Truth or Dare: The Imperial Court

[madame_de_fer]

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.

Comments

Cassandra Pentaghast

[stabsbooks]

( prose or brackets are fine, I'll match you! )

Wallflower

At first glance she might be mistaken for a statue, although one wonders if even statues are normally prone to a posture quite so stiff and unmoving as this. Cassandra feels tense and uncomfortable in the dress Vivienne had stuffed her into. The opening at the front of her jacket had been a special source of contention, with the tailors gleefully attempting to open it up as far as possible - down to the bottom of her breastbone, if they'd had their way - while Cassandra had fought tooth and nail for the buttons to go up all the way to her neck. The result is somewhere in the middle, exposing just enough cleavage to leave Cassandra fighting not to cross her arms self-consciously over her chest.

She had absolutely refused the mask. Too much of the Game is bound up in the thing for her to even accept the scant anonymity it might provide.

Dancing

Despite all appearances and evidence to the contrary, Cassandra is actually an accomplished dancer. She had been taught nearly from birth, and though she is neither expressive in her movements nor able to often look as if she is actually enjoying herself, there is a certain grace to the way she moves, and her technical skills are beyond question.

She has promised to behave, for Josephine's and Vivienne's sakes and for the Inquisition's, and though the Enchanter and the Ambassador cannot make her mingle, she has been prevailed upon at least to dance when invited, and to accept those invitations with cordiality and grace. Her tolerance only goes so far, of course (that child of a duke has been staring at her all night and sweating, and he unnerves her), but most who might be brave enough to ask for a dance will receive one.

The Introduction

"Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena...Pentaghast! Fourteenth cousin to the King of Nevarra, nine times removed. Hero of Orlais. Right Hand of the Divine."

Cassandra glares daggers, and doesn't bother to hide an exaggerated roll of her eyes, nor a heavy sigh.

Wildcard

[madame_de_fer]

Smug. Vivienne is utterly smug at having finally gotten Cassandra into a proper dress. A fetching dress at that. With just the right amount of sultry with that peephole in the front. It's having a marvelous impact on the little duke who is so enamored with the Seeker too. Just as planned. Although the poor boy seems to be struggling between his obvious attraction and a need to remain a chaste and proper man of faith.

She slips over to Cassandra's side with a two glasses of wine in hand. A kindness to help them relax. Clearly she needs it. Especially since Madame de Fer is feeling like a mild meddling.

"Ah, my dear, you look lovely. Have you met Duke Pelletier yet? He is quite the fan of yours."

The Iron Lady is planning a little meeting.

[stabsbooks]

Cassandra looks dubiously at the wine. She needs to have her wits about her this evening - not so much to assist her in playing the Game (a lost cause, even if she wished to try) as simply to ensure that she does not make a complete fool of herself.

But the wine is tempting, and she is very tense, and after a moment, Cassandra accepts one of the glasses with a nod. She frowns in confusion and some suspicion at Vivienne's question. She hadn't bothered to study the guest list before the soiree, and she has no interest in meeting or talking to anyone it is not completely necessary to meet or talk to.

"Who?"

[madame_de_fer]

"The Duke Hugues Pelletier," Vivienne repeats as though the name alone should explain everything. Though, perhaps not. "He's only just come into his inheritance. Such a darling boy. So earnest and sincere in his devotions. And he's quite enamored with you, from all accounts."

She takes a dainty sip of her own wine, then suggests with a smile, "Shall I arrange an introduction?"

[stabsbooks]

Cassandra blanches. Enamored?

Morrigan had spoken of marriages, suggested that Vivienne might attempt to arrange one on Cassandra's behalf. Cassandra had not wanted to believe her, but it seems that she had been right all along.

"A darling boy." Her voice is flat with disbelief. She shakes her head firmly. "Enchanter. You cannot - you cannot be serious."

Dancing

[aintwejust]

He isn't really here for the party- keeping out of everyone's way, making nice when he has to- more there to make contact with someone that wanted some product moved. He made the meet, got a little work lined up for later that'll help him and probably help the lord's opinion of the Inquisition a little bit. Why not celebrate with a dance with a fine and fine looking lady? He greets Cassandra not with a bow or a kiss to the hand, but with a salute.

