The view from her balcony was simply brilliant. Marceline had taken it upon herself to occupy the living space atop the main tower, which was connected to the main hall via long staircase and and short hall. A rather large four-poster bed rested against the far wall, its bedding made and tucked into the mattress immaculately. Above that hung a purple banner of Marceline's house heraldry stitched in silver, a shield emblazoned with the image of a raven sitting atop a vine of grapes. On the wall adjacent was a large wardrobe which held a number of her finely tailored dresses. Across from that and pressed into a corner sideways was a desk whose seat would still give her the gorgeous view out of her balcony.
It was certainly the room of a noblewoman, and Lady Marceline was not yet even done decorating to her liking. "My apologies for the bare accomodations, I still have pieces of furniture on its way from home," she explained to her two guests. Leon, Cyrus, and herself had chosen the moment to put aside their duties and to do something other than work. "I am particularly anxious to get in a rug that I had imported from Antiva. The floor is nearly unbearably cold in the morning," she added taking an unsavory glance at the wooden floor beneath their feet.
It was summer, but the mountain mornings still carried a bit of a chill with it, but fortunately it heated up during the afternoon. The weather was nice enough that she had the double doors that led out onto the balcony thrown open. On the balcony itself was a long table, and on the table sat a number of items. Most prominently featured were the selections of bottles that they had all brought, dust still present on the necks of some. Surrounding them were a basket full of various types of bread, a plate of select cheeses, another plate holding different luncheon meats, and finally a dish of crackers.
Marceline allowed herself a mild smile as she looked between both her guests. "I must admit, I have been looking forward to this opportunity for a time now. It is a relief to do something other than try and manage the Inquisition's finances while meeting with the nobility." They were still receiving donations from their allies among the nobility, though fortunately their petitions to take tours of Skyhold had dropped somewhat since they had established themselves. Still, it was not a rare thing to cross the hold's grounds and catch the reflection off of an Orlesian mask.
Cyrus didnāt stand overmuch on the formality, and made himself comfortable in one of the chairs set at the long table, relaxing his usual impeccable posture into the seat back and half-smiling in that curiously-sharp way he had. He looked entirely comfortable, as though he did this sort of thing all the time, and in all fairness, he might once have done. āWhat's this?ā His tone was teasing, but mildly so. āEven the esteemable Lady Marceline grows tired of balancing books and attending to the eccentricities of blue-blooded gawkers? Thereās hope for the likes of us yet, Leon.ā
Leaning forward, he reached towards one of the bottles on the table, dusting it off slightly with a cloth napkin. Removing what looked to be a foldable corkscrew from a pocket in his tunic, he popped it open with a series of practiced motions, moving forward again to pull three of the glasses towards himself. Into each, he poured a small amount of the dull golden liquidāone of his selections for this particular exchange. He declined to distribute them, however, apparently waiting for the others to get settled.
Leon did so as well, choosing a seat on the near side, so as to look out over the view from where he sat. For someone who left the matters of nobility wholly to Marceline, he didnāt look uncomfortable at a setup like this, either, as though it might not be precisely unfamiliar to him, either, though he lacked Cyrusās obvious ease and comfort. Then again, that seemed to be true generally. He was smiling though, perhaps from the other manās jest. āMy thanks for the invitation, Lady Marceline.ā He nodded amicably to her, then turned his attention with interest to Cyrusās glasses.
āAh, Iād heard Imperial brandy was worth writing home about. How did you manage to get it shipped here, though?ā
While they spoke, Marceline took a seat on the other side so as to see them both, her back to the open air. āI still know people in the right places.ā The reply was a little enigmatic, but Cyrus said no more, simply handing a glass to each of them. They werenāt full of courseāthis was more a tasting than an effort for any of them to become inebriated. āThis one has a bit more honey to it than most do. I like it best with something a bit heavier, but the camembert will do quite well.ā He lifted his glass a bit into the air.
