open | you know you love me

[coquettish_trees]

WHO: Lexie, Gwen, Wysteria, Bastien, you
WHAT: Hot weather, hot goss
WHEN: Various, mostly now~
WHERE: Kirkwall generally
NOTES: I've put the starters in brackets but do you and I'll match!

gwenaëlle; crystal (back when this happened).

[ one afternoon, of a sudden: ]

Gigi! You shall never guess how I spent my early afternoon.

[ she sounds delighted. ]



wysteria; on the veranda at the asgard estate.

[ It being hard to properly enjoy chilled wine through a veil, Alexandrie's is currently thrown back over her hat. She needs neither covering, the veranda is perfectly shaded at this time of day, but she wears them in any case in the hope that the extra protection will induce her skin to return to its customary—and much desired—unblemished fairness.

She lifts her glass, observes the frozen strawberry gently bobbing in the straw-coloured liquid contained within it, and frowns as mightily as she can without encouraging wrinkles. ]

It is such a lovely day to sit out at a café, and I hate it.



bastien; showing up unexpectedly at his room.

[ knock knock knock knock knock~ it's exuberant, and lacks the hard edged sound of bare knuckles. Wonder who it is. ]



everyone else~

[ drop me a top level with something your character knows (of any level of import) that Alexandrie might have conceivably heard tell of or some piece of gossip about them you'd like to have reached her, and prepare yourself for the advent of a terrible busybody ]

Comments

[elegiaque]

He's doing fine. Not the boys' father—did I tell you bon-papa is bound back to Orlais to check on their affairs?—anyway, Marius Bellerose, I mean.

( noted portrait artist who painted the nude of her hanging in lexie's home, former soldier, and romain charnier's bastard. )

[coquettish_trees]

Ah! [ recognition! ] Will he be cross, do you think? That I added to his work.

[elegiaque]

I doubt it. But tell me more about Enchanter Julius's anniversary, since I'm going to be asked about it—

[coquettish_trees]

Well— apparently your poor uncle has been, unknowingly, entirely out of luck for two years now.

Despite both devoted lovers forgetting the occasion of their first anniversary.

[elegiaque]

I had no idea. He lived with me for a bit, you know, when the Hightown house was mine.

[coquettish_trees]

Did he?

Secrecy is a difficult habit to break, even when one is no longer obliged to it.

[elegiaque]

Live in security.

Did you find out who this mysterious lover is, then?

[coquettish_trees]

I did not! Incredibly remiss of me, I know, but I confess I was far more focused on instructing him in picking the proper flowers before he fret himself onto a pyre.

[elegiaque]

So he's still doing incredibly at being secretive.

[coquettish_trees]

Outmanoeuvered by a Southern mage! [ a dramatic sound of agony, and then what is almost certainly her flopping down onto a bed ] You must come and burn my masks immediately.

[elegiaque]

He can bank that with Rutyer and all.

( properly diplomatic. )

[coquettish_trees]

What a terrible thought. I should have to immediately pass it off as some sort of delicate test or other lest I never hear the end of it.

[elegiaque]

Oh, I am absolutely pocketing that you couldn't get information out of a Southern mage.

( Gwenaëlle Will Remember This (But Hilariously) )

[coquettish_trees]

[ direly: ] Cher journal, everyone I trust has betrayed me.

[ and just as quickly, bright again: ] Shall I tell you what I did learn, and we can see if we might figure it out together right now?

[elegiaque]

All right. I make absolutely no promise of being at all useful in this endeavor, but it sounds amusing.

[coquettish_trees]

You are always useful, mon chère plume à la langue pointue, it is only mostly for picking holes in things.

[ she claps once, sharply. ]

Alors! She is a rifter, of a certain. He names her hard working, dutiful enough that her work takes precedence, with the keenest of minds and a skillful navigation of society. A noblewoman, I imagine, one who has been here for at the very least two years. If it were Miss Poppell it should not be secret [ nevermind the 'skillful navigation of society', both thought of in the fondest of ways, of course, ] and thus I think our secret beloved must be Madame de Cedoux.

What say you?

[elegiaque]

( gwenaëlle doesn't know wysteria well enough to dispute skillful navigation of society because sure, why not, but she does make a noise of distaste at the suggestion anyway,

and then: )

Well, it's more narcissistic than I'd have pictured him, but I can't fault your logic.

[coquettish_trees]

He does not look half so well in the pale blues she favours.

[elegiaque]

'Reserved diplomat mage in a skirt'. Which of them am I talking about?

( why is she like this )

[coquettish_trees]

[ because she's perfect and has never done anything wrong in her life. Delighted laughter from the other side, and a loud thinking noise. ]