Open: Party Preparations

[madame_de_fer]

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.

Comments

[keeperofmagi]

open to all;

The servants and workers don't dare complain to the woman who stands amongst them, glaring down at the fabrics as if they personally insulted her. They assume - as most would who do not know her - that she is affronted by the mere idea of having to dress in anything other than her carefully oiled (if oddly scratched) suit of armour. They would likely assume that she hates everyone and every thing, and would be likely to snap the head off anyone who was too close or looked at her funny.

(They would not necessarily be wrong.)

For the few that knew her better, however, there is a knot in her brow that indicates that she is more worried and concerned than she is angry - and perhaps a touch confused. Glaring at the fabric as if it will suddenly speak to her, and give her a purpose for the gala evening beyond playing a guard.

She doubts it highly.


for dorian

"The black and gold, or the silver" She says bluntly. "The peacock green will clash." She says it as if she is referring to something specific, and perhaps she is - there is a small bundle under her arm, wrapped up tightly in fabric.

[dreadinquisitor]

"Mind the plaidweave."

Maxwell was bared to the waist, waiting for his tailor to return (jus'ze zing, jus'z you wait), toying the thin chain around his neck idly when he spotted the familiar face. Quietly, he'd watched her for a moment, head cocking as she tentatively stroked the fabric.

"It might actually bite."

[keeperofmagi]

She looked up at the voice, frowning, and the looked immediately away when she caught sight of Maxwell's bared chest, as if she would offend him by looking.

"It has its place, as everything does," She murmured, lowly, glancing at it. But she didn't touch it. "Where that place is, I admit even I am not certain."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Inside bee hives across Thedas?" he offered helpfully, with a charming blink and a smile.

[keeperofmagi]

She snorts at that, just a single sound of amused approval, and doesn't look at the smile he offers. She's seen it already, knows full well how handsome it is, and doesn't need to be reminded.

"I assume you are used to these sorts of things," She murmured. "Rumour has it that you are some form of nobility."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Some sort," he echoed, neither confirmation nor denial. Just a wry honesty. "First time I've so large an audience though. Normally it was just myself, the tailor, and my mother's silent, but omnipresent disapproval."

[keeperofmagi]

That gave her pause. She tried to remember if her mother ever disapproved of anything.

But it was hard to remember much at all.

"Well - yes. I assume privacy is more easily granted to those that can afford the tailor's sole time. But I referred more to the ball itself."

[dreadinquisitor]

He arched an eyebrow, wondering if he'd upset her in some way - it was hard to tell with that calm, cool voice of hers. And the way she refused to look at him.

"Well, yes, that too. There are few occasions we don't think we can't improve by making a festival out of them. Though I understand this is meant to be a more Orlaisian affair. We don't play the Game in the Free Marches, or deal in masks."

[keeperofmagi]

"True. Orlais is a very different beast." Though she sounds almost approving, or wistful, when she says it.

"I have not spent much time in the Free Marches. Nor at balls in general, if I am entirely honest. It did not fall under my duties."

[dreadinquisitor]

"True enough. I certainly can't recall seeing too many templars at any." He tipped his head. "But it seems like this one will be, for all of us."

He saw his tailor, pushing his way back toward them, a bolt of dark fabric gathered in his arms. He stood, chain clinking softly, and obediently waited.

[keeperofmagi]

She still kept her eyes diverted. Mostly. They slid back, once or twice, as if my accident. Accidentally making note of just how toned his chest was. She cleared her throat as her eyes darted away again.

"Yes. It sounds as if our behaviour will be the rise or fall of the Inquisition. I do not entirely understand how, but I admit that politics is far outside the breadth of my knowledge."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Well, as I understand it, to this point all they've been able to go on is the rumor that we're godless heathens trying to start a war. Now, they'll have the opportunity to see for themselves."

The tailor arrived with a huff, dumping the fabric and then snapping his fingers in signal for Maxwell to pose for draping and fitting.

"And then they'll tell their friends, and then those will tell theirs... and all of Thedas will know our intent by morning." He smiled. "Or near enough."

[onlyhymns]

If Cade were in a better mood, perhaps this would be fun. He hasn't been fitted for new clothes since... well, seemingly ever, not including armor, and it's a rare treat befitting his former status in the upper class to prepare himself for formalwear.
Or anyway, it would be if he didn't feel like an errant child dragged along on his mother's business, which is essentially what's happening. Though the tailors were certain to measure and tut over what colors would look best, they've now moved on to Nerva, and Cade is unable to leave. Because Rules.
He sits on a nearby chair, dully watching the proceedings and idly praying for death.

she basically is his mom in this thread

[keeperofmagi]

"Sit up straight, Cade." She doesn't even need to look at him to know that he's slouching. Her arms are held out, her eyes averted as one of the servants measures her arm and mutters in Orelsian about how her biceps are too thick, that her limps aren't delicate enough.

