faderift | Truth or Dare: The Imperial Court

Truth or Dare: The Imperial Court

WHO: Select Orlesian and Fereldan Nobility and the Inquisition
WHAT: Josephine and Vivienne have orchestrated a good-will soiree in response to this dastardly rumor.
WHEN: Drakonis 15, Evening
WHERE: Skyhold Great Hall
NOTES:
- A list of nobles in attendance can be found here. The list was provided by the mods but there will be no npc support for them. Play away.
- A secondary outside party is being held in the valley in the tent town for anyone who couldn't/wouldn't attend and/or behave in the fancy pansty party.
- The goal of the evening is to clear up a spurious rumor about Cassandra and Leliana, with secondary goals of establishing the Inquisition as a respectable presence in Thedas (and fish for more money). Any major disruptions that would Game Over the court approval should probably be brought to the advisors and/or mods.

To say that Josphine has far outdone herself with this little soiree would be the understatement of the year. The Lady Ambassador has pulled out all the stops in providing a festive and yet elegant stage for this political intervention. Because sometimes gossip can be more deadly than a sword.

The Great Hall of Skyhold has been converted into a grand receiving hall, glittering with hundreds of lights around the room, in addition to the repairs accomplished to the original chandeliers. Of course, there has been artful placement arranged so there are a few shadowy corners for rendezvous of the more suggestive nature. Just in case. The majority of the floor has been cleared for dancing, and a fine troupe of musicians have been installed for the bulk of the evening's entertainments. Some members of the Inquisition have plans to entice attendees with their own artistic performances in addition to the group of mages performing illusory tricks to oohs and aahs.

For those who feel their energy flagging, there are chairs set against the walls, with a few tables interspersed between. Servers hired for the evening circulate the crowds with wine, fine Orlesian and Nevarran reds as well as crisp whites from Antiva. Refreshments are set out on buffet tables, tasteful and extravagant nibbles, including imported cheeses, spicy saucisson, dried fruits and nuts, and the highly sought after deep mushroom and anise petits fours that are all the rage in Orlais.

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With Lady Thevenet at his arm, Malcolm, Seeker Reed, reluctantly joins this most fanciful collection of nobles and such for the singular purpose of aiding the Inquisition. Naturally. This is Benevenuta's calling, something she excels at, playing a game. The Game. Malcolm is, in many ways, her prop, but just as much a prop for the remaining few loyal of the Seekers of Truth, and for the forces of the Inquisition.

He couldn't find a polite way to turn down her invitation, nor the pressures from his position, and while he is hardly a cornerstone of this organization, his absence might be suspect. So he is here, clad in primarily black broken up by clasps and fastenings and buttons of silver, the eye of the Seekers stitched in shimmering thread on the back of his well-fitted jacket. Though he had some say in how he was to appear (since apparently his armour wasn't appropriate enough for the gathering), he has to wonder if Benevenuta didn't have a (heavy) hand in the design. They go well together, even if he's starting to think they look much prepared for a funeral.

(Albeit an extremely expensive, well-to-do funeral.)

He is...concerned for her, and he feels obligated to show her a halfway-decent time. He can't promise a good time, mostly because he doesn't like parties. Soirees. Balls. And when he must go, he tends to stick to the walls, to prowl around with sharp eyes looking to end trouble before it begins, like a glorified guardsman. Speaks when spoken to but generally not here to socialize or politicize. That cannot, unfortunately, be the case tonight.

But at least he knows how to dance, when asked. Though not a political player himself, he isn't blind or deaf to the Game, can pick out a few names and give them certain place. And he is not afraid to share his thoughts and opinions when asked for them. Bann Vardy interests him, not only for the fact that he seems disquieted and as suspicious as Malcolm usually feels, not engaging anyone, but also because he vaguely recalls the name, if not the face after so many years. But young Duke Pelletier and particularly Bann Dyer seem like they're here for business instead of an excuse to get drunk within Skyhold's walls, at least.

