she has no conception whatsoever of the implication - little memory, perhaps, of what he'd sworn her in that coat closet so many months ago, or at the very least a memory so thoroughly tagged with 'Next Satinalia' that to consider it in any present capacity was momentarily unthinkable.

And then she brightens into a veritable ray of pleasure.]

Now, Mr. Ellis?

Aye, now.

[ His own discomfort recedes at the instant brilliance of Wysteria's reaction. ]

Come on, before the band plays something disagreeable.

[ At which point he takes her hand from where she's latched onto his arm and leads her towards what's passing as the dance floor. The dull pain in his chest is set aside, momentarily stifled as he recalls the dance steps. It's been a long time. He'd never thought he'd have to bother with anything remotely like this again in his life. ]

[She is all to happy to be drawn out, her hand secure in his and her smile flexing first wide then narrowing as she reins it in by force. But the moment they reach the floor proper - it a very romping kind of dance, isn't it? It reminds her of the sort of thing done in the parish's common public house, or the dull memory of a half forgotten boy who might have looked after the horses for a summer and the picture he'd painted by loping around the stable yard with one of the maids -, and time their leap into the fray, she begs,] Wait, I don't know this one-- [And laughs, a bright shock of sound, as they're sucked in.]

[ Ellis remembers this dance.

It's a little like stepping backwards, dredging up another time when this kind of movement came to him easily. (There'd been a different girl, then.) Wysteria's hand is tight in his own as he swings her in time, sends her away and pulls her back again. The touches between them are light: a hand tapping at the hip, catching at the shoulder, fingers lacing together, arms crossing as they pass.

The dance is not meant to be complex. That's a help, Ellis thinks. Even if neither of them know the exact steps, they know near enough to keep up with everyone else. And when it ends, the music slowing into a makeshift waltz, Ellis draws her a few steps back, grip loosening slightly.

He should say something. (He'd known exactly what to say once.) But all he has for her is a smile, a little shrug as a capstone. ]

[She doesn't laugh through the whole dance - only when she begins to turn the wrong direction and must be corrected, or happens to meets his eye under the line of an arm -, but there's little question that the impulse given happily she takes to the quick, clipping pace of the dance and her how ready her grin is. There is a thrilling thoughtlessness in it: to the tempo of the thing, and how simple the steps are once they've gone through them once or twice, and even it seems in Ellis's leading hand. In an evening spent cycling through a short list of dance partners, at least half of which with she has felt some requirement to pay careful attention to her feet or to the couples about her in an attempt to predict where she is meant to be and when, this is a most welcome freedom.

By the time the music winds to its slower drawl, she is a little breathless but not so winded that his little shrug doesn't make her laugh again. Apparently that and the smile are plenty.]

I concede, Mr. Ellis. [She turns her hand in his and tightens her grip, making as if to reel him back to the margins.] I won't force you to go on.

[ She's doing him a kindness, Ellis thinks. Wysteria would let him fade to the edges of the room. She's more perceptive than most realize, even if there are times she doesn't make direct use of what she's noticed. It sparks against the quiet fondness he carries for her, and settles the matter for him without more than a half-beat of hesitation.

Before she can begin her trek to off the dance floor, he plants his own feet and gives her hand a little pull. ]

I've got one more turn in me, [ he offers, though he'd have preferred another rollicking turn about the floor to a waltz. ] Don't give up on me yet.

[It clearly catches her out by surprise - a different kind from her earlier sunny exuberance, something that makes her blink before she responds to the tug of his hand by folding back in. And then she is at once all put upon smugness, quite pleased as she sets her spare hand (the sickly green of the anchor shard's glow bright in it) at his shoulder.]

You may say I'm the most excellent dancer you've ever had the pleasure of partnering with, Mr. Ellis. My head won't get too big. [And more seriously, though only just:] Although I do actually know this one, so your feet may most happily avoid some swelling as well.

I'd have said as much anyway, if I were asked.

[ The reality: who is going to ask Ellis his opinion on dancing? Details, details.

And his feet have suffered through worse, not that it's a topic for the dance floor. He sets a hand carefully at her hip, a counterpoint to the gentle clasp of her hand in his own. As it turns out, he is capable of this too. The memories this particular dance stirs up are almost like overextending an old injury; the pain rises slowly, aching dully enough to be ignored now but promising to drag on for days after. ]

I meant to say, I'm glad you were returned safe. [ Things that could have been said in the jungle, but are probably better received here. ] After all that.