She scowls at him so hard that he withers under her gaze and skitters away before she can really hurt him. She lowers her arm, hand pressing against her chest where she stands only in her shift and underclothes.

"Would you prefer to return to the stables for the afternoon?"

you're not the boss of me

[onlyhymns]

Cade rolls his eyes and straightens a little, arms folded and his face stuck in an irritable scowl. He's been keeping his eyes averted from Nerva for both of their sakes, but he glances at her when she speaks.

"...no, ma'am," he decides in a mumble. Shoveling manur will just mean he'll have to bathe in front of someone again, and the less frequently he does that the less he'll want to jump off a battlement.

pretty sure i am the literal boss of you

[keeperofmagi]

She looks at him. Just looks. Her light-coloured eyes seeming dark as the lay beneath her hard edged brow, her eyes narrowed. It is a piercing look, and a commanding one. She is Not Pleased with his currently sulkiness.

It isn't like she wants to be here any more than he does.

"It will be over soon enough. If I am forced to suffer without complaint, so are you."

eat my shorts

[onlyhymns]

Naturally Cade looks aside from her glower, but her words don't seem to have much effect on his mood. Although he was, in some ways, relieved to be under Nerva's wing at the beginning, they've been spending enough time together that their company is beginning to chafe and, at least on his end, resentment is beginning to build. She's not even a Templar anymore.

"I'm not complaining," he mutters under his breath. So there.

Re: eat my shorts

[keeperofmagi]

"Is Sulking the preferable word, then?" She snaps back irrititably. He's hardly the only one at the end of their rope.

Just because she didn't actually want him hung doesn't mean she doesn't sometimes fantasize about it.

"You should consider yourself lucky that you are even being allowed to attend."

[onlyhymns]

Rather than answer, he just cuts her a rude glance. Then, because she's being measured and can't do anything, he subtly slouches again.

In truth, the idea of the ball scares him to death. After everything that's happened, being in a roomful of people, most of whom probably despise him by this point, sounds like a worse punishment than anything the superior officers could have meted out. If it weren't for Vivienne's support and having to be with Nerva every waking motherfucking moment of his pitiful life, he wouldn't go at all.

[keeperofmagi]

"Stop. Slouching."

Just because she can't do anything now doesn't mean she can't do anything later, Cade. Don't test her.

"If you would prefer, you could likely ask them to fit you again, if you find it so horrible to be forced to wait. Without work. Maker forbid you have a moment of contemplation before we carry on with our day."

She is even testier than usual.

[onlyhymns]

Cade sighs through his nose, pursing his lips at her. He can't for the life of him imagine why she would care that he, a grown man, is sitting in a way he deems comfortable while he waits, and the unreasonable nature of her henpecking is what's grating on his nerves.
Not that long ago, he outranked her.

"I'm just sitting," he irritably informs Nerva. Against his better judgment, he adds, "...contemplation is a bit easier when there isn't someone nagging you over nothing."

[keeperofmagi]

That gets him a sharp glare, her eyes narrowing.

"You went through the same training I did," She said crisply. "I shouldn't have to remind you about proper posture, or the necessity of it. Just because I no longer wear the sword doesn't mean I want to see you represent it so poorly."

[onlyhymns]

Fat lot of good it did them both, he thinks bitterly, but her words are still enough to get to him. He tells himself it's not because of what she said, but because he still wants to be seen as a respectable Templar, but he straightens up a bit with another silent roll of his eyes. He's fairly certain he's seen just about every Templar relax into a slouch periodically, especially when not on-duty, but he supposes it's worth it to be exemplary while existing as the least-favorite Templar in Skyhold.

[liberalum]

"Will it?"

Having returned not quite into the eleventh hour, but well along enough that Dorian isn't quite hoping for a full and complete outfit made from scratch, he's instead consulting with tailors to add a robe-skirt to an existing set of clothing. Some yards of heavy black silk and some golden satin for piping are spread out in front of him, along with a separate set of robes for reference.

He glances to Nerva distractedly, before awarding her with his full attention, leaving the tailor to fuss over fabrics without him. She had, in fact, been his first choice in partner, only a little bit to cut off any other prospective options at the pass.

"We'd look marvellous in green, you know, but I think I'll favour black this evening. How ever did you guess as to gold?"

[keeperofmagi]

"Intuition." She says it with a straight bluntness, and then steps over to hold out the package.

"It suits you. Here. I have been working on this for a while, but I put some extra hours in to finish it in time for the ball."