āTo our mutual culinary edification.ā
Marceline raised her glass to clink off the others while allowing herself a smile. Instead of downing the liquid immediately, she gently swirled it in her glass before lifting it to her nose so that she could get the aroma. Once satisfied, she finally allowed herself a sip of the liquid. It rolled smoothly over the tongue, but it was immediately obvious as having a heavier kick than ale, a sort of sharp burn that settled in on the way down. Though made of grapes, like wine, it resembled in taste a strangely-sweet whiskey, and the tart flavor of fruit was blended, indeed, with something like honey, rich and saccharine. Marceline paused to think on the taste for a moment before she spoke. "It certainly has a kick, does it not? But it is not an unpleasant kick. I am rather fond of the aroma as well," she said, swirling the liquid again under her nose. She could find the tart fruitiness in the scent. "Where is this distilled?" She asked. While it was not the type of liquor that Michaƫl particularly enjoyed, her father did however. A bottle or of something similar would be a wonderful gift to send him.
āThis particular one? The river valley just outside Vyrantium. The lowlands there are quite amenable to grapes. I can put you in contact with the distributer, if youāre so inclined. Sheād be quite happy to have a client from somewhere outside the Imperium, Iām sure.ā
He rolled the stem of his glass between his fingers for a moment, chewing over the cheese heād taken to accompany the drink, then ventured a different variety of question. āYouāre from growing country yourself, arenāt you, Marceline? I understand youāve inherited a vineyard and production facilities of your own.ā He either didnāt notice that heād dropped her title from her name, or heād done it on purpose, because he neither made note of it nor corrected himself. Either way, she did not say anything to correct him. Were they in public, she may have, but they were in a social outing and she did not feel the need to point out the faux pas.
"I am and I have," she answered, though a slight frown appeared in her lips. "The LĆ©cuyer Vineyard, and the West Banks as a whole are mine, yes, but my mother is once again in charge of operations. With my obligations and attention focused on the Inquisition, I am unable to run our business efficently. Though fortunately, mother was more than happy to resume her duties as my steward. I do not think she enjoyed retirement as much as she believed she would," Marceline added with a smile.
āSounds familiar,ā Leon put in, his tone somewhere between nostalgic and amused. āThere are some people, I think, who really donāt suit a life of inactivity.ā He reached across the table next, taking up three new glasses and a bottle, picking up Cyrusās corkscrew and using it to open a squatter, squarish bottle of liquor, the glass dark and smoky. The label was black, the letters on it silvery, and the glass itself was cut with some eye to aesthetics, though it was a sharp, angular sort.
āThis is my contribution. I think my sister was a little too happy to learn that I intended to share with friends, because she sent me the really good stuff.ā He smiled wryly. āAnderfels whiskey. You should, ahā¦ drink slowly. It tastes better than Golden Scythe, but itās almost as potent.ā He barely covered the bottoms of their glasses with a thin fingerās width of liquid, the color a reddish amber. Even from as far away as they sat, the smell was sharp and obvious, and he handed the glasses over, raising for another toast.
āToā¦ well, to family, I suppose.ā He shrugged, knocking his own glass back with the ease of much practice.
"To family," Marceline repeated, clinking the glasses once more. Like before, she swirled the liquid and lifted it under her nose, though this time it was wholly unnecessary, and in fact came from a habit alone. A habit that burned the inside of her nose, and she noticeably took the glass away from her nose quicker than usual. However, despite the omen, she had her pride as a connoisseur and knocked the shot back much like Leon did. It was probably a mistake. He hadnāt been exaggerating when he called the whiskey potent; the sort they had in Orlais, that she was more familiar with, didnāt have near the bite this did. Though the taste was strong, with a fair number of oak and smoke flavors to it, it was clearly of good make, justā¦ very overpowering.
