faderift | [Closed] Drink With Me To Days Gone By

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[Closed] Drink With Me To Days Gone By

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.]

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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. ]

( 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.

[ 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. ]

Edited 2016-02-11 09:15 (UTC)

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?

Well, that depends.

[ Dorian tips his glass this way and that, letting very Orlesian wine slosh up the sides, but never over. He can keep a glass of wine steady while tripping up stairs, let alone standing still. He's had a lot of practice. ]

If it was the time she lost at Wicked Grace when we were camped at the Hessarian fort, then-- no, not a joke. Any other claim involving me is slander and libel.

Ah, Wicked Grace. The downfall of so many.

( She shakes her head, exhaling a soft breath of laughter. ) Jonas is terrible at it, too. When will they ever learn?

( They being, well. Just about everyone who isn't herself, Varric and Isabela, she'd guess, but she's not in the mood to crush any egos unnecessarily. Not today.

Still, she schools her expression into one of Great seriousness. )

Don't worry. If anyone questions your willingness to carry heavy things, I will summon them to the Rookery. We'll time it so that you aren't artfully lounging in the library on the way up.

The trick is to cheat.

[ Dorian: definitely good at Wicked Grace, occasionally too good.

He sips his wine in a dedicated pull, watching the spymistress speak, and her seriousness, with nothing of the like reflected back at her. ]

Artfully! Leliana, I'm so glad you noticed.

I always feel for people who don't cheat, in Wicked Grace. They're missing out on half the point - and half the fun.

( Leliana would probably kill a man for a blank Scrabble tile, though, so maybe don't listen to her stance on cheating. It just enhances the game experience.

It's always interesting to her, listening how people speak. With Dorian she feels like it would be worthwhile to measure the pace and emphasis of his words, which syllables he allows a little more flair. It could be quite telling, or perhaps a fine way for a more subtle means of communication. Secret syllable code? No, perhaps not her best idea ever. )

My people are always watching, Dorian. Several of them have been very complimentary.

[ That manages to get a laugh out of him -- understated, as ever, but rich and warm. ]

Then you've hired those with a good eye.

[ He casts a glance towards the rest of the group, its little pockets of conversation and silence equally. ] Perhaps we ought to have done this under the guise of a ruthless game of cards. With this lot, there'd be blood on the floor by the time the evening's out.

[ That isn't spoken like a bad thing. Tevinter. ]

Of course. One of the tests of their employment is appreciation of fine garments and how to dress for court.

( That may or may not be a joke. What use is a spy that can't dress themselves to infiltrate? Too ornate and you catch the eye, underwhelming and you invoke criticism.

A sip of her drink, as she follows her gaze, and Leliana's lips are drawn into a smile. Calculating. ) And so many of them would excel at covering their tells.

( Although-- ) I am not sure anyone is eager to lose their money or their dignity, today.

I suppose not, [ he must agree, even if the idea of having distraction still appeals. Something in his hands, things to look at, details to focus on, mourning kept to an empty chair where the Herald might have been. ]

Another time, then, provided anyone manages to drag you out of your chicken coop upstairs.

Chicken coop?

( Excuse you, sir. The indignation is, perhaps, not very subtle for all that it remains as understated as she tries to always be. )

I'll destroy your hope at winning in a heartbeat, for that.

Pigeon pen?

[ He smiles, brilliantly. ]

I'd hope for nothing less, dear lady.

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fightingale - 2016-02-20 11:45 (UTC) - Expand

[ 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. ]

[ 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.

[ 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. ]

[ Immune to Bull's more contrary thoughts, hidden away, Dorian settles into the agreement silently, basking in an indulgent kind of melancholy made warmer with drinking. With exception to Felix, who had been a dead man walking for some time, he hadn't had friends, and Evelyn could have been one.

It's different these days, anyway. For all that Skyhold does not expressly welcome him, he has his allies. He has this balcony, for instance, and the people behind it, and the subtle weight of Bull's focus on him. ]

Especially the wine stocks, [ he adds, cheerfully, a little late. ] Considering the swill she called alcohol.

[ He straightens, then, one hand gripping balcony railing, and neatly tips back his helping with one smooth swallow. ]

[ Bull says nothing to that, huffs as though amused, watching Dorian down the wine as thought that might help numb that sense of loss. Failure, if they're all more accurate about it. It's a feeling of failure. They were the ones who'd stood closest to her side. There should have been something they could do, some way they could have stayed.

And Dorian in particular... ]

Says the guy who drinks Ferelden brew when he thinks no one's looking.

[ The corner of his lip curls upwards, a knowing little smirk ]

[ That gets Dorian's own subtle huff of probably-amusement, setting the empty glass down on the stone edge. He turns, then, resting back against it. ]

The real reason I linger on, [ he says, with an affected sigh. ] Even if I had some barrels of ale sent with me on the ship back, where would I hide it? And how long would it last?

And you mustn't tell anyone, [ he adds. ] Or they'll stop giving me pity cast offs in the form of fine wines and brandies.

Sounds like you've got some sharing to do, with a bounty like that.

[ Because distraction is sometimes the only way of dealing with loss. People die and you live on, and the world continues. There's good food, good company, good fights, and plenty of reason to keep going, even if it might seem easier if there weren't. It would seem more reasonable it push it all aside, to punish yourself.

But here they are. Evelyn brought them all together, so looking after her friends is maybe the least he can do. Even if it's not completely altruistic of him.

The Vint's been holding out on brandy. ]

In fairness to me, my stock's been populated mostly thanks to this past Wintersend, which is celebrated with generousity and kindness rather than the usual way.

[ Which is obviously gladiatorial death matches to an audience. Tevinter!

But as for sharing, he presses a smile at Iron Bull, thin and suppressed, actually directing his attention towards him rather than cast vaguely out of at the dark courtyard, or the cold shapes of the distant mountain range. ] Perhaps I will, if you're lucky.

[ Light flirting, where no one is listening; although given the occasion, it's subdued, more of a promise of a promise, and his eyes flick focus away once more. ]

People actually like you down here. Go figure.

[ As opposed to the usual scheming, backstabbing, and potential for blood magic. Well. There still could be, of course, but things had been really mild in that regard, compared to activity further north. ]

Never say never, right?

[ Bull chuckles quietly, takes that and stores it away, and let his gaze fall to those distant peaks of white. ]

[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...

[ 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. ]

[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.]

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