faderift | open | you know you love me

Entry tags:

open | you know you love me

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 ]

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[ Her glass raised—hear hear—and then a moment afterward set down emphatically on the small table beside her. This time it does slosh over, but it's already been forgotten. ]

Let us have our own polite society until midwinter. It is not in the least bit fair that everyone else should be enjoying the display of their new summer dresses whilst having a light picnic luncheon and promenading in the early evenings [ which she loves, this is tragic, and they are in a war at the end of the world, what if there isn't another summer season ] whilst we, through no fault of our own [ debatable, but ] are banished entirely.

[ She's not quiet figured out how that would work, but that's currently irrelevant. ]

Would that I could, [Wysteria sighs; it sounds like such a romantic idea to spend the season locked dramatically away only to reemerge as something fair and lovely and exceptionally fashionable.]

But my work— Oh! [The cry is very sudden. She sits straight up, only narrowly avoiding a cascade of wine over the glass' lip.] Dear Alexandrie, that reminds me! You must lend me the use of one or two of your lovely entertaining rooms. Monsieur de Foncé and I have come up with a scheme to raise funds which would benefit monumentally from a well appointed series of rolms in which to hold the party.

But of course you must have them! Everything is terribly quiet with my lord husband absent. [ She pauses to sigh and muse fondly. ] Is it not curious, how a the presence of a single person can fill an entire estate when you love them?

[ Ah, l'amour. But back to the subject at hand. ] You and Monsieur de Foncé are more than welcome to wander through the estate and use whichever entertaining rooms you think best suited to your purposes.

Assuming you do not mind the use of a home with a distinct Tevene flair to its decoration. [ She waves a hand dismissively. ] We might always redecorate.

[She brightens considerably. Not, of course, that she expected any other answer - indeed, she wouldn't have so much as breathed a word of her plan to de Foncé had there been any doubt -, but still. It is heartening to be so correct about a think.]

No, no! I should think the style of the decor should add a certain flair of the mysterious which suits the whole affair wonderfully. [She extends a hand across the table, so she might take Lexie's with it. This is the confidence of friendship:] In that case, I have just one more favor to ask. You see, this particular fundraising effort requires a certain caliber of guest. Or at the very least, of their pockets. I thought you might have some friends in Hightown, or perhaps even beyond Kirkwall who might be persuaded to invest in the war effort through a little frivolity. I can of course avail you with all the details if you like.

[ The extended hand is, of course, taken and held in the deeply serious confidence unique to slightly frivolous well-born women. ]

I admit, the friends I have in society are rarer these days, perhaps because of the decor [ or, more likely, the family she married into that is responsible for it, ] but that only means that the ones who remain are most likely to support your venture.

I trust you completely, and should invite them all on just that basis, but please do tell me your plans. Hearing of a little excitement shall be just the thing to whisk away my melancholy.

Wonderful. Then I will tell you everything.

[By the brightness of her expression and how she shifts forward to the edge of her chair, she is as pleased to confess it as she was to be assured of their most enduring friendship.]

We mean to hold an auction of personalities. As we speak, Monsieur de Foncé is making up a list of Riftwatch's most interesting individuals. I'm to persuade them into the donation of their evening, and at the beginning of the party everyone will bid on whose company they would most like to be entertained by for dinner.

Does that not sound marvelously amusing?

[ After a brief squeeze of I'm only letting go because I'm clapping delightedly, Alexandrie lets go of Wysteria's hand to clap delightedly. ]

How wonderful! Are you privy to its contents yet? Who is on it thus far, save the three of us, of course. Unless the two of you have decided to concentrate solely on the running of the event?

[She brightens by yet another further magnitude at the mention of the three of us.] Oh how wonderful! I had hoped you might consider putting yourself up, for you are such lovely good company. Speaking as, I think, something of an expert on the subject, I should think that the competition for your company in such an event would be perilously fierce.

[She laughs, fetching her glass back up.]

As for Monsieur de Foncé, who can say what he will do with himself. He is, however, entirely in control of the list although it will be myself extending the invitations to who he selects. So if one or two other names slip in, then it can't be helped. For my part, I think I shall decline to join. Someone will indeed need to see to all the details.

Why, for such a finely planned event I shall have to be at my most charming and [ a storm cloud passes over her face and leaves her looking a bit sourly into her own retrieved glass, ] as lovely as I am able to be, all things considered.

[ Ugh. Reminded. The sun. ]

[Ah. Yes. The sun. Wysteria sighs as she slumps back into her chair, studying for a moment the view from across the veranda's lovely railing.]

Oh, but think of it Alexandrie. There is almost no one at all in Riftwatch who is as thoughtful about their appearance as yourself. While it's true that in polite society you would presently be at disadvantage, when standing beside the likes of our company it will be practically impossible to notice any fault in your complexion whatsoever.

[ She brightens for that, since it's very true, and her sip is more celebratory than self-consolation.

Down goes the glass again, suddenly. Her glove is drinking a bit more of this particular glass than she is. ]

But you must let me dress you as well! And you must wear my second-best sapphires [ in case she wants to wear the first, naturally, ] and whilst you are taking documentation you shall be so terribly lovely that simply everyone will ask if they might bid on your company and you may—with only a little sigh—say that you are not available, and then [ triumphantly: ] you shall be a figure of mystery.

[From her chair, Wysteria sighs out in most emphatic support of the whole theory. She takes an equally satisfied drink from her chilled glass.]

What an exceptionally handsome idea. I accept, of course. And it will disappoint de Foncé terribly, so I like it for that in addition to all the usual reasons.