[ "All that" ie "a kidnapping" ]

[Talking comes so easily to her. It is the most obvious way in which she might respond, and because he is so familiar to her - regardless of where his hands might in relation to her person -, it doesn't occur to her that she might have some reason to check herself.]

It was nothing. I was in the presence of most excellent company, our captors notwithstanding of course. Although, I believe Lady Barra and Colin - the Ferelden boy, the mage - were troubled by it. I'm glad to see that the lady in question at least seems so recovered. I was under the impression it may have been one of her first brushes with the nastier side of the whole business, whereas you are speaking with something of a professional in these matters. Remind me later, and I will show you my very dashing scar.

[It's fine. If she was worried, she has forgotten it. Besides, it's a poor evening for the dredging up of past unpleasantness. What would be the point?]

But thank you. If you promise to keep the secret, I will also confess to being secretly pleased over the rescue effort however disastrous the aftermath.

[ There is no reason to say it aloud, even if Ellis does think of her face, wet with tears, and what she'd told him then. All the specifics of how far he'd have gone to fetch her back can remain unspoken but for the light squeeze of his hand. ]

I won't tell a soul.

[ And then— ]

Where did you pick up a scar?

[ Is this from a chemical fire, or what? ]

[Her hand on his shoulder shifts faintly, moving to absently smooth some element of his collar that has been rumpled slightly by the exuberance of their earlier turn.]

Why, at Ghislain of course. When the line collapsed. A rampaging dracolisk assaulted both myself and de Foncé. In fact, I have no doubt that the beast would have shredded the man entirely if I hadn't first struck it with a bucket. Monsieur de Foncé will never admit it, but I practically saved his life. Which, given all I have sacrificed as a result, is very inconsiderate indeed. For it lies just here [—her hand comes away from his shoulder so briefly to draw a line horizontally somewhere between her clavicles and, well, everything else, and then returns to him—] and so I will never wear anything cut fashionably low ever again.

Impressive. [ Something to keep in mind when Val bursts into his life like ten minutes after this. ] You shouldn't feel the need to hide it.

[ Though even as he says this, Ellis knows he's treading towards the kind of rigid etiquette driven decisions Wysteria makes and never abandons. ]

It's nothing you need to be ashamed of.

[ Says the proud owner of a fair amount of scars. The scar at his throat arcs upward, stretching above the collar of his tunic. It healed well, but the violence and ugliness of it hasn't diminished over time.

He doesn't know what Wysteria's scar might look like, and suspects it might be rude to ask outright. She likely won't find it reassuring that Ellis has seen worse. ]

I believe a good, well appointed scar suits a particular kind of person best, Mr. Ellis, and that not all of us are quite so suited to carrying around with such an air of mystery. It is different for someone such as yourself to parade about a most excellent wound of war, [she says, nodding to the self same scar in question.] as no one could possibly think you had received it doing anything ridiculous. But a young lady of my disposition earns such things by falling out of carriages or being by some measure unnecessarily wild. A stranger would likely make incorrect assumptions about my character from such a thing. All this before we even get into the matter of—

[Here, she checks herself. What a rare and dangerous thing that is.]

You are a very fine dancer, Mr. Ellis.

[ He'd already prepared a rebuttal: Wysteria isn't just a young lady, she's an agent of Riftwatch, a brilliant scientist and fair hand with a bow and arrow, she's entitled to a few scars, so on and so forth. Likely in far less words than that.

But then Wysteria pauses. Ellis has the same tingling sense of apprehension that he had at one point attributed solely to the moment when he sensed the presence of darkspawn but couldn't immediately lay eyes on them.

His gaze drops for a moment in the wake of that compliment. It's strange. Clearly this is something he still has some skill with, but it feels incongruous set aside the person he is now. Dancing, like many of the other talents he's dragged out from the past during the time he's spent with Riftwatch, is something that belongs to a boy who died a very long time ago. ]

I was always taught talent was due to a man's dance partner.

[ His mother had always blushed when his father had said that within her hearing. Ellis doubts Wysteria's given to that reaction. ]

[She doesn't blush.

But she does laugh. It's one of those sudden and bright things that denotes real pleasure, the delight in being surprised and charmed by it.]

What a thing to say!

