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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wary wallflowering; OTA.

This is so not Bellamy's scene. That's what puts him up against the wall, with his arms folded over his chest, watching instead of engaging in any kind of wholehearted participation. He's made a small effort in that he's cleaned up, which, by the way: he cleans up pretty good. Armor polished up to something presentable, clean shirt, boots scraped free of the mud from traveling--he catches a couple of glances, even if he's clearly uninterested in dancing.

Specifically dancing. Drinking? Hell yeah. The wine is good, and it's free, and he's not turning that down. Most of his vigil is spent with a cup in hand. If you're too slow to grab a drink off of a passing servant's tray, you might find that Bellamy has grabbed one on your behalf, as well as one for himself. His face looks a little less grim when he smiles. At one point, an Orlesian noblewoman saunters past, with her waist pulled in narrow and a set of panniers widening her hips to a comical degree. Bellamy smiles outright at that, and snorts back a laugh as he turns away. If he can catch someone's eye, he'll pull a face. Seriously? Fashion. Wow.

But mostly he stays put. When the mages start their display, a hard look crosses his face, before his expression settles into a wary disapproval. By the time they're done, he's finished off his cup of wine, and, brusquely, shoves away from the wall for a refill. Perhaps a little clumsily, too. Bumping into someone, he mutters a curt, "Sorry," without really looking at who they are.

HALLWAY WHISPERFIGHT; closed to Lexa.

When he first sees her, Bellamy doesn't recognize her. There's a sea of faces, knots of people--people he's never seen, people he's spoken to, people he's seen only in passing. The mix renders the unfamiliar as passingly familiar. His gaze skips over the woman before something--instinct, maybe, or wariness; maybe only chance--something makes him look back at her.

It's harder to pick her out a second time. Like she's trying to blend in, hiding in plain sight. The cut of her clothing is a little less expensive--clean, well-made, but not tailored; even an untrained eye can spot that. Her hair is different. Her face is clean. But when he narrows his eyes, Bellamy can see it: facepaint, a black mask, daggered at the bottom. Cool and cold.

Stone Heart. The Commander. What the hell is she doing here?

Without any particular urgency, Bellamy pushes away from his place on the wall. He slips through the crowds, navigating the edge of the room, all the while keeping as good an eye on Lexa as he can. At times he loses her, and he has to stop, reorient, find her--but he finds her, every time, until at last he's behind her, staring at the back of her head. There's a handful of people between them. A man, drunk, stumbles backwards, with a roar of laughter. Bellamy skirts him, comes up right behind Lexa, and grabs hold of her upper arm.

It's not a nice grasp. He's not feeling very nice.

"Commander."

DRINKING; closed to Clarke. (maybe.)

After confronting Lexa, Bellamy returns to the hall for another cup of wine. This time, he takes one of the tables, kicks out a chair for himself and sits, heavily. The night has worn on for a long time now, but the music is still playing, and the dancers are still twirling, and Bellamy drains half his wine in one gulp before he sets the cup down, heavily, on the table. After a second, he takes it up again, takes another sip, almost determined in the way that he's drinking.

Before, he was wary and attentive. Now he might as well be alone. At one point, a woman in a bumblebee yellow mask and a low-cut black gown trimmed with feathers tries to join him; a dark look sends her packing. He's not interested in company.

What Lexa is doing here is precisely what everyone else is doing: mingling, gathering information, feeling the place out, trying to avoid the attention of the sleazier attendees. She is not surprised by the hand on her arm; she has more than enough awareness and too little wine not to have sensed his approach even through the crowd. But the voice, that surprises her. She'd been keeping a mental list of likely candidates from among those she'd caught leering or who had not taken kindly when she refused to dance, but she had not accounted for,

"Bellamy."

Not that this much changes her reaction. She turns in his grip, a subtle shift into his space and a kinetic tension in her posture that he can both see and feel beneath his hand, warning--or in this case, reminding--that she is capable of removing that hand if she wishes, either from her arm or from his. No matter how different she looks tonight, her voice is every bit as cool as he remembers.

