faderift | Open: Party Preparations

Open: Party Preparations

WHO: Josephine, Vivienne, OPEN
WHAT: Preparing the Inquisition for the Soiree
WHEN: 15 Guardian to 14 Drakonis (about a month's span before the event)
WHERE: Skyhold, varies
NOTES: * Josephine is the hostess of the shindig. Matters regarding invitations, guest lists, admittance, entertainment, food, or general complaints/suggestions should be directed to her.
* Vivienne has personally invited three tailors from Val Royeaux to assist with clothes making for the attendees. She is available to assist with design selections and/or advice on how to behave.
* YOU are open and invited to grab your nearest and dearest CR to complain about the party, ask for a date to he event, complain you have nothing to wear.
* Belinda Darrow has donated from her own private purse to the cost of clothing which people could otherwise not afford.

The Orlesian tailors arrived in great state, bringing with them a cadre of servants, workers, and snotty attitudes. They hate everything. It is cold in Skyhold. It is damp. Everything smells of wet dog. The working conditions are abysmal. The food is criminal. There's not a damned thing they don't complain about, except for the piles of coin they stand to make from this soiree. Yes, they are more than content to build a fortune with exclusive work that will be seen by some of the aristocracy's finest.

Harritt apparently doesn't much like them either. They've taken over his Undercroft with their fabrics and threads, designs and opinions. Oh they have opinions. He stays to one corner, attending his work, and grumbling under his breath about the poncy cheesesniffers.

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She arrives on the balcony of the Great Hall to find utter chaos. Controlled chaos, because this is Vivienne, but chaos all the same.

Still, the Enchanter had asked for her, and had indicated that the matter was urgent, and so Cassandra makes her way through yards of silk and scores of tailors and assistants running to and fro until she reaches Vivienne herself. Whatever all the fuss is for, she is certain that it has nothing to do with her, and so she dismisses it as best she can.

"Enchanter Vivienne. You wanted to speak with me?"

Delightful controlled chaos. The balcony is a riot of colors and fabrics. Fine fabrics which Vivienne's slender fingers lift and lay, assessing for drape and weight, and acceptable contrasts. There is no mistaking her delight in the process which she's engaged in. It's so seldom that little luxuries happen in Skyhold. With good reason. But it's such a pleasure breaking up the tedium with something nice for a change, a true challenge. A challenge like getting Cassandra into a ballgown.

She turns and smiles at Cassandra, eyes practically dancing. "Ah, there you are, my dear. I'm so delighted you could pry yourself away."

Already she's looking the Seeker up and down, mentally considering cuts and designs, colors suited to her coloring. Because the Iron Lady knows that Cassandra's not given any thought to what she's going to wear to this soiree. But she'll give her the chance to surprise them both first.

"Have you already selected your gown for our Lady Ambassador's little get together?"

"Get together?"

Cassandra stares blankly, even as a horrible feeling of impending dread creeps over her. The mention of Josephine. The mountains of expensive, delicate silks and laces. The reference to a gown and, most of all, the terrible, nearly predatory light in Vivienne's eyes.

Abruptly, it all comes back to her. The ball. Josephine's attempt to curry favor with the nobles, to prove false their ridiculous insistence that Justinia was alive and that Cassandra and Leliana had been behind the tragedy at the Conclave. Cassandra had listened to Josephine's report, scoffed in offense and incredulity at the absurd claims, and promptly put it out of her head. Diplomacy is the Ambassador's purview, not hers.

She shakes her head, taking a step backwards and looking suddenly, uncharacteristically nervous.

"I am not attending."

That actually draws an amused laugh out of Vivienne. Spontaneous and musical, though anyone with half a brain knows she does nothing truly spontaneous. Cassandra is joking. That is all there is to it. She must attend and she must also realize that her attendance is not optional.