Still. He mostly socializes when he needs to rather than for fun. But he is polite and handsome and even occasionally charming, if nothing else.

"Why Seeker Squinty, don't you clean up all nice and prettiful?" All the faces he expected to see in the room, shit, all the faces he'd expected to see in the Inquisition- this weren't one of them. Then again Chantry things, Herald things, templar things. Things he don't much put to mind when he's got work to do and a foutu shard of the fade in his hand. Still. It did make for a pretty little picture, squinty eyes all squinting, dressed all fine like a man of his station.

All grim and black and silver. Not a bad look.

Serious, though, which only made Mal's usual desire to poke at the man a bit more intense than usual. Enough for him to sidle up alongside in his usual casual attire, leather coat and cleaned boots and all, hardly fit for so fancy an affair. "Didn't expect to find you here."

Oh. Maker. He'd heard tell of a possible mailcarrier/captain with a shard, though he had yet to see--

"Captain Calamity." A nickname for a nickname. There's a particular tic in his cheek when he sets his jaw, but that's about it as far as reactions go. Reed glances askance at the interloper. "You don't clean up at all, as usual. I suppose you would be here, however. All those jewels and pockets positively dripping with coin, so much potential for networking some...shipping." Smuggling. He says the word with a barest raise of his brows.

"This is clean. I don't got no mud or dog hair on me or anything." He drags the drawl out all the more since it makes that muscle in Reed's cheek twitch. It's funny to wind the man up, poke at him. "Now that's be'n a little judgmental ain't it? I am a legitimate businessman with legitimate business practices. No need to start point'n fingers."

"A legitimate businessman with legitimate business shipping." Smuggling. "There are no fingers being pointed here. Aside to point out that, despite the people here, I hadn't anticipated you to be here either. And Madame de Fer has yet to stare at you until your very spirit frosts over, my, you are a lucky dog this evening so far."

"Shipping is business, and business is good." Plentiful and profitable just like it should be. "Mhmm, but your own lovely lady for the even'n is look'n a mite blue and I'm think'n we can do something about it."

He says as he takes Malcolm's hand and starts leading him to the dance floor. Like this is a thing they can do.

There's a moment where he bristles over the notation of Benevenuta's state, despite how fervently she's trying to ignore it, like he's sure that Reynolds is about to blame him for her mood when excuse you he has been an impeccable piece of arm candy and decoration thankyouverymuch--

That is not where the captain is going with this. He's taken a few steps and then halts, looking wary. "I had anticipated you would take the lady's hand." Squint. "What are you up to?"

"She woudln't wanna dance with me." He knows that much. "I don't clean up half as nice as she needs. C'mon."

No room for argument, between the differences in their height and Malcolm's own force of charming will, he tugs and prods and nudges Reed closer to the dance floor. "It'd tickle her somewhat to see this, I'm sure. One- it'd make you blush, two- I look a mite foolish and that usually gives her reason 'nuf to smile."

"Still might find a way to use a ruffian captain to her advantage," he muses, grudgingly led to the floor. "And I do not blush. I certainly have no reason to around you. I am not some dainty lady in waiting, and I'm afraid your infamous tight pants therefore have no effect on me."

Still, his sternness softens just enough to not look entirely against the idea of fun. Or entirely unconcerned. "I don't know what happened, and she isn't entirely fond of my attempts to lighten her mood. Perhaps all she needs is to wallow for a bit."

"Normally? Most like. Right now? Not all that sure." She's being civil. She's being polite and political in ways he can't follow, don't know the heading or what headwind's got her all spun about. "C'mon Seeker, you gotta know you aller rouge comme une rose when someone surprises you or gets you all flustered."

Sometimes he gets flustered around Malcolm.

Most like cuz Mal likes to fluster him for fun. Needling Seekers should be a hobby. Well. Most Seekers. This seeker. "Don't much look like wallow'n. Looks like brood'n. And when a Lady broods? She needs somth'n more than light, she needs ridiculous. So be a li'l ridiculous with me."