"What do you want?"

He's not unnerved by her. He's wary--he'd be stupid, not to be wary--and he's tense and he's not happy that she can just coolly answer him, just like that, in a tone that implies she's more or less dismissing him.

If she tries anything, he thinks, grimly, and leaves that threat unfinished even in his own head. There's a lot that he would do, if she tried anything. Some part of him hopes that she does, so he has an excuse. They're surrounded, there's people everywhere. Bellamy doesn't care.

"Just surprised to see you." His jaw set, he still manages to force out an answer, his voice pitched low. The crowd is thick enough that their tension is going pretty well unnoticed. "I bet you're surprised to see me, too, considering you left all of us to die. I hope you're not here to get in with the Inquisition."

Lexa doesn't look surprised to see him. She doesn't look much of anything, actually, her expression that perfectly neutral mask she has worn during nearly every moment he has seen her.

She says nothing. The warm flickering light of the torches along the walls and chandeliers full of candles make the pale hazel of her eyes glow amber, and there's something catlike in the way she watches him. Patient. Dangerous. She continues to say nothing, and to reveal nothing as he speaks. If he hopes to make her flinch by reminding her of what she has done, to get her to show some sign of guilt, he will be disappointed. Having weathered Clarke's scorn, Bellamy's doesn't leave so much as a scratch.

He guesses correctly at her ultimate purpose here, and still she says nothing. She lets the silence stand and linger, tense and awkward as she continues to fix him with that stare. Eventually, just as the moment is growing truly unbearable, she lets one brow tic minutely upwards. Like his, her voice is low and deceptively soft. Still cool, always cool.

"Let go of my arm."

"Why? So you can disappear again?"

Her silence is worse, more insulting, more infuriating. That's what she's after, and maybe he could realize that if it wasn't so damn effective, if he wasn't so angry just looking at her. Her cool impassive face and her cool impassive voice. It had been so easy for her to walk away. And she doesn't care, she still doesn't care.

He smiles at her, right through the tight clench of his jaw. "Too bad I don't take orders from you. Now come on."

He doesn't shove her, but he does push at her arm, away from where they're standing.

Lexa's teeth set together behind that impassive facade, and the look she has fixed on Bellamy somehow manages to grow cooler, dryer, flatter. She is so deeply unimpressed by him right now that it makes her want to argue, but she is resisting. He's not worth a scene.

But she is still going to pull her arm away, jerking it out of his grasp with a sudden contained show of strength. If she goes with him it is not going to be under duress.

She holds her ground for another moment, just to make that point abundantly clear, and then turns and stalks toward one of the side doors. It's not quite the direction he shoved her towards, and that's in part another small exercise of power and in part because she knows where this one goes, and it's a small hallway that wasn't highly trafficked earlier. As good a spot as any for a fight, which is what she assumes is about to happen.

So, what. Now he's got to follow her? That move comes off like a show of power, probably just as she intended. And, no surprise: that show of power works its way under Bellamy's skin pretty well. He glares after her for a second, but, unwilling to let her get away so easy, he follows her. Through the crowd, deaf and blind to the tension that vibrates in the air between them, like a thread pulled taut between two points, thrumming with angry energy.

The hallway is pretty empty, quiet after the din of the ballroom, and cool after the heat of so many people crowded together. Bellamy takes it in with a glance, scoping out the surroundings. A few couples, tucked into shadows. Murmured conversations and laughter. No ambush. Few witnesses.

"This is far enough," he tells her, exercising some small control over this tête-à-tête. "I mean, I get it. If you're trying to buddy up with the Inquisition, you can't let 'em see your true colors so soon."

'True colors' rankles--it's the presumption, mostly, that he would dare to think he knows anything about her--and Lexa rolls her eyes. She does it before she's quite turned back, but Bellamy may catch the tail end of it as she comes round to face him if he's paying close attention. It's a tiny crack in her otherwise perfect armor, face still as ever once again. She stops, but only because he's right; there's no need to go further. He can believe it's because he said so if he likes.