Anything else would be a little presumptuous. "Seeker Pentaghast, may I have this dance?"

All polite and everything. Vivienne would be proud, if not for the rather plain clothes he was wearing.

[stabsbooks]

"Captain Reynolds."

Seeing him is actually something of a relief, at least as much as anything here can be. She has been surrounded by Orlesian nobles all night, every last one of them with some kind of agenda which they refuse to be forthright about, whether that agenda concerns the use of Inquisition resources, the public support of the Right Hand of the Divine for some frivolous matter or another, and on one occasion, a bumbling, abortive attempt to arrange a marriage between Cassandra herself and a second son of obscure Orlesian royalty.

If nothing else, she can at least trust Reynolds not to have any ulterior motives. She hopes.

Cassandra nods in acquiescence, extending her hand and allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor. If any of the nobles in attendance seem shocked to see Cassandra Pentaghast of the Nervarran royal family dancing with an unknown commoner, complete with exceedingly common clothes, Cassandra neither notices nor cares.

"I am surprised to see you here."

Here, at the ball. Because why would anyone choose to attend this ball if they did not need to be here, and she is certain that Reynolds does not.

[aintwejust]

For all that Malcolm can be sly- he knows when to play things straight. Sure he wasn't here to rub elbows with the fuzzy-wuzzys with their lace and their masks and their blue blood and if anyone else called him on it he'd spin some manner of tale or another. Cassandra? He tells the truth. No reason not to, not really, especially if it makes for polite conversation.

Contrary to all expectations of his bearing, his accent, and his attire- Mal knows the dance. Knows most of them and can work his way through without any undue fussing or stumbling. Shit, he even manages to be somewhat graceful even as he recalls the first rule. The lead is to lead and make the Lady look good.

Not that Cassandra needs much of his help in that area.

"Had a contact that wanted to move some product and meet me to get my measure before agreeing to have me do it. Nothing dangerous, just a few crates of books. Managed to wrangle a bonus donation for the Inquisition's library so long as everything goes smooth." It should go smooth, it's an easy run.

[stabsbooks]

"Business, then." It makes sense, with his earlier story - something about a freight ship. She lifts an eyebrow at dangerous. That he should be so quick to reassure her that this transaction would not be is...telling, perhaps. "Do you often face danger, transporting wares on your ship?"

[arcaneadvisor]

Not once had she worn a mask in Orlais and Skyhold is the last place she's about to start. She could give the Seeker some peace but she's never introduced herself before and since she has had to ask for a favour (of Leliana but she trusts Leliana's words) then she might as well. Surely an apostate with her reputation is still a better option than Orlesian nobility.

Morrigan's games are still more honest, after all.

"Seeker Pentaghast," she greets, her approach quiet but she's Flemeth's daughter, she can put as much smugness as possible into those two words. "Did Leliana have a hand in picking your outfit tonight? She has a...habit, when it comes to what she likes to imagine others in."

Like her own dress, showing rather a great deal more cleavage than Cassandra's but much less than her usual garb.

[stabsbooks]

Cassandra does not need to have met Morrigan personally to recognize her on sight. She has seen her often enough, in Skyhold's garden and elsewhere. She frowns at the mention of Leliana, and frowns further at the implication that her own dress is anything like the Morrigan's own.

"It is Enchanter Vivienne's design," she says, stiff and uncomfortable, and does not offer more. The Witch of the Wilds is dangerous, even if she is...tamed, somewhat, compared to what she once was, and her position in the Orlesian court tells Cassandra all that she needs to know about her ability to play the Game. Cassandra is ill at ease at court even at the best of times, and she knows all too well how easily Morrigan could talk circles around her, confuse her and entrap her in words she never meant to say.

[arcaneadvisor]

So all is still not well between the pair, or at least that's what she gathers. Hopefully not something that the nobles will ever guess at given such dreadful accusations, though that they all care more about a dead old woman rather than the true threats facing Thedas is galling. A pity a rift wouldn't open tonight and swallow them, doing most of Thedas at large a favour.

