A SURVEY

[aventuriere]

FORM: Crystal
SENDER: Baroness Frédérique Durfort-Lacapalette, Brother Jehan Mercier, and Valentine Nicasius Maxence Mérovée Olivier de Foncé
RECIPIENT: Everyone
WHAT: Important questions
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Everywhere
NOTES: Please threadjack

Inquisition, we have a question for you.

[ DO NOT SILENCE YOUR CRYSTALS. That is an Orlesian voice, but it is not Val de Foncé's voice. Instead, it is the voice of a woman, which makes it immediately superior. You are probably safe. Maybe. Keep listening. ]

You see, we are scholars. The best of scholars! And this Inquisition, it offers the most magnifique opportunities to learn more of this world and we, my friends, we are here to take on that most noble challenge!

We are conducting a study. [ From the tavern. ] Which of Thedas' nations is your favorite? Le plus fantastique? [ A pause, some murmuring reminder while the crystal is covered with a hand. ] You may not say Orlais, and you must explain why, pour l'étude.

[ HERE is Val’s voice. Please keep listening. ]



You may not say Orlais because we already know that it is Orlais. We have been to Orlais, many times. [ A voice cuts in, dry: ] We are even from Orlais, in case you had not guessed. [ From, you know. The really obvious accents. ] For this, we seek other answers. Answers that are more diverse. Perhaps it is better to say second best? Second favorite? With, naturally, Orlais being the favorite. We are, you see, all in disagreement.

It is threatening to tear us apart, when we have only just been brought back together.

Yes, because you are wrong. If you would cease to be so wrong, we would not be torn apart!

No, you are-- Ah, courage, my friends! We must not be torn apart. [ There is some shuffling and oofing. It is possible that arms are being thrown about shoulders and necks are being squeezed. ] Inquisition, we turn to you, on behalf of our reunion, and the great Baroness Haut-Brion.

If you answer our question we will permit you to call her Freddie.

You will permit nothing, but I may permit it, if your answers are particularly clever.

Also, for a bet-- [ Should Chantry Brothers make bets? Shh. Should Chantry Brothers pause while speaking to drink wine? Shhhhh. ] How many times per day is it reasonable to pray? Suppose that you are also reasonably faithful.

Suppose that you are a madman, a holy madman--

And that you desire nothing more than to be Andraste's second husband and like Maferath to be cuckolded by the Maker himself--

[ Should Chantry brothers dump wine over the heads of their friends? Shhhhhhhhh. ]

Comments

[inagutterson]

Well obviously not Orlais, I mean just listen to all the words coming out of your faceholes. [Too many words, Orlesian words, only good if you're going to be swindling other Orlesians honestly.] But I got punched there. The little cakes are good but I got punched.

Kirkwall was fine until they let the Fereldans in but they got dogshit everywhere because they roll in it like animals. We used to watch them do it. No manners. So...how d'you count Avvar holds? Because they're all different but they're not nations really, but they're brilliant.

[aventuriere]

And how are the little cakes in Avvar holds, pray tell?

[inagutterson]

Oh they don't have little cakes, can you imagine an Avvar eating a little cake? They've got stodgy stuff, good stodgy stuff and honey biscuity things that probably have a name but I eat them too quick to ever bother asking what they're called.

[What is this? A cake for ants???]

[aventuriere]

I can imagine an Avvar eating a tiny cake, in fact I quite like this image. I may commission a painting.

[inagutterson]

I'd say I had the perfect subject but he was just sent back to the Lady of the Skies and he hated tiny cakes. Caused a minor [translation: major] incident in a patissy- patsy-erry?

[Nailed it.]

[aventuriere]

Oh? What sort of incident? A patisserie has such potential for impropriety. [ She pops the 'P's on both words in amusement. ] Was it a macaron mishap? Clafoutis calamity? Dariole debacle?

[inagutterson]

You know, those could all actually be proper desserts in Orlais, like the whole shebang, or girl's names. I know a Clafoutis and three Dariole's. [In a brothel, not a patisserie but minor details. He got lost on his way to both, still had a grand old time.] But it was a roulade rumble meets fondant fancicuffs. [See what he did there, bow down, give him a prize that is inspired, what a wordsmith.]. Avvar style. With a mabari bonus.

[degenere]

A more important question: why were you watching anyone roll around in dogshit? That cannot be what passes for entertainment.

[aventuriere]

It might be. They are dull, disgusting places.

[degenere]

Even at my dullest, I can think of half a hundred better amusements.

[inagutterson]

How do you know what passes for entertainment, that's rude, you don't know my life. I wanted to know what the smell was, I could smell it in Darktown, and if you can smell it in Darktown then you need to know and well, there they were.

I mean dwarves do it too, only it's just the Orzammar ones.

[Trust him, he's a dwarf, he knows all the dwarf things.]

[degenere]

You're losing me, monsieur. Do you mean that dwarves seek smells for fun, that dwarves also roll in dog shit for entertainment, that dwarves observe dog shit rolling for entertainment, or that they smell things in Darktown for fun.

i apologise profusely for him

[inagutterson]

I thought you had a big fancy university in your country. What do they teach you? People like to go on about it when you fondle the statues.

[He fondled some statues. They were handsome and/or beautiful statues. He was three sheets to the wind and then some.]

