[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

[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?

[liberalum]

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.

[fightingale]

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.

[liberalum]

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.

[fightingale]

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.

[liberalum]

[ 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. ]

[fightingale]

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.

[liberalum]

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.

[fightingale]

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.

[liberalum]

Pigeon pen?

[ He smiles, brilliantly. ]

I'd hope for nothing less, dear lady.

[fightingale]

Murder manor?

( Bless puns, honestly.
She hums, musing, head canted slightly to the side. ) A little grandiose, I suspect. Although I could always expand to peacocks, or something of the like, if you have an objection to ravens. Nug training has been delayed indefinitely.

( And a breath of laughter. ) I promise you, there is very little that is dear about me, Dorian.