faderift | Open: Party Preparations

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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Korrin's heard about the snooty, too-good-for-everyone Orlesian tailors and their endless complaints, rather glad that they hate everything in Skyhold. If they didn't, she'd know her own taste was slipping. The only reason she hasn't trolled them is due to Vivienne's personal invitation, and she'd rather not make an enemy of her teacher. Butting heads during Council meetings happens all the time, but that would be crossing a line. So, she behaves herself.

Still, when the Vashoth woman enters the Undercroft, it isn't with any great enthusiasm. Clothing is always a matter of some inconvenience for her, given her size, and she has no real interest in bowing to Orlesian fashion. If she could get away with wearing her armor, she would. But that won't pass for soiree attire and she knows it. So she stands by the entrance but not blocking it, side-eyeing the stuffy, complaining tailors at work.

"There's no escaping this, is there. Ugh...."

How long has it been since she's organised a soiree? Too long, in truth. As much as she enjoys her current role, doing her best to nurture the Inquisition's political interests through the power of the written word, there is nothing quite like a party. She tries to make herself as available as possible for any issues or suggestions people might have, and can be found anywhere from in her office, poring over the guest list, to the kitchens, organising food supplies, to the undercroft, enquiring after the tailors to make sure that they are comfortable. It's a pity that Skyhold is so cold and isolated, but those are things that Josephine can not change.

She will do her very utmost to ensure that everything else goes off without a hitch, however.

Belinda is also in the Undercroft, sitting on a barrel not far from the door and just watching the proceedings below. It reminds her too much of when she was a girl and the seamstresses would measure her and her sister for new dresses. Moira loved it, but Belinda didn't care what she wore as look as it wasn't itchy or long enough to trip on.

There are several people being attended too, and that gives Belinda time to determine whether or not she actually wants to go through with this. She's never really liked formal affairs. There are too many rules and no one seems to be having any fun. Why stand around in uncomfortable shoes, drinking bad tasting wine and speaking of nonsense instead of just having fun?

"Isn't there?" she asks, overhearing Korrin. "I'm still not sure if I'll attend. You could not go."

Awaiting her turn with the eagerness of one condemned to execution, Korrin rolls her eyes and mutters to the ambassador once she's sure the tailors are sufficiently distracted. "They're never comfortable, you know. Have those awesome tiny Orlesian cakes to appease them and of course they're not the right kind. Or there's too many 'low-class' trapping, because what will really bring Corypheus down is to have everything doused in gold. And I heard one of them say that the waterfall was too loud. The fucking waterfall. Do they seriously expect someone to stop it? ...don't tell me, I'm sure I don't want to know."

Edited 2016-03-05 04:36 (UTC)

Korrin glances over, recognizing that relentlessly perky voice from the sending crystal. Belinda, the...no, wait, ex-Templar. That's enough to keep her social, though she still looks less than enthusiastic about the whole affair. The fitting, that is, not the company. Company is fine, it gives her someone to vent with.

"No, I must. Madame de Fer wants the Mage Council to attend, and she's teaching me to be a Knight-Enchanter, so I don't want to repay her with a snub. Besides, I have a girlfriend who will most definitely want a night of dancing. Refusing her is not possible.

Edited 2016-03-05 04:40 (UTC)

{ open }
While Christine doesn't share Madame de Fer's views on many things, she can't deny that a soiree at Skyhold is a decent way to draw the eye of nobles with coin, and funding can only help them in their fight. Once she returns from Emprise du Lion, she makes her way to the Undercroft with a blue silk dress in hand. It's the one Krem made for her out of Antivan silk, and she asks only that a top piece be made to go with it. The tailors tsk and scrutinize the dress, but as Christine happens to adore it, all they get is an icy glare and a tart comment.

"If you are incapable of the task, I will be happy to spread the word that you are flummoxed by the small job of adding to an existing piece."

The tailors are prideful enough to not want word of that to get out (they may complain of everything under the sun, but they are masters at the craft), and usher her behind a privacy screen to change into her dress so they can measure her for an addition. While she stands up on a short pedestal, arms outspread, she exchanges a look with whomever is on the next pedestal over.

{ closed to church }
It isn't hard to find Christine, as her few haunts are the healer tents, the library, or the kitchens. And so if Church needs to track her down, he need only look in on those few places. Or reach out to her on her crystal.

Some people take well to the entire situation, the prospect of a potential party on the horizon, fancy food, being around the nobles, and so on. Why not prep?

Alejandro is fine for people getting ready. Knock yourself out! It's not like he intends on going, but he's about on the same level as Harritt: the Undercroft is consumed with tailors and clothing, and that's not giving either of them much room to work.

"Maker fuckin' save me," he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Too late, you have to suffer like the rest of us." Korrin's nearby, evidently waiting her turn with a notable lack of enthusiasm. That might have something to do with the endless complaining of the snooty tailors, and their 'dreadful working conditions'. The Vashoth woman rolls her eyes as one complains about the volume of the waterfall and mutters under her breath. "You're going to get to know that waterfall a lot more intimately if you don't shut up...."

