[Closed] Drink With Me To Days Gone By

[madame_de_fer]

WHO: DAI advisors and companions, yes even Cole
WHAT: Drinking and remembering... party? Not a party.
WHEN: Mid Guardian, right after this. Well, once everyone's not freezing ass in the snow.
WHERE: Vivienne's Balcony
NOTES: Drinks. Feels. Varric and Cassandra, please keep to opposite ends of the balcony, if you please. (Tag around and in and whatever how you like.)



[After the heated emotional outbreak over the sending crystal, and the resultant reminder of the one they've lost, Vivienne quietly opens her balcony to those who knew the Herald best. Silent drinking is allowed, raging tempers are not. Sharing fond memories of the Herald welcomed and possibly even craved.]

Comments

[madame_de_fer]

[Vivienne's remarkably subdued for herself and for hosting an impromptu little gathering. Rest assured, she's making sure that everyone is seen to and comfortable. But what she's not saying speaks volumes as loudly as if she were engaged in a shouting match. Her conversation is quiet, pleasant, even charming, but she's also not discussing that horrid display over the sending crystals or just how deeply Varric's response cut into her heart.]

[fightingale]

It was very gracious of you to invite us all.

( Leliana's voice is soft, compared to the chatter of their company, and she holds a fresh glass for the Enchanter. Leliana is... she never seems frail, just as she is sure Vivienne never seems to, not in the company of others. Even as she endures, though, something is becoming more harsh in her, more brittle, and she has taken a little longer than usual to adapt to the gathering. )

[madame_de_fer]

Thank you, my dear.

[For the wine, and for the expression of gratitude. Vivienne looks Leliana over with an unmasked sense of concern. Something about Sister Nightingale feels as if she's on the brink of something quite dreadful. She's harder than the Iron Lady herself has ever known her.]

I'm so pleased you could find the time. I do so enjoy your company.

[Fact. They might not agree on a great many things, but she still respects and admires Leliana.]

[fightingale]

( There is nothing even close to a smile in her expression, but she does not, acknowledges the thanks and offers the best you're welcome that she can presently muster with a respectful nod. A sip of her own glass - the same Orlesian brandy that Varric was drinking, and very worth trying - and she lets the gentle burn roll down her throat, warming her chest and her gut. She feels so much in her head, of late, that the grounding effect of the brandy is almost pleasant. )

There was no way I would miss it. ( The Herald, her bravery and her efforts, her spirit - all should be honoured. ) Though I am afraid I am ill-suited to keeping company, of late.

( It is almost an apology, tempered by the severity that marks so much of her manner, in more recent days. It seems her promises of being more attentive might be broken, a poor gesture to a respected fellow player of the Game, and admired Inquisition member. )

[madame_de_fer]

[Hmm yes, Madame de Fer has noticed. Noticed and chosen not to poke at it. Leliana is a proven player of the Game and as such should not be goaded or moved against when there's no reason to do so. And so long as they both serve the Inquisition's best interests, moving against someone internally is uncalled for and foolish.

Every so often, the Iron Lady's mask slips into an expression of compassion. Mild enough to avoid offense while seemingly sincere.]

Is there anything I might do for you, darling? Even if it's to freeze the tower door shut so no one can bother you while you take your tea.

[qunari]

[ The Iron Lady doesn't let a lot of things bother her. But it's a noticeable difference, especially when you pick up on the little details.

Rather than bring attention to it, however, Bull supplies her with a fresh goblet of wine once hers runs low. ]

[madame_de_fer]

You are a treasure, my dear.

[Vivienne takes the wine in hand and sips from it. Her appreciation stems from the consideration of a fresh glass, and the discretion not to draw attention to her current sense of melancholy.]

Is there anything I may get for you?

[More wine? A punching bag for later? A pretty Chantry sister?]

[qunari]

[ While he wouldn't say no to anything of those things, his nose scrunches with a shake of his head. ]

Nah. I'm good, ma'am.

[ Though he appreciates the generosity for what it is. Despite some initial missteps, he feels like he gets Vivienne. What she wants and expects out of people, and more specifically him.

It's easy after that to try and keep himself in line, perhaps easier than it should be. He's still not entirely convinced she isn't channeling a Tamassran on purpose. ]

[hugeinorlais]

It'd been a while since Varric had actually yelled at people; he'd forgotten how ridiculously draining it was to be so angry. When given an invitation up to Vivienne's balcony, to reminisce and talk? Well, he did take a moment to think it over, being sad wasn't exactly something that rejuvenated anybody, but he ultimately decided to join her.

He was going to be sad whether he took her up on the invitation or not, really.

So, given the choice between sulking in the tavern and lounging with the Iron Lady while sharing a fine bottle of cognac, Varric made the obvious selection.

On a less depressing note, Vivienne's Balcony was warm and her taste in furniture was a far cry more comfortable than most of the stuff he'd had brought in. (He was rich, sure, but he wasn't 'let's furnish a fortress with goose down stuffed settees' rich.) He sank into one of her chairs, a glass of Orlesian brandy in hand, and let out a heavy sigh.

