There were many benefits to the balcony that she'd claimed once they'd arrived at Skyhold and a luxurious view each day wasn't the main one. It was the sight, the opportunity to observe those that she was on this quest with, to better know those she'd be in battle with.
And she'd gotten to know them well, better than some of them realised. Though her mask shrugged everyone off some she cared for, had become a little fond of and it made the endless trundling through the wilderness that much more enjoyable.
Which also made it simple to notice when something in Skyhold wasn't right. Particularly with those louder members of their group. The usual jovial comments that could be heard around the Chargers were duller, the combat training lacking in energy, in one participant. Though the Chargers still trained their dutiful leader wasn't engaged with them, no showing off of his moves to test and improve them.
One day of that she could have passed aside but when it became a second? She'd waited until the training had subsided, taking a walk with Cremisius to employ a favour of him -- to ask Bull to visit her that evening. It gave her a few hours to prepare what she needed, a simple task that could easily be convincing but also allowed Skyhold to quieten more for the evening.
Which is how he'll find her, lounged reading, looking up when she notes that tell-tale footsteps. "Ah, Iron Bull, I'm so glad that you could take them time to see me."
He'd washed before he came up. Himself, his armour, his pants. Worked his brace into a nice shine. He hadn't really questioned the call up for a visit; it gave him an excuse to beg off messing around with the guys -- you don't go answer Madame de Fer without looking (and smelling) like you put effort into it, and everybody knows that -- and that excuse is what he'd decided to focus on. Less of a pain in the ass to think about getting everything clean enough to meet her standards than to keep trying to come up with different ways to dodge questions the guys think are real subtle and concerned glances and more attention than something so dumb and temporary really deserves. Getting ready was more meditative than the time with the Chargers would have been, even if it wasn't exactly peaceful.
Better to just keep thinking about that than to try and figure out anything else. Vivienne's sharp, the kind of sharp where you go in at less than a hundred percent still trying to act like you can handle it, and you're going to get cut deeper than you're ready for. So whatever this is about, he's going to just go in hands off. He can trust her enough for that. She wants Corypheus dead as much as the rest of them do, so she's good on the larger scale, and as far as the smaller scale stuff goes she's always seemed happy enough with their little power plays, him pulling back just far enough to give her something to rein in and then folding completely, like they both know he's going to. So whatever this is about he can probably afford to stop trying to keep up with her goals, motivations, whatever he can learn about her, just this one time.
There's something almost nice about it, too. With her, more than anyone else, it's going to be easy to step back and let things go wherever they're going to go. She wants to steer -- needs to, he thinks -- and doesn't ever seem to expect him to do much more than float along in her wake. Might be nice right now, even if it doesn't last that long.
"Thanks for inviting me up ma'am," he says, tone mild and humble, with a respectful nod at her. He stays right next to the stairs, not assuming, not coming into her space unless he's invited. Doesn't ask the obvious question so much as restates a fact, and lets her take that fact wherever she wants. Letting her lead. "Krem said you wanted to see me for something?"
Her book is closed, delicately placed on the table beside her, a hand offered to the chair across from her lounger and in surprise to her usual decor she'd had one brought up that would handle him even if it wasn't the most comfortable. Vivienne had at least put something over it so that it blended in more but the attempt is made.
"I trust your discretion with it." Not that she needs to ask. There's a good measure between the two of them, a silent appreciation of what he does and what he knows, resources that aren't spoken about but are useful not only to the Inquisition but pieces that Vivienne at times takes the effort to read. Those less classified, anyway.
"And--" There's a pause, a smile that forms on her. "Is that a new scent, darling? I do approve." Gotta praise the little things. Especially the effort he puts in for her.
He looks over at the chair when she gestures toward it. He was planning on coming in hands off but the chair's a big enough statement that he can't not hear it, even if he can't tell exactly what it's saying. Yeah Vivienne put something over it so the whole look of the place still fits together mostly right, still reads as hers, but that doesn't really stop it from being an eyesore. And this big, relatively ugly chair is up here anyway, a fly in the ointment of her controlled, precisely crafted lair up here. Because she wants it sitting right where it is. For him.
