[ 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

[bouchonne]

[ But his hand, taking hers, is warm and gracious. His fingers curl confidently around hers as he straightens up; his step out onto the dance floor is quick and even, leading her to a place in the pattern at the precise moment where the music slows, so they can join in without so much as a disruption to the dancers. And when they start to dance, he knows the steps perfectly, so well that any time she perhaps hesitates or falters he is able to improvise within the bounds of the dance so that it appears to be a variation instead of a mistake.

He is, in short, a most excellent and gentlemanly dancer, and one who will not disturb her with chatter unless she seeks it out. ]

[heirring]

[She is not blind; she might say he was a well dancer from standing at the edge of the floor, doing little more than enjoying the music and taking in the pleasant shapes of of the combinations and footwork and how lovely everyone looks in their fresh clothes (regardless of who has dressed for the evening and who hasn't) and their good cheer. But just as the last thing she expected had been him shearing away from his previous partner to fetch her out, she can't say that she would have anticipated this either: being floated along with an easy guiding hand and saying nothing whatsoever about her occasional missteps.

She is concentrating so hard for the first sweeping rounds that at first it doesn't occur to her that he is in fact saying nothing at all. And then for the next ten agonizing seconds of most excellent dancing, it is all she can think about. And then she feels herself frowning, which is unacceptable. She latches onto the first topic that springs to mind past What do you want, Byerly? which is a foolish thing to ask anyone, much less Byerly Rutyer.]

Were yourself and Monsieur Bastien friends prior to Riftwatch? You seem most familiar.

[bouchonne]

[ A rather unexpected question. He blinks, and tries to calculate what he knows of Wysteria's relationship to Bastien - what sorts of things would it be all right to share? What sorts of things should be kept secret? - and by the end of it, has an answer ready. ]

I had a few misspent years in Val Royeaux when I was younger. Bastien and I were rascals together at that time.

[heirring]

I see. How pleasant, that he came to Riftwatch and the two of you were reunited.

[It's a very light thing, utterly inconsequential - saying the thing for the sake of saying something as they make their way around the floor. She is looking ahead, her eye following the couple before them.]

And of course you have Lady Asgard as well. And Lady Barra, who is quite lovely and who I am happy to see seems to be in good spirits this evening.

[bouchonne]

[ Privately, he wonders where she's going with this, if anywhere. Out loud, he replies, mildly: ]

I am honored to hear that you attend to my social connections. There are few things more gratifying than being noticed.

[heirring]

[She makes some small sound there, a hum of acknowledgement which fills a best or two of music. Yes, yes. You're very interesting, Mr. Rutyer. Congratulations and so on.]

I suppose I only wonder if we might expect to be joined by more of your friends and family. They all seem rather universally thoughtful and generally perfectly agreeable sorts. And I imagine it's pleasant to be in the company of people with which one is familiar in this sort of business.

[bouchonne]

[ His voice turns suddenly, incredibly dry. ]

I would encourage you to pray, dear Miss Poppell, that we are not joined by my family. Nor, indeed, by most of my friends.

[heirring]

[There is a slight pinch in the line of her mouth, though her step doesn't falter and if there is a bat eye it is swift enough so at to hardly warrant merit.]

Well, of course you would know best.

[bouchonne]

[ He's offended her, it seems. He debates falling silent and leaving her to stew in her offense. But instead, he unbends just a little. ]

You're not of Thedas, so you do not know. But my family name has a certain...infamy in the south. Which has been well earned.

[heirring]

[There is a question - Is that why you went to Val Royeaux? -, but she selects not to ask it. That way frustration lies.]

I see. I'm sorry to hear it.

[bouchonne]

[ The look he shoots her is a little incredulous (sorry seems a damned odd response) but he has grace enough not to call her on it. Instead: ]

As have the Avvar, the Chasind, assorted bandits, scads of Darkspawn, and most notably the Orlesians been throughout history. And various freemen, too, of course. The attic of my childhood home had leather made from what had to have been, at minimum, three Chevaliers, assuming no waste of skin, and assuming they were decently fat.

[heirring]

How shocking. [She doesn't sound particularly shocked. In fact, she sounds very much like dancing with a good partner (irritating as it would be to admit) feels: skimming idly along the surface.] I can only assume they weren't for study.

I suppose some of your old friends are of a similar cut. To your family, not to the skin.

[bouchonne]

[ He's somewhat gratified by her mild interest. ]

Just so. Every once in a while, a lump of excrement - pardon my language, good lady - will bring about the growth of a wild strawberry. [ He nods to Bastien, and to Alexandrie beyond him. ] But more often it simply attracts stinging midges.

[heirring]

[This time, the low noise she makes is skeptical. But what she says is,]

I'm most certain they would be flattered to hear it.

[bouchonne]

To hear that they're like midges?

[heirring]

I was referring to Monsieur Bastien and Lady Alexandrie.

[bouchonne]

Oh.

[ Just a slight frown for a slight moment, that crosses his face and then is gone. ]

Well, they know already. That I think so.

[heirring]

Then I only wonder if they would give your very colorful description of their mutual friend any credit.

[And:]

—We're meant to change direction here, Mr. Rutyer.

[bouchonne]

So we are.

[ And with a small nod of thanks, he changes direction. ]

You're quite a fine dancer yourself. - And these are not their friends that I describe as midges, but only my own. I had separate circles from them, at times.

[heirring]

Thank you. Riftwatch has seen to it that I get some practice in, [is plain, maybe even flippant as they get going in their new direction.]

And I said their mutual friend. Not yours.

[bouchonne]

Ah, of course.

[ He has no idea what she's talking about, and just continues with the dance. Because asking questions makes you look stupid. ]

[heirring]

[Which, after a beat or two of music in which she expects some protest to be tacked on, finally succeeds in bringing her face back around to look at him.]

You are their mutual friend, Mr. Rutyer.

[bouchonne]

[ He purses his lips very slightly, plainly a bit confused. ]

I don't recall describing myself.

[heirring]

[She opens her mouth, starts to say something, colors rather furiously as she realizes exactly what conclusion she's leapt to, and then shuts it again.

And then changes her mind, leaping with such ferocity after her next sentence that she may as well mean to strangle the life out of it:]

Irregardless, I am delighted you have such true old friends here in Riftwatch with you. There is a certain satisfaction is beginning one's life all over again from scratch, of course - in fact, I cannot recommend it highly enough -, but to be sure there is some creature comfort in the familiar. For example, I have an assortment of little things I brought with me that I would be loathe to part with.

That is all I meant by any of it.

[bouchonne]

[ She'd been right, actually, in her interpretation; he'd been calling himself a piece of shit. It just was so unremarkable that he'd forgotten at once. ]

My condolences that you don't have more than that, Miss Poppell.

[ He doesn't seem to be mocking. ]