"So she seeks a marriage for you as well?" That's a terrible thing to joke about but well, why else is she here but to needle and smirk? Playing the Game would imply that Morrigan cares enough; she is herself, she has knowledge than no others have and Celene is shrewd enough to recognise the value of it. "There have been measures taken to ensure that a certain individual is kept far from prying eyes, I trust? The Tale of the Champion was so very popular, as I understand, though I suspect a little bloodshed might prove more entertaining than all this."

[stabsbooks]

"A marriage?" Cassandra balks, and shakes her head firmly. Morrigan's joking tone goes right over her head. "No. No. She only...does she seek one for you?" She looks at Morrigan askance. The prospect of the Enchanter trying to matchmake here among the Orlesians is terrible, and she can hardly fathom even Vivienne daring to make the attempt to marry off the Witch of the Wilds. But if she is...Cassandra looks around nervously. Perhaps Vivienne's plans for Cassandra herself this evening go further than she had thought.

She is distracted, but still scowls at the reference to Anders, her expression turning dark and closed-off. "There will be no bloodshed this evening. The...individual is under close watch." Elsewhere. Far from any visiting nobles who might recognize him or guess at his identity.

Wildcard

[the_effect_she_has]

Deep breath, Everdeen. The woman breathed about as much fire as you do.

Katniss exhaled, and walked across the floor to where Cassandra was standing with a glass of wine in hand. She held her chin up high, meeting the Seeker's gaze dead on, offering a quick smile, and then a salute. Yes, a salute in a ballgown. She's still a scout, after all.

"Seeker Pentergast, my name is Katniss Everdeen - Scout Everdeen. I was wondering if I might beg a favor of you, for my cause."

[stabsbooks]

Cassandra does not return the salute, nor the smile, but she nods politely at the young woman, curious if wary. In her experience, people seeking favors at an Orlesian ball is never good - but then, the young woman is hardly a player of the Game.

"Scout Everdeen," she greets her, and furrows her brow. "A favor?"

[the_effect_she_has]

Katniss is, in fact, a middling player of the Game. Her ability to lie is dwarfed with her desire to beat someone for being snotty. So it's with complete straight and serious expression that she states.

"Yes, a favor. I need you to talk to me in front of Duke Pelltier, if you wouldn't mind. That way, he will want to talk to me, and I can try to get him on board for the Inquisition building project I am trying to fund."

[stabsbooks]

There is a beat of silence while Cassandra stares.

"You want me to talk to you in front of Duke Pelletier." The man has been sneaking glances her all night, blatantly enough for even Cassandra to notice. Every time she looks his way, he turns pink and looks as if he might faint.

The prospect of planting herself in front of him to torment him so is not an appealing one, but now she is curious.

"What is this building project?"

[lifeofendurance]

Now Aleron's been adequately educated to know that when a woman is lingering near the walls and he is not otherwise engaged, he is expected to offer himself up as a dance partner to said lady. However. Cassandra appears to want to leave the walls no more than he cares to himself and he doesn't rightly blame her. Instead, he slowly, too slowly, manages to extricate himself from one of the Comtesse Simone's stories and work his way over to his fellow Seeker. It might have been easier to excuse himself had he expressed a need to keep her from wallflowering but he's just not that good at politesse.

Clearly he doesn't have enough of a sense of self-preservation to refrain from commenting on Cassandra's rather lengthy introduction. "Quite the entrance you had, Lady Cassandra."

His own modest titles were of trifling interest upon entry and not worth the noting. Something he doesn't mind as he'd prefer not to draw attention. Hence, the lurking near the walls whenever possible.

[tactical_alert]

While Malcolm likes to wallflower as much as Aleron, he is making some effort to put the good word of the Inquisition out there. He isn't terrible at it, has been around nobility before, tends to choose his words with care. But there are plenty here he doesn't know how to handle as much as he might an angry dragon. Comte Daucourt is overly familiar, which Malcolm didn't know...until pulled aside into conversation with him.