[ Of a sudden, Alexandrie sits up entirely. ]

C'est pas vrai! However can a beautiful and mysterious woman ever be considered a disappointment?

[In reply, Wysteria's eyes roll so hard that it is incredible - nay, a miraculous unseen intercession of Andraste herself - that she doesn't throw out her neck in the process.]

When I suggested this scheme to him - for naturally I was the one to think of it - he expressed some conspiracy that I was arranging the whole thing to orchestrate a particular pairing on my own behalf. I quite like to believe it will infuriate him that nothing could be further from the truth.

[She likes to think it, though suspects the reality will be something closer to 'Honhon mademoiselle, how prudent of you not to even try. For I cannot imagine how you would survive the bitter disappointment of having your company bought for a pittance. I could never abide such sensitivity in myself, but et patati et patata—']

Edited 2020-08-09 14:50 (UTC)

[ Alexandrie's answering eyeroll is similarly interceded for; otherwise it's a certainty that they would be stuck looking back into her head for the rest of her days. ]

For such a surpassingly clever engineer, Monsieur de Foncé is remarkably ignorant on some subjects and well deserves to be infuriated upon them.

He is rather like a well bred and fast horse running with blinders on, [she agrees.]

Do you know, [her laugh is quite sudden and clear, bright like a ringing bell.] I once mentioned Mr. Rutyer to him and he didn't know who I was talking about? Mind, this was after the man's appointment to Ambassador.

[ It is her third glass of wine and she hasn’t yet spoken with Byerly since her return and so hearing his name when she has no expectation to at all is a bit like believing she was in private and then turning around and finding someone watching.

She grips the brief start of surprise on her own behalf and prepares to turn it to one on Val’s. ]

Truly?

Perhaps he is terribly unconcerned with anyone not holding the purse-strings for research projects! You ought to mention our Scoutmaster and Commander in passing to him as well, and then report back to me whether or not he is at all aware of them.

[Wysteria, in her blissful ignorance (truly; for one might understand how when a girl was young and very foolish she might find the likes of Byerly Rutyer charming and entertaining, but as a reasonable married woman of taste and refinement? Please.), barrels along without so much as a moment's hesitation.]

As true as that may be - I could not be surprised by almost any facet of the Orlesian gentleman's inattention -, it is truly incredible to me that someone might have no idea who Mr. Rutyer is. Overlooking that he had been made Ambassador? Certainly. Why, it is frankly unbelievable given the man's character and I could fault no one for forgetting it. But you must admit, dear Alexandrie, he is a rather unavoidable presence.

[ A blessing, perhaps, that the arid amusement of her feelings on Byerly Rutyer's unavoidability might be interpreted any number of ways that aren't "Ah, I see I am to be made to think and speak of the rent place in my heart with absolutely everyone."

Perhaps Wysteria will take it for some flavour of irritation. ]

He is indeed.

I'm so relieved you agree, Alexandrie. I was beginning to think he might have some kind of particular interest in me - not in the usual way one says it, but in rather the opposite. An interest in needling me, as it were. For I had resolved long ago after a particular incident to be kinder to the gentleman in question - this was [she adds as an aside, lest someone think her a sycophant] long before his promotion for the record. And yet Mr. Rutyer insists at every turn to surface and make an ass of himself while asking all sorts of questions seemingly designed to irritate. Like he knows I am trying and would like to test my patience.

[She takes a deep breath, considers drinking from her dwindling glass, and then instead adds—]

We danced at Lady Barra's party for a turn at his invitation. It was very strange.

[ Do not, says the vast majority of her, which apparently does not include her mouth because— ]

Oh?

[ Alexandrie and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Curiosity. ]

Yes.

[And for a long, torturous beat, it's as if that really is all Wysteria has to say on the subject. She looks past the edge of the veranda and studies, for a moment, whatever view lies beyond it. And then she wrinkles her nose.]

He is a credibly good dancer, but I have no idea why he would offer when he is so fully aware that we find one another disagreeable. I'm not an imbecile; I know he has no more fondness for me than I do him. So his insistence on pretending otherwise serves only to put us both in some position where we are doomed to be miserable.

[ He is terribly fond of being miserable and perhaps so am I. And so, we drink. The rest of the glass. This is not the same as drinking less, and the wine is really too good for it, but Alexandrie is too... something... to care, and it feels proportional. ]

It is, perhaps, a terrible truth of diplomacy that it sometimes has as much to do with learning how best to antagonize those around you as it does mollifying them.

[ She fishes a berry out of the glass, careful not to squeeze it so as to get juice on her glove, and does anyway. A noise of irritation, and she holds the berry briefly in her teeth to abandon the gloves to the side table before taking it up again to gesture with it. ]

Both are routes to learning what one wishes to know about a person, and both will allow you to nudge them about as you like. You really must not let him make you miserable.

[ Haha. ]

Then I find it in very poor taste that the man would attempt to nudge me in any direction. I am a member of this organization, not some project it is undertaking.

[She makes a short, sharp noise into her glass (which is rather less empty than Alexandrie's).]

If the Ambassador requires practice manipulating people, he may look elsewhere.

[ At this moment there's really nothing she can think of to defend him with that isn't some variation on 'he's a spy' (or only one shade off of that), which means for the moment Byerly Rutyer is just going to have to be in very poor taste. ]

Just so.

[ She eats the strawberry decisively. ]

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open | you know you love me

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ignores them in favor of ur delightful words

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kill bill sirens

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