RP:Dresses and Diplomacy

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

Summary: Josleen invites her best friend, sister, and maid of honor Skylei to stay in the fort in the week preceding the wedding. The women grow increasingly apart, but tolerate each other's flaws out of love, and perhaps habit. Skylei is concerned for Josleen, whom she believes to be wedding Macon for all the wrong reasons, among them, a fear of Kelovath. Josleen does not correct that misconception.

Fort Freedom, Larket

Josleen invited Skylei to stay in Larket’s Fort Freedom as a guest of the Future Queen immediately after arriving back in Larket as Macon’s bride. Afterall, Josleen will need her sister and maid-of-honor close at hand for wedding and emotional support. Half of the Larketian public approves of the marriage, the other half does not. Indeed, Josleen was seen as of a piece with the Fallen Paladin Kelovath. Still, the peace is welcome by the majority of Larketians, and few have the gall to sneer in Josleen’s face. In particular, there is one subset of Larketians for whom this wedding marks a golden opportunity: fashion designers. Into the fort they stream foisting 4 to 5 dresses at a time onto the bride, and her maid of honor, of course. Josleen has spent the past few days slipping in and out of half-finished dresses, standing on a box like a show dog. Speaking of show dogs, Gigi, thoroughbred poodle and total gallant, lays in his gold-threaded dog bed near Skylei’s feet. Not much is asked of the scholar save an ‘aye’ or ‘nay’ to each dress, whenever she can bother to pull her nose out of a book. Eye rolls also accepted. Day one of dress fitting was a dream for Josleen. Day two, tedious. And now, on day three, she’s positively irritable. Three days of being stabbed by safety pins and quick-draw needles! “Enough.” She exhales. There’s another 3 dresses to go but, “I am tired. I am sorry, but I simply must rest.” She steps off the box, ankles wobbling as she kicks off heels and slips out of the lacy sleeves. She dumps the 12,000 gold dress where she sheds it and crosses to the partition to unhook her 5,000 gold hand-embroidered Elimdori silk caftan. With a flair for drama she drapes herself across a daybed, hair spilling over its curved and velvet cushioned arm. It took Josleen exactly 1 second to get used to and take advantage of the high life. “Floria,” she says addressing her personal handmaiden. “Could you ring for tea, please?” Floria rings a bell. “And some lettuce for Gigi. He seems anxious.” Skylei would know by now that Josleen firmly believes Gigi likes to chew on lettuce to deal with his acute anxiety. Two counterfactuals: 1. Gigi never looks anxious. 2. He doesn’t chew so much as swallow the lettuce whole. Josleen looks over at Skylei and says, “Sky, when will you try on some of the dresses brought for you?” She gestures towards a rack of about 30 dresses.

Josleen finds dress-fitting day three irritating. It took Skylei all of three minutes to reach the level of irritable boredom. And that first wretched day, in an attempted show of support, Skylei had arrived bookless. It had been wordlessly agreed by the friends that Skylei was better off -with- a book in hand and, for that reason, Skylei hadn’t gouged her own eyes out during the excessive length of time she had spent in this room with Josleen, Floria, dressmakers galore and, of course, Gigi. She takes her cues from Josleen as to whether the dress should be approved or not. Is the bard’s lip curled? If so - a certain nay. Is she looking at herself in the mirror with starry eyes? That’s an aye. Skylei has it down to a fine art. Honestly, Josleen is increasingly more difficult to be around. It's the airs and the graces; the unceremonious dumping of the dress that costs more that Skylei’s rent and the insistence that Gigi is ‘anxious’. Skylei had audibly scoffed the first time Josleen had called for lettuce for Gigi. She’s learnt quickly that that’s not the best idea. She even confirms Josleen’s utterance, “He has been a little uneasy, aye.” She doesn’t even look up from her book. Under the circumstances, Skylei mollycoddles. She lets Josleen get away with this crap because she assumes it’s a defence mechanism. How can Josleen, her vivacious, oft lovesick, romantic-at-heart friend be happy at a time like this? How can Josleen, of all people, marry for politics? So yes, Gigi likes lettuce, dresses can lie on the floor and Josleen can drape herself however she so wishes as far as Skylei is concerned. But trying on dresses? That’s a step too far. “Can’t you just pick something, Josleen?” Her voice is a little harsher than she would like and the scholar coughs, consciously softening her tone, “I mean, you have such good taste, I know you’ll pick something lovely…” Softly-softly doesn’t come easy, but Skylei is convinced she needs to try.