"My presence here is no business of yours," she says, "Now say whatever it is you are determined to say to me so that we can both return to what we were doing."

"See, that's the thing. It is my business." He did catch that eyeroll, actually; registering that look leaves him as pleased as it does infuriated. At least he knows he can score a hit on her, for whatever it's worth. Out in the hall, narrowed down to just them, Bellamy can regain some footing. She doesn't have any more control here than he does. Good.

"The way I see it, it's kind of my duty to warn the Inquisition about you. Since I'm one of four people here that knows how great you are at breaking your word." He folds his arms, expectantly. "So just what were you doing? You might clean up nice, but you wouldn't waste your time with that unless you were trying to blend in around here. Spying, or you looking for someone in particular?"

And don't say Clarke.

Lexa is only looking for Clarke in the way that she's always looking for Clarke when she's near the Inquisition: half hopeful, half ready to hide. With all these Orlesians present the hall is filled with blondes, and she has caught glimpses out the corner of her eye a half-dozen times. Each time, her heart spikes the same way, and each time it's someone else. She still hasn't figured out if the feeling she has after is more relief or disappointment.

But this is a distraction she can manage. Bellamy asks again, and Lexa looks him in the eye. "Duty is not what motivates you, and even if it were you wouldn't do it. Because they will ask where all this happened, and we both know what will happen if you tell them Montemps."

The look she gives him is still flat, still hard, and now with a warning in it. But there's something about it, some edge around her eyes or her mouth, that makes that warning--not friendly, but not aggressive. It's not a warning on her own behalf, it's a reminder. We both know what will happen and to whom and neither of us want that.

Edited 2016-04-29 22:43 (UTC)

Nothing. Nothing will happen, because Bellamy will do anything to make sure Clarke lives. His jaw tightens again, and behind the firm line of his mouth, his teeth are set together.

Thing is, she has him there. He can't say too much about Lexa's betrayal unless he wants the whole story to unravel. Then it becomes a matter of the greater sin, backstabbing versus blood magic.

So, fine. He digs in again, too dogged to leave this, too angry at what they'd been left to. At what Lexa had done, to them.

"Tell me what you're doing here."

His doggedness is irritating, and Lexa seriously considers pushing past on principle and refusing to engage. But he'll just keep coming, because he has nothing to do and nothing to lose except things Lexa wouldn't risk either. But she makes him wait for it through another long, silent moment, just because she can.

"Observing," she says finally, the same thing she said to Kane earlier, though her tone doesn't leave the door open to conversation in the same way. There's more that she could say even without giving much away about her and her people, their surveillance capacity and so on. But eh.

She turns the conversation instead. "Does Clarke know that you're here?"

Observing is so vague an answer that it's almost worse than no response. It's definitely more maddening after the long pause she treats him to, and the immediacy of the topic change. Observing, to what end?

She's not going to say. And he's not going to let it go. The twitch of his fingers is impulsive, a fleeting thought that runs close to making her answer more completely. Like he could. The Avvar's great heda wouldn't get where she is today by being prone to spilling her guts under stress and torture, no matter what he wants.

The thought of Clarke doesn't quite put all of that out of his head. Might even make it a little worse. If Clarke was here, would she be on Bellamy's side, or Lexa's?

Bellamy's. Because Lexa betrayed them. Anything else would be tantamount to stupidity, so Bellamy doesn't shy away from answering:

"Yeah. She knows." He jerks his chin at Lexa, in a short sharp nod. "She know about your observing?"

He isn't the only one who bristles at the sight of the mages' performance. Hermione looks on, frowning a little bit and trying to look at the whole thing as their way of introducing people to how safe magic can be, rather than them playing the part of circus animals who can do a variety of tricks. It's not meant to be demeaning, and really, she's just being sensitive.

It's probably the wine.

She should go get more.

