Who: Signy Dagna, Vienne Reyer Where: Group One's Camp When: 20 Molioris. An hour or two after nightfall. Summary: Vienne tries to set the dwarf mage at ease. Rating: TBA Status: In progress
As difficult as it was to maintain the most basic standards of hygiene on the road, Vienne prided herself in the fact that she had managed to keep up her usual rituals. They were nowhere near as extensive as her full routine when she was in civilization, how could they be when she lacked a fine tub and a small army of beautiful elven servants to attend her, but she had managed well enough on her own. When camp would get quiet and her instincts told her they would have a peaceful evening she would take some of her extra rags, water and fill a small bowl with it, then disappear into her tent to cleanse her skin. Some nights she had enough water to wash her hair, such as that night, and as usual she was disgusted with what she had found in the water afterwords. Dirt, a few small insects and other bits of matter which she balked at guessing their identity and their source of origin. Knowing a part of her was so filthy was enough to make her skin crawl and long for civilization, at times her desire for home or decent lodgings would drive her to perfume and oil her skin, letting the scent of the expensive perfume and the serenity of the therapeutic touches it took to apply such take her back to Orlais in her mind. Had she enough to spare she would have done such then but as she had so little left and very little hope of coming across a market that sold such fine things she decided to save it for when she felt she would need it more.
With her bath finished and her hair rinsed clean she tied on her light dressing gown and left the shelter of her tent, silver comb in her hand. Tossing the dirty water into the grass away from her tent she set the bowl down before the tent flap and came sit before the fire. At first she ran her nimble fingers through her long, blonde locks, tending to any knots she found, then tilting her head to the side brought the comb through it, encouraging it to dry. She wasn't the only one at the fire of course, a camp with so many did not often give allowances for privacy, for which she supposed she had to be thankful for in the end as she had no desire to try to defeat a horde of darkspawn alone. However, she knew she had been perhaps a bit too distant over the last few days, keeping to herself observing the others while quietly mourning the loss of her anonymity, something that was perhaps ill advised given that their lives were now in each others hands. She was a Grey Warden now, that meant looking out for more than her own interests, and if that meant a bit of schmoozing had to be done then she was willing to at least give it a try.
As she worked the comb through her slowly drying hair she began to sing, loud enough for those sitting around her to hear but not so loud as to wake up those that had already retired for the night.
"As I came down through Denerim City At the hour of twelve at night, Who should I see but an Antivan lady Washing her feet by candle light. First she washed them, then she dried them O’er a fire of amber coal, In all my life I ne’er did see A maid so sweet about the sole.
Whack for the toora loora laddy, Whack for the toora loora lay. Whack for the toora loora laddy, Whack for the toora loora lay.
As I came back through Denerim city At the hour of half past eight, Who should I spy but the Antivan lady Brushing her hair in broad daylight. First she tossed it, then she brushed it, On her lap was a silver comb, In all my life I ne’er did see A maid so fair since I did roam.
Whack for the toora loora laddy, Whack for the toora loora lay. Whack for the toora loora laddy, Whack for the toora loora lay.
As I went back through Denerim city As the sun began to set, Who should I spy but the Antivan lady Catching a moth in a golden net. When she saw me then she fled me, Lifting her petticoat o’er her knee, In all my life I ne’er did see A maid so shy as the Antivan lady.
Whack for the toora loora laddy, Whack for the toora loora lay. Whack for the toora loora laddy, Whack for the toora loora lay. Whack for the toora loora laddy, Whack for the toora loora lay. Whack for the toora loora laddy, Whack for the toora loora lay."
It was a Ferelden song that she had always enjoyed and assumed those that had heard her lovely voice would as well, she believed that the whole party could use a bit of a pick-me-up and she knew enough of music to know there was hardly anything that soothed the soul better. At the very least she hoped that it would settle the little dwarf warden who as usual looked as calm as a hare surrounded by wolves. She cast a soft smile the girl's way, thinking her too adorable to be so unsettled constantly.