entrancelogs | + Where Do Your Loyalties Lie? +

Entry tags:

+ Where Do Your Loyalties Lie? +

Who: Everyone
Where: The party
When: 7/21-7/23
Rating: PG-13 (warn if you go higher)
Summary:
The Story:
Orlais' current ruler, Lacie, has invited anyone of name, fame, and influence to The Winter Palace for three days of extravagant festivities surrounding the peace talks between her and Tillie, whose grasp for the throne has plunged beautiful Orlais into a dreadful civil war. Unbeknownst to both a third player, Elsie, has worked tirelessly behind the scenes to obtain her own share of power over the land.

Get ready for three days of fancy food, fine drink, good music, good entertainment, and just a little bit of murder, maybe? Your character has secured an invitation, and will join the illustrious crowd, become privy to the latest scandals and gossip, and observe as the struggle for Orlais' throne reaches its final chapter.

[OOC: This is an open mingle log for the Dragon Age event. The plotting post can be found here and event details can be found on the Bulletin Board.]

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[She nods, like she's trying to understand. At least he knows how to talk in this situation.]

I uh, got invited. I'm a chevalier. I just don't usually do this whole... thing. The dancing and the talking. I'm a soldier, not a spy.

[Leave that to the bards and this whole crazy thing. It's why she shows up in pants and with a goddamn sword, for a start. Her displeasure for this whole ordeal has always been quite clear.]

[That sounds like something a spy would have as their cover story. But, then again...maybe not. It's too specific, too likely to arouse suspicion.]

Have you been one for very long? [He can tell that she's new at this - or at least, uncomfortable at the prospect of crowds and parties. Not that she needed to say it to make it apparent.]

[Yeah, saying "I'm not a spy" in the middle of a whole bunch of people, 75% of which are DEFINATELY spies? Very good. But frankly, she's not stupid, she just cannot bring herself to care.]

Well, ten years, ish. But I wasn't psuedo-famous until recently. So these uh, invites didn't really roll in.

[Now every goddamn noble wants to hear the story of the Phoenix, one woman against the hoarde, holding the line for hours just on her own. Rising from the ashes of a lost fight to claim victory. She's tired of telling it by now.]

At least the food's good.

Famous?

[He doesn't get out much, according to most sources. The sources that do know that he does are on lockdown not to mention it to anyone, and no one would believe them even if they did. But he blinks, stupidly, like he's only just now heard that someone might be famous.]

[She doesn't even keep up with sources. Her only foray into these scenes is when she's specifically requested, usually to tote around like some high prize horse. But this is information she also thought was pretty obvious, seeing as it's 90% of the reason she's even at this event.]

Yeah, I, uh... I'm the one who held the line at the Brecilian Forest? That, uh, yearish ago. People've been calling me "The Phoenix".

[She even does little air quotes with her hands for that one. There's really no point in guarding this kind of info; it's the reason she's here. She figures it's public by this point.]

It's fine if you don't know, it's-- I don't know how word gets around for stuff.

[The Phoenix. He didn't...expect people like her to be showing up here. Most of the guests are those who trend toward "useless nobility," and public acts of self-sacrifice aren't generally typical of that particular upper class. But then again, he doesn't know her. She could be anyone, and that could have been some warped publicity attempt.]

[Or he could just be a paranoid jackass. In his line of work, he can't afford to be anything but.]

No one tells us anything. [That isn't a lie; what is a lie is the implication that he doesn't already know by hearsay alone.]

[She's finally getting her footing in this conversation, meaning he says that and she snorts in amusement.]

Yeah, sure. As if you don't hear everything from these events. I know how it is.

[Rich people think the poor can't hear, basically. It'll fuck them up later.]

So, had you heard of me then?

[Yes.]

No?

[He offers it with an apologetic hanging of his head, a slumping of his shoulders, like he's ashamed that he hasn't. Anyone should be; she's something of a hero in some parts of the world, certainly, and here he is - this nobody who doesn't know.]

[That's the picture he's painting, anyway.]

No one...tells me anything.

[Also true.]

[He has to look for everything himself.]

[He certainly is selling it. She'd be dumb if she didn't keep staying skeptical, though. Nobody just fuckin' talks here.]

