open

[bouchonne]

WHO: Byerly and Kitty and thou or even you
WHAT: Open post!! open post
WHEN: The month of KINGSWAY
WHERE: EVERYWHERE but mostly in Kirkwall and in the Gallows
NOTES: Warning: chatterboxes

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[coquettish_trees]

Oh, I am quite overcome, can you not tell?

[ she draws her shawl more tightly around her, eyes widening In an affect of breathless captivation as she retrieves her fan and flutters it at her chest. ]

Do continue at once, I cannot bear the suspense. I must know the fate of the turnips.

[bouchonne]

[ Mournfully: ]

This story does not have a glad ending, my lady. The turnips do not make it out alive.

[ Then: ]

Well. The Arlessa escapes with life and virtue intact, but now unable to make sweet music. So she posts a reward for the return of the violin. As you know, I am occasionally a bit hard-pressed for money myself, so I smell an opportunity - especially since I am, as you know, such a lover of music and the arts. [ That much is true; he plays the violin with the skill of a maestro, though he tends to do so in sleazy bars rather than in salons, as perhaps he ought. ]

So I formulate a plan. Tell me, dear Alexandrie, what sorts of people would look at a fine instrument like the Arlessa's violin - and it was fine - and know it has value?

[coquettish_trees]

Ah, non. May they sit always at the Maker's side.

[ A brief solemn bow of her head for the poor turnips.

As far as the music, she does know. There are a great number of lovely pieces composed for violin and piano forte, some of which they'd had occasion to play once she had found out his skill at it. It had been rather lovely. As, she recalls, had the nimbleness of finger that tends to arise from such—

—in any case, Alexandrie adopts a thoughtful expression. ]

Surely not pirates. Pawners and fences, I expect. Other violinists and cultured aficionados of their music. [ She smiles mischievously over her fan. ] The destitute dregs of Fereldan society.

[bouchonne]

Just so. [ He taps a finger on his knee twice, as though in applause. ] I did not know at once which it was, so I put out a call to the pawnbrokers and fences I knew, to the musicians, and to the dissolute wrecks like myself. It was a man of the second class who answered me, who told me a truly heartbreaking story - a fellow from Denerim's orchestra, a rough and rowdy sort, who'd acquired some gambling debts and who'd turned to a life of crime. The flautist told me that the dear violinist had left the city a few months before, off to join a band of - you might well guess it - pirates.

So I ask the flautist if he's still in touch with the violinist. Well, as it so happens - this is seven shots of aquavit in, incidentally - the flautist is still in touch with the violinist; he is keeping his ear to the ground in case the orchestra-master has it in his head to forgive the violinist for his poor choices, tendency to start brawls with the percussion section, et cetera. "Can you set up a meeting?" I say. "What for?" he says. "It just so happens," I say, "that I have some intelligence indicating where the next score is going to be."

[coquettish_trees]

[ hahaha 'score'.

She closes her fan and presses it to her heart with a small sweet sigh. ]

So kind and thoughtful of you to aid our wayward violinist away from his life of crime.

[bouchonne]

Why, by the Maker, do you assume that was what I did?

[ He blinks at her in mock-shock. ]

The reward was doubled if I could ensure the Arlessa could also get her hands on the fellows who had so offended her.

[coquettish_trees]

Well, a life in jail is hardly conducive to a life of crime, [ she replies innocently. ]

[bouchonne]

How true that is. Well, in any case, my ploy failed...at first. They demanded I send them the information in return for some coin, to see whether I was reliable. So I did.

[coquettish_trees]

And were you reliable?

[bouchonne]

Two nights prior, a drunken merchant had been speaking of the rubies he was going to be shipping out to Denerim. Was quite satisfied by the size of the haul. Satisfied, too, by the way he had arranged his security to foil the pirates' raids. Well, that security was quite foiled by our friends the pirates, once the secret came out.

So - yes. They were most grateful to me. Invited me to join them the very next day.