[Her smile sticks, the shape of her laugh in it - not broad, but easy. She is smiling at him, which is a different thing than doing so because of the circumstances, or because he has said something she finds humorous. She pats his shoulder. And then her smile flashes wider, flowing into the shape of a less genuine thing - the beat before the delivery of some half baked witticism.]

My congratulations to your teacher then, Mr. Ellis. They clearly know a thing or two about how to endear themselves.

[ The moments when Wysteria reacts in such a way, sweet and genuine and momentarily guileless, those are good moments. Ellis squeezes her hand, spins her in a little arc so her dress whirls out between them. ]

I'll tell him, when I see him again.

[ Ha. ]

Who are you planning on collecting dances from next?

[If nothing else, it's a fine dress when it comes to whirling skirts. When she returns to him--]

Oh, I have no plans whatsoever. A lady should never plan for dance partners, or she will inevitably end up disappointed. So long as a majority of the evening is occupied and my feet remain relatively intact, I have very few preferences with respect to the other party. --Present company excepted, of course.

[She drums her fingers along his shoulder for emphasis.]

And you, Mr. Ellis? Who is next on your dance card?

No one.

[ His fingers drum at the small of her back in return, echoing back the restless tap of at his shoulder. ]

I've spent all my ability on you, it seems.

[ A sentiment that could be mistaken for flattery, but is simply a truth. ]

['Canny' is no word which might ever be applied to her attention without significant qualification, but certainly there is something like consideration in how Wysteria briefly glances away from him to look outward across what constitutes as the dance floor - first in the direction he is leading her, and then beyond to the people lingering about its margins. The temptation to press the point rises up in her, is pulled promptly thin, and then tucked away like a loose thread at the end of a sleeve.

It encapsulates just a moment, just a beat of music. When Wysteria looks back at him, her good cheer is unchanged.]

That is more or less exactly what I was hoping you would say. Now everyone will be incredibly envious of me and I'll seem much more aloof and mysterious as a result. But you must promise me that if later in the evening you find some inclination for another turn that you fetch me for it. I will be very cross if you spoil the charade now that we have agreed to it, Mr. Ellis.

[It's such a lovely evening; it would be a shame to dig overmuch at the part of him which seems so unused to the exercise of things like friendship.]

[ It is sometimes so easy to make Wysteria happy. Are these little promises their own kind of danger? Is it like walking out in the dark, and not noticing until too late that the ground underfoot has sloped dangerously and abruptly, too fast to prevent a fall?

This is not the first moment Ellis has considered the question. He knows the answer regardless, and all Alistair's reassurances don't quite manage to ease the sting of guilt.

He spins her anyway, one last time, before the song ebbs to a close. ]

I promise.

[ Easy enough to do. ]

But in the meantime, thank you for the dance.

[ Gently, briefly, he drops a kiss on the back of her hand, squeezes it gently before letting go and stepping back. ]

[It seems like such a silly little thing - like this is a joke they are sharing, and the scuff of his bristly beard against her knuckles is some part of the punchline. She laughs as her hand is surrendered and he steps away, a bright sunny thing, reaching out across the brief pause in the music and the gap he has created as if she might have a mind to capture his arm with the hook of her elbow in order to dredge him from properly from the dance floor.

And then someone calls her name. She half turns, attention swinging from him toward the sound--] Oh! [And then back again.] Excuse me, Mr. Ellis. I have been trying to corner this particular young lady for conversation all evening. Thank you for the dance. [She makes a half turn, then that too is aborted. Now she does reach out to touch his arm even as another round of music is beginning to rise up about them, quick and lively enough to draw a few more couples pouring out of the margins of the room and onto the floor.]

I nearly forgot. This doesn't count for Satinalia, and so we will still dance once or twice then as well of course. Agreed?

Agreed.

[ Of course, he could have argued the logic: what disqualifies this dance?

But he doesn't feel any particular urge to quibble over a few dances. It's an easy thing to promise. He taps his chest, drawing a line with his finger. ]

Cross my heart.

[A light of real pleasure - like she has gotten away with some mischief - sparks in her face.]

Good. And I do hope you will enjoy the rest of the party, Mr. Ellis. I wouldn't actually want to keep you all to myself.

[Then, with a grin and a small squeeze to his wrist, she's away in a last whirl of rose colored skirts - not melting into the party but cutting through it with a too loud 'I have been looking all over for you, my dear Miss—' as she descends upon her newest willing victim.]

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