Marceline stifled a cough and quietly reached for the nearest glass of water, and attempted her best to nonchalantly sip from it. One sip turned into two, and then two turned to half the glass, but she could still feel the burn in her nose and chest. Though she made no vocal complaint, she silently wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and helped herself to a wheat roll. "It certainly is... stout," Marceline admitted, pulling a chunk out of the roll and placing it in her mouth. After she swallowed, she continued, "Michaƫl would most certainly enjoy this," she said. Her husband was rather fond of strong drink, but she wondered if it was too much for even him.
It was impossible to miss the sound of Cyrus laughing to her left, though he was doing so quietly. āLet no one doubt your talent for diplomacy.ā His own glass was empty as well, though she hadnāt seen in what manner heād consumed it, and he looked relatively unaffected. Perhaps heād elected to go a bit more slowly. She stared at him with an even frown for a moment before a smile worked its way into her features. It was her fault for letting her pride to get the better of her.
Leon smiled, too, his humor just as evident. āItāsā¦ an acquired taste, I think.ā While they waited for her to sufficiently recover and make her own contribution to the exchange, he changed topics slightly. āAre you still planning to send Pierre to live with your mother for a while, Lady Marceline? I think it might be more comfortable for him if he didnāt spend the winter here; Iām still not sure how well the castleās going to handle the cold.ā
"Yes, the weather in Orlais's heartlands is much more favorable than it would be here in the mountains," she explained. While it certainly did grow cooler back home, it would certainly not snow as much as it would in the mountains or as it had in Haven. "He should spend time at home, I would like it if he learned of the business much of the same way I had, and mother is a superb teacher." She then frowned again, sighed, and continued, "I would also like him there to keep mother company. She is a stern woman, yes, she has a soft spot for Pierre. The business slows during the fall and winter months, and she would get lonely with father away due to the civil war. I worry," she said, exchanging glances between Leon and Cyrus.
"What of your family, Leon?" she asked with genuine curiosity.
He lifted a shoulder, leaning back a bit in his seat. The expression on his face was fond, but still very much in the present moment. āMy family and I have been separate for most of my life,ā he explained. āI was given to the Chantry around the time I turned eleven, and entered templar training not long afterwards. I do visit, though. My mother died when I was quite young, but my father and two older siblings still inhabit our land. Gerwulf is the heirāheās been married a while now, and Iāve a niece and a nephew. Verena heads the familyās forces, and nags me in letters.ā Leon smiled, and moved his eyes to Marceline.
āI think itās quite remarkable, though. The way you can raise a child in the midst of all of this. I certainly couldnāt.ā
āI donāt think I could raise a child ever.ā Cyrus said it humorously, but there was nonetheless a detectable thread of sincerity in the words. āEspecially not if it was anything like I was.ā His eyes glinted with mirth, and he reached for a round portion of bread, manipulating it in his right hand so that it rolled along the length of his forearm to his elbow, where he caught it with his left. āI was terrible, really. Still am, I suppose.ā He lofted a brow, as though anticipating confirmation.
āYour Pierre is extremely well-behaved, by comparison."
"He is a young gentleman," Marceline agreed with a proud smile. She saw much of herself in the young man, in his demeanor and personality, but she also saw some of Michaƫl in him as well. She could tell by the set of his shoulders and the square in his jaw that Pierre would grow tall and strong like his father. "It is our hope that he will grow to be able to do anything he so desires, though it is my hope that he will wish to inherit the family business," she said with a coy smile and a slight laugh. However, the smile was short lived, and it gave way to a frown.
She could not pretend that it was that easy however. "I still worry. Michaƫl and I both do," she began, her features even set. "With our obligations, we fear that we are not able to be present as much as we would like. I wish I was able to spend more time with him, but I simply cannnot," she said. "I am pleased that he has managed to find a friendship with Asala." Marceline had noticed Pierre spending time with the Qunari woman in Haven, and she could not disapprove. It was clear that Asala was a kind young woman, and was a healthy friend to have.
