faderift | [OPEN] this guy is out now

WHO: Atticus Vedici, the Division Heads, Wren, Myr + OPEN
WHAT: Someone is free-ish from prison, finally.
WHEN: Early December.
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: In Benedict's thread, CW for Fade torture awfulness.

I. THE AGREEMENT (Closed to the Division Heads, Wren, and Myr)

Atticus has no choice but to submit to this condition of his freedom, even if in doing so he exchanges one set of shackles for another.

Tight-lipped and silent as he follows Ser Coupe into the private chamber to be utilized for this process, he schools his face into a neutral expression that only just succeeds in masking his outrage. Yet in this he knows he has no leverage, no trump card to play that would not in turn be played against him, too.

He stops in the centre of the room and waits. At this stage, there is little else he can do.

II. THE GALLOWS COURTYARD (OPEN)

It is exceptionally pleasant to step outdoors into a brisk autumn morning and not feel the looming presence of a Templar guard at his back, nor suffer the weight of the runed shackles around his wrists. Atticus examines the reddened flesh on his hands pensively, gives his fingers a tentative flex first this way, then that way; there appears to be no permanent damage, nor any adverse effects of his limited exposure to the lyrium within the runed cuffs.

In short, nothing truly worth remarking upon to distract him from his cursory, near feline exploration of the Gallows that are now laid out before him.

The courtyard isn’t his destination so much as a stop along the way; already he’s encountered a number of locked or warded doors that his better judgment refrained him from investigating further. The mess hall, at the early hour when he chose to rise, only had a scattered few individuals in it having their breakfast; curiously, none of them seemed interested in eating with him. So it has been during most of the interminable hours he’s passed this morning, though he can find little to complain over in having one of the communal baths exclusively to himself.

Likely he cuts an odd figure standing alone in the courtyard admiring this first unobscured view of the cloudy sky that he’s enjoyed in months, but that’s not reason enough for him to change his behaviour.

III. DREAMING (Closed to Benedict)

On some night--which one doesn’t especially matter, only that it is a still one, peaceable and quiet--Atticus lets his fadewalking lead him towards the outskirts of Benedict’s dreaming mind. It’s less that he intrudes, and more that he finds for himself some way to interweave himself into the world of the dream, and to search through it with vague interest for some sign of his former apprentice’s consciousness.

IV. IN THE LIBRARY (OPEN)

His freedom from the Gallows prison is accompanied by certain expectations, chief among them that Atticus will put his keen intellect and insight into the activity of the Venatori to good use and work.

So that is what he is doing now--or at the very least, he is perusing range after range of books upon aging shelves, withdrawing them at his leisure, bringing down volumes as they strike him as relevant, replacing those that don’t. He has acquired a small work station for himself in the corner, and returns to it occasionally to work.

V. PETRANA'S OFFICE (CLOSED)

If little else can be said for the quality of his character, let it at least be said that Atticus Vedici is punctual.

At the prescribed time he arrives outside Petrana's office door, but does not yet knock. An unexpected compulsion sees him taking a moment to straighten the sleeves and collar of the simple black robe he's acquired since being freed from the prisoner's tunic required of him in the jail cell. The fabric of the robe would never pass muster in Minrathous society; that alone makes him inexplicably satisfied by it.

He straightens and lifts his hand, hesitates only a moment, and then raps his knuckles against the door. "Madame de Cedoux," he says (never her given name, not so casually, not here).

VI. THRANDUIL'S OFFICE (CLOSED)

(OOC: This thread takes place shortly after the phylactery thread.)

Shortly after the phylactery ritual is completed, Atticus is summoned to a private meeting with the head of the Research Division. Well, that didn't take long.

He's given some time to himself to bathe first, wash his hair, shave the growth of stubble on his chin, and change out of his prisoner's tunic into something more fitting for one who is no longer meant to look like a prisoner. (He still is, he knows; as long as that phylactery exists. But that is a problem to be dealt with in the future.)

Now, dressed and clean, Atticus approaches Thranduil's office door and knocks.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This was becoming quite tedious.

Atticus exhales partway through Church's spiel and takes an interest in the edges of his sleeves, which are in need of a bit of darning, then looks up promptly the moment he gets the opportunity to interject a comment. (Possibly, he speaks over Church a bit.)

"This posturing is entirely unnecessary, Messere Church. What do you want? Shall I coddle you with reassurances that I shall toe the line presented to me?"

Honestly, it's the best way to get heard over any Church rant, because they are rants, because once he gets going he finds it hard to stop. He could give whole speeches whenever he's mad. (And yet, none of them would be what anyone would call articulate.)

"What do I want? You back in chains and in a cell, preferably. I can't believe anyone thought we'd feel safe with you waltzing about."

"Have I attacked you?" Atticus takes a slow, measured step towards Church as he asks this, making a point of meeting his gaze with very pale, very intense blue eyes. He makes a vague gesture with one hand. "Beyond my previous political affiliations--which I have abandoned, and have demonstrated this to your superiors in greater confidence than I owe you--have I made any hostile overture towards you, or your colleagues?" Expectantly he raises his eyebrows, but truthfully, he recognizes that giving Church another opportunity to speak would just mean another tedious spiel about wanting to lock him up in the dungeons, and they both should know by now that that is not going to happen.

"I am here," he goes on sharply, "to work. To research. To apply my considerable knowledge about the inner workings of the Venatori towards the purpose of curbing their power, and their influence. And unless I am mistaken, that makes you and I compatriots in the same cause.

"You are free to hate me, but that changes nothing. We work together now." His face grows still. "Deal with it."

The problem with Atticus, Church is finding, is that he knows how to read people. Not giving Church a chance to speak. Verbally trapping him in a corner. Telling him to deal with it like he's a Red who just won a skirmish and is trying to nix all the inevitable whining. Granted, Church isn't exactly Fort Knox with his feelings--exactly the opposite, in fact--but damn.

So. He has to take a moment to compose. Before pointing a finger at the (former?) Venatori and daring to close the space even further.

Nobody has ever accused Leonard Church of having good ideas.

"Listen here, you little punk," despite Atticus being neither little nor the modern definition of a punk, "you can charm the brass all you want. Maybe someday I'll see fit to even eat my words. I mean, I won't apologize, but you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that I know I was wrong. But unless that day comes, I'm watching you. And with the exception of you needing to poke at my shard some more, cuz god knows I'm not gonna let you touch anyone else if it's not absolutely necessary, then the only time we're gonna work together is by order.

"So. Glad we got that cleared up."

"Yes," Atticus responds, his eyes like ice chips and his smile dry and insincere. "What a relief this has been."

Church's close proximity does not appear to concern him; as much as his ability to wield his power has been shackled by his circumstances, he's secure in the knowledge that there is only so much the Inquisition can afford to do to him, too. So he remains still, holding Church's gaze as long as the sustained eye contact will be tolerated. He has tremendous patience for these things; his arsenal of weaponry was limited as a prisoner.

In a soft, cold voice, he asks, "Are we quite finished?"

[OPEN] this guy is out now

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and now forever later--

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