Post #2394880 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

Sophia thought the idea of the Viscount and his family entering the grand ballroom to music was slightly overdramatic, but her father was obviously feeling a flair for such things today, and seemed to be enjoying himself, so she couldn't seem to think of a reason to complain. The nobles who were attending the feast had all been seated at this point, though a few were still standing and getting themselves properly arranged, but all eyes of course snapped in their direction when the Viscount led his daughter into the ballroom, on the powerful arm of her handsome mystery suitor.

The smiles were genuine on some, Sophia could immediately tell, but of course there were many others who were here for purposes other than celebrating her birthday. Her eyes quickly scanned the room for those she'd asked the others to seek out. The Tarkin twins were the first she noticed, dressed mostly in black, of course looking similar enough that it was practically impossible to tell them apart. It was as if they wanted to look like the muscle of some criminal organization. They wholly dominated their section of the table, near the Viscount's family, but thankfully on the side that Saemus would be sitting. Not that they'd have much to say to her anyway, they were just here to look after family interests.

The Natlas she spotted second, and they were furthest away from Sophia's seat, Joanna's bright blue eyes seemingly genuine. Her auburn hair fell in thick curls down to her shoulders, and Sophia was actually inclined to believe the girl was happy to be here. Her parents seemed only to give the obligatory greeting, clearly more interested in trying to discern who Sophia was entering with.

In worse positioning than she expected was Miranda Threnhold, positioned at one of the tables closer to the edge of them all rather than right in the middle, but Sophia supposed the woman would have it no other way. She could more easily see everyone from the sides than from the thick of things. She was garbed in a ravishing gown of dark velvety green with a typically plunging neckline. Her smile looked uncomfortable on her face, knowing that it didn't belong there, and her eyes were attempting to bore into Lucien, watching them all the way up to their seats...

Where Sophia found Jamie Arren and his father. Not in their seats, but it appeared as though they'd be sitting directly next to the Viscount's family. Jamie had dressed splendidly in crimson and gold as if to match Sophia, and though he was dashing as ever, she was currently of a mind to think of him as having the looks of a darkspawn compared to Lucien.

Ashton took the namecard into his hands and examined it before looking back to Nostariel and cracking a wide smile. Without looking, he crumpled it up and chucked over his shoulder, asking, "What DeLauncet? All I see is Riviera and Turtega." He sure as hell wasn't going to move all the way down at the ass end of the table. He didn't care if he did offend the nobilty, if fate willing this would be the last night he'd have to deal with them in person. There was no way he'd going to spend the entirety of the feast stuck down by the minor nobles and their inane talking and positioning. If he wanted to be a minor noble, he'd go back to Highever. Besides, now he was closer to Miranda-- and he was nothing if not dutiful.

Amalia’s attention was drawn to one of the further tables, and she idly plucked at the strings of the harp whilst listening carefully. “I believe you refer to this Comte De Launcet,” a voice put in from behind Ashton. It belonged to a man who was very clearly displeased with the situation, the irritation drawing his Orlesian accent to further prominence. “I do not know who you think you are, serah, but you are most certainly not entitled to that place at the table. I suggest you leave.” The man’s wife stood behind him, her displeasure more subtle. Her place, at least, had been preserved from Ashton’s rearrangements, though of course that was not satisfactory on its own. Frankly, the Qunari didn’t understand why there was all this fuss over something as simple as table arrangements. Basra titles seemed to have no effect on their usefulness, so using them as a system of arrangement was illogical at best.

Well, that was fast. Ashton thought he'd have at least a minute or so to prepare the lie he was going to tell the man. Looks like he had to come up with it as he went. Oh well, if it was easy, then it wouldn't have been fun. He liked playing these games. "My sincerest apologies Serah De Launcet," He began, settling into a fine, foppish Ferelden noble. It must have been in his blood, always trying to get out somehow. Maker he hoped he didn't end up like his father. "Lord Ashton Riviera, Serah," He introduced himself with a bow. However, Ashton still didn't make a move to leave.