It's not the most logical progression of thoughts, but when she's been standing on the sidelines for so long and actively avoiding conversation, logic gets a bit hazy. Besides, she'd been informed that having a glass of wine in your hand is a good way to avoid being coerced into a dance. So that's why she's drinking. Yes.

Draining her glass, she steps forward to find the nearest attendant for a refill, gasping softly as she bumps shoulders with someone. Unsure of whose fault it is, she reaches out for his arm, though whether it's to keep him steady or herself, she doesn't know. "Oh!" she calls, looking down to make sure she hadn't spilled any wine on herself (not that it would really show up, considering the color of her dress, but she's self-conscious about it enough, given she'd had to have it altered with sleeves and a considerable amount of length for it to fit into local fashion). "Sorry! Were you standing next to me that whole time? I didn't see you there."

"No, it's okay." Despite himself, and the entertainment at hand, Bellamy gives her something of a smile, an overture of reassurance. It's a fleeting expression, but he's not unfriendly even when it's gone. Out of instinct, he'd lifted his hand and clapped it over hers, maybe an attempt to keep her even steadier. "I wasn't that obvious. Especially not with the great entertainment going on."

Sarcasm. He nods, stiffly, toward the mages. The display is winding down, much to the delight of the rest of the crowd, who are pushed close to get a better glimpse. No wonder she'd bumped into him when there's barely any room to turn around.

The bitterness of Bellamy's sarcasm is the kind you can laugh along with, more like jaded amusement. He's not quite to the point in the evening when he'd reject all conversation, especially not with the apparently like-minded. He'd caught a tail-end glimpse of how she'd been watching those mages. Pretty similar to him.

He nods at the rest of the crowd, the corner of his mouth crooked up. "You don't want to get closer?"

Hermione is all too familiar with sarcasm, though this display of it gives her pause. She can't tell if he shares her sentiments, insofar as feeling vaguely insulted by magic being displayed for entertainment, or if he's against mages as a whole. Quickly, she glances down at his hands; there's no sign of a shard there, so either there's a small chance he has one in a less conventional place or, more likely, he's a native. That might not bode well for her.

Much as she's promised not to cause a stir tonight, she decides not to immediately disengage herself from the conversation, offering him a small, tight smile instead. "They're not exactly court jesters."

Glancing back at the crowd gathering around the mages, Hermione makes a slight face, shaking her head. "The idea of mages being used as entertainment doesn't entirely sit well with me. But please, don't let me stop you, if you wanted to get a better look."

"I'd like to tell them to stop letting themselves get used." Bellamy shrugs. It's just a little too sharp. "Since that's probably not going to go well, I'll settle for getting the hell away from here."

He hasn't thought to take a closer look at her hands. It's not yet a normal procedure, though maybe it should be. If he did, maybe he'd be a little more brusque, even after the wine.

Instead he takes a step back, and jerks his head. C'mon.

"Happy to push people out of your way so you don't spill anymore wine." It's kind of chivalrous, and kind of assholeish.

Hermione lets out a relieved exhalation, glad that they seem to be more or less on the same page as far as the mages are concerned. "I'm sure they have their reasons. Still, it does seem oddly demeaning. I'd like to think it isn't meant that way."

She's a little surprise when he seems to be indicating that she join him, but his comment gets more of her attention. Is he actually teasing her, or is he just being a bit of a jerk? Or both?

"I didn't spill any wine," she tells him, just a little too lightly to be genuinely petulant. She'd drank most of her wine, which explains why she actually manages to tease, "Besides, it would have been your fault if I had, so perhaps you wouldn't make for the best escort. You might collapse on someone, and that might just bring this party to a screeching halt."

"Hey, you walked into me," he reminds her, with a little half smirk tugging at his mouth. "That's how this whole thing started, remember? You didn't see me. And I don't think there's anything that's going to end this party anytime soon, not with all the free drinks sitting around."