Huh, he thinks, and settles himself carefully into it. It barely creaks at all, which doesn't surprise him. If Vivienne's going to pick something like that out at all, she's going to do it right.
"Uh, yeah." Maybe normally he'd duck his head to sniff at himself, like a qunari could ever forget having that kind of extra smell on them. Make a show of it. As it is, he just gives a little shrug. "There was this noble at the bathhouse who was using something that reminded me of some of your stuff. Seemed like a good idea."
Then he focuses on her. Again, meant to be hands off, but Vivienne needing discretion isn't necessarily a great sign and his gaze on her is watchful, frowning a little, waiting to take in any little clue. If it's some kind of serious favour she needs, he guesses the chair makes sense; whatever this is about is going to be kind of crappy, probably, so she's making the extra effort when she asks for it, giving him that little acknowledgement. Makes sense that she wouldn't make a gesture like that unless she was in some kind of trouble. "Everything alright, ma'am? My kind of 'discretion' isn't usually the kind of thing you need to go in for."
She's touched, not just that he would clean up before visiting her but that he chose something that reminded him of her. Though she doesn't comment further on it, knowing that right now isn't the time to settle into their usual banter, particularly not with the story that she wants to spin.
"It isn't but it's the kind I need now. I could have handed this to Leliana but they're endlessly busy and... a bolder statement may work better."
She sighs, legs sweeping down from the lounger as she gets up, crossing the area to where she keeps her papers. It's something that she'd had created for this, one of her own agents writing it, keeping it out of her own hand. It's a letter that she brings back, folded in her hands, not yet offered out as she sits back down.
"I received this earlier. No doubt you heard some time ago what happened with dear Bastien..." Everyone else had seemed to, had passed words to her even though Vivienne had kept her mask even more tightly pressed to her, distanced herself further. Time had passed and though truthfully the affair had ended well with his family, her in their favour, she's had something written far opposite to that. Not by family but a crude letter falsely signed from another noble the same.
"The threats I know are baseless but with the world we are in... there are steps I myself cannot take."
"Uh--" he starts, grimacing a little, then leans forward and tilts his head to rub at one of the little scabs at the base of his horns, the one right on that itchy spot at the back. Yeah, he heard about Bastien. That's a big part of why he's hesitating, but if she wants what it sounds like she does he has to say it, right? Yeah.
"The assassin stuff isn't really my thing, ma'am," he says, slowly and more than a little awkwardly. Feels really weird saying no to her like this. "I might be able to write a couple letters for... uh..."
Wait. Ugh. Would he have jumped right to the thing he doesn't want that to mean if he'd been more on his game today? There's probably no way to know. His hand drops from his horn, and the little grimace lingers.
"Unless you just meant you want this guy discredited some other way," he goes on, focusing on her again while his expression tries to smooth out into something more businesslike. "The Chargers can definitely take care of that one for you. What kind of threats are we talking about?"
If she had really wanted someone assassinating there would have been other arms that she would have reached out to, though making certain that it had her mark on it rather than the Inquisition's would have been necessary.
No, this was something smaller particularly given how untrue it was. Though the nobleman that she'd selected really could use a little scandal and discrediting, honestly it would likely be a good move all the same.
"It's nothing serious, not a threat on my life... just my position. If I was the sole target it could be handled swifter but this is Bastien's sister also. They have always been kind to me. I won't let their name be tarnished by jealousy and a baseless upstart."
"Huh." He straightens up, sets his hands on his knees, rolls his stiff shoulder just for a couple seconds while shifting around is still giving him an excuse. It feels a little easier to slip into that 'captain of the Chargers' headspace now, maybe because this feels so much more like a normal job than he thought it was going to be. It might be personal for her, but for him this will be easy. It'll be nice to have something going on that's actually worth thinking about.
"I might need to know more about the kinds of threats, who's sending them out, all that stuff, but we can do that later. What kind of discrediting were you thinking? Something embarrassing, or something more serious?"
"Embarrassing will do I should thing, society will manage to take it from there." Killing someone usually ended up being the more merciful option to Orlais compared to the societal ruin you could face and how you would be shunned.