Cyrus looked thoughtful for a moment, unusually free of the half-mocking demeanor which seemed to characterize him most of the time. āFriends have a way of changing things.ā It was unclear if he spoke from personal experience or was merely offering up something heād heard, but he didnāt exactly seem happy to say it. He shook his head just a little bit, though, and moved away from the subject.
āAnd what have you brought to our little exchange, Marceline?ā
"A Cabernet Sauvignon," she answered, reaching for her bottle. The bottle itself was dark and dusty with the label having browned from age in her cellar. However, the stamp her heraldry of the shield and raven and its vintage was still immediately recognizable with black ink. She took Cyrus's corkscrew in hand and in a practiced sequence had the cork free in moments. She smiled as she began to pour into their glasses. The liquid was a thick, dark purple with a hue of red reflecting off of the edges. She was generous with the pour, but did not overdo it to better let the wine breathe.
She swirled the wine much like she did the other liquors, but she spoke too. "I will spare you from the sales pitch," she said, with a coy smile, "Just know that it is a LĆ©cuyer Special Select, taken from my own personal stores," she explained. Finally she lifted it under her nose and took in the scent. Among the various aromas were an earthy wood, with a strong note of blackcurrants. She took a drink and allowed the flavor to settle over her tongue. It was a heavy drink, with the taste of blackcurrants at the fore, though beneath that were layers of tastes of vanilla and, oddly enough, a hint of green peppers.
āIām not much of a wine person,ā Leon admitted after his first swallow. āBut thatās really quite good.ā He offered a smile and a shrug, gathering up a few pieces of cheese and some bread to eat with it, presumably, and relaxed further back into his chair. His eyes wandered out over the view, and it was quite spectacular, really.
āI suppose Iāll add it to my list. Things Iād never have experienced but for the Inquisition.ā His expression became slightly wry, and his focus momentarily returned to the other two. āAt least not everything on it is completely terrible.ā
āCommander, I think you may be even more cynical than I am. Itās quite refreshing.ā Cyrus looked amused as ever, his smile widening a little to something with a hint of genuine pleasure in it. āI can happily drink to that, though. To things not entirely terrible, enjoyed with people not entirely intolerable.ā He raised his glass and tilted it forward.
Marceline simply laughed and raised her glass as well, clinking it together with the others.
"Agreed."
It was certainly the room of a noblewoman, and Lady Marceline was not yet even done decorating to her liking. "My apologies for the bare accomodations, I still have pieces of furniture on its way from home," she explained to her two guests. Leon, Cyrus, and herself had chosen the moment to put aside their duties and to do something other than work. "I am particularly anxious to get in a rug that I had imported from Antiva. The floor is nearly unbearably cold in the morning," she added taking an unsavory glance at the wooden floor beneath their feet.
It was summer, but the mountain mornings still carried a bit of a chill with it, but fortunately it heated up during the afternoon. The weather was nice enough that she had the double doors that led out onto the balcony thrown open. On the balcony itself was a long table, and on the table sat a number of items. Most prominently featured were the selections of bottles that they had all brought, dust still present on the necks of some. Surrounding them were a basket full of various types of bread, a plate of select cheeses, another plate holding different luncheon meats, and finally a dish of crackers.
Marceline allowed herself a mild smile as she looked between both her guests. "I must admit, I have been looking forward to this opportunity for a time now. It is a relief to do something other than try and manage the Inquisition's finances while meeting with the nobility." They were still receiving donations from their allies among the nobility, though fortunately their petitions to take tours of Skyhold had dropped somewhat since they had established themselves. Still, it was not a rare thing to cross the hold's grounds and catch the reflection off of an Orlesian mask.
