[ very few could accuse yennefer of doing the right thing. the very image of an unruly apostate in an endless self-serving quest to expand her power. if only she had made it to tevinter, where she might truly thrive in a voracious conquest of power. politics suited her, though the sorceress did not suit politics. every moment spent in court left her dying a little inside every time. she hated the masks, they never quite sat on her face right. the physical ones, the societal ones. no patience for either.
she should have left for minrathous ages ago. she should have done the right thing for her. a second time came and went. waylaid by a letter (and perhaps an inch of doubt), would rather blame some splinter of conscience left of her than admit she might be miserable in the imperium too.
skyhold is in a desolate place. there is beauty in the silence of deep and endless feeling chasms. quite the operation bustling behind the keep walls. word of haven has long spread, she's not alone in the journey arriving to its gates. many of them weep at the sight of their banners, long pilgrimages from all corners of thedas. for a better cause, for the herald of andraste.
it'd been waiting some time through empty halls. men at arms encourage her to wait somewhere else, but she eventually outlasts them. tinkering around josephine's things, though finding even her spare reading is dry. innocuous towards the conversation echoing down the hall as the inquisitor and her advisors settle next matters. she is still reading (some droll text on fereden treaties) beside the fire.
a door longways down opens to silence and slams shut. the witch turns a page as footsteps rattle closer.]
I would have thought the inquisition had bigger things on their plate than meddling in Orlesian politics.
[ or was she not supposed to eavesdrop. this is probably why they preferred she wait outside. ]
( two weeks ago, a party had arrived from orlais. not attached to either side of the civil war — not explicitly, at least — but bearing word of the comte de vauquelin, his regrets at his inability to personally attend his daughter's rise in station, his sworn support to her cause. he had sent, besides a selection of his own men at arms and generous supplies and coin, an elven woman of well-kept indeterminate middle age. she had taken skyhold in hand as chatelaine, as she's served the vauquelins for all of the inquisitor's life — taking duties from josephine's hands that allow her more time for the more pressing elements of her occupation, arguing extensively with gwenaëlle about orlesian politics among them.
gwenaëlle emerged from her own quarters a week ago, her jaw set nearly identically to the way it is now when her gaze swivels from her purpose to yennefer, brought to a halt by the interruption. she had emerged with a new determination, where orlais is concerned, and she knows now she should have kept it to herself until she was in strangling distance. the flat lack of recognition that lasts only a moment has less to do with how memorable yennefer was or was not and more to do with how thoroughly occupied she is by present wrangling, )
I'm reliably informed they're inextricable from one another.
( she must, she is told, have some allies. she must, she is told, be able to rely upon orlais. why she should be able to do this when orlais itself cannot is beyond her, but further, why she should bind herself to celene—
she should never have told any of them she intends the empress to die. )
Where these cunts think they're going to hide from the sky is a fucking mystery, but that's apparently neither here nor there.
[ how many years has it been? she'd lost track between the gwen she'd met in the circle and the one that stands before her now. of course, she'd never known the gwen before her first severance. and all that happened in between may as well have been enough to fill several lifetimes over. all of it deeply meddled in politics, why does yennefer always find herself at the foot of more? the sorceress may never truly know what sort of fated boon that lands her there time and time again.
a wry little smile crosses her lips, book thwapping shut in her hands. happy to finally have the excuse to rid herself of it. she stands, smoothing out the wrinkles of her coat as she makes a polite approach.]
I suppose waiting for the abominations and wraiths to put out a few well-placed dukes is out of the question.
[ there are a few she remembers by name could use a bit of rural humbling, though that would be terribly undiplomatic (probably). unfortunately, very effective in getting things to move along politically once the thing they're avoiding has manifested in their back garden. historically, that has been elves. they shan't go there today. ]
I'm certain they'd be more amicable to impending threats if those threats include the cancellation of too many spring balls.
[ then again no one asked her here for her politics, they asked her here to be a mentor. not that any sort of title has held her tongue when it comes to slam dunking on the bourgeoisie.]
( several of her advisors, indeed, have spoken firmly and at length about their disapproval of the prospect of strategically withholding assistance to make a few examples. gwenaëlle was not then, and does not look now, terribly convinced by the idea that's off the table. she'd been a little more interested in noting who didn't put much effort into dissuading her—
that might be worth knowing, if the opportunity arises to act on it. she doesn't know yennefer well enough to guess if the remark is in earnest or idle griping; she's heard a lot of the latter, although less now that she's got most of them on their toes about how seriously she might take a suggestion if she likes the sound of it. )
I want Celene's head, ( she says, conversationally. ) I will have it. I think that will be adequately persuasive.