Hey, don't worry about it. Nobody tells anyone anything. You just need to figure it out. Kinda how it is for a lot of us.

[Which is still true. She'd have loved a cheat sheet of faces and dance moves and conversation topics. And yet.]

Just call me Shepard. It's fine.

[It's information, but not unknown information; knights like her always go by a last name. It's a safe handoff, nothing he'd hear from her mouth first.]

Okay.

[He says it quiet, sheepish - sheepish, and she's Shepard, and that's almost funny, but the Tim she's talking to wouldn't be clever enough to figure something like that out so he keeps himself silent like he should.]

Did you need...anything?

[She does her best to give him a real smile, at least. It's honestly the minimum she could do.]

Nah, I'm good, I think. Thanks for chatting with me. Do you?

Edited (wrong icon) 2018-09-21 18:47 (UTC)

[A blink. There's a joke there, if he were the sort of person who could manage it - who could be amusing and charismatic and disarming.]

No. No one...asks me that. [But he is none of those things, so he simply comes across as puzzled.]

[Shepard's the kind of person who just wants to help, even if it's below her station. A lot of the time, she doesn't have the ability. But she's finding it makes her feel better just to ask someone who isn't one of the stuck up people out there.]

Well, I'm asking. You need anything. Hell, I'll sneak you some of the fancy eats if you want anything, though I'm sure it's probably easier for you guys to just raid the kitchen.

No, we - can't. We're not allowed.

[He probably seems pretty pathetic as he says it. It's unavoidable. And so he adds in wilting undertone the one truth he can venture throughout this entire conversation:]

I can't lose my job.

[That much, at least, is true.]

[She nods.]

No, no, I get that. Wouldn't want to put you in a bad position. But if it's something you can't get-- let me know, alright? I'll see what I can do.

They'll do anything for a hero?

[What kind of sway can she claim? Has she reached her limit of what she can ostensibly ask for within reason? How far can a hero get, in a game of political intrigue that's more built around verbal capital than it is how many monsters you can slay?]

They'll do a lot to find favor with me. Or at least not to piss me off.

[She's not a target you can just send an assassin after and expect them to win. Most won't even accept a hit out on her, even for an exorbitantly high price. She sleeps with weapons, is lightning quick, and will absolutely fight for every second. So they can't say something and then think it won't matter later around her- it will. It absolutely will.]

Don't think that I can get you the moon, kid, I'm talking something I can stick in my pocket that won't get either of us stabbed.

[First thought: get her to owe you. Second thought: she probably doesn't even need that incentive.]

[He's a terrible person at his core to think that as quickly as he does. He knows it. He doesn't contest it. He's an opportunist by nature and by necessity, and this isn't up for debate.]

[Tim drops his gaze, seemingly contrite. She calls him "kid," even if he can't be that much younger than her. Maybe that's part of what being a hero is; asserting that kind of authoritarian edge, even when it's not really warranted.]

Sorry. I know - I know that.

[As much as she's kind, Shepard radiates a don't fuck with me energy, especially so for this party. The sword, an utter refusal to proper attire, loud talking and eating and the continuous dare to come do something about it no one will take up. It's just part of the constant pull to rebel, to thwart those that would control her.

But he looks like he needs help, so. That's a lure if she's ever seen one. And not even one she needs to be told to take.]

Don't worry about it. Just let me know, yeah?

Okay.

[File that away. That she's willing to help. That she might be easily skewed in one direction or another - as long as the stakes are real.]

[With a hero like that, the risk of making the stakes real would be worth it.]

[She nods, and looks back towards the door.]

Well thanks, kid. Take care of yourself, alright? They're... probably looking for me out there.

[Which she... strongly dislikes. But there's nothing she can do about that. She tilts her head back towards him.]

Did I ever get your name?

[Did she?]

[He supposes not. It would have been easiest if she could only track him by appearance, but that's not a practical option whatsoever. And there's no reasonable way to refuse either, so:]

...Tim. It's Tim.

[Shepard raises an eyebrow, like she isn't sure if he's telling the truth but has come to expect that by now.]

Alright, Tim. See you around.

[And she'll give him a little wink before she peeks to see if anyone is coming, and slips out the door.]

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+ Where Do Your Loyalties Lie? +

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