"Pas aussi rouge que ta joue quand giflé," he mutters back in the Orlesian tongue. He does not like to admit his weaknesses, even (especially) when someone else knows them. His head is level, but it can be surprisingly easy to fluster him anyway. "And I do not blush anyway."

Definitely doesn't. Nope. Trick of the light.

Still. Ridiculous is not...his thing...generally speaking. But dancing is dancing, and dancing is the thing of the evening, so it's not so ridiculous as to make a mockery of himself before the Maker and everyone, right? So when they get out to an empty spot on the floor, he--

Wait why is Reynolds assuming the lead position he protests this. "I don't need you to lead me around the dance floor like a giddy comtesse."

"Sure you don't, Seeker. Keep tell'n yourself that." Malcolm snickers, pulling the shorter man close into the proper position for the dance. A waltz is a waltz is a waltz, and he's done this often enough to manage it with a fair amount of skill and grace.

Least till Reed starts fuss'n.

"I'm taller." Like that explains everything. To him? It does. "Ain't much of a follower my own self. Hands up, Reed, make nice."

Oh sure, the captain is taller, he doesn't have to go flaunting it. He glares (up) at Reynolds and keeps in a petulant huff. But he stops fussing about the leading, or they're going to trip all over each other. And what a commotion that would be. "For the sake of the lady, then. And general entertainment. I will accept your very polite offer to dance." He might be determined to not have fun. Show him otherwise.

Malcolm smiles down, sweet as can be while he waits for Reed to get with it and settle in how they're supposed t'be for this dance in particular. "It'll make her smile. Won't hurt you to do the same."

"I'm not a terribly good actor." That might be a challenge. Little bit of one. Since he's not scowling, and he bobs an eyebrow. (Even if the man can be...agitating, tonight is all in good fun. And he has to try and remember that instead of be focused on being just a touch embarrassed about being led around the dancefloor by Captain Reynolds.) But he can't be wound up for a dance. It needs to be smooth, graceful, elegant. Needs partnership. Needs shoulders relaxed to just so, and a glide to the hips.

He's sure of his skill. And surprised by Reynolds'. "Why Captain. I didn't know you had it in you. Here I thought all you might know how to do is jig along to pirate shanties."

"Coulda fooled me." He smirks faintly, pulling Reed along in time with the music. Ain't something he hasn't heard before- been awhile since he's pulled this particular trick but look. Captain's got skills. It always does surprise the fuzzy wuzzies in all their lace when he knows their game, knows their steps, and refuses to play along on their rules.

He makes his own. Keeps to himself. They don't much like knowing they can't get at him.

"I'll have you know there is a lot more to a jig than most might think. It takes talent and coordination."

"And besides, a waltz is hardly complicated. All one needs to do is be able to count a beat. What would truly be a test of skill would be a more complicated dance. A more...fun one. Some might say." He might not say. But he might say. "So long as no one embarrasses the nobility by dancing the remigold, I suppose we'll be just fine, hm?"

"Hey now, the Remigold is a perfectly suitable dance for these parties." Not that he's about to kick up his heels and begin, instead swinging them about in a wide arc, avoiding everyone as needed, making sure they pass around Benevenuta often.

"Why, because it's as ridiculous as the spectacle? Or ridiculous enough to offend all the non-Fereldans, causing both chaos and vast entertainment?" At least he seems to be relaxing, though whether that's forced for show or not is hard to tell.

"Yes." Best answer's the one that'll make Seeker Squinty Squint- and that usually was the nonanswers. Or the lackadaisical ones.

Oh, that is a squint. Call it a reflex at nonanswers, even if he recognizes a millisecond later that it was said just for that purpose. "You are insufferable, I hope you know that. Your crew must be throwing parties daily in your absence."

"You like it." Sincere or not (most likely not) he says it with a grin and spins them through the next few turns.

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Truth or Dare: The Imperial Court

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