"Well of course you are, my dear." She sees that backwards step. Already attempting an escape. That was faster than expected. Smoothly and as casual and airy as possible, she steps to the side, motioning to the piles of fabrics to mask her shift to block the exit. A subtle step and wholly innocent. Truly. "You delight in teasing me, Cassandra. In a great many ways, you are a guest of honor."

Her hand falls to a dark blue velvet. It would make a most remarkable bodice. "I gather this means you have not yet placed your order for your gown."

Vivienne's movements are so elegant and effortless, even Cassandra wonders whether she had deliberately moved to block her way. In the end, it hardly matters. She steps to the side and Cassandra is trapped, as completely and inescapably as a fly caught in a spider's web.

"Guest of honor?" she repeats, and she could swear her voice does not normally rise at the ends of her questions to quite that high a pitch. She shakes her head decisively. "I am sure you are mistaken. This is not - a ball - you and Lady Montilyet will be quite capable of handling it, I am sure."

Perhaps if she jumps over that pile of velvet, and makes a run for it...

"Naturally." That is stating the obvious. It isn't Vivienne and Josephine's abilities to play the Game which are in question. What Cassandra will be wearing to this event, however, is.

The First Enchanter folds her arms lightly across herself and begins to circle Cassandra, very much like a predator toying with its prey. It is movement she wouldn't feel necessary if she weren't suspicious that the Seeker is attempting to avoid the evening altogether, and that cannot be allowed.

"My dear, you are a daughter of the royal house of Nevarra, Right Hand of the Divine, and leader of this Inquisition. You cannot spend the evening looking as if you were preparing for several hours in a training ring smacking around a training dummy." Her eyes flit down Cassandra's frame, then back up to her face, narrowing a hair while she considers further. This is serious business.

"Something regal, commanding, but tasteful." A short hum while she thinks. "Feminine still. You do have such a lovely figure. Though cleavage is out of the question. We cannot have your assets out as a distraction."

...mostly because Vivienne suspects that Cassandra would punch any man who she caught talking to her chest and not her face.

Cassandra feels oddly exposed as Vivienne circles her, and has to fight not to turn her head to keep the Enchanter in view at all times. She rolls her eyes with a disgusted ugh as Vivienne explains. Of course. Of course her accursed family ties would be dragged into this...She scowls, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously as Vivienne inspects her as one might a cut of meat. This is entirely unnecessary, this is humiliating, this is -

"Assets?" she repeats, and blanches, her cheeks flushing pink as she hunches her shoulders, unconsciously trying to shrink into herself. "That is - no. I will not -" She will not, she cannot be forced to put up with this. Cassandra looks around wildly, seeking an escape route. She will make one if she has to.

"I must apologize, Enchanter, but this is not - I will not do this. The Orlesians will understand. You and Josephine will - you must make my excuses." The Inquisition would be better off without her there, anyway. She cannot remember ever attending a ball and not feeling as if she were a spectacle, the subject of blatant, curious stares and obvious whispers. She shakes her head firmly, backing away. "Leliana must represent the Inquisition. She is far more suited to the task."

Vivienne frowns.

Normally a frown from the Iron Lady sends the majority of people in her acquaintance scurrying for cover. She knows Cassandra has more presence of mind and backbone than to be cowed by a frown. It is an obvious expression of her displeasure and not a move to domineer the Seeker as she would with a lesser person. This is no longer funny, but quite quite serious.

"Cassandra." The tone is firm, and coached much as has been applied to mage apprentices who have been caught allowing their minds to stray during lessons. "Need I remind you that you have been implicated in a conspiracy of fabricating the Divine's death in a play for power? If you do not attend, it will be seen by every noble in Orlais as confirmation that you are indeed hiding something. It is, as we both know, utter foolishness, but what are Orlesians if not conspiracy theorists looking for facts where there are none to be had. You shall not give them the satisfaction of, nor opportunity to, continue fabricating truth."

