With money you squeezed from the peasants (open)

[toujoursdroit]

WHO: Open to all Riftwatch agents who care to attend. Plus-ones allowed within reason.
WHAT: The duke de Coucy is throwing a celebration to mark his eldest grandson’s 18th birthday, which he would do anyway and which is definitely not a blatant attempt to keep said grandson from running off toward the nearest opportunity for combat.
WHEN: Mid-Kingsway
WHERE: The de Coucy property in Hightown. (The servants are spying in case you break anything.)
NOTES: If you’d like your character to come but think some maneuvering would be required to make it happen, hit me oocly and we’ll figure it out. Similarly, if you need or want a starter with Romain or an NPC, just let me know.

The engraved invitations only go to a select few: the division heads and project leaders, Alexandrie d'Asgard, Petrana de Cedoux and (after some deliberation) Hugo and Jehan Mercier d'Annecy. Others, without a specific addressee, are posted in common areas in the Gallows including both dining halls, the herb garden and the game room:



Those at ease enough or bold enough to take him up on the invitation arrive to find the duke’s Hightown residence lit with a mixture of opulent scones, torches and enchantments. Once admitted through the outer gates—the servants at the door have a list on which one’s name must appear, seemingly including every member of Riftwatch—guests will be ushered a short walk back from the street to the house proper. The foyer boasts more servants, ready to take any outwear (the weather does not dictate it, but fashion may), as well as any gifts for the marquis.

Guests are then shown through to the ballroom. While it is generally used these days as a training area, it has been converted back to its intended use for the evening. The space is brightly lit and features a small but talented collection of musicians. The center of the room is clearly intended for dancing, but chairs and railings along the edge of the room provide a place for those who need a breath or who simply prefer conversation to dancing. Staff circulates with wine and hors d'oeuvres (mainly local shellfish and assorted pastries from Romain’s imported Orlesian patissier). In addition to their fellow Riftwatch agents, guests may run into carefully selected individuals from Hightown society, gratified to varying degrees at having been included.



Those who find even the edges of the ballroom too much may discover that the lower level of the two-level library is open, though servants pass through with enough regularity that it is not truly private. (Assuming one thinks servants count, of course.) The upper level is roped off. Anyone attempting to make their way up will be gently but firmly redirected by the staff. The lower level, however, does offer a few tables and various comfortable chairs and chaises, good for quiet conversation or simply a break from the crush of society.

About two hours after sunset, dinner is announced. All present guests are shown into the dining room. Those few in attendance who have seen the duke’s estate in Orlais, or even his home in Val Royeaux, would know this room is smaller than either. Everyone is seated comfortably, but in addition to the long, rectangular table at the room’s center, a few smaller circular tables hold the overflow. The seating has been chosen carefully for status, affiliation and balance of conversation. The duke heads the long table, and his grandson Thomas sits opposite. Thomas, like his grandfather and younger brother, is masked, but those who chat with him will easily be able to determine his buoyant mood from his voice and manner. The food is excellent, if less varied and exotic than it would have been had supply lines not been so constrained. (Romain thought to bring a few things back from his most recent trip to Orlais and finds himself glad of it now.)



After dinner, guests may resume dancing and gossiping in the ballroom, or engaging in quieter conversation in the library. Or they can make their way out to the courtyard in the rear of the property. While Hightown’s constraints mean the outdoor space is not extensive, it is walled to offer privacy from the nearest neighbors and boasts a water feature, impressively lit in honor of the occasion.

The duke circulates throughout the party for the evening, seemingly doing absolutely nothing other than chatting with his guests. Yet somehow after he passes through, any guests with empty glasses find someone offering to fill them, any low-burning torches are promptly replaced, and any guests causing a scene are discreetly spoken to or, if necessary, shown into a carriage that will take them home. In addition to Romain, guests may have a chance to speak to the guest of honor, Thomas, or to his younger brother, 15-year-old Raoul, who has been given a special dispensation to stay at the party as long as he likes and is seemingly determined to make the most of it. The festivities will drag on until dawn, for those most committed to a bit of merriment in the face of invasion, or at least most committed to eating the duke’s refreshments and drinking his wine until they’re cut off.

