Vivienne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
madame_de_fer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2016-03-04 02:15 pm
madame_de_fer) wrote in faderift2016-03-04 02:15 pm
Entry tags:
- { adelaide leblanc },
- { aleron darton },
- { araceli bonaventura },
- { ariadne },
- { cassandra pentaghast },
- { christine delacroix },
- { dorian pavus },
- { ellana ashara },
- { josephine montilyet },
- { kaisa daesun },
- { katniss everdeen },
- { korrin ataash },
- { leliana },
- { leonard church },
- { martel },
- { maxwell trevean },
- { merrill },
- { nerva lecuyer },
- { pel },
- { samouel gareth },
- { vivienne },
- { zevran arainai }
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.
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 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."
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"I assume you are used to these sorts of things," She murmured. "Rumour has it that you are some form of nobility."
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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."
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"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."
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"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."
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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.
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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."
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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."
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Once Maxwell was draped, it was far easier for Nerva to meet his eye.
"Or near enough," She repeated, frowning. "Would that I understood it so well. But no - I hope it works. The Inquisition is far from godless. The Chantry has made a grave error, refusing to see that. I just wish I understood how a dance will prove that wrong. But, even so, I will dance."
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The tailor pulled the fabric tight and Maxwell sucked in a breath.
"Or so I'm told."
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She snorted, a low amused sound, even though she'd never been to a school. Not a real one, anyway. An orphanage wasn't the same thing.
"Remind me and I will take a fan." She looked him over, frowning slightly. "The black seems dour, on you. Perhaps a blue?"
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Blue might have been his favorite, but that meant little to his purse.
"In the end, it's just fabric, right? I'll be wearing it the same."
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She frowned. She had thought him a noble - no, she knew he was a noble - so she had assumed money wouldn't be an issue. She didn't say so aloud, however.
"True. Though if you truly wanted blue, I am sure there are cheaper ways to dye the fabric. You can have it made in a lighter, cheaper fabric, and simply collect the herbs necessary to dye it."
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The tailor snorted, making a low "bah!" of disapproval around the pins in his mouth.
"I'm no herbalist," he said lowly. "I'd be just as likely to ruin it."
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She let out a low hmm under her breath, completely ignoring the tailor.
"It is likely too late for the ball, now. But remind me, later, and I will see if I can do something for you, for the next time.
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"That is very kind of you," he said on a breath. "But you really needn't trouble yourself--"
He'd already turned down the open purse of the woman offering to pay for anyone who couldn't. He didn't want to be indebted. He didn't - he wanted to believe he could do this, on his own.
That he didn't need the Treveans.
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She shook her head, ignoring his protests.
"It is no trouble. I can teach you, and then you can do it for yourself when required. I often use dyes, when I am not using silver for my masks. It is far easier to make a rich colour, when you are controlling it yourself."
The tailor sniffed unhappily.
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He didn't know what to say. Just still there, coloring slightly, glad of the fabric and the tailor's busy hands to hide it.
"Thank you."
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She just nodded, as thanks were proper, and she wasn't expecting any further statement anyway.
"Remind me," She told him, in a firm tone that indicated just how much trouble he would be in if he didn't remind her. "I should probably leave you to your fitting, for now."
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"Good luck."