Now they speak not terribly far from where Cassandra and Aleron have made their landing, although speaking isn't the only thing happening. Malcolm has somehow found himself with his back to the wall--ostensibly to be able to still view the party. But the Comte has hands that feel free to touch as though they are friends, attempts to call him by small nicknames, either to lighten the mood or to quietly infuriate Seeker Reed.

It at least does the latter. The hand on his shoulder changes to a hand on his arm, and the Seeker's ramrod straight stance and unnatural stillness have yet to set off any warning signals to the Comte. It's hardly a rude accosting as might befall a woman, but Malcolm and tactile familiarity hardly go hand in hand even with those he might consider friends. At one point he blatantly attempts to excuse himself, though the Comte sees fit to take him by the elbow to beg for more of his time.

Malcolm looks fit to murder. One hand is slowly moving, and whether it's to backhand the man for his presumptions or to reach for a dagger he...totally doesn't have hidden away on his person or to suckerpunch a noble in the gut, who can say, but someone should probably diffuse the situation brother sister please help extricate him.

[stabsbooks]

Cassandra scowls, shaking her head. "It was ridiculous, and unnecessary. I would have preferred no introduction at all, but Enchanter Vivienne insisted."

She had been right to, of course, and Cassandra understands that, as well as why her very presence here is so important. They must appease these ridiculous nobles - put an end to their rumors and lies. They must have their support, or the Inquisition will fail.

Still, that does not mean she has to approve, or enjoy it, and she glares stonily around the hall, transformed into an opulent ballroom that would rival any in Val Royeaux. She opens her mouth to say so - Cassandra may think this while thing frivolous and a waste of time, but that does not mean she cannot appreciate Vivienne's achievements - when something catches her eye, and she frowns.

"What is Malcolm doing?"

[lifeofendurance]

That question prompts Aleron to turn enough to follow Cassandra's line of sight and what he sees is well... trouble. He's known Malcolm long enough to recognize the signs of a problem-creating show of temper. Maker, why now? And what in Andraste's name is Comte doing?

"About to do something that will create more trouble than we could handle tonight." He cocks his head in that direction. "We better step in before being trussed up and put on display ends up a pointless endeavor."

Without delay, he moves over to Malcolm's side. "Pardon me, my lord." Maker how he hates making nice and trying to keep straight all the rules of engagement. "Seeker Reed, the Right Hand of the Divine requires you."

C'mon, Malcolm, hold it together another two minutes and play along. They're buying you an out. Stupid stupid politics. Lying, weaseling, ugh.

wallflower

[fightingale]

There are certainly some delicacies here. Normally Leliana would not consume a single one. There are images to preserve and the Nightingale has always presented herself as someone not quite touchable. It is why, even now, as she wears a dress of a beautiful silk that catches the light in blues and greys, her arms are covered in fine chainmail and her hands are hidden away with gloves. She might shimmer when the light catches her, but she is more dangerous than some pretty bauble to decorate the court. Now, however, she is presenting herself more as the protector than the weapon, as someone more human and more concerned, and it is one of the very reasons she approaches Cassandra with a small plate of treats.

(She at least remembers what Cassandra likes, and only a couple of the chosen delicacies are ones that she knows would offend Cassandra's palate. She is not entirely unreasonable. )

"Cassandra." Loud enough to catch her attention and that of those nearby, if only so they do not set rumours abuzz with talk of their formal means of address in recent days. Leliana is aware enough to know when no one can hear them, and even if her body language appears friendly (as friendly as a grieving and dedicated Left Hand can reasonable appear, of course) her words become more blunt, despite the tone that softens them. "For the sake of overturning these rumours we are required to show some solidarity."

[stabsbooks]

Cassandra does not hear the Nightingale's approach. Her attention is elsewhere - she is watching for that awful little Duke, trying to convince herself that the murmurs of the people around her are not disapproving whispers about herself, fighting not to feel exposed and uncomfortable and vulnerable in her dress. But even if she had been watching, even if she had been expecting Leliana, Cassandra knows she could easily have been caught just as unawares.