Josleen glances from Skylei to the rack and relents with a sigh. “I’ll pick three, but you must try them on to be tailored. Just three.” She calls Gigi to her side with a two-tone whistle and pats the bed for Gigi to join her. Josleen and the pooch lie side by side. Gigi’s tail slowly wags. This is the dream. Outside the window, down below on the ground floor, Josleen can hear Macon training with soldiers. The sound of his voice bellowing instructions stirs in her mind a recent doubt about her betrothed. She hasn’t shared Sir Lionel’s suspicions with Skylei, but she thinks now that perhaps she should. After asking Floria, the dressmakers, and miscellaneous wait staff to leave the room, she addresses Skylei again. “Sky, I’ve been thinking. Not related to anything--well maybe related to Kelovath.” Her lips purse at the name. “How do you know when you’re in the presence of a death knight? I mean, are there any signs?” Indeed, what signs should Josleen be looking for in Macon? Lionel suspects the king of being a knight of death, and Lionel is no fool. But Josleen has not confided this in Skylei. Already she begins to defend and protect her new lover from even those closest to her. Love-sick romantic is right, Skylei.

Skylei can cope with three dresses. Three is two more than she would have liked, but it’s far fewer than Josleen could have subjected her to. And so, she smiles, nods and rises from her seat to idly thumb through the selection of Maid of Honour dresses, as though she’s taking interest in the whole thing. “You know that feeling you get when you’re surrounded by vampires?” Skylei doesn’t even bother to mask her racial prejudices in front of Josleen anymore. Josleen’s a brat, Skylei’s a racist – that’s just who they are. “That skin crawling? And the feeling of cold? Death knights are supposed to affect the body in much a similar way.” Skylei continues thumbing through the dresses, stopping on a pale blue number, “Blue?” She offers as an aside – she’s forgotten if Josleen mentioned a colour scheme. “Most of the ‘signs’ are anecdotal, mind. Those in continually contact with death knights have reported disturbed sleep; severe nightmares; desire to harm others; even pain upon seemingly innocent contact with the death knight – nothing visible or physical – more like a searing burn across your very soul.” The scholar pauses, unsure whether plying Josleen with unconfirmed anecdotes is a wise idea. She spins on her heel, “That said, Kelovath had us all fooled well enough. I was almost certain he was holier than most. It’s hard to be sure of these things.” Soft voice again, “You couldn’t have known he was anything other than what he said he was…” Skylei’s one of the people who falls hard for Josleen’s bardic charm and guile and so when Josleen says that Kelovath was trouble and dangerous, Skylei had followed along without even batting an eyelid. Why would Josleen lie? Macon doesn’t even cross her thoughts.

Josleen is prejudice against vampires too, thanks in large part to Skylei’s influence. “Blue is your color.” She nods at the choice. She weighs the anecdotes with everything Macon stirs in her. He makes her feel warm, not cold. If her skin crawls, it is only with pleasure. True, in his presence, she does sometimes become enraged and violent (by Josleen standards), but she believes she knows why. He confided in her his secret (another of which she has kept for him) that he is infected with rage magic and infects those around him with rage. Or is that a lie? If Lionel is right about Macon, that could be a lie. How can she possibly know? What good is her judgment anyway, when she missed Kelovath’s treachery? Kelovath’s wickedness is, to Josleen, a fact. When she told Skylei the ‘truth’ about Kelovath, she spoke honestly. What are the chances both Kelovath and Macon are false? “Are there any physical signs? Talismans or religious icons?” Gigi rolls onto his back so that Josleen may rub his belly. She obliges her baby, of course. The tea and lettuce arrives. Gigi leaps off the bed to receive the delicious lettuce! It goes down almost whole. Tea is poured for the women to their liking and they are once again left alone.

Blue isn’t green or brown, Skylei’s natural colour choices. But it’s not yellow or pink or, Sven forbid, peach. “Blue it is.” She busies herself with pulling all of the blue dresses to one end of the rack, not lamenting the peach and pinks she pushes aside. It may be Josleen’s wedding, but Skylei wants to do things at least slightly her way. As for this conversation of death knights and their paraphernalia… well, Skylei can’t figure out why they’re having it. “The usual, Josleen. Anything Vakmatharas or death related is a good sign you’re dealing with a death knight; or at the least someone with an unhealthy obsession. There is this one stamp I saw once…” The half-elf furrows her brow, “Back when I was studying death cults about three years ago.” Josleen may remember this phase. Skylei wore all black and even managed to locate a minor book of the dead before moving on to the next obsession. “It was three interlocking black circles with a triangular configuration of bones in the centre, I think. I believe that was once a big deal amongst a certain sect of death knights.” She pauses. Is Josleen scared of Kelovath? Is she trying to make sense of his betrayal? She returns to her seat and sips her tea “He can’t hurt you, Jos. You have protection.”