"I can't thank you enough for this, dear Bull. I'll leave all of the details for you." And really, it'd be interesting to see the kind of job he could pull with this. For Orlesian work she certainly wouldn't usually ask him but this would be an insight.
"I'll get on it, ma'am," he says, letting the vague ideas, plans, memories of similar jobs the Chargers have done that he might be able to pull from take up the space in his head where the other, dumber crap's been lurking and he shifts around, and gets up. A little colour draws his eye--
"Shit," he murmurs in a low, almost angry tone, those new thoughts quieted almost as soon as they got there by the little line of red on the back of the chair. It's not that much at all, and even if it was one of her usual chairs the stain's only on the cover she put over the top of it to make it match the colour scheme, but it's Vivienne. Vivienne, who keeps her space controlled and perfect and just so, who trusts the Bull even so much as she does because she trusts his control enough to treat him like knows how to respect hers.
He reaches out like he's going to try to rub the stain off or pull the cover down to take with him or something, then says "Shit," again, vehemently now, because adding bloodied half-finger prints onto the whole stupid thing just makes him look worse, and he should have known the stupid crap like rubbing at that spot on the base of his horn, rolling his shoulder like that, that it was going to break a couple of the scabs back there open again, the boys have been teasing him about the scratches all morning. But he hasn't been in a big fight lately and it's so rare that anything barehanded is enough to break through qunari skin, and he was thinking about getting in the right headspace to meet up here with Vivienne and he just forgot.
The Bull feels himself taking a slow, automatic breath in through his nose, so he follows it up by holding that breath -- just for a couple seconds, usually not a long enough time that anyone not already looking closely at him is going to notice -- and then he lets it out through his mouth.
Okay. This is probably not as big a deal as it feels like. Or maybe it is. It's hard to tell, and he has a good idea just why it's hard to tell, and he doesn't have the time or the privacy to stop and try to figure it out right now.
"Sorry ma'am," he says, tone a little subdued but casual now, neutral, and he shakes his head. "I'll get this cleaned up the right way and get it back to you. Wasn't thinking."
Two shits in quick succession are certainly enough to get Vivienne's attention, though saying that would be pretending that she hadn't already been aware that something was off with him, that his head wasn't quite right. Sat where she is she can't immediately see what he's reacting to, though his words draw further concern from her and make her stand, moving closer until he turns.
It's easy to note the blood on the cloth, it distinct against the white fabric, though she hasn't yet seen where it's come from on him. But that's the second task. His tone, his manner whilst courteous as always is quieter and she doesn't like it. They all need him
"Oh, darling, it's a simple sheet, there's nothing to it." And whilst her tone could sound every bit convincing to someone that knows Vivienne knows that any simple sheet she put on something wouldn't be cheap. But in the greater scheme of things her concern is over him and not a slightly bloodied sheet that is better to replace if it can't be cleaned. Though in the Inquisition they've had plenty of practice at getting blood out of things.
"But if you're injured that should be taken care of." She steps closer as she speaks, better catching sight of some of the scratches adorning him. "Would you let me see? I may be able to heal it up."
"Uh..." He grimaces a little, not exactly dismayed. Something like it, though. Put out, maybe. "It's not really--"
But he's not going to say no to her, is he. Not when she just offered to help. You don't wave something like that away, not from someone like her. It might not be worth noticing but she already noticed, because he brought it to her attention because he didn't think, and he just has to deal with that.
"It's not a big deal or anything," he says, even as he turns around, tilting his head so some of the scabs at the base of his horns are easier to see. It's there mostly, there and at the top of one of his shoulders, a couple sets of three close, parallel scratches, narrow and moving down under his pauldron. That's been annoying, the way the leather rubs them back open when he moves around too much, but the real distraction's been coming from the raised, uneven edges of that skin growing over his horns, where it's apparently not that hard to claw a bunch of little chunks away. It's all at the back so she probably would have seen it when he went to walk away anyway, but would she still have stopped him about it? Who knows. It still just feels stupid, like he made this whole big show just because he was frustrated and made it all seem a lot more important than it is.
