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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There's a part of her that is very glad to see him, in the midst of all of this. But a knowing smirk is still crooked and at the ready as he approaches. "And here I thought you might save that silver tongue for our noble friends," she counters, putting the right emphasis on 'friends' to say exactly what she means.

But her hand slips into his readily, fingers squeezing gently. "You cut quite the dashing figure yourself," she adds after a moment, as though only incidentally noticed. And it's true. He looks as though this could be his element, scars or no.

It's just a relief to see him somewhere close to happy again.

Closer than he has been for a fair while. The need to knock upon her door at the dead of night for a game, to listen to her read, for company to keep him from the battlements has been coming infrequently- which was as much a shame as it was a boon. He would miss those nights for all that he will not miss the urge that birthed them. "Ah, but for you my tongue is not silver, it is honey, humble and sweet."

For gold does not move her, nor great feats of heroism (foolishness as they both know them to be), nor great charming words. Sincerity seems to do the trick. And thus he presses his lips to her knuckles with sincere affection, warmth glinting in his eye.

He is capable of sincerity after all. It gives her pause, this odd indescribable something lodging in her chest and burning low and warm, and with it her smile brightens. It's a rare thing, an open smile like that, so very close to unguarded.

"Sweet, perhaps. But humble doesn't suit you."

Her eyes drift towards the dance floor and back again. "And I sincerely hope you had more than sweet words on your mind," she adds after a moment.

In their time together he's earned many a wry smirk or exasperated grin- but this? Such warmth, such open joy-

It twists uncomfortably in the place where his heart would be. But then the teasing so he might ignore said twist and instead step to her side and shift her hand from one of his to the other, leading her to the dancefloor. "It is difficult to hold fast to one's ego in the grace of your wit, Leonina."

"Do my barbed wits not suit your honied tongue? Alas. If I could leave them at home, I might."

But they're intrinsic. Everyone has their masks, literal or figurative, and her sharp tongue is her own means of defense. There's less of a need for it now. Zevran is no longer someone she needs to defend herself against. Now they're much more teasing, softer around the edges, the way her eyes go softer when they arrange themselves on the dance floor.

What a sight they must make. The Commander's sister and a former Crow. A mild scandal, perhaps, but Rosalie would have been beside herself to hear of it.

"The sting is soothed by the warmth of your regard." He can bear it with grace and with glee- her wit is what makes her fascinating, her fond exasperation one more warming trait that makes her all the more remarkable for her patience. Whatever this is? He'll not trade it for anything soft and sweet and hollow.

The sharper edges make this worthwhile.

"Should I fear stern glances from your brother later tonight?" Cullen might have words. Might.

"If he cares to notice, let him. If he has words for who I choose to associate with, I will have words in turn for him." She clucks her tongue softly. "My brother is not my keeper."

And they were long past the point of having any real say in each other's lives. Still. She glances to the side now and then as though they might catch a glimpse of him on the fringes of the hall.

"And what of you? Any jealous lovers I should look over my shoulder for?" she counters, with a smirk that says they are certainly welcome to try

"But of course. I would not dare to imply anything else. More that I would find the shades of purple his face might turn amusing." Hilarious, even. It's been some time since he's caused such a stir-

Well technically it has only been an hour or so.

"Ah, you know me. Those that spend their nights in my company know it for what it is. A pleasing but meaningless diversion. They know better than to be jealous." After all, if it is him? It does not count.

"Your concern is touching. Truly." She huffs, turning to avoid brushing against a nearby couple on the dance floor. "If he's had anything to say in the past about my choice in friends, he's done well enough to keep it to himself. As have I."

Besides, she's grown to treasure this odd friendship, and the equally odd elf that occupies space within it. Though his next remarks earn a soft tutting.

"I do know you. And I shouldn't be surprised if someone's grown fond of you in the process," she replies, lips curving higher. "For someone with such a high opinion of themselves, you give yourself too little credit."

"Then you know I do not mix sentiment and lovemaking." It is a step up from 'do not do sentiment at all, but what is this he shared with Mia if not some manner of sentiment? Of affection, of quiet, platonic devotion that holds him fast when the nights are dark and he dreams of that hook? When a few rounds of chess and cuttingly dry commentary sooth the sharper edges of his mind into something bearable.

When she looks at him the same way she does anyone else, despite where he has been, what he has done, and what he is?

"Those that share my bed know this as well. It more or less does not count if it is me- and I am content with that." Anything more- that would be foolish.

"You make it sound simple. The heart is no such thing, I'm afraid."

It would easier, not to let people in. Less chance of being hurt, of being left behind. It was the wisest course of action to take, he wasn't wrong about that. But all it takes is a single moment of seeing someone else in pain, someone she can reach out and draw back, and there's no pain in the world that could threaten her.

And occasionally, these happier little moments come, the simple elation of dancing with someone she's grown fond of. She doesn't know how to explain it, that warmth she felt around him. Friendship? That seemed fair enough. What had his word been for it? Gircio, that was it.

Well, at least one of their languages had a word for it.

"But so long as you are happy. That is the important thing, I feel."

"Alas, no. But I can ignore such things as best I am able should they prove to make life complicated." Unlike this. This should, by all means, make his life terribly complicated. Some manner of friendship that goes beyond what he might expect of her without the wanting. A desire for company without a desire for his body?

He had not the words. He did not wish to find them either. This? This was good.

"I-" He blinked a moment to consider such a thing. "...I truly am. What a novel feeling."

"Indeed?" Perhaps he was simply trying to reassure her, but by now she thought she might at least know the difference between Zevran's 'I'm fine' and actually being fine. He seems happy, a thought that sets a warm spark of relief in her chest.

"Then all we need do is find the cause and ensure its continuance," she continues, her smile tugging wider.

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Truth or Dare: The Imperial Court

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