[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]

[ 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.