It is obvious to even an untrained eye that the Seeker is in some way, or for some reason, afraid of social events. Granted, the Game is not for everyone and Vivienne's quite convinced that Cassandra would get herself dead in a matter of minutes if left to her own attempts.

"I will do what I can to make the evening go as smoothly as possible, but you must work with me to see it succeed. Other than your gown, which we have already established you have yet to order, what else do you require, my dear?" Dance lessons? Done. Permission to stand against the wall. Fine but no glaring. Written notes of who is who and what topics to say well away from? Well, every amateur to the Game has carried a cheat sheet in their sleeve at some point or another.

Edited 2016-03-14 09:51 (UTC)

"Vivienne is quite right."

Leliana may or may not have just materialised out of a dark corner. Was there even a shadow there? Was there a door she came through? Where exactly is it that Leliana just came from and how long has she been lurking? All valid questions, and all ones she would ignore if asked.

"We must face their scrutiny and whispers, otherwise the very purpose of this ball will be undermined. Both of us must be there, or the rumours might twist that I saw you dead, or that I am alone in defending Orlais from your dread brutality." No, wait, she raises a hand to pre-empt any protest Cassandra might offer.

"Vivienne is a master of the Game." So much as anyone has hope to be, Leliana does not add, because what might be a labour of years of work and painstaking skill in the Game can be snatched from you too quick to counter. It is a risk inherent. It is why Leliana seeks to warn her would-be bards so carefully about the brutality it breeds. "It will serve you and the Inquisition both to heed her council in this."

And... and Leliana is holding a tiny, tiny waistcoat, yes. Far too small for a human, and she holds it up for Vivienne to see. The little sleeves and their position could, to the trained observer of Orlesian petware fashions, give away who this is intended for. "Do you think the gold trim is too much?"
(Perhaps she is enjoying this a little.)

"But I..."

She whips around at the sound of Leliana's voice - how does the Nightingale always manage to sneak up on her that way? They are in the middle of the room! There is nowhere Cassandra can see that she could even have come from!

But Leliana is here now, her rich voice in full support of Vivienne's insistence that Cassandra attend, and Cassandra sags, defeated. Even she cannot deny Vivienne's reasoning; certainly not when Leliana so firmly agrees. And she has no wish to make the Orlesians suspect her further. The sooner they can put the lie to this ridiculous claim, the better things will be.

She utters a disgusted ugh, scowling. And then shakes her head, rolling her eyes as Leliana brings out the tiny waistcoat.

"Leliana, you cannot be serious."

Ah remarkable timing as always. Leliana is a master of making herself known at the perfect time and yet again she's succeeded in a timely arrival. Where she came from is not much on Vivienne's mind so much as a grateful nod of her head for the support and the compliments. Especially once it's clear that Cassandra has finally capitulated. Thank the Maker.

Vivienne reaches out to touch the tiny waistcoat while she considers the gold trim. "Perhaps. It could send the message that we have gold to spare. Silver, however, would be refined but not extravagant. Paired with blue or silver, it would be quite fetching."

Are they being naughty and not clarifying that the impossibly small waistcoat is for a beloved pet nug and not Cassandra? Well, yes.

"No buts, Cassandra." Is it possible to be severe and humourous in the same moment? Perhaps, but it would likely be a distinctly Orlesian quality. Leliana would say the same if others accused her to being contrary, or difficult, or any other various.

And then! The look she gives Cassandra verges on wounded. "Schmooples is considered, by some, a very necessary contributor to events at the Imperial Court. People were so charmed when first they met him that he started quite the trend of pet nugs with the Orelesians."

Her smugness, there, is subtle and entirely sincere, though she plays up her indignation just enough to suggest she may be genuinely wounded. She always did have excellent taste, and excellent instincts for what would be in vogue, though that did not impact her adoration for her little nug friend. She was equally smug to hear that the dress she designed for Morrigan had made such waves in fashion, as well, but knows better than to even think about such things in the presence of Cassandra and Vivienne. "He is a veteran of the Fifth Blight as much as I, and was chosen by the Hero of Ferelden himself. His presence will remind a our visitors of how important our mission is."