( someone will have to sit on the throne, and she doesn't like the idea of it being gaspard—
but it is not going to be celene. the expression on her face is
more familiar, maybe, than the vibrating irritation she'd emerged from her war room with. most tranquil adopt, over time, a sort of absent half-smile; an effort at expression intended to set those around them at their ease, if rarely effective. gwenaëlle, who had managed in her way to be difficult even after the completion of the rite, had never done so — had presented a sort of blank diffidence. her precise, neat focus had seemed cold, except that she had lacked coldness, too. it was just: focus.
there is ice forming around her knuckles, but it's easy to fall into expressionlessness. familiar. muscle memory. the rage is so close to the surface.
her head tilts. it's animal, almost; predatory, but not particular. it isn't that she intends to be threatening so much as she is an extremely dangerous thing that has developed no interest in mitigating the way that comes across— probably, more likely than this being for yennefer's benefit, this is a fucking problem around most people. )
You were at the Spire.
( it is a stark contrast to enchanter vauquelin, who had allowed a stutter that might have been smoothed out by his adulthood to progress purposefully; who had cultivated a sort of perceptible harmlessness, who had voted aequitarian and found reasons often to be sitting or leaning in the presence of templars, whose muted, mild manner had been underscored by the frequent presence of his tranquil niece. his understanding of his presence was implicit in precisely the way gwenaëlle seems either oblivious or indifferent to her own.
gervais, covered in blood up to his elbows, had been kind. he had held his anger in so tightly and for so long that it was easy to imagine it didn't exist. gwenaëlle had been a touchstone, then, a warning.
[ unavoidable is the uncanny disconnection all tranquil possess. perhaps it's just instinct, screaming to something deep in her bones that whatever conditioned it is telling her to run. if what she had heard is true, gwen is tranquil no longer. though she hasn't delved enough research into the topic to really understand how it might affect a person to be reconnected after being so brutally severed. would imagine it is as foreign feeling as it might be to observe her walking and talking now. what is broken cannot be completely mended and it shows.
though as much as it might disturb her to think on, the enchantress shields herself behind a pretty smile. the pleasant kind reserved for anyone she may have met in the circle, though a far more downplayed version than whatever she is due to greet vivenne later (they were never quite bosom buddies, that is a face she is certain to avoid as long as possible).]
I was, for a time. I remember you and your uncle.
[ gervais was clever, a survivalist for certain. a lot of them had to be in order to skirt by. yennefer too, for a while thought that was her only choice. truth of the matter is the person someone was within the circle is rarely often ever who they are without it. some people just cope better, others turn into abominations, others get turned. everyone else runs or dies trying.
there are those who still believe the circle is the best place for mages, others firmly think they can tear the walls down and put something up better. yennefer knows better than that, and she would guess the inquisitior feels the same. as bloodthirsty as she's come within the first 10 seconds of meeting her. hell of an introduction as to what she's in for. no wonder.
to get things out of the way:]
I've no affiliation with it, nor any other Circle now. But I suppose it was at Fiona's behest that I come offering my aid to your cause. As your instructor.
( gwenaëlle sharpens with hostility — and the difference between general displeasure and focused dislike is striking — at the shape of that smile, like a cat with her fur ruffled, but: a diversion, almost immediately, of something she likes about as well. less, probably. fiona's name curls her lip with contempt, distracting enough in the moment to defuse however else she might have handled being presented with a target. that she doesn't answer immediately doesn't seem calculated, precisely; it seems like she is perfectly comfortable taking her time to weigh up how she wants to, without any pretense otherwise. )
I don't personally consider anyone to have affiliation to any given Circle any more, ( she says, finally, sitting down on one of the sofas provided for josephine's various comers and goers since whatever else it sounds like, it definitely sounds like the beginning of a conversation she's not going to fob off. ) Vivienne's delusions of relevance notwithstanding.
( there's one duke they didn't even need a wraith for, she doesn't say, though not out of tact or because she doesn't think it.
her dislike of both women seems more personal than whatever suspicion is inherent for circle mages, smiling at her — or at least more specific. )
[ the sorceress remains where she is, gaze trailing after the inquisitor as she makes herself comfortable. difficult a read, this one, she should expect nothing less. the contingence on whether or not her tutelage is welcome or desired is something beyond her control. if it is something she truly wants, a cause she feels justified dirtying her hands with, perhaps she would be more aggressive. that won't work here, that may not even be necessary.
her question, she considers with a light raise of her eyebrows. unable to discern her process of thought and give an appropriate answer. she is only able to answer a very non question with a non answer.]