"Nothing improves a snowy day quite like arguing about religion and the dead," Varric groused tiredly, to no one in particular. There was no anger in his voice.

[fightingale]

"Perhaps we could round it out with politics," Leliana suggests, from not-that-close and not-too-far, weight resting against the balcony rail. There is a certain dry sneer in her voice, and it does not do everything to veil a more real rawness that clenches her throat. "Or broken hearts."

They are a miserable pair, it seems, but she drinks to the seat near him, tilting her head towards it in a silent question - may I join you?

She stands stiff, rigid, and there is a gauntness to her that was not there two weeks ago. She has had no intention of leaving her tower, not after Zevran was taken, not with the failure to catch an infiltrator in the very midst a fresh wound, but she could not fail Evelyn, as well.

[madame_de_fer]

"If by improve, you mean spoil worse than the cook's attempts at coq au vin." Of course, the absolute swill the steward provided in terms of wine for the evening meal could be to blame for the ruined dish every time, but the cook should know better than to use a vintage which could pass for vinegar. There is a reason that Vivienne goes to the trouble and expense of having her own viands brought in.

In an attempt to brighten the tone of the evening, Vivienne directs the conversation to something with far more potential. "I do wonder how you'll write of these days, my dear. You will be writing of them, I'm certain." If anyone deserves recognition in the written word, it was assuredly the Herald.

[liberalum]

STORYTIME;

--and I managed to have the blighted fool penned in against the cliffside. But by then, I was utterly out of mana, practically fighting with errant run-off from someone else's spellwork, and he just refused to die. The south makes their bandits sturdy, I'll give it that.

[ Dorian isn't necessarily in the mood for this, in the same way he hadn't been at the funeral, but this isn't a funeral, and perhaps he can force it. He's leaning against the railing, gesturing with his glass. ]

Finally-- Sera, was it? Or was it Varric? Someone with a projectile something finally takes notice, and manages to get him in the throat, and he promptly disappears over the edge. I turn around to see what in the world Trevelyan was doing, and she had been completely preoccupied in hacking at an elfroot bush. I said to her, 'did you not see there was one left?' To which she looked up, gave me a smile, and pointed out she still didn't see anyone.

Only a person who's had your back so many times in the past can get away with that sass, I tell you.

QUIETTIME;

[ Dorian had been a little late to the impromptu gathering, and well into his cups. He imbibes, now, but he's been working on the one glass since he got here, and after a little chitchat, retreats from the group in general to lean against the balcony facing out into the courtyard. Although his back is turned, his posture is not one that closes off the possibility of company.

Simmering, a little. He's long since stopped listening to the crystal network, but freshly revived grief niggles. ]

[fightingale]

( Despite herself, despite everything, Leliana cannot help a smile. Dorian is spirited, no one could ever deny that. )

That might have been my fault, ( she admits, as she tops up Dorian's wine, and then her own. )

I was so insistent that we needed more supplies, constantly. And she was so earnest, I didn't have the heart to tell her that my scouts were collecting elfroot.

[liberalum]

[ Dorian tips his cup to help along top up, giving her a nod, and then, at her explanation, a rarer, not even crooked smile, subtle beneath less subtle mustache action. ]

I suspected it was one of the higher ups, [ he says, tone only a touch playful in mock-accusation, not about to disregard the inherent melancholy of the occasion. ] But I also suspect it was equally that she was a good person. Damned inconvenient, if you ask me, made every errand twice as long as it needed to go on for.

[ He is transparent in the way he doesn't mean that. Humour isn't a defense mechanism against feeling so much as his way of expressing it, no attempt made to fool anyone. ]

[fightingale]

All my orders are very particularly intended to distress you. ( Leliana comments dryly, before setting down the bottle. Something very Orlesian, and doubtless very expensive. She almost misses the days of agonising dwarven ale hangovers, but perhaps that was simply the tendency for Orzammar brews to obliterate the memories. ) Good people are terribly inconvenient. Always letting morals and the value of life getting in the way of everything.

( It's a joke. Mostly. If only people Cullen, Josephine understood how effective her methods were, what she could do. )

How did you manage to carry all that iron? ( Hang on. ) She was joking when she said she carried it all herself, wasn't she?

[qunari]

[ They're all feeling it. All coping in their own way. Bull's lost people before, and it's never an easy thing. The shreds of guilt remain long, long after.

He knows Dorian tends to mask the hurt with sharp laughter and wit, but that doesn't mean he's feeling any less than the rest of them. Quite the opposite, in fact. The mage has pretty obvious tells to anyone who pays attention, and Bull has been.

So he siddles away from the rest of the 'party' and lets himself lean against the edge of the balcony, not far away. ]

Needed the fresh air?