Cyrus didnāt stand overmuch on the formality, and made himself comfortable in one of the chairs set at the long table, relaxing his usual impeccable posture into the seat back and half-smiling in that curiously-sharp way he had. He looked entirely comfortable, as though he did this sort of thing all the time, and in all fairness, he might once have done. āWhat's this?ā His tone was teasing, but mildly so. āEven the esteemable Lady Marceline grows tired of balancing books and attending to the eccentricities of blue-blooded gawkers? Thereās hope for the likes of us yet, Leon.ā
Leaning forward, he reached towards one of the bottles on the table, dusting it off slightly with a cloth napkin. Removing what looked to be a foldable corkscrew from a pocket in his tunic, he popped it open with a series of practiced motions, moving forward again to pull three of the glasses towards himself. Into each, he poured a small amount of the dull golden liquidāone of his selections for this particular exchange. He declined to distribute them, however, apparently waiting for the others to get settled.
Leon did so as well, choosing a seat on the near side, so as to look out over the view from where he sat. For someone who left the matters of nobility wholly to Marceline, he didnāt look uncomfortable at a setup like this, either, as though it might not be precisely unfamiliar to him, either, though he lacked Cyrusās obvious ease and comfort. Then again, that seemed to be true generally. He was smiling though, perhaps from the other manās jest. āMy thanks for the invitation, Lady Marceline.ā He nodded amicably to her, then turned his attention with interest to Cyrusās glasses.
āAh, Iād heard Imperial brandy was worth writing home about. How did you manage to get it shipped here, though?ā
While they spoke, Marceline took a seat on the other side so as to see them both, her back to the open air. āI still know people in the right places.ā The reply was a little enigmatic, but Cyrus said no more, simply handing a glass to each of them. They werenāt full of courseāthis was more a tasting than an effort for any of them to become inebriated. āThis one has a bit more honey to it than most do. I like it best with something a bit heavier, but the camembert will do quite well.ā He lifted his glass a bit into the air.
āTo our mutual culinary edification.ā
Marceline raised her glass to clink off the others while allowing herself a smile. Instead of downing the liquid immediately, she gently swirled it in her glass before lifting it to her nose so that she could get the aroma. Once satisfied, she finally allowed herself a sip of the liquid. It rolled smoothly over the tongue, but it was immediately obvious as having a heavier kick than ale, a sort of sharp burn that settled in on the way down. Though made of grapes, like wine, it resembled in taste a strangely-sweet whiskey, and the tart flavor of fruit was blended, indeed, with something like honey, rich and saccharine. Marceline paused to think on the taste for a moment before she spoke. "It certainly has a kick, does it not? But it is not an unpleasant kick. I am rather fond of the aroma as well," she said, swirling the liquid again under her nose. She could find the tart fruitiness in the scent. "Where is this distilled?" She asked. While it was not the type of liquor that Michaƫl particularly enjoyed, her father did however. A bottle or of something similar would be a wonderful gift to send him.
āThis particular one? The river valley just outside Vyrantium. The lowlands there are quite amenable to grapes. I can put you in contact with the distributer, if youāre so inclined. Sheād be quite happy to have a client from somewhere outside the Imperium, Iām sure.ā
He rolled the stem of his glass between his fingers for a moment, chewing over the cheese heād taken to accompany the drink, then ventured a different variety of question. āYouāre from growing country yourself, arenāt you, Marceline? I understand youāve inherited a vineyard and production facilities of your own.ā He either didnāt notice that heād dropped her title from her name, or heād done it on purpose, because he neither made note of it nor corrected himself. Either way, she did not say anything to correct him. Were they in public, she may have, but they were in a social outing and she did not feel the need to point out the faux pas.
"I am and I have," she answered, though a slight frown appeared in her lips. "The LĆ©cuyer Vineyard, and the West Banks as a whole are mine, yes, but my mother is once again in charge of operations. With my obligations and attention focused on the Inquisition, I am unable to run our business efficently. Though fortunately, mother was more than happy to resume her duties as my steward. I do not think she enjoyed retirement as much as she believed she would," Marceline added with a smile.