And, after carefully listening to VIvienne's insights and advice, she hums quietly. "Mm. Yes, I can see what you mean. I had thought of a grey and blue theme for myself, so... perhaps it is decided. A little nod to the favoured colours of the Imperial Court might not hurt in winning their favour. Thank you." Nug fashions: essential and sorted.

Edited 2016-03-17 04:08 (UTC)

She cannot believe they are seriously discussing an outfit for Leliana's nug. As if this wasn't all awful enough. They are not even taking it seriously!

The benefit, however, is that in the wake of their animated conversation on nug costumes, Vivienne's and Leliana's attentions have strayed from Cassandra herself. She darts her eyes from one to the other, and when neither of them so much as glance at her, she slides one foot silently back, and then the other. Vivienne will track her down eventually, that she knows, but perhaps she can just...delay things for a while.

She can be silent. By the time they finish discussing Schmooples, Cassandra could well be long gone.

Oh but they are taking all the fashion seriously. Every tiny little detail will be weighed and measured, scrutinized and dissected. For intent. For weakness. For a move in the Game. Gold versus silver for a treasured pet nug is just as vitally important as always using the correct fork at the correct time in a meal, and proper forms of address.

Cassandra's escape attempt does not go quite as unnoticed as she might hope. Vivienne expected it to come sooner or later and she's just naughty enough to give the Seeker a tiny head start, a teaser, before having her hustled back into the net of dress planning. Ah. And there she goes. Right on schedule.

"Shall we fetch her back now or give her another minute to make her escape?"

Without even bothering to look around and actually see Cassandra's last known location empty.

Cassandra is no rogue, and certainly no bard. Leliana's gaze slides to where the Right Hand stood scant moments before, and trails easily to the most plausible exit.

"A moment longer," she suggests, tone so very grave. "Allow her hopes to raise a little higher before we crush them."

They are both players of the Game, after all, and some habits die hard. A look back to Vivienne, and she nods when it is time to pursue, Leliana setting down the little nug coat with a quiet word to the tailor (there maybe also be a whisper about a matching mask) and they nod their understanding before Leliana leads the way in their hunt.

Quite how long it takes depends entirely on how committed Cassandra is to her escape, but precious few can escape the Nightingale, and her tone is calm and even when she finally steps out in front of Cassandra, tsking her quiet disapproval.

"Is this the conduct of the Hero of Orlais? Shirking her responsibilities?" The look she gives Vivienne is significant.

Edited 2016-03-24 05:36 (UTC)

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stabsbooks - 2016-03-25 03:16 (UTC) - Expand

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madame_de_fer - 2016-04-29 06:42 (UTC) - Expand

It's a good thing Leliana isn't dramatic or anything

fightingale - 2016-04-30 13:23 (UTC) - Expand

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stabsbooks - 2016-05-01 22:39 (UTC) - Expand

It isn't that Josephine has been avoiding Cassandra, per se, but she has done little to go out of her way to seek the other woman out. It had been a mostly subconscious decision that would allow tensions to simmer down somewhat, although whether it was for Cassandra's benefit or for Josephine's own, she was not entirely certain.

However, with the soiree looming on the horizon, Josephine finds she cannot put off speaking to the Seeker any longer, so she hunts Cassandra down one afternoon, all ready for business.

"Cassandra. I trust your preparations for the soiree are well underway?"

There had been no real need to avoid the Ambassador, exactly; their paths cross little enough as it is, outside the War Room itself. But like Josephine, Cassandra had made certain not to seek the other woman out.

Still, Josephine does not receive the same sneering disdain that Leliana might have, had she dared to approach Cassandra in that moment. Her frustration with Josephine's lack of understanding aside, Cassandra knows well enough that her intentions are good, that she only ever wanted to keep the peace.

