crystal

[bouchonne]

FORM: Crystalll
SENDER: Byerly (sorry)
RECIPIENT: Everyone (sorry)
WHAT: Talking fashion + trying to pick a fight out of boredom
WHEN: Post-Divine election
WHERE: Everywhere
NOTES: None

So - Divine Beatrix IV. Dreadfully aesthetically displeasing, that name. I think it's the ks sound at the end. Bee-a-triksss. Gives it such an air of menace, no?

[ Byerly sounds cheerful. ]

But it sounds like there's a coronation to go to. Who's planning on attending? And, more importantly, what's everyone going to wear? If anyone goes dressed that hideous-looking Inquisition formal garb, I swear, I'll disavow all knowledge of you. Let's look stylish.

[ And then, with a little sigh - ]

Oh, and as a little postscript - mages, elves, please do me a kindness and scream about your oppression as evidenced by our choice of Divine elsewhere. Elf-mages are doubly unwelcome. Honestly, you never hear dwarves yelling about how much they're mistreated. And you never hear the Tranquil going on. Would that all mages could be like them.

Comments

[keenly]

I've got, um. A green shirt. Got embroidery on it.

[Not taking the bait, sorry By.]

[bouchonne]

Green? With your complexion?

[keenly]

Lexie liked it.

[bouchonne]

[ A skeptical noise. ]

Well, I haven't known her judgment to fail. I shall need to evaluate it beforehand, however.

[exequy]

[ Absolutely taking that bait, you're welcome By. ]

Unless missing teeth are stylish, you should shut the fuck up.

[bouchonne]

[ Very pleased - ]

What - don't tell me you're sticking up for the formal garb. It's so ugly.

[exequy]

You aren't funny.

[bouchonne]

Oh, if I were telling jokes about the Orlesian nobility, you'd be giggling.

[ipseite]

I was for so many years dressed by others that I fear I've not the grasp of style myself to know which hair ribbon will best flatter existential dread.

( she is very good at a tone sufficiently mild, and not over-earnest, that it almost sounds like she isn't being droll. )

[coquettish_trees]

A sort of cornflower-blue silk, I should say.

[ likewise. it sounds almost like genuine advice. ]

[ipseite]

Ah, I have all this time been prepared.

[coquettish_trees]

Your intuition proves sound, Madame!

[ it is unfortunate that no matter how much small levity is interjected, even the brief envisioning of what color might best suit Petrana’s complexion (and existential dread) calls up unbidden the sight of the woman shattered against the pavestones.

Alexandrie briefly wonders if the Madame de Cedoux is given similar pause by her own reflection, sometimes. ]

You shall be able to dress yourself yet.

[bouchonne]

Would you like me to dress you?

[ipseite]

I hesitate to imagine what you envision that entailing, Mssr Rutyer.

[aenseidhe]

Pass.

[ on doing you the kindness. he will scream right here all he wants. ]

May your chosen Divine trip on her fine robes expensive enough to feed an alienage family for a month.

The dwarves aren't yelling as they're too busy drinking through all this instead. Or, hiding away in the mountains that still belong to them.

[coquettish_trees]

[ dryly: ] I was unaware they dined with such decadence in the Alienages.

[ the Coronation Robes of the Divine could likely feed Château Fontaine for a month.

Why are we encouraging Iorveth to more class-inequity-based rage? Who knows. ]

[aenseidhe]

[ with wry humor - ]

Ah, was the estimation off? I'll confess, I haven't had the chance to examine Her Holiness' wardrobe closely enough to appraise them.

[bouchonne]

Aren't you a Rifter?

[aenseidhe]

Yes. And an elf. Or are Rifter elves allowed scream about oppression wherever we please? I saw a statue in Hightown that could make a good soapbox.

[chainlightning]

Take it elsewhere? [ She hums in thought. ]

Well, where are you? So that I know where not to be.

[bouchonne]

I am everywhere.

[ Cheerily - ]

Or - if not me, then at least men exactly like me.

[chainlightning]

So you're saying I shouldn't be anywhere?

[indissection]

Will you match with me, dear?

[bouchonne]

Nothing would give me greater pleasure, my darling. What will you wear?

[indissection]

Only the most flattering of colours. Red, purple or black.