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

[illithidnapped]

It’s all the little signs. The twitch of a few fingers, the cinching of his jaw, the way his eyeline flickers— Astarion can read them like a book, and what he files away is subconscious. Simple. Less a deliberate effort, and more a reflexive understanding. Almost animal.

In many ways, he’s forgotten how to be anything else.

“Not too bad?” It’s all but scoffed, though his focus is on the dance itself, and the illusion it weaves: he doesn’t have the luxury of playing up mock offense, and instead continues sweeping his partner along with artful poise. Effortless poise, in fact.

“You’re sweating, darling. I can smell it on you.” His lips are curled into a self-assured grin, red-eyed stare unblinking as they lock onto Allumin’s own.

“I think that speaks for itself.”

[voidtransport]

His eyebrows shoot up at that - Allumin knows himself enough to be aware of when he's completely panicked to the point of sweating and this is not one of those times. Imagination might be going for a bit of a jaunt in a way that makes him flustered, but not so extreme of a physiological response... Not yet.

"Oh, am I?" There are certainly better things he could have come up with, and Allumin won't just let it slide in favor of being taunted.

He leans his head down, lips brushing against Astarion's ear as he speaks in a low whisper.

"You're going to have to do better than that if you want to stay in control of our conversation."

[illithidnapped]

Oh. Dear thing.

Astarion chuckles low in his throat, pleased by the attention, rather than flustered by it. There are times and places where Astarion’s soundly out of his element, wholly submerged beneath uncertainty and prone to need, to cling, white knuckled and shivering.

Two centuries of this, however, means he hasn’t got shame enough to spare.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m already in control. I was from the moment I first made you beg, and,” he tilts his head for how near Allumin is, scuffing the rise of his cheek— the faintest touch imaginable— just against the edge of Allumin’s own. A segue as the music rises, steps drawing them apart with effortless grace, the scent of lilac and leather oil lingering even in his own brief withdrawal.

“I'll still be, long, long after tonight ends.”

[voidtransport]

Well. Not every smug bastard is going to be as easy to bring low as Benedict. Worth a try, nonetheless.

The scent weakens him more than his words do, despite what might seem to be the case - just similar enough to memories of a certain someone he used to work with and the scent of jasmine seeped over time into his leather collar... He swallows, unable to fight the increasing blush in his cheeks that begins to reach his ears.

"I did that for you because I chose to. Power only comes as long as I'm willing to submit." The matter-of-fact statement is barely a threat, in that it would likely take something particularly extreme for Allumin to actually, genuinely dislike the man enough to not be interested in him on some level.

[illithidnapped]

“I’m flattered, then.” Astarion purrs, chin raised high as those fleeting steps draw them nearer together once more— a grand, sweeping gesture, his hand fitted to the small of Allumin’s back yet again in a single, effortless movement.

The height difference, it seems, does nothing to detract from Astarion’s confidence. Though he does make a point to let his expression drop down into something sweeter when he adds:

“Not many people would willingly make themselves the fool over nothing.”

[voidtransport]

He tenses a bit at the return of Astarion's hand, and it takes a lot of control to fight the nervous instinct to move away from it as well as the more primal urge to lean into its presence. Neither thing would be a good move right now, and he has to will himself to exist somewhere between the two as he continues to follow his lead.

"In the end, I actually happened to have a rather lovely night," he says, doing his best to seem unbothered, "so I wouldn't say it was nothing."

His best is not very convincing, but that's probably because his face continues to redden as he revisits memories of the time he spent with Loki that evening nestled in-between his mind's terribly unfair desire to imagine hypotheticals with his dance partner.

[illithidnapped]

“Was it?” Intrigue cuts through every ounce of wickedness he’d previously been wearing, impulsive and bright, eyes all but gleaming with newfound curiosity. “Tell me everything.”

His steps are quick, perfectly executed, fingertips splayed ever so slightly as he leans in to maneuver them through one particularly troublesome turn.