Cassandra nods, with a wary look at Josephine - wary, but not outright forbidding.

"Ambassador," she says, her tone neutral, and lifts an arm to frown at the velvet draped across it and pinned snugly down. "Yes. I am afraid I am quite...drawn in, now." Whether she wishes to be or not.

Cassandra's reaction is much as Josephine expected, perhaps even politer than she had expected, and she appears to visibly relax, dropping some of the weight she is carrying in her shoulders. She takes a moment to look the other woman up and down, brow furrowing as she tries to imagine what the Seeker will look like once her dress has been completed.

"Try not to move around so much. It will prolong the time it takes to make measurements." Josephine knows Cassandra well enough to know that this is probably one of the last places she currently wants to be. "Are you satisfied with the design of your dress?"

Cassandra does not sulk, but it is a near thing as she returns her arm to a neutral position and allows the tailors to continue their work. She knows that Josephine is right, that fidgeting will only delay this process, but it is so dull to have to stand here for hours, unable even to move.

"Am I satisfied?" She raises a wry eyebrow. "I was not aware my satisfaction was a concern, only Vivienne's." She glares at a young seamstress at her elbow, enough that the girl's eyes widen slightly and she scurries out of view, but then relents as she turns back to Josephine.

"It...is not as terrible as it could have been."

Well, thank the Maker for small mercies; Josephine is clearly glad that Cassandra is not as agitated as she could have been. "I'm certain Madame de Fer has a vision for the evening's most important guests," Josephine relents, "but it would not do at all if you were overly uncomfortable."

She's sensing that there is, perhaps, a story underlying Cassandra's concessions, and Maker help her, she can never resist a good story so she leans in slightly, brows raised. "It sounds like you've had to reject several previous suggestions already."

Cassandra shakes her head wordlessly. She does not want to be an important guest; she does not want to be a guest at all, but she knows she has no choice.

Josephine had not betrayed and insulted her as Leliana had - they have never been close enough for Josephine to be able to betray her so, for her words to cut Cassandra so deeply. Still, she had accused, she had assumed, and Cassandra has not forgotten. She will not be rude to Josephine or refuse to speak to her, but she has no intention of - of entertaining her, of sharing her secrets, even ridiculous, inconsequential ones such as this.

She merely looks at Josephine for a moment, and then looks away, shaking her head once more. "It hardly matters. This is what has been chosen." Cordial, but undeniably cool.

The corners of Josephine's mouth curve downwards at the coolness of Cassandra's response, and she takes a half-step backwards. Clearly the Seeker is still nursing some hurt feelings. While Josephine will not forget the way that Cassandra threatened Leliana, she is too busy, too tired, to be anything than diplomatic.

"I see. And what is it that has been chosen, precisely?" She cants her head to one side, as though a different perspective will allow her to accurately predict the design of Cassandra's outfit.

This, at least, is not too much to ask. Still unable to move her arms, she nods her head to a sketch of the dress on a nearby chaise. "It will look like that. Or so they tell me." She looks dubiously at the cheap fabric wrapped around her arm, merely rolling her eyes impatiently at the tailor's pleading explanation that this is only a pattern, that the fabric of the real dress will be as fine and elegant as any seen at Halamshiral.

So, considering that their last conversation had somehow managed to degenerate from slapping into awkward, emotionally-charged argument, Varric wasn't exactly eager to chat up the Seeker. He didn't have a choice, really; he was going to have to talk to Cassandra eventually, it was an inevitability. If she didn't corner him on the next mission that dragged them away from Skyhold, she'd probably accost him in a hallway; he'd done far too many questionable things to think she'd just let him off with a distant glower.

Maker, he'd interrupted an argument between her and Anders in broad daylight, hadn't he?