Josleen takes a sharp breath and fake smiles to stop herself from rolling her eyes at Skylei’s recall of the ‘death cult phase’. It was positively embarrassing to be seen with Skylei in public during that time. Moving on! When Skylei guesses at Josleen’s motive for asking, fear of Kelovath?, the bard winces and looks out the window in the direction of Macon’s training. She can hear his axe glance off other weapons. Her heart aches at having to deceive Skylei in this way, but she simply cannot bring herself to gossip and speculate about her future husband, a king, for whom any rumor may be crippling, either to his power or body. No, she can’t. She trusts Skylei to keep her secrets, of course, but also to react fiercely to even a whiff of evil, corroborated or not. “You’re right…” She drops the death knight subject for fear of over-tipping her hand. Mention of Kelovath also brings her history with the paladin to mind. “Did I ever tell you my theory of when I believe he fell from grace?” Gigi leaps back onto the couch and settles against Josleen in the little spoon position. “During the war against Balgruuf, in Frostmaw, do you remember he fell from a cliff in battle? He fell such a long distance, and wearing plate! No one should have survived that, but he did. I thought he was saved by Arkhen’s grace. But what if I was wrong about the god? What if it was… Vakmatharas? Like with… You know…” She means Tyler, the undead now known as Revan. Both women have been attacked by Revan and discussed this briefly, avoiding the thornier aspects of the conversation. Josleen’s lip quivers suddenly. “Kelovath died and I had no idea…” It’s only a theory, but one the bard has come to believe. She presses her fingers to her forehead and bows her head, trying her best not to re-grieve that loss.

Skylei listens obligingly to the story of the fall from grace, taking sips of tea and nodding at the appropriate moments. She freezes up at the mention of Tyler/Revan/that guy who ruined her life on more than one occasion. There’s a slight shake in her hand as she replaces the tea cup on its tiny gilded saucer and she chokes out an ‘Uh-huh’ to Josleen’s theory. She swallows deeply, “I mean it would make sense. The gods are cruel and creative… and as you say, without intervention he could have never survived. Arkhen may favour his paladins but he rarely intervenes in life and death whereas Vakmarthas” In many ways Skylei is Josleen’s ideal best friend, in spite of their differences. Too beguiled by her charm to call her out on a frequent basis, or recognise her more garish flaws and too socially inept to realise when Josleen is lying or omitting something from the story. Skylei buys into Josleen’s reality in its entirety, perpetuates it and makes it more real. If Josleen believes that Kelovath was saved by Vakmatharas and turned from the light, then Skylei believes it too, even supplementing the story with her own religious doctrine. Gigi in the corner coughs up the lettuce leaf with a hacking wheeze. Is lettuce even good for dogs?

Josleen gently pushes Gigi aside so that she may sit up and sip her now-tepid tea. Worth it for snuggle time with Gigi. Josleen manages not to cry. She’s done plenty of that. “It’s no wonder a cruel and twisted god like Vakmatharas only attracts evil disciples. The drow, undead…” And Macon? She shudders at the thought. Downstairs the men begin to pack up their weapons and armor. Gigi recognizes the change in noise for what it is and jumps off the couch. It’s running time! Gigi and Josleen know, and Gigi likes to run with the king. The poodle re-eats the lettuce he just hacked up then trots to the door. He scratches and a servant on the other side opens it for him, then closes it behind him. Prince Pooch. Soon the poodle runs with the king and his soldiers. It’s a short run, twenty minutes, then Macon will shower and expect Josleen’s company. “I should go. He’ll be back soon.” Josleen doesn’t hide her time with Macon from Skylei, just distorts its nature. To hear Josleen tell it, she spends time with Macon to make the best of this unusual arrangement. May as well get to know him, right? No point hiding from the king, hm? In truth her time with Macon is no duty at all, no shrewd move, but an infatuation she willingly submits to. “I’ll see you at dinner, hm?” If that’s all, she’ll go be with the king who may or may not worship the same god who she believes corrupted her lover, the paladin Kelovath.

Skylei ’s mind, brilliant as it is, couldn’t comprehend Josleen’s inner turmoil/trickery. Kelovath is the enemy, that is for sure but Macon? Is he friend? Foe? Manipulator? Or just another mere mortal man pulled in by Josleen’s charm? She has yet to put a finger on Macon’s motive and Josleen’s lies do little to ease her worried thoughts. Skylei would much rather leave the confines and find her own food than eat with royalty again but for Josleen, and in a show of solidarity against her friend’s terrible situation, she’ll stay put and play ball. Skylei nods. “I’ll be there. I promise. And maybe tomorrow I’ll try on those dresses, yeah?” In all likelihood Josleen won’t show up for dinner. Again. And Skylei will worry and squirm and fear for Josleen’s wellbeing. If only she knew.