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.

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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.

Edited 2016-03-14 18:56 (UTC)

"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?"

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.

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."

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.

"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."

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.

"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.

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."

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."

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.

She let out a breath threw her nose, satisfied by that, at least, as the tailor returned to his pins and she was forced to turn around, to more fully face Cade.

"I expect you to be on your best behaviour, at the party," She murmured. "I will not have the time to watch you, so it will be on your honour."

It rankles him that she feels the need to discuss this here, in front of so many others, and he curls a hand over his mouth, already beginning to blush uncomfortably as he looks around at the tailors and their other patrons.
"I'm not going to do anything," he mumbles.

Nerva obviously doesn't consider the others to even be part of the scenario - merely prop pieces for their current conversation, and not something she need concern herself with.

"I don't expect you will," She agrees (for once). "So I have not arranged a second escort."

Well, that's a surprise. Cade turns his gaze to Nerva, watching her closely for a moment, perhaps wondering if this is some kind of trick. Then, not wanting to ruin it somehow, he just nods, and looks away again. It occurs to him that he should be more relieved than he is, but there will be a lot of people there that he's not quite ready to encounter.
Perhaps he'll just have to soldier through.

Open: Party Preparations

no subject

she basically is his mom in this thread

you're not the boss of me

pretty sure i am the literal boss of you

eat my shorts

Re: eat my shorts

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