Well enough.
[ she has spent a long time to travel here, after all. in the middle of fucking nowhere. does she prefer it? probably not as much as she's done it. ]
Have I already displeased you enough to get shipped off as soon as I've arrived?
[ she's joking, except she's totally not joking. ]
( the way she shrugs isn't immediately any clearer—
except insofar as it seems a deft failure to either acknowledge the jest or respond to the question. nevermind about her displeasure, )
You're the fourth such volunteer. I don't have time to dedicate to a formal apprenticeship or any very specific interest in magic beyond that it not kill me before I finish what I've started,
( after, she assumes, it goes without saying. she thinks people prefer it to go without saying; no one ever seems to appreciate her frank acknowledgment of her position as glorified human sacrifice.
and no one else found it funny when she had corrected herself, elfblooded, upon objections. )
so whoever's willing and able to work around that gets the job. You would have to come with me, ( to be plainer, ) and I can't guarantee your safety.
( however sharp she'd been, in the face of practised circle courtesy, this doesn't seem like an effort to put yennefer off— though it certainly sounds like it's been effective in dissuading others. the quirk of the corner of her mouth, something that's almost like a smile — a light flashed behind a shutter, )
Someone will probably try to sell you harder, or gloss over that part, or whatever makes it sound less like suicide with homework, but the fact of the matter is it's two jobs and four people have already declined to do them simultaneously.
( all three trainers, and dorian, who is doing one of those difficult jobs and doesn't need another. vivienne's already read the room on the likelihood of influencing their inquisitor so directly; solas, gwenaëlle thinks, wouldn't conceive of it being too difficult and would be terribly brave about how terribly fucking sad she makes him. it would be unendurable under any circumstances, but particularly those in which she strongly suspects him of shagging her mother.
better to not have the conversation at all. unless they get desperate. maybe madame baudin can talk to him about it, that sounds horrendous. )
crawling on hands and knees to catch up on all my other tags
[ fourth such volunteers didn't acknowledge exactly the gravity of the situation, yennefer supposes. though she could see tutors from orlais prefer to keep their heads on their necks and damn the rest of the world otherwise. should they be the one thing keeping the holy head of their ship aloft.
where does that land her? she supposes she would have been one of them once upon a time. she would have laughed openly in fiona's face for asking her of all people to help. to potentially sacrifice her life. one held in precious measure above anything else, sent her fleeing from the circle ages ago. funny, how things change. people grow. ]
I knew what I would be signing up for when I agreed.
[ simple, almost dismissive for as much as gwen has put into deterring her. though she sees it as not a deliberate attempt to shun her away. merely a cold and firm display of exactly what this all is. it's not a fantastic offer. it's actually a rather shite one. what is she due to get all of this? it's not really glory she's looking after. ]
The existence of you, of your inquisition, is unprecedented. All those who take pilgrimage to this keep do to knowing they may not live to survive the outcome of this cause.
[ looking out towards the hall where voices are distantly buzzing. all these people. maybe only half of them truly understand the weight of their alliance. maybe the other expect that they will foolishly succeed in their endeavors without feeling the cold bite of loss. what has she left to lose? she has no one. it makes deciding all the easier. ]
I suppose I am one of them. Take me where you need to.
( it's tempting to quibble mostly because it always is, because she can't leave well enough alone and because with the ability and interest in arguing returned to her she has a tendency to express herself frequently and at volume—
but a willingness to put her money where her mouth is, that's a worthwhile thing. matter of fact understanding is the preferable outcome, albeit clearly not the anticipated one, and gwenaëlle is willing to accept it as far as it goes. not a promise, precisely, but a beginning where there might have been an ending. enough to pull her claws in, instead of extending them further just to see what happens if she swipes. )
The chatelaine, first of all, ( and she might as well do it herself, tipping her head with the expectation that yennefer will join her as she begins moving again. it makes sense that she should walk as if she owns the place in her own hold, but there is something about her that suggests: probably, this is just how she walks. ) Baudin will see you have quarters and access to the resources you need, such as we do.