Comments

holden | ota

[acreage]

BALLROOM

Dressed the part in dark, finely embroidered clothes, and at ease in a crowd, James Holden looks and feels less out of place than he might have feared. He smiles and mingles at the periphery, stays closer to fellow Riftwatch attendees than those out of Hightown.

Though it's possible he accidentally gets drawn into conversation with one anyway. He nods along and drinks from his wineglass as they talk, but if he catches a familiar person's eye, there might be an element of pleading to his look. Help.

He'll dance if asked, and with only a token protest; and proves to be less unskilled, despite his claims, and more unpracticed, sometimes unfamiliar. He's coordinated, able to follow cues, and doesn't step on any toes.

COURTYARD

Eventually, he'll have his fill of socializing. Or maybe just take a break to get some air. He ambles outside, takes some time to consider the beautiful water feature, tip his head up to watch the stars. The twin moons don't even feel alien anymore.

If someone walks in on his reverie, he'll ask, "Tired of dancing already?" and look over with a smile.

WILDCARD

[ feel free to leave me something or ping me to discuss another scenario! ]

Courtyard

[youwonscience]

"Nah, it's not my kind of dancing." Cosima's in a well-made but unfancy outfit of trousers and a flowing white shirt, but they're mainly a frame to set off the long, embroidered coat that serves as her interpretation of formal attire. Her hair is tucked up into a large bun and she's wearing several rings in addition to her usual jewelry.

"Also," conspiratorially, "I was thinking of having a smoke. Want to join me?"

[acreage]

"I'll keep you company."

Caffeine is his preferred poison of choice, booze next; and the latter hums pleasantly in his blood this late in the evening. He nods towards slightly more secluded area of the courtyard, where the fountain offers some shielding from open view.

[youwonscience]

"Fair enough," she says, clearly not put off by his refusal and heading in the direction he indicated. As they go, however, she does ask: "So are you against smoking in general, or just team not sure about the exact pharmacological effects of elfroot?" Her tone is genuinely curious.

[acreage]

There's a smile that pulls at his mouth as he says,

"Just not interested." There's a railing beyond the fountain, and he leans against it as he goes on, "I've never tried elfroot, but stuff back home usually just made the insomnia worse."

[youwonscience]

"Aw, right on. It's not everyone's thing. I haven't figured out if elfroot is similar enough to marijuana to use in baked goods, but I wonder if you'd have better luck with edibles, if you ever wanted to try. Might depend on the strain."

When they arrive, she hoists herself up to sit on the edge of the fountain, not hidden but out of easy view from the doors back into the house. She theatrically pats the ledge next to her, inviting him to join, then pulls out a small packet and some papers.

"Honestly, when I was first here, I thought it was a bad idea to smoke some unknown plant. But I was so stressed that, uh, any port in a storm, you know?"

[acreage]

"I know what you mean," he says as he sits. The stone of the ledge of the cool but dry, and the night air is warm enough. "I'd just left an alien planet, so the idea of Thedas wasn't as weird as it could've been.

And I arrived with a friend. I didn't know until later how lucky I was for that."

Multiple rifters falling out of a tear in the Veil is a long way from unheard of, but certainly not everyone's experience, maybe not even common. It's hard to imagine what those early days would've been like if he'd been alone.

"What was your arrival like?"

[youwonscience]

She laughs ruefully before lighting the joint. "Oh man, the first time. You know, painful glowing shard in the hand, sudden arrival in a new world, all that would have been enough. But no, there was a pride demon trying to kill me and the handful of other rifters that arrived at the same time." She exhales a careless jet of smoke (roughly away from him). "I didn't know what it was, of course. It was just a giant with electricity attacks of some kind trying to kill us, which was plenty. A team from the Inquisition got there early enough to keep any of us from dying, but it was an adrenaline-heavy introduction, considering I'd gone to bed in 2013 Toronto."