"Probably kind of hard for you to reach anyway, nothing that can't heal on its own. I'll just uh, try not to sit on anything else that fancy in the mean time."
It had been a wonderful party, smaller than usual to not overwhelm her dear warlock but it also helped to make the affair that much more intimate. Only one member of the lower nobility had acted out and a quick lashing of Vivienne's tongue had thoroughly humiliated him whilst reminding the others of the line. Their Game wasn't so strong.
But now the evening had concluded, Vivienne having had some wine brought into the summer lounge, the mage reclined along the couch. Only along or with her most trusted of friends would she ever seem so relaxed, so unmasked.
"For reintroducing you into society that was quite the successful evening."
Her mask sits on the table beside her glass of wine, though she's not yet shed her boots or the other adornments of her gown. Which may be getting a little in the way of her truly reclining out.
"I'm very well introduced to some society, Vivienne. But I do thank you," he smiled, having already set his own mask aside.
Wine had not been his choice, so he'd summoned up a mixed drink and sprawled himself lazily over a couch, looking toward the feline-esque mask he had been given. What a choice.
"Are they always so busy trying to undermine each other?"
"It's the Great Game, darling. It's what we live for." Or died if you played it badly. The Maquis' warning was getting away very lucky. Though most would agree that killing him would have been kinder.
"Though yes, you are already introduced to some society but this was to widen your circles. However will you find your own gossip otherwise?"
Well, kinder would have been letting Magnus turn him into a sheep. He would have been a good pet. But people frowned on that.
"Touche, my dear. But still, I knew Orlesians were slow and teasing in their games. I have to wonder about it though. How you manage to show so much restraint with your magic is impressive too."
"If I used my magic at every whim I wouldn't be in half the position I am now." She wouldn't have power, luxury. She'd likely be dead by Templar hand for being a dangerous mage. And they'd be right to do so.
"Magic is a tool like any other. It's useful in the right circumstance but not something to be abused."
"I can't help but think in the way of making a show of it. It's warlock nature to make a show," he laughed, before sipping at his drink. "But if you ever do go a bit more dark, you're welcome at my door, my dear."
"No sensible mage would do so." Make a show or go dark. She'd known mages that had done both of those things and it had never ended well. Vivienne had never had the inclination to do such a thing, too focused in control and power and she'd never change that.
Perhaps they're concerned about what he is and not having a way to stop it, perhaps that demon part of him protects against possession. There are many things they don't yet really know.
"But this isn't a good post-salon topic. No sense in ruining the mood now."
"Everyone knows. Most affairs aren't as scandalous as you would assume."
So many nobles had affairs with their servants, often multiple of them. Minor affairs that were rumours but became nothing more didn't tend to be of too much interest. She'd only been a scandal for being a mage and not because she was a Duke's mistress.
"Though they do still make for entertaining gossip. I do believe that one's a more recent affair."
How strange, that an affair wouldn't be scandalous.
"Musical chairs with partners, that's what you all do. Where I'm from who is sleeping with ho is absolutely the gossip, and the scandal. I think it's a bit refreshing to see it not true here."
There are two reasons she asked Madame de Fer to come with her to Emprise de Lion: first, she needed a mage to come with her and one who could handle playing the Game in the cold for the trip there (considering how many minor lords' lands they crossed to get here), and second because the woman's magic is icy. If you are meant to fight fire with fire, then you should fight cold with cold - right?
It's not her first blunder. (Her first was uttering Maker, my tits are freezing as soon as they neared the Inquisition's base camp, in full hearing range of requisition agents, soldiers and Lace Harding.)
Vivienne is capable, however, and she is vicious. But it's the first night, and they've just established a second camp by the lake, and they all need the rest. The tents promise some sort of shielding from the cold, but Evelyn still suggests they pair up to stave off the cold. She lets Dorian and Iron Bull bunker together, because she's got some bets going on about all that with Varric, and picks a suitable tent for us ladies.
"How have you not opted for a warmer armor?" is what she utters, as she enters the tent to find Vivienne not in a nightgown, but still in the same (revealing) (sexy) armor she was wearing until now, her helm off for the night. "Brr - just looking at you makes me want to knit you a hat, Vivienne."