āSounds familiar,ā Leon put in, his tone somewhere between nostalgic and amused. āThere are some people, I think, who really donāt suit a life of inactivity.ā He reached across the table next, taking up three new glasses and a bottle, picking up Cyrusās corkscrew and using it to open a squatter, squarish bottle of liquor, the glass dark and smoky. The label was black, the letters on it silvery, and the glass itself was cut with some eye to aesthetics, though it was a sharp, angular sort.
āThis is my contribution. I think my sister was a little too happy to learn that I intended to share with friends, because she sent me the really good stuff.ā He smiled wryly. āAnderfels whiskey. You should, ahā¦ drink slowly. It tastes better than Golden Scythe, but itās almost as potent.ā He barely covered the bottoms of their glasses with a thin fingerās width of liquid, the color a reddish amber. Even from as far away as they sat, the smell was sharp and obvious, and he handed the glasses over, raising for another toast.
āToā¦ well, to family, I suppose.ā He shrugged, knocking his own glass back with the ease of much practice.
"To family," Marceline repeated, clinking the glasses once more. Like before, she swirled the liquid and lifted it under her nose, though this time it was wholly unnecessary, and in fact came from a habit alone. A habit that burned the inside of her nose, and she noticeably took the glass away from her nose quicker than usual. However, despite the omen, she had her pride as a connoisseur and knocked the shot back much like Leon did. It was probably a mistake. He hadnāt been exaggerating when he called the whiskey potent; the sort they had in Orlais, that she was more familiar with, didnāt have near the bite this did. Though the taste was strong, with a fair number of oak and smoke flavors to it, it was clearly of good make, justā¦ very overpowering.
Marceline stifled a cough and quietly reached for the nearest glass of water, and attempted her best to nonchalantly sip from it. One sip turned into two, and then two turned to half the glass, but she could still feel the burn in her nose and chest. Though she made no vocal complaint, she silently wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and helped herself to a wheat roll. "It certainly is... stout," Marceline admitted, pulling a chunk out of the roll and placing it in her mouth. After she swallowed, she continued, "Michaƫl would most certainly enjoy this," she said. Her husband was rather fond of strong drink, but she wondered if it was too much for even him.
It was impossible to miss the sound of Cyrus laughing to her left, though he was doing so quietly. āLet no one doubt your talent for diplomacy.ā His own glass was empty as well, though she hadnāt seen in what manner heād consumed it, and he looked relatively unaffected. Perhaps heād elected to go a bit more slowly. She stared at him with an even frown for a moment before a smile worked its way into her features. It was her fault for letting her pride to get the better of her.
Leon smiled, too, his humor just as evident. āItāsā¦ an acquired taste, I think.ā While they waited for her to sufficiently recover and make her own contribution to the exchange, he changed topics slightly. āAre you still planning to send Pierre to live with your mother for a while, Lady Marceline? I think it might be more comfortable for him if he didnāt spend the winter here; Iām still not sure how well the castleās going to handle the cold.ā
"Yes, the weather in Orlais's heartlands is much more favorable than it would be here in the mountains," she explained. While it certainly did grow cooler back home, it would certainly not snow as much as it would in the mountains or as it had in Haven. "He should spend time at home, I would like it if he learned of the business much of the same way I had, and mother is a superb teacher." She then frowned again, sighed, and continued, "I would also like him there to keep mother company. She is a stern woman, yes, she has a soft spot for Pierre. The business slows during the fall and winter months, and she would get lonely with father away due to the civil war. I worry," she said, exchanging glances between Leon and Cyrus.
"What of your family, Leon?" she asked with genuine curiosity.
He lifted a shoulder, leaning back a bit in his seat. The expression on his face was fond, but still very much in the present moment. āMy family and I have been separate for most of my life,ā he explained. āI was given to the Chantry around the time I turned eleven, and entered templar training not long afterwards. I do visit, though. My mother died when I was quite young, but my father and two older siblings still inhabit our land. Gerwulf is the heirāheās been married a while now, and Iāve a niece and a nephew. Verena heads the familyās forces, and nags me in letters.ā Leon smiled, and moved his eyes to Marceline.
