Maxima never thought that a day would come where she could have a mask of her own, or at least partake in this (as she came to realise it) very silly custom. Beautiful and absolutely ludicrous, but silly all the same. She had never thought that a day would come, but now that the day had come she found herself bored and so the mask was placed over the table, red nails tapping soft and absently against the white scales against the side of her mask. Her long fingers grazing it all the way over to the upper part of the mask, where white feathers decorated the sides of her eyes, born from the scaled surface. Bored, but not unaware of the need for it, and while she would use it when standing in the crowd where the great crowd of nobles from all around stood and danced, where she stood, by the window with a beautiful view to the gardens and with only the man that approached to keep her company? The mask remains on the table.
It was an Orlesian tradition after all; while many nobles that attended these Orlesian parties were not from its nobility, they did so love to partake in it. To show with pride what were the symbols that painted the pride off their faces and onto something shiny and likely far more beautiful than their faces could ever be. Not the case with her companion, though his mask did not lack for⊠enough reason to take oneâs attention completely off his face. Beautiful and a master piece made out of glass and jewels, and a stark contrast to the one that she held on her fingers. Half scales, half feathers with a single jewel where the scales transformed into feathers. It was quite sad that such a mask would draw attention off his face, from the little that she could ascertain, it would be quite beautiful.
It was said that in the past there were beings that held both and were as large as dragons. It would not surprise Maxima if that was the case and if those in Orlais were already expecting her to bring in the scales and the dragon themes then she would appease them, even if it was just briefly and in such a subdued manner. Unlike them, she let her red lips and nails and dark green gems lined over her face do any talking that needed to be done. Her presence enough while she was the Inquisiton dance and trip on their own feet.
Bored, until that point she supposed. The cigarette that she had been holding is brought up to her lips in a brief pull before the other lifts the mask, holding it against her face with a smile.
ââ âBut small talk can be so much fun!â she hums no louder than a whisper, in the dim light that the Winter Palace found itself in, her eyes are dark as they study the other with a smile that grows âYou should see the circles that some of your countrymen have drawn around me tonight.â some of them with smiles as sharp as knives, some ready to gut her while others preparing for a hunt. Maxima would quite prefer if they would bother the Inquisitionâs commander, at least that would provide her some low effort amusement in the irony of the situation. Or perhaps she was simply far meaner than she would admit otherwise âIf nothing else it can amuse me when no one seems to quite be able to match me in dancing.â
The cherry smoke dissipates towards the opposite side from which the other stood. Her own cup of wine is barely touched and would remain so; Work and drink should hardly mix when in public, while a beautiful dance it was one that she did not do. Mask or no.
ââ âAs for the food and nowhere to sitâŠâ a hum that turns into a purr as green eyes pass him to the crowd in the back, towards the glimmer and loud music. A small smile forms on the edge of her lips, but she doesnât elongate the line of thinking that her mind was going down towards âBetter to go hungry than eat poison, better to stand than to prickle yourself in a bed of needles, hm?â
Her attention returns to the other. A stag, she did not quite recall seeing him or the mask before. Fortunate. Her words were certainly spoken as someone that had never gone hungry, someone that had never slept in the cold with humidity clinging to oneâs bones. How wonderful it was to hear those words flow so easily off her tongue. Maxima leans forward, pressing her cigarette down and effectively putting it off âThough I find that my time in the south has shown me that there are plenty that might disagree.â a pause, one that she spends looking at the other. Her gloved hand lifts in his direction âMaxima.â
Fabien smiled, his lips curling up at the corners in a line that matched the curl of his moustache, and it was a smile both for the answer and for the raised a hand, a gesture that called upon his gallantry and, lest witnesses decide to speak ill of his manners, that he happily obliged. He switched his glass of sparkly wine to his left hand and, with well-practiced movement and well-bred grace, he set a foot in front of the other and caught the hand in a soft grasp, bowing down to kiss the air just above it, as it was undoubtedly expected, expectation that it was his pleasure to meet, with not a single drop of wine spilling in the meanwhile.
He straightened up, adjusting briefly the frills of his attire, the bronze coloured overcoat tailored for this very event, as it had been a long time, after all, since a member of his family had properly set foot at a court ball, let alone one as important as this, where the absence of a mask would have stood out as glaringly as a faux pas on the dance floor. The Inquisition could afford going without, naturally, but the Inquisition was both somewhat religious, and thus above the grand game, and mostly not comprised of Orlesian nobility, and thus not entitled to it.
« Lady Maxima », he greeted, making no show that he had heard her being introduced at the ball by the chamberlain, as it was likely both superfluous and in bad taste. « Marquis Fabien de Serault », he added then, introducing himself, and forgiving her privately if the mask hadnât been enough of a telltale detail, since, all things considered, it had only been back in his possession for not longer than a few months, and though news travelled quickly, Serault remained quite its own little world --- Orlais had been caught by greater concerns, in any case.
« Of course, I ought to call myself out for the small talk, since I complain about it, and yet here I am, doing small talk. » He smiled, quite veritably amused. Wasnât the chatting, the talking circles, the preambles, the courtesy, wasnât all that ritual the very heart and soul of events such as this? Fabien had heard that the Grand Duke despised such things and, as a man of action, one could be inclined even to understand him.
He took a sip of wine, its bubbles tickling his lips as the shine of candles tickled fantasy and gave room to all sorts of deals that benefited from dim light. « But drawing circles is always better than drawing blades. »
His eyes then brightened up, uplifted by a spark of gaiety. « So! You are with the Inquisition, correct? May I inquire what brought you so far south? I have taken a look at the Inquisitorâs closest associates and I have the very distinct impression that her Worship is collecting beauties from all across Thedas. »