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► INACHINASHOP
And she'd gotten to know them well, better than some of them realised. Though her mask shrugged everyone off some she cared for, had become a little fond of and it made the endless trundling through the wilderness that much more enjoyable.
Which also made it simple to notice when something in Skyhold wasn't right. Particularly with those louder members of their group. The usual jovial comments that could be heard around the Chargers were duller, the combat training lacking in energy, in one participant. Though the Chargers still trained their dutiful leader wasn't engaged with them, no showing off of his moves to test and improve them.
One day of that she could have passed aside but when it became a second? She'd waited until the training had subsided, taking a walk with Cremisius to employ a favour of him -- to ask Bull to visit her that evening. It gave her a few hours to prepare what she needed, a simple task that could easily be convincing but also allowed Skyhold to quieten more for the evening.
Which is how he'll find her, lounged reading, looking up when she notes that tell-tale footsteps. "Ah, Iron Bull, I'm so glad that you could take them time to see me."
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Better to just keep thinking about that than to try and figure out anything else. Vivienne's sharp, the kind of sharp where you go in at less than a hundred percent still trying to act like you can handle it, and you're going to get cut deeper than you're ready for. So whatever this is about, he's going to just go in hands off. He can trust her enough for that. She wants Corypheus dead as much as the rest of them do, so she's good on the larger scale, and as far as the smaller scale stuff goes she's always seemed happy enough with their little power plays, him pulling back just far enough to give her something to rein in and then folding completely, like they both know he's going to. So whatever this is about he can probably afford to stop trying to keep up with her goals, motivations, whatever he can learn about her, just this one time.
There's something almost nice about it, too. With her, more than anyone else, it's going to be easy to step back and let things go wherever they're going to go. She wants to steer -- needs to, he thinks -- and doesn't ever seem to expect him to do much more than float along in her wake. Might be nice right now, even if it doesn't last that long.
"Thanks for inviting me up ma'am," he says, tone mild and humble, with a respectful nod at her. He stays right next to the stairs, not assuming, not coming into her space unless he's invited. Doesn't ask the obvious question so much as restates a fact, and lets her take that fact wherever she wants. Letting her lead. "Krem said you wanted to see me for something?"
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Her book is closed, delicately placed on the table beside her, a hand offered to the chair across from her lounger and in surprise to her usual decor she'd had one brought up that would handle him even if it wasn't the most comfortable. Vivienne had at least put something over it so that it blended in more but the attempt is made.
"I trust your discretion with it." Not that she needs to ask. There's a good measure between the two of them, a silent appreciation of what he does and what he knows, resources that aren't spoken about but are useful not only to the Inquisition but pieces that Vivienne at times takes the effort to read. Those less classified, anyway.
"And--" There's a pause, a smile that forms on her. "Is that a new scent, darling? I do approve." Gotta praise the little things. Especially the effort he puts in for her.
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Huh, he thinks, and settles himself carefully into it. It barely creaks at all, which doesn't surprise him. If Vivienne's going to pick something like that out at all, she's going to do it right.
"Uh, yeah." Maybe normally he'd duck his head to sniff at himself, like a qunari could ever forget having that kind of extra smell on them. Make a show of it. As it is, he just gives a little shrug. "There was this noble at the bathhouse who was using something that reminded me of some of your stuff. Seemed like a good idea."
Then he focuses on her. Again, meant to be hands off, but Vivienne needing discretion isn't necessarily a great sign and his gaze on her is watchful, frowning a little, waiting to take in any little clue. If it's some kind of serious favour she needs, he guesses the chair makes sense; whatever this is about is going to be kind of crappy, probably, so she's making the extra effort when she asks for it, giving him that little acknowledgement. Makes sense that she wouldn't make a gesture like that unless she was in some kind of trouble. "Everything alright, ma'am? My kind of 'discretion' isn't usually the kind of thing you need to go in for."
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"It isn't but it's the kind I need now. I could have handed this to Leliana but they're endlessly busy and... a bolder statement may work better."