[ the sorceress's eyes draw as she moves across the room before she too follows suit. being in her presence is a bit like trying to fit pieces of a puzzle back together that's been tumbling around for decades. she remembers the full picture but she doesn't remember where this piece came from or that one. had this one always been there and she never noticed? why is there an extra piece and why does it still belong to the puzzle?
sorting out yennefer's boarding is something she wouldn't task the inquisitor to arrange, but she isn't about to tell her otherwise. falling in step beside her as they re-enter the greater hall. noting how heads turn, whose spines stiffen in her presence, and who merely look away or go about their business. ]
I know how to work with little, [ said as she knows the corner where vivienne is nesting with her gilded perch. they all are keen on their luxuries, but this is hardly the situation where one gets too comfortable. ] Do you have any indication when you might set out again?
[ she doesn't expect to get cozy, but she would like an idea of what timeframe she might be working with before things get upended. ]
( gwenaëlle likes to think that vivienne requires her luxuries as comfort for the precious little influence she has managed to exert here in skyhold thus far—
but if she's honest, she's fairly certain vivienne is as she is, and will carry herself how she does, regardless of all else around her. if she hated everything she stood for a little less, she'd admire it a great deal more. it is not accident or coincidence that she links her arm with yennefer's when she knows they'lll become visible to madame de fer upon her balcony,
she shouldn't play petty games with politicians, but it's hard to resist. and let them all think her a safe thing, playing along, in need of guidance—
she has plans, too. it isn't urgent to them that she be taken seriously now. )
We're to the Emprise in a week, ( she says, not enough of a secret to worry about who overhears it here in her stronghold, where she is a new andraste, great and terrible and within reach. how strange it is to be conscious of the way she is twisted into new shapes by perception as she struggles to define to herself who and what she is— )
After that, the Winter Palace. Baudin will take your measurements while she's at it.
( the requirement they be suitably outfitted is the part she's least aggrieved about — she has always liked her fine things, too. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
she should have left for minrathous ages ago. she should have done the right thing for her. a second time came and went. waylaid by a letter (and perhaps an inch of doubt), would rather blame some splinter of conscience left of her than admit she might be miserable in the imperium too.
skyhold is in a desolate place. there is beauty in the silence of deep and endless feeling chasms. quite the operation bustling behind the keep walls. word of haven has long spread, she's not alone in the journey arriving to its gates. many of them weep at the sight of their banners, long pilgrimages from all corners of thedas. for a better cause, for the herald of andraste.
it'd been waiting some time through empty halls. men at arms encourage her to wait somewhere else, but she eventually outlasts them. tinkering around josephine's things, though finding even her spare reading is dry. innocuous towards the conversation echoing down the hall as the inquisitor and her advisors settle next matters. she is still reading (some droll text on fereden treaties) beside the fire.
a door longways down opens to silence and slams shut. the witch turns a page as footsteps rattle closer.]
I would have thought the inquisition had bigger things on their plate than meddling in Orlesian politics.
[ or was she not supposed to eavesdrop. this is probably why they preferred she wait outside. ]
no subject
gwenaëlle emerged from her own quarters a week ago, her jaw set nearly identically to the way it is now when her gaze swivels from her purpose to yennefer, brought to a halt by the interruption. she had emerged with a new determination, where orlais is concerned, and she knows now she should have kept it to herself until she was in strangling distance. the flat lack of recognition that lasts only a moment has less to do with how memorable yennefer was or was not and more to do with how thoroughly occupied she is by present wrangling, )
I'm reliably informed they're inextricable from one another.
( she must, she is told, have some allies. she must, she is told, be able to rely upon orlais. why she should be able to do this when orlais itself cannot is beyond her, but further, why she should bind herself to celene—
she should never have told any of them she intends the empress to die. )
Where these cunts think they're going to hide from the sky is a fucking mystery, but that's apparently neither here nor there.
no subject
a wry little smile crosses her lips, book thwapping shut in her hands. happy to finally have the excuse to rid herself of it. she stands, smoothing out the wrinkles of her coat as she makes a polite approach.]
I suppose waiting for the abominations and wraiths to put out a few well-placed dukes is out of the question.
[ there are a few she remembers by name could use a bit of rural humbling, though that would be terribly undiplomatic (probably). unfortunately, very effective in getting things to move along politically once the thing they're avoiding has manifested in their back garden. historically, that has been elves. they shan't go there today. ]
I'm certain they'd be more amicable to impending threats if those threats include the cancellation of too many spring balls.