[acreage]

"Jesus," he says, and laughs. "That's a fucking adjustment."

And then,

"A handful of other rifters? How many were there?"

ballroom

[molineux]

It is extremely tempting to simply nod in acknowledgement and pass on by - if only to see the look on Jim's face - but Margaery is not in the habit of betraying her friends.

"You look very handsome, you know." she says when she's successfully pulled him away from the edges of a conversation and into an impromptu dance (the only smooth excuse there was for interrupting a rather fascinating conversation about the shellfish being offered tonight).

"I don't blame Lady Elethea for attempting to draw you in with the topic of aphrodisiacs in the form of prawn. Although if you had stayed any longer, I think she might've begun to resort to far more desperate measures. She is-," and this is the nicest way for her to put it, "very desperate."

[acreage]

When he says, "Thank you," hands in hers, the relief in his voice makes it clear that he didn't particularly mean the compliment.

Relieved as he also is not to look a complete fool, given some of the options bandied about in those Hightown shops. But he hadn't really thought Derrica — or Margaery, for that matter — would throw him to the wolves like that.

(Astarion, wobblehands. Ellie wouldn't deliberately.)

He glances back at the Lady Elethea, and immediately wishes he hadn't; she's still watching, and gives him an eager little wave. The dance, at least, gives him an excuse to not reciprocate — or look particularly rude when he turns away from her.

"Yeah, I got that impression. She mentioned her tragic lack of prospects," he pauses to count quietly, "three times, I think."

[molineux]

She has come to adore Jim as a brother figure, (only experiencing the smallest of heartbreaks every time she thinks about how her own brother might've taken to this paragon of earnestness) and as such her affection constantly walks hand in hand with undying loyalty and desire to torment. But, Margaery also has eyes, and she assumes that if she were in Lady Elethea's shoes, she'd also be gunning for someone who looks like Holden; a gentleman in the streets, and a (hopefully) passionate lad in the sheets.

"You wouldn't like to have a dalliance or two with a noble woman? They would surely come with large quantities of coffee." she teases, although she is privately very relieved that he's not the type who would actually do so. Mentioning a tragic lack of prospects not once, but three times in one polite conversation is far too indicative of disaster. "Although now that I think about it, you seem to remain suspiciously above such things as entanglement."

Her tone is still light-hearted - it's an open invitation to keep their conversation so if he wishes to avoid a more serious route.

"Am I to believe that no one has caught your eye?"

[acreage]

"The coffee is tempting," he jokes back easily, and not entirely without seriousness. He's been burning through his coffee stores faster than usual, and trade shortages means he hasn't had much luck stocking back up.

But he's not desperate enough to start sleeping with local nobility to fix that, probably.

Probably.

"I guess I have," he says, more seriously, on the topic of remaining above entanglements, and when he continues, it's gently. "There was somebody. Back home, and here for a little while. She's been gone longer than you've been here."

Which is another way of saying, You wouldn't recognize her name.

[molineux]

Back home would have been easy enough to understand, and empathize with. But it's the here that makes Margaery falter, ever so slightly, only noticeable where her eyes widen and her lips tremble. It's cruel enough to think that love is something torn from a rifter's grasp when they leave someone behind, but to have hope, for a while, only to be separated again is unimaginable.

She's never regarded Holden as particularly strong, but there's a renewed sense of respect in her eyes as she murmurs, "I'm truly sorry." And she tries not to think about how distraught she would be if it was her grandmother, or her brother, or her father-

"Would it be painful for you to speak of her, if I asked you questions?"

[acreage]

It had been a very different thing,

before and after Naomi's short stay in Thedas. He'd been so sure, before, of finding a way home. Impossible and never been done sound very much the same. He hadn't put thought to what life would look like after months, years, here. He hadn't had reason to.

And then he did, for one bright moment. She'd painted an image of a future together, no matter where they were. And then it was gone.