Right, they don't have dogs in Orzammar, but if they did then it'd be the Diamond Quarter lot just riding them. All day. Mowing down the locals. Like-- so chevaliers go into the alienage, or they did, I went in on my way here, slapped some funky tree someone had planted that I don't think anyone had pissed on yet? But imagine that, with dogs, and more dust. And face brands. You get the picture.

But they have nugs in Orzammar. Lots of nugs. Just buried in nugs in places, can't walk two steps without booting a nug, and how they roll in it, the height of luxury. [Trust him. He's a dwarf. He knows these arcane dwarven secrets.] And who are you to judge, less weird than cutting about in a mask all day, and thinking quillback spines were cool.

Darktown just smells. Smells real. Alive. You ever want to know what the real world smells like I'll give you the guided tour, did all the good growing there.

[Like a small potato. Had to sprout up from the filth you know. Not everyone had silverite spoons up their arses sir!!!]

please don't i'm happy

[degenere]

I prefer to fondle real breasts, but there's no course of study at the University for that, my friend. And more's the pity.

[Baffled but amused, Val tries to pick apart the rest of what he's just been told. It isn't easy.]

And I think all trees in Skyhold have been pissed upon at one point or another, if that is what you mean. Do we have to go to this Darktown to catch the smells?

[inagutterson]

Isn't that what university is? I've read books.

[Books you read with one hand if you know what he means.]

No, I mean elf-trees, the ones they have in the alienages; there's a new one in Halamshiral now and it is weird. Not just because they haven't pissed on it but maybe it's related, I'm waiting to hear back from my boss and her second on it.

[Now please, let him clutch his pearls. (They are totally not stolen what slander.)]

You've never been? You haven't lived if you haven't been. Puts hair on your chest, and you're Orlesian, you need some of that.

[degenere]

If only.

[The university is pretty great, but come on. How much greater would that be. Also, things Val doesn't care about: the elf trees. He skips over that entirely to get to the part about a place he has never been, which is a deeply more interesting topic.]

You know, in Orlais, it is fashionable to not be hairy in the chest. This survey was for places that you prefer, places of a certain charm. Is that Darktown, to you, that you feel so passionately that I should visit?

[inagutterson]

[Val come punch it. Or better yet: allow him to punch you into it if that is what Lady Gwenaelle-Better-Than-All-The-Rest desires because it would be such poetry.

You like poetry, don't you Val.]

In Orlais if it was fashionable to stick lurker balls on your chin then people would do it. [This...is very tempting. Could the Carta swing this. For reasons.] Darktown is where only the strong survive, because I survived, because I ate all but one of the rest of the siblings I had when we hatched out of the ground when our eyes met and we knew the other was worthy. It's where all the proper business goes on. Less merchant's guild frippery, more honest bloke-to-bloke chats over pints to get it done.

[Sometimes with thumbscrews and smashed kneecaps but Orlais has bards so no one can go throwing stones only they can in Darktown because there isn't any glass for it to be a glass house look at him just kicking the legs out from under this analogy.]

[elegiaque]

Yngvi, you have hurt my heart.

( orlais is terrible get over it Gwenaëlle )

[inagutterson]

My Lady.

[Do you hear him bowing. He's bowing.

Totally bowing.

Punched himself in the mouth with the sending crystal.]

If Orlais was you? Twenty out of ten. But it's not you. It's your dad punching me in the face and that bunch of twits, and all the Orlesians that married into Kirkwall and brought their shitty wine with them.

[elegiaque]

I suppose he did hit you very hard.

[inagutterson]

He did. I put some steak on it. And punched a strange tree in the alienage on my way. By the way, there's a really weird tree in the alienage now, gave it a good smack. For you.

[elegiaque]

What sort of 'weird' tree? How odd can a tree be?

( and then-- ) Well, thank you, though.

[inagutterson]

It wasn't the elf-tree. Only it was. But not the usual sort of elf-tree in an alienage nonsense, I've seen lots of those. I wrote to Melisende and Liadan, when they write me back I'll show you what they say. Oh and get this, no one had pissed on it.

[Dramatic pausing feels appropriate because like, one it's Yngvi and two, it's a tree in an alienage that no one has peed on yet.]

I mean I gave it a good solid smack. Whole flat of my hand. Felt a bit...thrummy? When you twang a bowstring? Just felt strange, not like I wanted to go all elfy and start prancing around it stripped starkers but definitely felt almost Kirkwallish. Suspiciously Kirkwallish.

[Taste the blood magic.]

Anything for you, m'Lady.

[elegiaque]

Anything? Because I know someone who could do with a smack in the mouth.

( she definitely means val. )

--how does a tree feel 'Kirkwallish'?

( diverted from her plot to get val punched in the face, she squints unseen at nothing in particular; )

How can a tree be new? Trees don't just happen.

[inagutterson]

Princess. Your grace. Lady and all the stars in the sky - anything. Name it.

[Allow him to deal with this man for you, he will combat roll into battle.]

Kirkwall was stuffed full of blood magic way before any of the new stuff went down, I know that much, used to find weird shit on our evening strolls. That tree felt like that a bit. Just-- something about it was off. And no new tree should be like that, that's why I hit it for you. Because I knew you would feel the same. Then I wrote to my lady bosses. Because they know elf tree stuff good.