[ The corner of his lip twitches wryly. ]

[liberalum]

[ Bull certainly isn't the kind of spy that you don't see coming. Dorian raises an eyebrow when he notes Bull's shadow off to the side in a sort of low key acknowledgement, before glancing down into his wine glass, held two-handedly, elbows set against the balcony railing. ]

I can only suffer so much in the way of genuine expressions of feeling in one evening, [ he confirms, as wry as you please, even if there's probably a ring of truth to it. His attention settles again out at the courtyard, the touches of firelight where evening watch is settling, the crisp edges of snowy mountains beyond.

He sighs. ]

Evelyn would have liked this place.

[qunari]

[ It was the kind of thinking he didn't like to allow himself. She would have liked this, approved of that. This is what she would have done, or said, or disapproved of, or inspired them to do. The boss had been one of a kind. Without her here, alive, it hardly mattered what might have been.

But everyone grieved in their own way. Bull just nods quietly. Dorian's not wrong, in any case. ]

Yeah. Kind of hard not to.

[ Skyhold had become less a shelter in the storm, as the months wore on. Hard to say what it was, now, but more seemed to cover it. There was a sense of returning somewhere one belonged, to a group of people familiar and bound together by their cause.

Home? Nah. A little early for that.

Bull's gaze drops to Dorian's hands, still cupped against his glass. ]

[madame_de_fer]

[Dorian's storytelling is actually just what the evening called for. Though Vivienne would never actually tell him as much. He was remarkably good at it. Certainly no Varric, but the nuances and emphasis on words just so adds to the effect.]

I remember the time we found some ruin she wanted to investigate. Rocks had blocked the only entrance we could find and she actually attempted to pick them up herself.

[There's a hint of amusement in Vivienne's tone.]

It was nothing at all to simply energize the ambient magic in the air and move them out of her way, but she was so determined...

[liberalum]

[ Dorian's chuckle is low and slithery in recollection, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ]

But it was all made worth it for the look on her face when we shifted them just enough as though she had managed it part of the way herself, despite some of those boulders being as large as her torso. Such a look of victory, followed swiftly by such disappointment.

[ It couldn't have been so disappointing for the Lady Herald, as Dorian's tone is affectionate in his own distant way. ]

[madame_de_fer]

[Vivienne's own expression melts into one of a soft fondness. It's rare for her to be so honestly expressive.]

She should have never been too disappointed. The Herald was a formidable woman and quite capable of moving mountains by sheer will alone. Would that as many people could say the same of themselves.

[Maker knows she made an impact on the Iron Lady, and that's a miracle on par with being handed out of the Fade by Andraste.]

ota come at me tbh

[fightingale]

( Leliana is not the first to arrive, and she may be the first to leave. Even in her anger over Zevran, her utter self-loathing for failing him, for not seeing, for indulging herself with that venture to Emprise du Lion when she should have been at Skyhold... she cannot fail to honour Evelyn. To fail, to betray two friends in so short a time could not be endured.

She is paler than she has been, her cheekbones sharper, more pronounced, and this might be the first time she has seen a good many of these people face to face since Zevran was taken. She has mostly been in the Rookery, and otherwise not available at all.

For the most part she lingers close to the railing, arms resting on the balcony, gaze flickering towards the Rookery lest some indication of a bird arriving be seen or heard. Perhaps she is watching the stars, or perhaps she has edged closer to the fringes of conversation, or perhaps she is setting down her glass and about to make a move to leave, without having been present near long enough. )

[qunari]

[ He saw her once, before departing with the group that pulled Zevran out of the clutches of the Crows. He doesn't expect her to be much happier now that he's back, not with the state he's in.

And all these wounds being reopened? Can't be good for anyone, reliving that shit. Leliana's especially hard on herself when things hit the fan. First Justinia, the boss, and now this? It'd be enough to shake anyone.

Worth having a word or two, maybe. See where her head's at.

Bull catches her lingering at the balcony and steps in, away from the rest of the group, a faint furrow to his scarred brow. ]

Got word from my contacts, when you've got a moment. Might give us an idea of where some of this red lyrium's headed.

[fightingale]

( She is surprised when the Iron Bull approaches her, but perhaps she should not be. He might be one of those better equipped to understand, given his intended infiltration of the Inquisition and his expertise, though Leliana is still all sharp edges, still raw that she missed something, that she keeps missing something.

And he wants to speak business. A relief, frankly, though her shoulders do not ease and her jaw tightens. They need something. )

Consider me at your disposal.

( She glances to the nearest party guest (if such a gathering as this can be called a party) assessing for a moment before sweeping her gaze back to Bull. Their absence would be noted, she suspects. )

[qunari]

Just figured you'd want a head's up. No one wants this stuff getting to wherever it's going.

[ Which is realistically the only reason these reports are being shared. The Inquisition is in a better position to deal with it than any of them, though they'd be in better shape if...

No point thinking about if. Even if it seems that's why they're all here. Too many close calls, and one too late for any of them to do anything about now.

Bull huffs, shoulders going lax. ]

You spoken to him?