[voidtransport]

Everything? No, that's definitely not happening. Hopefully not happening. Be vague, he tells himself. He doesn't even know this man's name, and despite the pleasantries of the dance and such he knows he should also be careful with how much he trusts him as well.

Between the shift in Astarion's fingers, the difficulty of the turn and how he himself stumbles a bit on it, and the way he leans in closer during it all, there's a soft little gasp from Allumin. The hand he'd had resting on Astarion's shoulder grips down with a fierce intensity at the brief moment of panic, which makes clear that the anxious young man is quite strong under the obscurity of his clothes.

He can feel the warmth in his face very much now, and he's not sure how much of it is from the wine he's had this evening or his natural tendency to blush a lot. Either way, his face and ears are extremely red at this point.

"A friend was concerned for me and we spent some time together," he says once his feet feel like they're properly under him again and his heart isn't completely racing.

[illithidnapped]

“Ugh,” Astarion scoffs, lip curling as his head tilts away as vividly as if he’d been struck. “Boring trite.”

His movements are generous, courteous even. At odds with the ugliness of his own distaste.

“I’d been expecting a story, not some cozy little recount of you holding hands or cooing at one another like bleating little lambs. Honestly.” For a moment, his eyes shut, and even without seeing, he doesn't miss a single step before he adds:

“No, my dear. No offense, but if that’s all you have to show for it, I’d say you lost out in the end.”

[voidtransport]

It's a trap. Don't fall for it. It's fine if it comes off that way, he's not actually out here to seek this man's approval or anything. This man is nothing more than a sultry voice, a pretty face, a body without meaning beyond whatever purposes he serves within the man's own world. Perhaps fun, but ultimately worthless. Or at least, that's how Allumin tries to rationalize it.

"I wouldn't call needing a safeword 'boring trite' but I suppose that means you must have much more thrilling kinks."

Oh come on.

[illithidnapped]

Oh.

Oh now that is something, isn't it?

And just as rapidly as Astarion had sunken into bitterness, he reels right out of it: red eyes gone wide, grip cinching just a little tighter— an unapologetically excitable impulse. It's like fishing for worms and landing a damned elephant.

"Really?" a near-gasp of a thing, that question. "Which friend is this, exactly?"

[voidtransport]

His breath hitches at the change in Astarion's grip - gods, why is he so bad at keeping his mouth shut? He swallows and shakes his head, a small but almost frantic movement side-to-side.

"That's none of your business, is it?" His response is defensive - he's already said more than he wanted to, and he doesn't want to say anything that would affect Loki or his reputation. Plus, would he be upset with Allumin if he told anyone?

Now he worries, will it be obvious who it is if he doesn't make an effort to branch out socially? Oh no, he really doesn't have the energy to try engaging in socially-oriented subterfuge... His hope is that Astarion will write him off as not worth the trouble and toss him aside once this dance is over.

[illithidnapped]

"Struck a nerve yet again." His tongue tsks against the back of overlong teeth, nose crinkling just slightly for it.

"My my, you are a sensitive little beast, aren't you?" He asks, tone cloyingly sweet— almost playfully sweet, in fact— before he relaxes it entirely into something far more tame.

"Not to worry. As much fun as we've had together I'm not out to ruin you. You can relax."

The hand at Allumin's back shifts, wrist bracing to be more supportive as he levers the man down into one scandalously deep dip— altering the set of their surroundings. As though the floor and ceiling have somehow opted to swap places, stretching high, glittering in scattered candlelight.

[voidtransport]

"Oh, how comforting," he says, the first word on a gasp as his world is turned upside down. It's very beautiful, the room, but being in this position makes what he was going to say more terrifying. Best not to say he can't trust someone that has him hanging head-first over a hard floor.

The subconscious mind and body remember this feeling, which is the only thing keeping him even sort of relaxed in this position because his in his conscious memory he does not. Despite not panicking, there's still traces of fear in his brows furrowing upward.

"Suppose that means I should tell you everything then." He has an idea... and he wonders if Astarion will fall for it.