"Seneschal Bran has seemed to have made a grave error, I fear. See, I was to be Warden Turtega's escort to this fine gather of Kirkwallian nobility-- Exqusite suit, if I may say so Serah, and breathtaking dress Milady," He added quickly, bowing as Mrs. De Launcet. "But as you can plainly see, my name is on neither side of her, nor is it in front of her. What sort of poor escort would I be if didn't escort the Captain of the Grey, after all she has done to protect our fine city?! No Serah, my honor just would not allow me to leave her side," Ashton explained. Every word that came out of his mouth was sure without a bit of hesitation and overflowing with confidence. "Surely you would not cast dishonor upon the Grey Warden's head and mine for something so trivial as a chair," he explained.

That was a rather quick stream of lies, Amalia noted, and though De Launcet’s quiet fury seemed to diffuse a little, he was not appearing as a man who was about to back down. “I’m sure the Lady Captain’s service has been exemplary,” the nobleman replied, inclining his head to Nostariel as Amalia was fairly certain he now must, “but you are not the only one with someone to escort this evening. If indeed the Seneschal made some kind of mistake, why should it be something that my wife and I would have to suffer? Especially if you find it trivial, Messere.” The Qunari’s brows rose in unison. Though the voices were still relatively quiet, people were beginning to take notice. Ashton or Nostariel would have to think a little faster if they wanted to avoid a full-blown spectacle.

Nostariel frowned slightly when she noticed the situation turn a bit more sour than she’d expected. She was opening her mouth to speak when the man to her left, an aged gentleman with silvery hair and an old soldier’s bearing, put his knife back on the table with a bit more clatter than was strictly decorous. “Some of us know how to properly respect a Grey Warden,” he growled at De Launcet. “Young man, you may have my seat, and my lady, you may have my thanks, for doing what so many are afraid to in order that this lot can argue about chairs.” He cast a last glare at the De Launcets, and proceeded down to the end of the table, where Ashton had been originally placed.

"Thank you Serah, I'm glad that someone else understands the worth of this Warden," Ashton said genuinely and bowed as the man took his leave. To him, that particular Warden was a priceless friend. And not all of the nobles were uptight fops, it seemed. It made Ashton feel a little guilty taking the man's seat, but it was far too late for him to do anything about it. So with that, Ashton stood and took his place on the other side of Nostariel. On the opposite side of the table and down a couple of seats, Ashton spied what he thought was the Miranda Sophia had spoken about, whom he believed he caught the eye of. He nodded with a flourish and added, "Milady," for her benefit.

The woman in question was currently doing her best to ignore the young noble trying desperately to tell her about something that was undoubtedly of great importance to him. He was a rather thin fellow, and not among the better dressed men in the room, though not for lack of trying. He seemed to simply be of one of the lesser families, hoping to make the rather large catch that was Miranda Threnhold. He may as well have been trying to catch the sun itself, though she was not nearly so warm. When her eyes caught Ashton's she gave a slight nod to the man pestering her, taking a sip of wine through cherry colored lips as she did.

Nostariel, meanwhile, was looking at her plate as though it had grown an extra head. She knew how to do this, she did, she just… had to remember. What had Lucien said? Utensils from the outside in, but was the one on top the dessert fork or the salad fork? She supposed that she could just forgo dessert and salad, so she’d never have to know. It was probably the best plan she had—there was going to be plenty of food without either of those courses, anyway. Holding the polished silver instruments as he’d demonstrated, she picked carefully at the main course, which was some kind of bird in some kind or sauce. Connoisseur, she was not. Well, here goes nothing, she thought, trying to project an image of confidence while pretending to be interested in something De Launcet was saying.

Ashton himself managed to hide his arm under the table and pull back his sleeve, revealing notes printed in utilitarian handwriting-- Rilien's more than likely. Nostariel had her Orlesian contact, and he had his. Ashton glanced at his cheat sheet quickly and then replaced the sleeve. Just like that, he picked up the correct fork and began to pick at his food. It was trying to eat while the man sitting beside Miranda was yammering about something with bees and charity. Something about using his bees to pollinate the farmers' farms for free, and then going back to sell their honey. It was incredibily droll, even for him-- so he thought he was a good idea to steer the subject toward something more exciting.