"You can ask," he says, which isn't a yes or a no.

[molineux]

She falters - the first time since she's donned this dress - but recovers smoothly, using the natural sway of their dancing to help her relax.

"What did you love about her?"

Truthfully, it's not exactly the question she'd meant to ask first, but Margaery supposes she can always blame the more romantic atmosphere they're in now for her oversight.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she adds gently, "We can just discuss my incredibly awful romantic history."

courtyard

[illithidnapped]

"Gods, no." Astarion huffs in return, settling with his forearms angled across the edge of the balcony, slung there as if intending to relax— though his expression's anything but.

"Just doing my damnest to stay away from our dearest lady Baudin."

[acreage]

James Holden is an interesting choice of person to have this conversation with, actually. It mostly plays out across his face by way of an eyebrow raise, but that could just as easily be surprise at hearing Astarion say that.

Well, not exactly surprise. Their tiff earlier had hardly been subtle, nor earlier ones on the network. But he hadn't been under the impression there was actual avoidance involved.

"Yeah," he agrees, "it didn't look like that conversation went well."

[illithidnapped]

"Well it certainly wasn't my fault."

Given how rapidly he snaps that back, he's clothed himself in blamelessness as much as silk. Balking at the very (unsuggested) idea that he might somehow be responsible for what transpired, quick a flicker as it was.

"Going out of my way to be kind, and this is the thanks I get."

The unspoken follow up to that comment being, of course, never again.

[acreage]

Astarion, famed for being the very picture of delicacy, especially where other peoples' feelings are involved. The flash of defensiveness also helps his case for sure.

But Jim only raises his hands briefly and lets them drop, all, I come in peace. He isn't here to accuse anyone, Astarion or Gwenaëlle.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

He's assuming the answer is yes, here.

[illithidnapped]

"Of course not. I’m not some incurable gossip."

His ears are already pinned, given the way he's hidden them behind silver strands of hair, but if he were a bat or a wolf (apropos of nothing at all whatsoever) they'd no doubt be flattened against his head as he grits his teeth in withering irritation.

Falling silent, until—

"—but here’s the thing. It’s just that it’s absolutely infuriating that she has the nerve to expect the entire bloody world to give her space when all she clearly needs is the opposite. She’s not going to dig herself out of some misery pit playing cards in a corner with Thing One and Thing Two over there. What favor does she think she’s doing anyone?"

He leans a little further forward against the ledge, fingertips splaying.

"And what’s more, how dare she equate my need for self-protection with an inability to form some sort of connection. We have a connection. Just because it’s not the one she wants, doesn’t make me the damned villain."

[acreage]

"Okay,"

is as far as he gets at first. He opens his mouth to say something like fair enough, nodding, but then Astarion keeps going and he closes his mouth, still nodding. Okay then, we're doing this.

"It doesn't," he agrees first, because that's an easier thing to answer. He mentally revises his opinion of Astarion slightly as he does; he hadn't entirely figured the vampire for self-aware enough to be able to comment on his need for self-protection. "It doesn't. That doesn't make you a bad guy.

But." He turns to more easily face Astarion, an elbow on the ledge. "If someone says they want space, then that matters more than what you think they need. You might be right in this case. I don't know her well enough to know. But no one gets to decide that for anyone else."

[illithidnapped]

Astarion’s eyes narrow. His lips drawn into a tight, thin line. He stares, and it’s more than obvious how much he disapproves.

“Why did I even think talking to you was a good idea.”

Terrible. Awful.

courtyard.

[hornswoggle]

"I'm not entirely suited for it these days," comes the dry response, underscoring the labor of his approach, the pull and hop of maneuvering on the crutch. But there's no real censure in his tone as he draws up alongside Holden.

"What's your excuse from fleeing the festivities?"

wheeze

[acreage]

His look turns apologetic as he clocks John's presence, in particular, but he only shrugs in answer to the question.

"I actually am a terrible dancer," he says like it's an admission, smile lopsided. "And I could use the fresh air."