She sighs, legs sweeping down from the lounger as she gets up, crossing the area to where she keeps her papers. It's something that she'd had created for this, one of her own agents writing it, keeping it out of her own hand. It's a letter that she brings back, folded in her hands, not yet offered out as she sits back down.
"I received this earlier. No doubt you heard some time ago what happened with dear Bastien..." Everyone else had seemed to, had passed words to her even though Vivienne had kept her mask even more tightly pressed to her, distanced herself further. Time had passed and though truthfully the affair had ended well with his family, her in their favour, she's had something written far opposite to that. Not by family but a crude letter falsely signed from another noble the same.
"The threats I know are baseless but with the world we are in... there are steps I myself cannot take."
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"The assassin stuff isn't really my thing, ma'am," he says, slowly and more than a little awkwardly. Feels really weird saying no to her like this. "I might be able to write a couple letters for... uh..."
Wait. Ugh. Would he have jumped right to the thing he doesn't want that to mean if he'd been more on his game today? There's probably no way to know. His hand drops from his horn, and the little grimace lingers.
"Unless you just meant you want this guy discredited some other way," he goes on, focusing on her again while his expression tries to smooth out into something more businesslike. "The Chargers can definitely take care of that one for you. What kind of threats are we talking about?"
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If she had really wanted someone assassinating there would have been other arms that she would have reached out to, though making certain that it had her mark on it rather than the Inquisition's would have been necessary.
No, this was something smaller particularly given how untrue it was. Though the nobleman that she'd selected really could use a little scandal and discrediting, honestly it would likely be a good move all the same.
"It's nothing serious, not a threat on my life... just my position. If I was the sole target it could be handled swifter but this is Bastien's sister also. They have always been kind to me. I won't let their name be tarnished by jealousy and a baseless upstart."
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"I might need to know more about the kinds of threats, who's sending them out, all that stuff, but we can do that later. What kind of discrediting were you thinking? Something embarrassing, or something more serious?"
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"I can't thank you enough for this, dear Bull. I'll leave all of the details for you." And really, it'd be interesting to see the kind of job he could pull with this. For Orlesian work she certainly wouldn't usually ask him but this would be an insight.
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"Shit," he murmurs in a low, almost angry tone, those new thoughts quieted almost as soon as they got there by the little line of red on the back of the chair. It's not that much at all, and even if it was one of her usual chairs the stain's only on the cover she put over the top of it to make it match the colour scheme, but it's Vivienne. Vivienne, who keeps her space controlled and perfect and just so, who trusts the Bull even so much as she does because she trusts his control enough to treat him like knows how to respect hers.
He reaches out like he's going to try to rub the stain off or pull the cover down to take with him or something, then says "Shit," again, vehemently now, because adding bloodied half-finger prints onto the whole stupid thing just makes him look worse, and he should have known the stupid crap like rubbing at that spot on the base of his horn, rolling his shoulder like that, that it was going to break a couple of the scabs back there open again, the boys have been teasing him about the scratches all morning. But he hasn't been in a big fight lately and it's so rare that anything barehanded is enough to break through qunari skin, and he was thinking about getting in the right headspace to meet up here with Vivienne and he just forgot.
The Bull feels himself taking a slow, automatic breath in through his nose, so he follows it up by holding that breath -- just for a couple seconds, usually not a long enough time that anyone not already looking closely at him is going to notice -- and then he lets it out through his mouth.
Okay. This is probably not as big a deal as it feels like. Or maybe it is. It's hard to tell, and he has a good idea just why it's hard to tell, and he doesn't have the time or the privacy to stop and try to figure it out right now.
"Sorry ma'am," he says, tone a little subdued but casual now, neutral, and he shakes his head. "I'll get this cleaned up the right way and get it back to you. Wasn't thinking."
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It's easy to note the blood on the cloth, it distinct against the white fabric, though she hasn't yet seen where it's come from on him. But that's the second task. His tone, his manner whilst courteous as always is quieter and she doesn't like it. They all need him
"Oh, darling, it's a simple sheet, there's nothing to it." And whilst her tone could sound every bit convincing to someone that knows Vivienne knows that any simple sheet she put on something wouldn't be cheap. But in the greater scheme of things her concern is over him and not a slightly bloodied sheet that is better to replace if it can't be cleaned. Though in the Inquisition they've had plenty of practice at getting blood out of things.
