therookery | (no subject)

FORM: crystal
SENDER: Marisol & Finch
RECIPIENT: everyone
WHAT:

WHEN: during the mission to Ferelden
WHERE: somewhere, Ferelden
NOTES: sorry, Finch.

Oh, colleagues, friends. Esteemed Inquisition members and orbiting loiterers. I have a question for you; a matter of function and form.

And napkins.

And delicate masculinity, imperiled by investment in attire. Finch and I have been discussing a deeply controversial topic, one that I fear may chill you all to the core. This could be what strengthens the Inquisition and brings us together as an effective force to defeat the evils of this world, or could see us forever divided and scattered to the winds of uncertainty.

( Aghast: ) It’s not del — how’s it delicate not wanting to sew a bib on half your chest? Can’t be the Banns actually dress like this. Not dribbling on themselves. They’ve got, I don’t know, servants for that.

(She sounds concerned. )

Have you been recently dribbled on?

( Not that concerned, though. ) Moving on— ruffles, Inquisition. Serah Finch asserts that there is never time or place for tasteful ruffles, which I must add, do not resemble bibs.

I washed it! That’s the point!

( Dribbling. )

Look. You’re all — ( Insane? But you can’t say that out loud. ) — Worldly, how long do you reckon we’ve got before someone catches their fancy sleeves on fire?

( Quietly, ) I think perhaps you missed a spot, there’s a little something—

( And perhaps it is possible to imagine her leaning over to (pretend to?) wipe something off his face. )

( The scuffling thump of someone toppling abruptly off a horse. )

Material properly fashioned - whether in ruffles or drapery or whatever fine form it may take - is not an inherent fire hazard. Competence and poise are key.

( Helpfully, ) And they might cushion your fall, sometimes. A thought for next time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[excuse that's his favorite terrible cousin you watch your tone]

If you've got to ask, you're hardly worth explaining to.

[ you watch YOURS !! ]

Who d'you think the worst person would be to ask at this party?

[ at these talks, whatever. he isn't blind to the stake marisol apparently has in this. ]

( Lightly, ) Someone who can slit your throat in your sleep.

But he's already asked you.

Nikos! You know I would never.

( — never dull her blade by using it on someone whose death wasn't worth her time. )

Mm.

[Sure.]

Yes. I forgot it was you, a fragile flower, who I was speaking to. Someone else would have to do it for you.

Yes, a delicate Antivan rose, a bloom vulnerable to the dangers of the elements.

( Her sigh is dramatic. ) So delicate that I surely would not know who to ask such favours.

Ha,

[Nikos says, very dryly.]

Roses aren't without thorns.