faderift | [ 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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[She laughs. It's a short, barking thing - clearly baffled -, and then more full and rounded as she finds some humor in the absurdity.]

Opaque. Maker, Byerly. I think you're giving me more credit than I deserve.

I think I deserve a little more credit than you're giving me.

[ He shakes his head. ]

You deliberately make yourself opaque. Don't deny it. I can see the stories you're writing in your head, even as you write them.

My word, how ominous.

[Her laugh is still there in the corner of her smiling mouth, the fringe of her words. In her lap, her hands undo the clasp of the fan and absently unfold the thing again - a soft whisper of paper.]

But you have been the very definition of transparent, hm? No talking around the subjects of my curiosity, or dodging when I ask too direct a question?

I can't think of any time I've done that.

[Her mouth curves, smile widening by a degree. You're very amusing, Byerly Rutyer.]

And here I am, unable to think of when I've been difficult with you. What a pair we make.

Marvelous. And tell me, you truly claim that you do not know what I am thinking? With my cheek still itching from your kiss?

Oh, that. [She fixes him with a sidelong look, and it's funny isn't it? How with the slightest variation in the tip of her face how the the lines of her expression turn sly.] I could hazard a guess.

So therefore, you know me. No?

You must do better than that, my dear. However opaque you've found me to be, I believe we've established my opinion when it comes to stupid men.

[The fan has come completely unfolded now.]

But go on. Ask me whatever you like and I will do my best to be perfectly clear-- so long as it doesn't subvert my earlier conditions for that interesting story, mind.

[ He watches her a moment, a very faint smile on his lips, and then says - ]

Tell me what you were like as a girl.

[Something in that question makes her eyebrows rise again, has her mouth twitching. In the warmth of the room - slightly stuffy despite the open windows -, she absently begins to flick the fan again.]

Why, has Monsieur [a terrible pronunciation] Val Royeaux said something?

I would never betray a confidence.

[ By has not heard a single thing about the topic, but he does want to pretend as though he knows more than he's letting on. It's often advantageous to do so. ]

[A low cluck of the tongue is a fair enough substitute for Bastien, you scoundrel. But the tip of her head toward him says, Very well. A deal is a deal.]

What can be said? I believe I have said already that I was something of an impetuous little thing. Much given to slipping away when I thought no one knew otherwise, somewhat temperamental - the sort of thing which makes a parent desirous of shaking sense into a child, or sending them to extra Chantry services in place of it.

I wasn't the oldest sibling and I have been told that's where the problem lies. Middle children are prone to dramatics.

[ But he shakes his head. ]

Not as a child, my beauty - as a girl. I want to know of your first love.

My husband, of course.

[Is a fine joke. He should laugh at it before she ammends:]

There was a cooper's boy - Leo something - who lived three streets over and whose family stood a few rows ahead of us in the Chantry. I liked to look at him secretly while everyone did their recitations and eventually told him to take me dancing.

[ This story pleases him. ]

And did he?

Once or twice. But it wasn't meant to be. [She leans in by a small degree and lowers her voice as if they are discussing something most secret indeed.] I discovered we both liked horse racing, but he refused to discuss it with me.

[ By, drawn in, lowers his voice as well. ]

Why would he refuse?

No idea whatsoever. Embarrased, perhaps? Or silly ideas about what girls should care for. [A dismissive flick of the fan.] Prettier than he was willing to be interesting, in any case.

True of so many men, I fear. [ He presses a hand to his chest - either to clasp his heart or to indicate himself as one of those class; it's unclear. ] Was your husband like that?

Not in the slightest. [There is an irrevocable kind of fondness in it; maybe it's for this conversation, or maybe it's for the man in question. Who can say?] He was most happy to hold a conversation, and to answer any question I thought to ask.

[She tips her head, dark eyes narrowing at him.]

Trying to gauge where you stand, Ambassador?

Trying to gauge where you stand, madame.

And what would you say my past romances say about me?

I can't possibly make a statement as of yet. I would need more information first. One cannot draw a shape with only two points to connect.

Am I to recite all my romantic liaisons, then? Or will this inquiry be moving on to other topics of interest?

(no subject)

bouchonne - 2020-07-05 19:25 (UTC) - Expand

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