"Bees are really hard to handle if you don't know what you're doing," the man said, offering Ashton the perfect spot to chime in. "I'm sure they are Serah..." Ashton said, pausing for a second to read his namecard, "Wallander. All of that buzzing and stinging-- Almost makes slaying a dragon seem trivial." Ashton said, a sly smile teasing across his face. With that little line, he hoped to turn the conversation to himself, impress Miranda, and maybe stick it to the De Launcets while he was at it.

Oh. Well, she supposed that one way to get Miranda’s attention would be to mention something impressive. Of course, Ash launching into the story with very little provocation might come off a bit… obvious, but she supposed she could help with that. “A dragon?” she echoed, as though she had no idea what he was talking about. “It does sound like there’s a story there, Messere Riviera. Would you be so kind as to regale us?” she cast her glance around to include Wallander, Miranda, and both De Launcets, as well as a few other people in the proximity.

Now he had a rapt audience. Where others may have faltered under the scrutiny, Ashton flourished. He laughed as Nostariel asked him about it-- knowing full well she was there too. If they wanted a story, then he'd weave a grand story, not the less exciting truth of how six of them managed to slay a dragon, him only playing a small part of the whole. "Well, Miss Turtega, I suppose I should start with the whys. One doesn't just happen upon a dragon," He explained. "I'm sure you all are familiar with the Deep Roads expedition led by the Tethras brothers," Bloody Bartrand still left a bad taste in his mouth, though more than once he'd heard Varric tell a story about this particular, well, story. "Well, yours truly was the one who backed the expedition, so like any good business man, I went along to ensure my investment."

At that, he turned to Nostariel and shook his head, "We could have used you down there Miss Turtega, Darkspawn were everywhere. But we managed to hold our own against the foul beasts, myself taking out a good number of them, and traveled all the way to the heart of the deep roads. The thin hallway we were navigating suddenly opened into the Antechamber," He said, leaning into the table for effect. Now this was the good part. "It was deathly quiet, nothing stirring but our breaths. I myself had thought the chamber empty for ages since, it's emptiness so oppressive. It was heavy on our shoulder and our hearts. We advanced slowly, not knowing what to expect. We managed to get to the middle of the chamber when one of my companions thought he heard a noise. We stopped dead and listened. He was right."

At that, he paused, drawing upon a dramatic silence, looking at those enthralled in his story before continuing. "It started small. A breeze of wind, which was odd considering how far underground we were. The sounds of pebbles dancing on the ground and then... A breath. Not one of ours, it was far to loud to be made from a man, elf, or dwarf, but we could see nothing. At least, not until we looked up. That's when our eyes met it. A giant reptillian creature crimson in color and long in the tooth, staring at us. With it now revealed to us it screeched loudly, causing us to clutch our ears. It then swooped down over us and blocked our escape. We had two choices... Fight, or die."

At this point, the nobleman who'd been trying to speak with was looking a little floored by Ashton's story, though Miranda herself was harder to place. The look on her face was somewhere between amusement and annoyance, though that could have been left over from the previous storyteller.

Sophia found herself blushing despite all efforts when Lucien moved to pull her chair back for her, and she slid gracefully down into her seat, smiling out at the assembled group, something that turned out to be less difficult than she expected. Lucien was seated to her right, between her and Jorah Arren's son, while her father's seat was to her left, with Saemus past him. The Viscount clapped his hands together once when everything was settled, his voice ringing out clearly through the hall.

"My lords and ladies, thank you for attending this, the celebration of my daughter's twenty-fifth birthday." After this, he considered going on, but instead waved his hand in dismissal. "Plenty of words to come, but I'm sure you're all famished for something to eat. Let's commence the feast."

The first courses were brought out, and Jamie wasted no time before leaning over slightly and speaking to Lucien. "Everyone's been talking about you. Rather, we weren't even sure there would be a you, but here you are. So, what's the secret?" Sophia couldn't quite make out his words, but she was quite certain she didn't want to.