And the people keen on escaping from the cold, the drudgery of work, and daily life. Losing yourself in the bottom of a wine glass is a tried and tested coping mechanism, one that Bellamy would like to get started on. The crowd gasps, and despite himself, Bellamy's attention is briefly caught. One of the mages is extracting a sparkling spire of ice, right out of the floor; the crowd bursts into applause. His smirk goes a little bitter. Oddly demeaning is right.

"I'm not trying to escort you," he tells her, looking away from the display. "Just get you a cup of wine, which I promise not to spill. And get away from this." Think you can trust me enough for that?"

"I wouldn't have walked into you if you hadn't stepped into my path," Hermione responds cheekily, shrugging a little. She would have said more, but then there seems to be some sort of commotion from the other guests, and Hermione also turns to look, making a little disgusted face at the display and ensuing applause.

Like clowns at a birthday party. How demoralizing. They're likely not even getting compensated for this colossal waste of time.

Looking to the young man at her side once again, Hermione slowly manages another small smile before replying, "I might be able to trust you more if I knew your name." Offering him her hand, she tells him, "I'm Hermione."

"I seriously hope names aren't your only gauge of character." He fixes her with a look, all mock serious and judgmental, and lets her linger under it like maybe she's really supposed to be chastened by it.

Then he breaks, with another half smile--kidding--and takes her hand. "Bellamy. Good now? Want that wine? Because I sure as hell could use a glass."

That part, he's not kidding about.

"I did say might," Hermione comments, raising an eyebrow as she wonders over whether he's being serious, with that stern face of his. But then his face changes as he actually smiles, even if it's not yet a full smile. It's a nice sort of change, she has to admit.

That is, if she were the type to think that sort of thing about someone she's only just met.

"I suppose another glass wouldn't be the end of the world," she admits with a bit of a grin. "Maybe it will help make the rest of the night a little more bearable."

"That's the spirit."

Turning his back on the mages and the crowd feels good. Bellamy isn't exactly gentle as he shoulders people out of their way; any excuse me that he offers is pointed and unfriendly, and only every now and then. Mostly he settles for a hard look, but he gives Hermione another half-smile when they break free of the worst of the crowds, right near the table with the wine.

It's more of a staging table than a bar. Servants, their trays empty, come back here to load up on full glasses before wading back into the press of partygoers. Still, no one gives them any kind of dirty look when Bellamy takes two glasses personally. It's two less people to give a drink to.

He holds one out to Hermione, preemptively tipping his own toward her in a kind of air-toast. "To making the night a little more bearable."

She notices that he seems rather brusque, even if he's being easy-going enough with her. Normally, it might set her ill at ease; right now, though, she just assumes that he isn't a people person. Heaven knows she's not the nicest person when she's forced to be friendly around people she doesn't even like for hours on end.

Wandering off with some boy at a party isn't exactly something she's known for, but considering how few friends she actually has at this sort of event, it makes sense that she doesn't mind staying close to someone who admittedly has no issue with mages. Accepting the glass of wine with a small smile, she tips hers towards him as well, by way of thanks.

"I'm not sure how I feel about alcohol being the surest way to make that happen, but at least decent company helps. Now that I know your name, that is."

Bellamy takes a quick drink, a mouthful of wine that he's got to smile around when she returns the toast.

"Oh, now I'm decent company? Turns out your standards are pretty easy after all. Lucky for me." That gets another half-toast--to easy standards!--and another sip. A little more relaxed now that they're free of the crowd and far from the performing mages (and thanks to the drink in his hand), Bellamy leans his shoulder against a near-by pillar. "You know that if you want another glass, you can get it for yourself, right? They're right there. Don't need to flatter me. Unless you really think I'm decent company."

There's a second of slight preoccupation when he shoots a quick sweeping glances around the room from this new vantage point, a half-hearted survey before he looks back at Hermione again.

"I bet I'm not the only one thinking the same as you on those mages."

BELLAMY BLAKE || part closed, part OTA, or whatever, do whatever.

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nice icon alien face

wow your face is so crisp and saturated in comparison

aww thanks babe

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