[ then again no one asked her here for her politics, they asked her here to be a mentor. not that any sort of title has held her tongue when it comes to slam dunking on the bourgeoisie.]
no subject
that might be worth knowing, if the opportunity arises to act on it. she doesn't know yennefer well enough to guess if the remark is in earnest or idle griping; she's heard a lot of the latter, although less now that she's got most of them on their toes about how seriously she might take a suggestion if she likes the sound of it. )
I want Celene's head, ( she says, conversationally. ) I will have it. I think that will be adequately persuasive.
( someone will have to sit on the throne, and she doesn't like the idea of it being gaspard—
but it is not going to be celene. the expression on her face is
more familiar, maybe, than the vibrating irritation she'd emerged from her war room with. most tranquil adopt, over time, a sort of absent half-smile; an effort at expression intended to set those around them at their ease, if rarely effective. gwenaëlle, who had managed in her way to be difficult even after the completion of the rite, had never done so — had presented a sort of blank diffidence. her precise, neat focus had seemed cold, except that she had lacked coldness, too. it was just: focus.
there is ice forming around her knuckles, but it's easy to fall into expressionlessness. familiar. muscle memory. the rage is so close to the surface.
her head tilts. it's animal, almost; predatory, but not particular. it isn't that she intends to be threatening so much as she is an extremely dangerous thing that has developed no interest in mitigating the way that comes across— probably, more likely than this being for yennefer's benefit, this is a fucking problem around most people. )
You were at the Spire.
( it is a stark contrast to enchanter vauquelin, who had allowed a stutter that might have been smoothed out by his adulthood to progress purposefully; who had cultivated a sort of perceptible harmlessness, who had voted aequitarian and found reasons often to be sitting or leaning in the presence of templars, whose muted, mild manner had been underscored by the frequent presence of his tranquil niece. his understanding of his presence was implicit in precisely the way gwenaëlle seems either oblivious or indifferent to her own.
gervais, covered in blood up to his elbows, had been kind. he had held his anger in so tightly and for so long that it was easy to imagine it didn't exist. gwenaëlle had been a touchstone, then, a warning.
it's different, now. )
no subject
though as much as it might disturb her to think on, the enchantress shields herself behind a pretty smile. the pleasant kind reserved for anyone she may have met in the circle, though a far more downplayed version than whatever she is due to greet vivenne later (they were never quite bosom buddies, that is a face she is certain to avoid as long as possible).]
I was, for a time. I remember you and your uncle.
[ gervais was clever, a survivalist for certain. a lot of them had to be in order to skirt by. yennefer too, for a while thought that was her only choice. truth of the matter is the person someone was within the circle is rarely often ever who they are without it. some people just cope better, others turn into abominations, others get turned. everyone else runs or dies trying.
there are those who still believe the circle is the best place for mages, others firmly think they can tear the walls down and put something up better. yennefer knows better than that, and she would guess the inquisitior feels the same. as bloodthirsty as she's come within the first 10 seconds of meeting her. hell of an introduction as to what she's in for. no wonder.
to get things out of the way:]
I've no affiliation with it, nor any other Circle now. But I suppose it was at Fiona's behest that I come offering my aid to your cause. As your instructor.
quietly pulls shade down over my past irl month
I don't personally consider anyone to have affiliation to any given Circle any more, ( she says, finally, sitting down on one of the sofas provided for josephine's various comers and goers since whatever else it sounds like, it definitely sounds like the beginning of a conversation she's not going to fob off. ) Vivienne's delusions of relevance notwithstanding.
( there's one duke they didn't even need a wraith for, she doesn't say, though not out of tact or because she doesn't think it.
her dislike of both women seems more personal than whatever suspicion is inherent for circle mages, smiling at her — or at least more specific. )
How well do you travel?
it's been a doozy
her question, she considers with a light raise of her eyebrows. unable to discern her process of thought and give an appropriate answer. she is only able to answer a very non question with a non answer.]
Well enough.
[ she has spent a long time to travel here, after all. in the middle of fucking nowhere. does she prefer it? probably not as much as she's done it. ]
Have I already displeased you enough to get shipped off as soon as I've arrived?
[ she's joking, except she's totally not joking. ]
no subject
except insofar as it seems a deft failure to either acknowledge the jest or respond to the question. nevermind about her displeasure, )
You're the fourth such volunteer. I don't have time to dedicate to a formal apprenticeship or any very specific interest in magic beyond that it not kill me before I finish what I've started,
( after, she assumes, it goes without saying. she thinks people prefer it to go without saying; no one ever seems to appreciate her frank acknowledgment of her position as glorified human sacrifice.
and no one else found it funny when she had corrected herself, elfblooded, upon objections. )
so whoever's willing and able to work around that gets the job. You would have to come with me, ( to be plainer, ) and I can't guarantee your safety.