"But if you're injured that should be taken care of." She steps closer as she speaks, better catching sight of some of the scratches adorning him. "Would you let me see? I may be able to heal it up."
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But he's not going to say no to her, is he. Not when she just offered to help. You don't wave something like that away, not from someone like her. It might not be worth noticing but she already noticed, because he brought it to her attention because he didn't think, and he just has to deal with that.
"It's not a big deal or anything," he says, even as he turns around, tilting his head so some of the scabs at the base of his horns are easier to see. It's there mostly, there and at the top of one of his shoulders, a couple sets of three close, parallel scratches, narrow and moving down under his pauldron. That's been annoying, the way the leather rubs them back open when he moves around too much, but the real distraction's been coming from the raised, uneven edges of that skin growing over his horns, where it's apparently not that hard to claw a bunch of little chunks away. It's all at the back so she probably would have seen it when he went to walk away anyway, but would she still have stopped him about it? Who knows. It still just feels stupid, like he made this whole big show just because he was frustrated and made it all seem a lot more important than it is.
"Probably kind of hard for you to reach anyway, nothing that can't heal on its own. I'll just uh, try not to sit on anything else that fancy in the mean time."
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► REGAL_MAGUS
But now the evening had concluded, Vivienne having had some wine brought into the summer lounge, the mage reclined along the couch. Only along or with her most trusted of friends would she ever seem so relaxed, so unmasked.
"For reintroducing you into society that was quite the successful evening."
Her mask sits on the table beside her glass of wine, though she's not yet shed her boots or the other adornments of her gown. Which may be getting a little in the way of her truly reclining out.
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Wine had not been his choice, so he'd summoned up a mixed drink and sprawled himself lazily over a couch, looking toward the feline-esque mask he had been given. What a choice.
"Are they always so busy trying to undermine each other?"
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"Though yes, you are already introduced to some society but this was to widen your circles. However will you find your own gossip otherwise?"
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"Touche, my dear. But still, I knew Orlesians were slow and teasing in their games. I have to wonder about it though. How you manage to show so much restraint with your magic is impressive too."
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"Magic is a tool like any other. It's useful in the right circumstance but not something to be abused."
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A tool, huh? He abused it always.
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"Perhaps it's lucky you have fewer problems."
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"I'm hardly a sensible mage."
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Perhaps they're concerned about what he is and not having a way to stop it, perhaps that demon part of him protects against possession. There are many things they don't yet really know.
"But this isn't a good post-salon topic. No sense in ruining the mood now."
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"That Lord whatever his name was, does he really think no one notices that he's involved with that little carriage driver he brought with him?"
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So many nobles had affairs with their servants, often multiple of them. Minor affairs that were rumours but became nothing more didn't tend to be of too much interest. She'd only been a scandal for being a mage and not because she was a Duke's mistress.
"Though they do still make for entertaining gossip. I do believe that one's a more recent affair."
sorry for the delay, a family matter came up
"Musical chairs with partners, that's what you all do. Where I'm from who is sleeping with ho is absolutely the gossip, and the scandal. I think it's a bit refreshing to see it not true here."
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hello hello girls cuddling in the cold
It's not her first blunder. (Her first was uttering Maker, my tits are freezing as soon as they neared the Inquisition's base camp, in full hearing range of requisition agents, soldiers and Lace Harding.)
Vivienne is capable, however, and she is vicious. But it's the first night, and they've just established a second camp by the lake, and they all need the rest. The tents promise some sort of shielding from the cold, but Evelyn still suggests they pair up to stave off the cold. She lets Dorian and Iron Bull bunker together, because she's got some bets going on about all that with Varric, and picks a suitable tent for us ladies.
"How have you not opted for a warmer armor?" is what she utters, as she enters the tent to find Vivienne not in a nightgown, but still in the same (revealing) (sexy) armor she was wearing until now, her helm off for the night. "Brr - just looking at you makes me want to knit you a hat, Vivienne."