āI think itās quite remarkable, though. The way you can raise a child in the midst of all of this. I certainly couldnāt.ā
āI donāt think I could raise a child ever.ā Cyrus said it humorously, but there was nonetheless a detectable thread of sincerity in the words. āEspecially not if it was anything like I was.ā His eyes glinted with mirth, and he reached for a round portion of bread, manipulating it in his right hand so that it rolled along the length of his forearm to his elbow, where he caught it with his left. āI was terrible, really. Still am, I suppose.ā He lofted a brow, as though anticipating confirmation.
āYour Pierre is extremely well-behaved, by comparison."
"He is a young gentleman," Marceline agreed with a proud smile. She saw much of herself in the young man, in his demeanor and personality, but she also saw some of Michaƫl in him as well. She could tell by the set of his shoulders and the square in his jaw that Pierre would grow tall and strong like his father. "It is our hope that he will grow to be able to do anything he so desires, though it is my hope that he will wish to inherit the family business," she said with a coy smile and a slight laugh. However, the smile was short lived, and it gave way to a frown.
She could not pretend that it was that easy however. "I still worry. Michaƫl and I both do," she began, her features even set. "With our obligations, we fear that we are not able to be present as much as we would like. I wish I was able to spend more time with him, but I simply cannnot," she said. "I am pleased that he has managed to find a friendship with Asala." Marceline had noticed Pierre spending time with the Qunari woman in Haven, and she could not disapprove. It was clear that Asala was a kind young woman, and was a healthy friend to have.
Cyrus looked thoughtful for a moment, unusually free of the half-mocking demeanor which seemed to characterize him most of the time. āFriends have a way of changing things.ā It was unclear if he spoke from personal experience or was merely offering up something heād heard, but he didnāt exactly seem happy to say it. He shook his head just a little bit, though, and moved away from the subject.
āAnd what have you brought to our little exchange, Marceline?ā
"A Cabernet Sauvignon," she answered, reaching for her bottle. The bottle itself was dark and dusty with the label having browned from age in her cellar. However, the stamp her heraldry of the shield and raven and its vintage was still immediately recognizable with black ink. She took Cyrus's corkscrew in hand and in a practiced sequence had the cork free in moments. She smiled as she began to pour into their glasses. The liquid was a thick, dark purple with a hue of red reflecting off of the edges. She was generous with the pour, but did not overdo it to better let the wine breathe.
She swirled the wine much like she did the other liquors, but she spoke too. "I will spare you from the sales pitch," she said, with a coy smile, "Just know that it is a LĆ©cuyer Special Select, taken from my own personal stores," she explained. Finally she lifted it under her nose and took in the scent. Among the various aromas were an earthy wood, with a strong note of blackcurrants. She took a drink and allowed the flavor to settle over her tongue. It was a heavy drink, with the taste of blackcurrants at the fore, though beneath that were layers of tastes of vanilla and, oddly enough, a hint of green peppers.
āIām not much of a wine person,ā Leon admitted after his first swallow. āBut thatās really quite good.ā He offered a smile and a shrug, gathering up a few pieces of cheese and some bread to eat with it, presumably, and relaxed further back into his chair. His eyes wandered out over the view, and it was quite spectacular, really.
āI suppose Iāll add it to my list. Things Iād never have experienced but for the Inquisition.ā His expression became slightly wry, and his focus momentarily returned to the other two. āAt least not everything on it is completely terrible.ā
āCommander, I think you may be even more cynical than I am. Itās quite refreshing.ā Cyrus looked amused as ever, his smile widening a little to something with a hint of genuine pleasure in it. āI can happily drink to that, though. To things not entirely terrible, enjoyed with people not entirely intolerable.ā He raised his glass and tilted it forward.
Marceline simply laughed and raised her glass as well, clinking it together with the others.
"Agreed."