Now that Belinda recognizes Korrin in return, she smiles a bit brighter, like they're great friends. She tends to treat everyone that way until they tell her to stuff it or stop kissing ass. Belinda never kisses ass; she's just happy to serve!

"Aww, dancing with your lady! Well that's the best reason to go, isn't it? I don't have a lady or a gentleman, and I don't owe it to anyone to attend. I'm trying to sort out if it'll be worth the trouble. It could be fun, with dancing, and food, and friends. But it could be stuffy and a load of politics." Her nose wrinkles. "If that's the case, I'd rather stay in."

Sam honestly feels rather bad for the master blacksmith, having to give up his space and listen to the complaints going on. When the man turns to look at him with a raised brow, Sam cannot help but make a sheepish face and try to look as apologetic as possible since he was there to get fitted and not to learn more about the forge - sorry Harritt.

Waiting for his own turn, Sam cannot help but be a bit annoyed by the snooty comments, and the backhanded comments. At the same time though he seems a bit interested about a new outfit. Not that he overly cares to have one, or much about the soiree itself, but there might have been some deals made that made him eager to put up with all this.

"You know, I came here tellin' myself: the Inquisition is gonna do something about this red lyrium, demon, and skies-splitting-open bullshit. I'm gonna make some nice armor, decent weapons, and we'll get this shit resolved." Alejandro drags his hand down his face. "And today we're playing dress-up."

Logically, he knows that politics are, sadly, going to play a part in all this, but he was not expecting this level of bullshit. But, here they are, and it's not like he has the ability to kick anyone out.

"On the plus side, at least I don't need to get fitted. I'm gonna guess you're stuck with it."

Church is haunting the kitchens a little less than before, now that he's pretty sure he's got this fully functioning human body thing mostly down pat. But food is still awesome, and it's warm from the cooking, so hell yes he's still going to hang out there when he's got the chance, when he's not getting shooed away.

"Getting a snack, huh?" he says with a smirk, sidling up to Christine when he spots her. "Or cooking up some medicinal herbs?" (It'll stop being funny when he's dead, shut up.)

Kaisa is about as apt at soirees as a drunk bear, but she's a good enough sport to take the preparations in stride. She stands obediently as the servants of the tailors dart around her like birds with measuring tapes, gathering her measurements. When one of the tailors makes a snide comment about how they don't usually make dresses for women who are quite so...muscular, she just grins, and looms over the smaller man. A whisper to him that she can show him just how she can use her muscles, and the tailor backs off, unsure if he had just been threatened or propositioned. Either is mortifying enough that he keeps his comments on her physique to himself.

But nothing could keep him from commentary on her suggestions for her outfit for the ballroom, and anyone nearby can hear him loudly protesting what, from the sounds of it, appears to be an attempt to surpass even Morrigan's amount of skin shown for her dress.

"I will not have it! I will not create a dress to make someone look like some wanton trollop!"

"What if I am a wanton trollop? I don't want to be accused of false advertisement."

Kaisa isn't sure what's her part: The horrified gasp of the tailor, the color his face turns, or the way that the servant trying to measure her inseam tries to stifle her giggles.

Kaisa had already made the trip to get measured, and was currently up to her neck in tape measures, pins, and random bits of cloth draped over her. While she's shorter than Korrin, she's as tall and wide as an average male warrior, and the tailor isn't too pleased. But she seems more amused than anything by the clucking and tutting, and seems to take great delight in the way he protests as she turns to face the qunari entering the mess.

"Ah, Korrin! Finally joining the madness, huh? I can't wait to see what they do to you." She grinned cheerfully, eyeing the other woman up and down, and it's with mischief in her eyes that she declares, "Tulle, I think. A tulle skirt. Layers of it. With lots of little ribbons and bows."

There is only one reason, and one reason alone, that Katniss is down here in the undercroft that has nothing to do with weaponry. That is 'funding'. Josephine agreed to her trying to raise funds on her own at the party, considering that it is one less thing that the Inquisition currently has to pay for. For that, she'd need to go to the party (not a problem as Cullen's invitation had been flatteringly quick), and she'd need a gown.

The rest she'd leave to her passion for her cause, and Wicked's quick wits and clever tongue. She wished he was here now, because her temper's already getting the better of her.

"I swear to the Maker, the Creators, and all of Andraste's golden hairs, if you grab my ass one more time and make some snide comment in your fancy cheesemonger language, I am going to make the new Orlesian fashion black eyes and missing teeth." She snarls at one of the tailors, "I'm paying you, not the other way around -- and yes, guess what? In any tongue I can understand lewdness."

Korrin snorts and crosses her arms, unimpressed. She glances over the tailors, eyes narrowed. "Just so we're clear, try that and I'll be feeding you to the waterfall." She doesn't mean it. Probably. But are any of them truly reckless enough to test her?

