closed.

[cozen]

WHO: Alexandrie, Athessa, Bastien, Barrow, Derrica, Nell, and Poesia
WHAT: A Very Riftwatch Summer Vacation
WHEN: Late Solace
WHERE: Churneau, Occupied Orlais
NOTES: Violence cw etc. Bunch of details here.

Comments

[coquettish_trees]

Hands full, she bends to smell it in Athessa's hand and breaks into a smile.

"Ah! Is it thyme?"

[sulahnan]

"Got it in one," she smiles in return, and brings the herb to her nose to inhale the aroma herself. "Ought to help bring a little more comfort to rabbit stew, right?"

[coquettish_trees]

"I know only because of Colin," she says, straightening. Her eyes sparkle with mirth. "And because for the success of our mission I was forced to become the finest chef in Orlais."

[sulahnan]

"Oh, is that why the food tasted like that..."

Cheeky. As if the servants would be fed the same food as their masters.

[coquettish_trees]

Alexandrie gasps in deep affront, and then peers at Athessa with overblown suspicion before letting understanding blossom over her face.

"Oh, I see, she is trying to get me to cook the rabbit stew."

[sulahnan]

"Oh, would you? That's so kind."

[coquettish_trees]

She could be Andraste on her pyre with that face. The self-sacrifice. The martyrdom. (But her eyes are laughing.)

“Your weeping and begging moves me to mercy,” and then she is laughing. “But you must skin and clean them, I shall never again, if I can help it.”

[sulahnan]

The urge to make a joke about the rabbits being her kind is strong, but she resists l'est it backfire and make Lexie feel bad rather than laugh more.

Instead, she gives a tiny curtsy and bows her head, smiling as wide as she comfortably can.

"Oui, chef. We have an accord."

[coquettish_trees]

Alexandrie opens her mouth to suggest they head back to camp, but then looks at the ancient garden left for them. Thinks of what Athessa had said; that they must make a better world.

She puts down her tinder, the big branch that is her hard-won prize, and dusts her hands. “Shall we tend this a little?” She inclines her head at the thyme, the elfroot, the tubers, whatever else there may be yet undiscovered in the underbrush. “For whomever comes next.”

[sulahnan]

Athessa's protest would have been the same suggestion. They should get back, see to the injured and exhausted members of their party.

But she looks at the remnants of nomadic agriculture, back to Lexie, and nods.