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

[ungovernable]

"Captain Reynolds."

Something isn't quite right. It's not immediately obvious what; she looks well enough. Lovely, as he says, poised and pretty in her expertly tailored finery, smiling just as she should. She's charmed those she's spoken with, exchanged anecdotes and smiled benignly tolerant as the assemblage of her southern peers fail to distinguish between the serving staff and the elves attending in all the finery Madame de Fer's tailors and that Darrow woman's purse could bestow upon them - it must be said that she is not so much removed from a time where the distinction might not have struck her. She has a handsome escort in the form of Seeker Reed - her evening seems productive, in the way of these things.

She is quite in her element, after all.

"How good of you to put forward your best foot with the rest of us."

--and there it is, or rather, there it isn't. There's none of the sly ingenue she so enjoys playing for him; the remark carries no hidden knife, no sidelong glance to see if he's reacting, no comical widening of her eyes.

She is just polite.

[aintwejust]

Two words and the whole world's suddenly gone upside down. Oh sure she calls him that so sweetly and kindly under normal circumstances- but this here? This here ain't sweet or kind. It's civil. Flat, matte masked with the same paint and polish any of these foutu nobles gets, none of the exasperation, none of the teeth.

Cat's on it's best behavior, claws in paws and not even so much as an aloof sniff to make up for the swatting.

This is now how things go. He drawls, she smirks, he gets scared, she makes oblique threats, he abides and scurries off, tail 'tween his legs. Rinse and repeat. Sometimes she bribes his dog. Sometimes she bribes him. But this? This is new. This ain't right. He ain't half so learned as she in mask'n his emotions and it all settles in the furrow of his brow. He leans in (looms with the height difference) voice pitched low.

"...there a body I gotta get rid of stowed somewhere?" Any other woman he'd likely ask 'someone I gotta hit' but if this little miss needed someone hit- she'd hit 'em, she'd kill 'em, and she'd leave the mess to someone she didn't much care for to worry about. "Cuz I'll do it. Say the word."

Normally his offers are far more weary, reluctant and obligatory at best. This? Another change in the dance in so much that there is concern weighed in his voice and his eyes- everything warm and sincere.

[ungovernable]

The look she gives him isn't sharp, but she does look up rather more suddenly than she might've planned to do - her shoulders set and then relax as she decides to relax, consciously making herself appear comfortable in the slight shadow that Mal Reynolds casts when he leans so close to her. Nothing and no one is permitted to intimidate her, and he isn't trying to.

This is perfectly fine. Everything is perfectly fine.

An obscure part of her is slightly flattered; she can read the logic behind the offer, and for all she might prefer not to be so quickly read by anyone, least of all Mal Reynolds, he does it well enough. He knows enough to be wary and he understands what that means. What she's capable of.

(No one knows what she's capable of.)

"You are very kind, Captain," in that same, demure way. "I have my own affairs well in hand."

The knife is palmed inward and she doesn't even flinch.

[aintwejust]

That ain't right.

None of this is right. It's stilted and civil and sideways like they aren't. He ain't ever been under the impression she's all that honest with him, but she ain't like this. She's coy and calm and cool and playful. Girlish. Pretty little kitten with tiger fangs, claws, and a viper's venom. Someone you stay on the right side of.

Not this thing of marble and patience. No warmth, nothing but polished smooth edges.

"Then maybe I might have your hand for a dance?" Something light and easy, something she can mock him over now or later. 'Oh look, he thinks he's graceful' and whatnot. Nothing with bite, but not this cold thing neither.

[ungovernable]

Her hand, when she gives it, is not as cold in his as the pristine coolness of her might suggest - but ice has never been her element. There is a heat, instead, that speaks to a will leashed only with the greatest effort. She could burn all of this down for having the temerity to exist, and some awful, angry part of her wants to.

But she doesn't. She is not rage alone. She is professional and adult and she has responsibilities that do not pause for her tender feelings, whatever they might be.

"Of course," she says, instead of any of a number of things. "I should very much like to see you dance."

The words are right, but the melody is all out of tune.

[aintwejust]

Dance they shall. Dance they do, him taking her by her little hand, hot like a coal with something he can't quite place. It's all off but he ain't gonna pry. Someone else? He would. Her? Not gonna ask directlike. Might sidle up to Dorian later, see if he knows what's what.

Maybe get an idea as to how best work the mood around. It ain't right, Benevenuta being all joyless. She should be holding court like Madame de Fer, not floating aloof like a wisp.

"Think this might even be one'athe more respectable dances." He bows over her hand, offers a smile. It's a thin, strained thing, him not so good at pretending all's well as she.