Turning back to Kaisa, she just shakes her head. "How much longer do you have to stand like that? All those pins and crap, it'll drive me mad. I just know it. What's so bad about wearing armor instead, anyway? Armor is dignified, if it's repaired and polished."

"Believe me, I'd love to take on demons and rifts over this nonsense any day, no question." Korrin is a mercenary, after all, raised for battle. That's her world, not the Game and every annoying detail surrounding it. It's not a world she'd ever be accepted in anyway, not as a mage or as a 'qunari'. "And yeah, I am. Vivienne wants the entire Mage Council there. She's my mentor, so I'm not exactly in a position to refuse."

"Save yourself, before it's too late...unless you love tiny Orlesian cakes, because I hear there's going to be plenty of those." That might be one tiny mark in its favor, since as much as Korrin doesn't care for Orlais or its culture, they make excellent desserts.

"I suppose it also tends on how long you're willing to stand still and let the tailors grumble about all your faults like you personally went out of your way to offend them. I'm going to pretend I did, just because." She's already scandalous enough for them, as a 'qunari' and a mage. It really can't get any worse.

Back home, Ariadne rarely attended court. She never knew quite how to behave. And as she got old, Aunt Lysia began to worry that she would attract too much attention. At first, Ariadne didn't understand what she meant, but as she grew into her looks and attracted that attention elsewhere...she was secretly a bit grateful.

But Skyhold was different. And when she heard about the party, all she could think was how beautiful everyone would look. Perhaps she would be allowed to attend, perhaps not. But either way, when she found out about the tailors, she hurried over to see for herself.

Just as she'd imagined, beautiful swirls of fabric and trim and lace practically overwhelmed her senses. She tucked herself neatly into a corner to watch the people breeze through. And she tried not to draw too much attention to herself. But when the beautiful blond woman came out wearing her gown, Ariadne couldn't help but exclaim, "You look beautiful!"

Watching people try on beautiful dresses was as exciting for Ariadne as watching a play. She loved the transformations, both of the fabric into gorgeous gowns and of the people who wore them. It was a special kind of energy, one that she rarely got to enjoy.

She'd tucked herself neatly into a corner, trying to stay out of the tailors' way and to avoid attention as much as possible.

But then she heard a familiar voice with a very familiar attitude.

"Katniss?"

Ariadne popped up from her nook, following the sound.

Tucked into a corner behind a couple of barrels, Belinda is reading a copy of Hard in Hightown that someone's left there. But every time the door opens, she sneaks a peek at who it is. None of the tailors have come up the stairs to haul her down for a fitting, so this has given her the opportunity to people watch.

When Sam enters, she places her round face in between two barrels.

"Psst! Sam! Over here!"

"I don't understand tiny Orlesian cakes," she replies, shaking her head at the idea. "Why not just make a big cake you can serve slices of to people? Cut it in advance and have all the plates set out at the dessert table."

Her eyes shift their gaze to the tailors, and she lets out a sigh. "They must miss home, to be complaining so much about Skyhold." Because clearly they're just homesick and not raging assholes, right? Belinda always assumes the best first.

"You're so asking the wrong person. I don't get it either, but they still taste awesome, so who cares...well, most of them. I heard about this awful deep mushroom and anise combination, so watch out." Korrin deeply hopes that Ambassador Montilyet's usually exquisite taste still holds and she doesn't add those to her banquet list.

"I'd have more sympathy if they weren't being paid truly ridiculous amounts just to be here. No doubt they'll be sobbing into their vast piles of money once they get home; what a difficult life." She rolls her eyes. "I was one of the first people here, and we spent weeks just getting it into shape. This is nothing compared to that, and they're complaining that the waterfall is too loud?"

If elfroot wasn't such a common method of getting high, Christine probably wouldn't understand his joke. But she does and she purses her lips at him in displeasure.

"I am getting something to eat, yes. And you have come for the same?"

Christine hadn't noticed the woman hidden away until she spoke, and it caused her heart to skip a beat in surprise.

"Oh! Oh, thank you." She smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. "My friend made it for me."

One of the tailors made a scoffing sound. "And I can see the stitches where they took it in too!"

Christine pursed her lips and exhaled slowly through her nose.

"And he made it as a surprise for me, without fitting me for it along the way. To only need to take it in a little in the middle shows how talented he is." She whipped her head towards the tailor, giving him a challenging look as if to suggest he wouldn't have done as fine a job. The tailor opened his mouth, then paused, let out a huff, and went back to measuring. Surely he wanted to say something insulting under his breath in Orlesian, but as Christine was Orlesian herself, he couldn't get away with it.

With that bit of frostiness clinging in the air between tailor and client, she turned her attention back to the woman "Will you be attending?"

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Open: Party Preparations

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OTA - One thread for Vivienne and 'fire dress'

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