She turns at the sound of her name, and for a single, wild moment she thinks that things are back to normal, that Leliana had come to her seeking reconciliation, and her heart leaps in her chest.

The illusion is shattered a moment later, Leliana's friendly tone doing nothing to hide the cool detachment of her words, and the brief flash of hope on Cassandra's face is quickly smothered, hidden behind a steely mask.

"Of course." She blinks, trying to relax her expression into something natural, something that will not invite further talk - of all things, she does not want to bring about further rumors. But she is at a loss for what else to say, and after an awkward pause she looks down, forehead creasing slightly at the plate in Leliana's hand. Most of what it holds are Orlesian delicacies, tiny, elaborate cakes with more care put into their appearance than their taste, or pastry puffs that are more air than food. But there is one on the edge of the plate - a small, luscious-looking tart that she swears is of Nevarran origin. A favorite, and one she has not tasted in years.

Reluctantly, she tears her eyes away, focusing her gaze firmly on the Nightingale's face. She will not take what she has not been offered - she will not ask, not even for this. Not from Leliana, not after -

Her jaw tightens, just slightly, and she inclines her head, doing her best to look normal. Unmoved. They are being watched closely by everyone within eyesight - that she is sure of.

"I have nothing to say to you."

Low, low so that no one will hear.

[fightingale]

"That's a relief." Whether because it spares them an argument, or because Leliana cannot endure her, that is open-ended.

Cassandra has never done well at tact, and so it is doubly unfortunate (for her) that she does not adopt a mask. She is easy to read at the best of times. The Orlesians could tear her apart, if they had a reason enough to. The Game was different to the world she knew. Blades took the strangest forms, not all those Cassandra would recognise. The flash of hopefulness is caught - remembered. It must be nice to be free to be so open and so emotional, to not craft yourself into a mask without such clumsiness. Cassandra might have tried to hide her emotions, but it was not fast enough to conceal them from a bard.

Pity will not serve her now. Compassion and mercy had become warped and twisted under Anders' touch.

"The Duke is allergic to cherries," she notes, also quiet, though her tone sounds friendly to any who might happen to overhear their voices. They will only get the voice and not the words, and Leliana offers them without looking down at the tray and its little collection of miniature cherry pastries. "If he sees you eating those then you may stave off any more... amorous overtures he aspired to. Even the possibility of them still being on your hands might alarm him into sparing you an excess of dancing."

She does not outright offer Cassandra the tart. She is too betrayed and too frustrated and too full of a desire to shake Cassandra until she saw sense, but the order for Nevarran tarts for the ball as a means to bribe Cassandra to the ball and make it more easily endured had been set in action before this stupid rift (what a word to use, and yet) had jarred them apart. Leliana can at least help Cassandra not murder a dignitary for the sake of the Game, and place said assistance next to the tart, and that is practically generous behaviour, all things considered.

[stabsbooks]

Leliana's words carry an unexpected sting, and Cassandra's jaw twitches.

She wants to cry. She wants to sneer at Leliana, and say something horrible (what, she doesn't know, she has never learned to wield her words as weapons, the way they are wielded in the Game), and run away.

She doesn't. Instead, she nods, careful to keep her movements relaxed and natural - that much, she can do, she can at least do this. Her fingers hesitate over the plate. She must say something, keep up the charade, but she cannot...she cannot bring herself to thank Leliana. Leliana cannot be doing this out of compassion, out of true friendship. She had seen Cassandra avoiding the Duke and had decided that an intervention was necessary, that Cassandra could not be trusted to keep her temper if left to handle the man on her own...

It is almost insulting, in truth. But she has caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye more and more frequently as the night has worn on, and her dread of the moment when his desire overcomes his awe and he gathers the courage to approach her, to ask her to dance, has only grown. She cannot refuse this, not when it is offered so plainly.

Her fingers close around the pastry, and she lifts it to her mouth, responding in the same friendly tone as she does. "Is he watching now?" She does not dare look, but Leliana will know; Cassandra does not doubt she knows the exact location of every noble and dignitary in the room.

The tart, the Nevarran tart, is of lemon, and had not been offered. Cassandra carefully avoids it.