[coquettish_trees]

[ Alexandrie lets her fan drop to her lap and she claps her hands together with exuberant delight. ]

Why Byerly, is this a story of your foray into piracy just as I requested? How accommodating your history is!

[bouchonne]

[ A heavy, mournful sigh. ]

Oh, if only, ma cherie. No. Alas. You see, we all met up, they with their wealth and that fine fiddle, me with a strain of particularly potent dreampoppy. We drank, we dined, the violinist and I competed to see who played better - I won, of course - and then one thing led to another and...we all ended up passed out in a drugged-out haze. Which normally is the best way to end an evening, except that the bloody municipal guard had followed us, and we all ended up arrested. All of us! They, I, the fiddler...And do you know what the worst part is, my darling? That damned violin went back to the Arlessa, and no one got the reward. I didn't see a cent of it. They released me once I'd explained myself - and with a bit of intervention from some of my kinder relatives - but I was none the richer, and in fact significantly poorer for the exploit.

[ This whole story, perhaps incredibly, is quite true. Well, with certain parts perhaps lightly fictionalized. For example, Byerly had not won the fiddling competition. Ah, well. And there are also parts that are excluded...like, for example, the fact that he had gotten wrapped up in all of this at the behest of the Queen's Own Spymasters, who had been trying to track down the Drakon River Bandits but who hadn't been able to get close. It had been one of his odder assignments, to be sure, but he'd been quite pleased by the outcome. ]

[coquettish_trees]

Oh là là, mon pauvre cher! Quelle horreur! Such cleverness, and all for naught.

[ Although she's not entirely sure what the hoped for outcome of that particular plan had been, considering everyone including the would-be violin returner had passed out. Ah well, it made for a wonderful story. She shakes her head with an exhalation of terrible sorrow. ]

If only you had stayed in jail, you should have been spared your subsequent life of crime. Even so, I am glad you are free, elsewise I should never have been so well entertained by your adventurous exploits.

I have decided, in light of this, to be solemnly repentant for my attempt to back you off a cliff. Say you forgive me, or I shall never recover.

[bouchonne]

Ma cherie, you do know that forgiveness isn't forgiveness if you coerce it out of someone, don't you?

[coquettish_trees]

[ she looks absolutely aghast ]

Do you mean to say that every pardon I have ever obtained through main force and blackmail was no true absolution?

[bouchonne]

I mean that precisely.

[coquettish_trees]

I suppose I am irredeemable then.

[ that sounds almost, almost, like the ring of crystal rather than glass. ]

[bouchonne]

A monster of the first order. I shudder with horror over the fact that I am close to you.

[coquettish_trees]

[ bright again! ]

For the preservation of the sanctity of your spirit, perhaps you should move ...a few steps backwards.

[bouchonne]

Ah - a fine thought.

[ Guilelessly, he stands, and takes the steps. ]

[coquettish_trees]

Perhaps a few more. I may be a vile beast, but I am still quite concerned for my effect on your pristine soul. I think my dreadful aura extends at least— [she leans to the side to look behind him "surreptitiously", her lips moving silently as she counts something out in her head, ] —oh, thirty paces or so.

You ought to take them while facing me, lest I seize you with my savage claws while your back is turned.

[bouchonne]

You do always look out for me, ma cherie.

[ He continues taking the steps, one after the other. A small smile plays on his lips. His eyes don't leave her face. ]

[coquettish_trees]

And I always shall, mon cher!

[ Her eyes dance with mirth and mischief as she cups her hand beside her mouth and pitches her voice so as to feign calling to him from a greater distance than is currently between them, producing a lace-edged handkerchief from her skirts to wave delicately at him as one might at a departing vessel. ]

[bouchonne]

[ And he keeps on stepping, never once flinching or hesitating, continuing his inexorable march backwards. ]

Tell me when to stop, ma cherie.

[coquettish_trees]

Worry not, you shall know when!

[ She's not going to stop him. ]