faderift | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Take a deep breath, and think of the Tourney," came a voice from nearby, a fellow Free Marcher, wryly amused for his own state of half-undress now that they've finished with him.

Maxwell has lived the same dark horror, Aleron. He knew that pain.

"The sooner it's done, the sooner they are."

The sound of a familiar accent and mention of the Tourney is enough to crack Aleron's lineface with a slightly twitchy grin. He turns to find another gentleman clearly either going through, or just survived, a similar ordeal.

"At what point am I morally obligated to inform them my mother is Orlesian and I understand every word they're saying?" Please say never, good ser.

Refraining from the sigh he really wants to level at the tailors, he strips off the shirt and tosses it onto the jerkin, waiting, just waiting, for them to get on with the process.

He pulled a thoughtful expression, humming as he worked his undershirt back up over his head.

"I'm no player of the Game," he said, popping his head through, "but I think not giving up one's advantage is rule number one." He smoothed his shirt down and shot Aleron a grin. "And as our guests it would be rude to so blatantly offend their national sport."

"Good advice. So it's like Wicked Grace." Not that he really indulges in the card game, but he knows the rules and the general gist of never revealing your hand. The Seeker has a strong lineface and would be impossible to read at the card table. Possibly why he doesn't play; it would be unfair. As for the Game, he's got no head for politics and despises them on principle. So much easier for people to be honest and forthright.

Already he's having arms lifted for measuring, being prodded to shift for leg measurements and without paying attention to the process, complies.

"How was the Tourney this year? I missed it escorting my mother home. Good showing?"

"I wasn't able to get out either," Maxwell sighed.

With Kirkwall and the war, and the upcoming peace-talks, there had been no slipping away this year. His mother simply wasn't hearing it.

"I heard the archers were stiff competition this year. I would have liked to try my hand again...."

"Archers, eh? Would have liked to have seen that. Marksmanship is a challenging skill. Watching masters would be a treat." He should know. Aleron's made a pretty thorough study of archery basics and techniques and can do well enough with a practice target, but he's no crackpot bowsman by any stretch. "Is that your specialty?"

Maxwell smiled, a clear, honest pleasure lighting his face.

"It is. I competed once, several years ago. Did well enough, but I've always wondered if I could get further."

Open: Party Preparations

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okay so I laughed out loud at this, it was golden <3

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