Lucien’s brow furrowed as he collected his utensils for the first course, which appeared to consist of a light fondue. From the smell of it, the cheese was Orlesian, which would have ordinarily been enough to make him twitch a smile, but he was presently occupied trying to decide how to answer this inquiry. It seemed borderline rude to him, but part of the point was to get this man talking, so he would simply have to put up with it. “It appears that I am, indeed, present,” he agreed dryly, then fixed his single visible eye on the man. “As for the question, I am afraid you may have to specify,” he continued. “To what secret do you refer?” He, unlike the other, spoke loudly enough for at least Sophia to hear him, though it was rather difficult to tell if he was doing that on purpose. He was, of course.

He was also fairly sure that he knew to what Lord Arren was referring to, but if he was going to say something so ungentlemanly, he was going to say it out loud.

"Our parents have been trying to match us since we were children," Jamie explained. "I'm quite certain I've never done anything to offend the lady, but tonight might be the only time I've seen her honestly blush like that." He left the rest unsaid, slowly starting into the first course.

Of course it would be an indirect inquiry, but he shouldn’t have expected anything else. Well, it could be honest enough, he supposed, and he lamented a bit that Rilien wasn’t here to tell him if it was. He could read certain details of posture and body language well enough, but in truth, he was not the most accurate at determining when he was being deceived or misdirected. “In that regard, milord, I am as baffled as you are,” he replied. It was certainly truthful enough. He supposed there was a reason Sophia had turned this man aside, but even if he’d known it, he likely would not have divulged. “I expect that it is more a question for the lady than for myself.”

Having made it rather clear that he had nothing to say on the matter, Lucien tried to move the conversation elsewhere. “You are the Arren heir, are you not? That name comes up often in the records of Kirkwall’s peerage.” Also true, and of some interest, if it was taken as a historical inquiry. It probably wouldn’t be—such open-ended questions were usually interpreted as invitations to boasting and so forth, but that might actually be more useful, for Lucien’s purposes.

Seeing as Lucien was handling himself quite well with Jamie, Sophia saw no reason to intervene, especially once she caught onto the thread of the conversation from hearing Lucien's side of it, and a few words of Jamie's. "I am, I am," he said, taking the change in subjects easily. "We've quite the history in the city. Came quite close to the throne not long ago, but those were different days. I've no doubt Lady Sophia will make a fine Viscountess. And what of yourself? You seem like a military man, if I might be so bold. What brought you from Orlais?"

Lucien half-smiled. It probably wasn’t too hard to place him among his countrymen—some of the tonality of them still lingered in his voice, though it had long smoothed out with practice. “An apt deduction,” he said good-naturedly. “Properly speaking, I’m a chevalier. I’ve spent a number of years traveling, however, lending my assistance in what small ways I am able. Kirkwall seems to have become my destination, for the moment. It is a city with a most unique character, the like of which I’d not encountered before. In Orlais, we are often mired in tradition. This place… seems to be much more inclined to change.”

"That it does," he said. "I'd have joined the military myself, but all we seem to have here is the city guard and the Templar Order, and I'm afraid neither suits me very well." At this point, his father next to him leaned over and said something to him. "Of course," he replied, before turning back to Lucien. "I'm afraid I need to start making the rounds," he said, as indeed some of the other guests were already standing to find others to speak with. "I hope you enjoy the party, Ser..."

“As do we all, I'm sure," Lucien said with understanding, and then inclined his head. “And please, call me Lucien." The less he had to give out his last name, the better. Just in case.

Jamie nodded his head. "Lucien, then. Call me Jamie, if you will. Take care of her, now." He smiled charmingly to Sophia, whose returned smile was polite, before he took his leave. Sophia leaned over to Lucien.

"He's always seemed harmless to me, but I suppose that's why I expect him to be harmful," she said.

He quirked a brow. “Spoken quite like an Orlesian, Sophia," he murmured in return. He did give it some thought, however, and shook his head. “Far be it from me to say for sure, but I believe he is still of the opinion that his best chance to advance his status is by being your ally rather than your enemy." Perhaps her husband, though he didn't say that part out loud.

Snippet #2394880

located in Kirkwall, a part of The City of Chains, one of the many universes on RPG.

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