(no subject)

[theproperglove]

FORM: Sending Crystal
SENDER: Josephine Montilyet
RECIPIENT: Everyone!
WHAT: A question! (Please talk to her, she's lonely.)
WHEN: Current
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: n/a


Good evening, everyone. My name is Josephine Montilyet and I am the Ambassador for the Inquisition. I've not had the pleasure of meeting as many of you as would like personally, so... I thought this might be an easier, more - ah - approachable way of getting to know each other better.

( She clears her throat as though to prevent herself from rambling. )

I must confess I do not know where to start. Perhaps a conversational ice-breaker will have to do. ( So much for not rambling. ) What do you miss most about your life before the Inquisition?

Comments

[degenere]

This is a very cruel question, you know.

[theproperglove]

It was not my intention to he cruel. ( A beat. ) You have my apologies.

[degenere]

I suppose I accept your apologies. Do they come with decent wine? That is one of the many, many things that I miss, mademoiselle.

[theproperglove]

( She would start taking all these critiques of the Inquisition's wine supply personally if she did not share them. )

I take it the stock at the tavern isn't to your liking?

[degenere]

Shall I speak plainly?

[Without waiting for permission:]

I suspect that the barkeep goes down to the stables, collects all of the pissed-upon hay from the stalls, then carefully wrings out each strand into bottles and lets it sit out in a sunny place for at least a week. This, he calls fermenting. And then he serves it to us.

[theproperglove]

( Oh, how she wishes to point out that he hasn't actually answered her question, but she knows better than anyone that doing so will only work him up. It will simply have to be a funny story she tells someone else later. )

I cannot currently confirm your suspicions, but I will investigate them further. ( She probably won't, but oftentimes the promise itself is enough to placate. )

In the meantime, I happen to know the location of several bottles of Antivan wine, if that would suit your palate.

[degenere]

[A SIGH.]

I don't suppose there is any hope for Orlesian? No, I will not even ask. That will just be a disappointment. Antivan will do, mademoiselle, on one condition.

[theproperglove]

( While Josephine vehemently disagrees, she knows better than to get in this argument with an Orlesian. )

And what is the condition?

[degenere]

Company!

[theproperglove]

I assume you don't refer to the usual occupants of the tavern?

[degenere]

Have you tried conversation, with the usual occupants?

[theproperglove]

I have indeed.

[degenere]

Then you understand the problem, and I need not elucidate or belabor the point. I cannot speak to the usual occupants.

[theproperglove]

So who's company is it you're seeking, precisely, if those at the tavern shall not do?

[degenere]

A better stock of company, of course. Those worthy of conversation and time, with the ability to match wits with the likes of me.

[Well.]

Us. Do you know how often we have tried, at the tavern, to draw in others to our conversations? And they have little to offer. It is depressing.

[theproperglove]

( There is much to be said for the available conversation in the tavern, Josephine thinks, but doesn't say: people have looser tongues when they're inebriated, and their stories become exaggerated in just the way she likes. Instead, she puts on her most polite voice and responds: )

If it is my company you seek, you need say only the word, monsieur.

[degenere]

Well, mademoiselle, when you put it that way... I do seek your company.

Please.

[theproperglove]

My schedule for the rest of the day is rather full ( lies ), but I do believe I can make some time for you tomorrow.

[degenere]

It would be an honor, mademoiselle, if you would make that time. In the afternoon, perhaps? The custom here seems to be to wake disgustingly early. Another strange habit that I cannot understand.

[theproperglove]

Ah, it must be something to do with the invigorating mountain air. ( She has heard someone, somewhere use that phrase before, and it sounds reasonable enough. )

The afternoon would do quite nicely, I should think.

[degenere]

It's funny. I have visited many mountains, in my travels, and never once felt inclined to be awake with the sun. Unless there was something interesting, of course.

[Truly perplexing.]

But, the afternoon at the tavern. It is agreed, mademoiselle.

[theproperglove]

I suppose it depends on what one finds interesting, truly. But, in any case, we are in agreement.

I will see you then.

(( ooc: would you be interested in threading this out here/wherever? C: ))

[degenere]

(( YES absolutely! here or wherever works for me, either way - i can set up a start regardless just lmk ))

[theproperglove]

(( here works for me just fine!! ))

trips in four days late without starbucks sorry

[degenere]

[In the tavern the next day, Val waits.

He should, in all honesty, be commended for how adroit he is at waiting. It is not in the blood of Valentine Nicasius Maxence Mérovée Olivier de Foncé to wait. A de Foncé does not wait. But as Val has successfully rejected most trappings of his upbringing, so has he trained himself toward a kind of patience.

Which means that he does arrive at the tavern first, and secures for himself a mug of ale (as the wine is still of a woeful vintage not worth his time, a fact which Val is very well-informed on, having charmed a serving girl into agreeing to inform him the moment a decent Antivan red should arrive).

All of which means that, when Josephine does arrive, she arrives to find him quite relaxed at a table all his own, leafing through a journal as if he is lunching on a terrace in Orlais instead of a tavern in Skyhold. No guesses as to who he is. He is well-dressed--not ostentatiously, but still very put-together. And he has a very nice ring on his right thumb. Rich boy.]