( however sharp she'd been, in the face of practised circle courtesy, this doesn't seem like an effort to put yennefer off— though it certainly sounds like it's been effective in dissuading others. the quirk of the corner of her mouth, something that's almost like a smile — a light flashed behind a shutter, )
Someone will probably try to sell you harder, or gloss over that part, or whatever makes it sound less like suicide with homework, but the fact of the matter is it's two jobs and four people have already declined to do them simultaneously.
( all three trainers, and dorian, who is doing one of those difficult jobs and doesn't need another. vivienne's already read the room on the likelihood of influencing their inquisitor so directly; solas, gwenaëlle thinks, wouldn't conceive of it being too difficult and would be terribly brave about how terribly fucking sad she makes him. it would be unendurable under any circumstances, but particularly those in which she strongly suspects him of shagging her mother.
better to not have the conversation at all. unless they get desperate. maybe madame baudin can talk to him about it, that sounds horrendous. )
crawling on hands and knees to catch up on all my other tags
where does that land her? she supposes she would have been one of them once upon a time. she would have laughed openly in fiona's face for asking her of all people to help. to potentially sacrifice her life. one held in precious measure above anything else, sent her fleeing from the circle ages ago. funny, how things change. people grow. ]
I knew what I would be signing up for when I agreed.
[ simple, almost dismissive for as much as gwen has put into deterring her. though she sees it as not a deliberate attempt to shun her away. merely a cold and firm display of exactly what this all is. it's not a fantastic offer. it's actually a rather shite one. what is she due to get all of this? it's not really glory she's looking after. ]
The existence of you, of your inquisition, is unprecedented. All those who take pilgrimage to this keep do to knowing they may not live to survive the outcome of this cause.
[ looking out towards the hall where voices are distantly buzzing. all these people. maybe only half of them truly understand the weight of their alliance. maybe the other expect that they will foolishly succeed in their endeavors without feeling the cold bite of loss. what has she left to lose? she has no one. it makes deciding all the easier. ]
I suppose I am one of them. Take me where you need to.
my turn!!!
but a willingness to put her money where her mouth is, that's a worthwhile thing. matter of fact understanding is the preferable outcome, albeit clearly not the anticipated one, and gwenaëlle is willing to accept it as far as it goes. not a promise, precisely, but a beginning where there might have been an ending. enough to pull her claws in, instead of extending them further just to see what happens if she swipes. )
The chatelaine, first of all, ( and she might as well do it herself, tipping her head with the expectation that yennefer will join her as she begins moving again. it makes sense that she should walk as if she owns the place in her own hold, but there is something about her that suggests: probably, this is just how she walks. ) Baudin will see you have quarters and access to the resources you need, such as we do.
( more than nothing, less than ideal. )
no subject
sorting out yennefer's boarding is something she wouldn't task the inquisitor to arrange, but she isn't about to tell her otherwise. falling in step beside her as they re-enter the greater hall. noting how heads turn, whose spines stiffen in her presence, and who merely look away or go about their business. ]
I know how to work with little, [ said as she knows the corner where vivienne is nesting with her gilded perch. they all are keen on their luxuries, but this is hardly the situation where one gets too comfortable. ] Do you have any indication when you might set out again?
[ she doesn't expect to get cozy, but she would like an idea of what timeframe she might be working with before things get upended. ]
no subject
but if she's honest, she's fairly certain vivienne is as she is, and will carry herself how she does, regardless of all else around her. if she hated everything she stood for a little less, she'd admire it a great deal more. it is not accident or coincidence that she links her arm with yennefer's when she knows they'lll become visible to madame de fer upon her balcony,
she shouldn't play petty games with politicians, but it's hard to resist. and let them all think her a safe thing, playing along, in need of guidance—
she has plans, too. it isn't urgent to them that she be taken seriously now. )
We're to the Emprise in a week, ( she says, not enough of a secret to worry about who overhears it here in her stronghold, where she is a new andraste, great and terrible and within reach. how strange it is to be conscious of the way she is twisted into new shapes by perception as she struggles to define to herself who and what she is— )
After that, the Winter Palace. Baudin will take your measurements while she's at it.
( the requirement they be suitably outfitted is the part she's least aggrieved about — she has always liked her fine things, too. )