[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.]

[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.

[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. ]

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. )