[illithidnapped]

It’s the fear that Astarion focuses on. The look on his face, the tightening of those fingertips. The words in comparison are pretty— but it’s the body that so often telegraphs more, and there’s something so uniquely fascinating about how the poor creature stiffens just so in his arms.

He ends the gesture, pulling him back to his feet and letting (subtle as anything) the pad of his gloved thumb sliding light along the underside of Allumin’s palm.

What is any of this but a game, after all?

“Everything? Well I certainly wouldn’t say no.”

[voidtransport]

Alright. He has to be clever about this so as to not falter or give it away before the punchline. Pacing and partial truths are important.

He draws in a breath, making a point to steady himself as he is about to bare all for Astarion.

"Well, at first it started tame enough... a concerned friend, reaching out to see if I was alright. The conversation got rather intimate - I shared things about myself that I haven't shared with anyone before," he says, speech starting out normal enough until the word 'intimate.' Allumin knows himself well enough to know how flushed and breathless he gets, and imagines something far more explicit than what was actually discussed to sell how riled up just the thought of it makes him.

"I'm not sure if I've ever felt so excited by words before, but it's different when it's something deeply dark and personal." He sighs as his cheeks redden. He hopes the way his eyes linger a moment too long on Astarion's lips and the way they drift downward before returning back upward to make eye contact with a not-all-there gaze will be enough to sell this.

"We made plans to head from the Gallows to Kirkwall proper to drink and spend the night together. Arms interlocked as we walked to the ferry, feeling their body heat against me only made me hunger for more..." Biting his lip, it's less a fantasy and more a bit of shame he feels at how needy he can be for physical gratification. Shame, however, is still enough to continue the rise of flushing in his cheeks, a hitch and a shuddering little exhale as he weaves his little tale.

"I couldn't wait until Kirkwall, I needed some kind of satisfaction, so..." He leans in close, voice barely above a whisper. "I pulled them close and kissed them, right there on the street, where anyone could see."

Oh, he hopes that this gets the reaction he's expecting based on Astarion's earlier disappointment.

fistfights dw notifs in a dark alley

[illithidnapped]

All that for—

He should be infuriated at having his time so utterly wasted. Some part of him certainly rises to the occasion, crinkling the sharp lines of his nose in a scowl that’s almost criminal.

And then he laughs. Clear and bright and utterly absurd as the music ends at last.

“Idiot.” He snorts, “how dare you.”

The tightened grin still written across his face at a standstill is entirely at odds with the rest of it. The attempt to scold. The tension he's trying to maintain in his voice, even as he sets his dance partner free at the end of their figurative performance.

“Ought to be ashamed of yourself, trying to be funny.”

In other words: well done, Allumin.

Astarion approves.

[voidtransport]

Yes! He's done it - his own façade starts to crumble at first to give way to satisfaction at his success, seeing the frustration on Astarion's face. But then as Allumin begins to laugh, so too does the other man, and his smile becomes a bit bewildered.

He was not expecting this.

"I was clever enough to fool you," he says with at least a kernel of pride. "You ought to be careful, I might do it again."

[illithidnapped]

"Not likely." Astarion counters smoothly, easing to a stop as the song ends, mouth still drawn up into a lopsided angle. It's simple, lifting Allumin's hand— the one he'd been holding as a guide— and planting a single, modest kiss just across the knuckles. Deceptively mild. Like a snake sunning itself, not a glimpse of fang or venom to be seen.

"You've tipped your hand."

Hand. Get it?

And whether or not Allumin does, in fact, get it, Astarion sets him free not a moment later, content to let the amusement end. A single backstep, a slight half-bow, and he's already starting to take his leave without any amount of overwhelming ceremony. Parting words trailing in his wake:

"That said, I do look forward to seeing you try."

[voidtransport]

His eyebrows shoot up at first, and he does flush a bit at the kiss on his knuckles, and then they lower into a furrow. Hand could mean a number of things, and he's not really equipped right now to figure out what possible context or interpretation the implication is.

There are no more words from him, just silence as he observes Astarion while bowing in return. As Astarion leaves, all he can really do is contemplate how that went and the surprising twist their dance took at the end.

Much to think about.