Yeah, he was...to say the least...not looking forward to the next conversation he'd have with the Seeker. If he wanted to survive it, and he very much did, he would have to be clever about how and when he approached her. She'd been angry enough about his omitting Corypheus from his Hawke-related-ramblings that she'd actually struck him--he could only imagine what she'd do re: Anders.

"Seeker!" Varric greeted as he forced himself to round the corner and step out onto the balcony proper. Much as he wanted to avoid Cassandra...indefinitely if possible, he decided to Hawke his way out of this one. That meant one thing: limelight and lots of it. If he put himself center stage, shoved himself right into the forefront of her day, she might just be baffled enough that she wouldn't immediately kill him.

It was a shitty plan but, hey, he didn't call it "Hawking his way out of this one" because it was founded on especially solid logic.

Cassandra, as calculated, was stuck between a seamstress and a sharp-place. He'd spotted her (from a considerable distance) as she went up to the Iron Lady's Fashion Gulag and had waited for just this opportunity. If he'd timed it right? She would be ensconced in a dozen yards of silk and several hundred pins. That she would be rendered (largely) immobile by said pins? Well, that was just a lucky bit of happenstance, wasn't it?

"I figured, after the most recent series of catastrophes, that we should maybe have a sit down and discuss "things Varric is not culpable for". Now seems like as good a time as--" Varric had charged ahead, arms sweeping in generic dramatic gestures, gaze drifting guiltlessly over the bolts of fabric--shit, he'd almost managed to play it off...until he actually looked at the Seeker.

His facade fell a bit flat as he registered the state of affairs on Vivienne's balcony. He'd expected to find the Seeker entirely wrapped and bound in place by several dozen yards of black (or slightly off black) fabric. At the moment, well, there was a very considerable swath of her that was...neither wrapped nor bound...and, Maker help him, that was exactly where his eyes went.

"Any...?" he trailed off lamely.

Edited (better, this is better) 2016-03-17 07:35 (UTC)

This was terrible.

She had known it would be. It was why she had tried to avoid Vivienne's army of tailors for as long as she possibly could. But they had tracked her down in the end, as she had known they would, and they had brought her here, and immediately begun poking and prodding and measuring her, holding swaths of fabric up to her skin and pulling them away, and generally talking over and around her as if she was...was no more than a giant doll for them to dress up and strip as they would.

But there had been nothing to do but to endure it, and so she had braced herself and settled down to do just that. Until they had moved their attentions from her arms and waist to her chest, and begun discussing, with far too much enthusiasm and far, far too much hands-on demonstration for her taste, her...assets...and just how blatantly they should be put on display.

The tailors seemed to be of the opinion that a plunging cut right down to her sternum was both tasteful and necessary. Cassandra vehemently disagreed, but with at least two dozen pins threatening to pierce each of her arms should she reach forward more than an inch, there was little she could do.

There was only one thing in the world that could possibly make this situation worse.

"Seeker!"

And there it was.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. The tailors, resistant to all else, actually backed off at the sight of her strangled expression, but by then it was too late. He was there, and Cassandra breathed in deeply to fortify herself for this coming trial.

"Varric." She had been watching for him ever since Leliana had told them about Anders, ever since she'd realized that he'd known, but the dwarf had been suspiciously absent from both the Great Hall and the Herald's Rest in recent days. Of course, she thought bitterly, of course now he would choose to make an appearance. She moved to point a threatening finger at him, froze abruptly as the pins dug painfully into her arm, and settled for glowering for all she was worth.

And then she realized that he had actually stopped speaking of his own accord, for once in his life. She blinked down at him, realized where his gaze had settled, and - if any blush could ever truly be described as furious, it was the one that heated her cheeks at that moment.

Maker save her.

"My eyes are up here!"

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Open: Party Preparations

closed to vivienne and possibly josephine?

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It's a good thing Leliana isn't dramatic or anything

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post-cw, time-wimey hand gestures

waves fingers vaguely

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