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

[stabsbooks]

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!"