OPEN | they've given you a number

[hassaran]

WHO: Open to all, plus a couple specific closed starters
WHAT: Moving into the DH quarters, general routines, and kicking off some particular intel-gathering ops
WHEN: Now-ish
WHERE: Around the Gallows, but if you'd prefer somewhere else hit me up on plurk and we can work something out.
NOTES: n/a, will be updated if that changes

Yseult's move into the Scouting office and Division Head quarters isn't immediate. There are Beleth's things to be packed up and new chosen to replace them, options scavenged from unused quarters or dusted off after years in storage. Gallows staff come and go, bearing away rolled-up wall-hangings and grumbling about how to get the old desk back out through the doorway (they got it in here so there must be a way without sawing it in half), and Yseult can be found "overseeing" the minor commotion. This appears to mostly involve her ignoring it, except to shift from perching on this windowsill to that end-table or crate corner as needed, rotating around the emptying rooms as she reads through a stack of files, occasionally making notes with a stub of pencil otherwise tucked behind an ear or rolled absent-mindedly between knuckles.

When she runs out of reading material she might instead be found even further up the central tower in the aerie, visiting with the griffons. One of the adolescents, a white female with grey-tan markings on face and wings, seems to delight in prowling on tip-toes behind her, attempting to discreetly sidle up and steal things out of her pockets as Yseult pretends not to notice, only to coincidentally shift out of reach just at the key moment. When this game grows old there are others: a version of Find-the-Lady played with three wooden cups and a hidden treat, or catch played with bits of food or a leather ball and other random objects tossed around the aerie, griffons darting between rafters and racing to beat their siblings to catch it.

The training grounds are another common haunt, though she prefers odd hours--at dusk or dawn, or during mealtimes--when they are at their emptiest. She trains most often empty-handed or with knives, obviously a favored weapon whether thrown or wielded against one of the straw-filled bags hung from the ceiling. But sometimes it's a long staff, or two short ones, a whip-fast rapier, occasionally even a regular longsword or mace if she really wants to sweat through a challenge. Most sessions begin and end with her scaling the walls of the training hall building up to the roof, light on her feet across the ridgeline to a far corner within leaping distance of the isle's outer wall and from there across parapets and rooftops and forgotten banner-line ropes back to the main towers. She usually chooses her moment carefully to make this climb without being spotted, but can occasionally be caught dangling from a gutter on her way up or down. With the Scouting suite in flux, she can still be found in the common baths in the Templar tower afterwards.

After a couple days, the dust settles on the eighth floor, and from then she can be often found in the re-fitted Scouting office, its door always cracked open to eavesdrop on the hallway invite a knock unless she is in conference with someone. The space has been rearranged, but some of the spirit of Beleth's office remains in the pair of armchairs and tea-table now set in front of the fire and in the bookcases that still line the walls. The desk, large but simply carved on its solid front, is already accumulating files and missives neatly collected in stacks around the central blotter and pewter inkwells. The walls are bare, but that seems likely to be temporary, a few rolled tapestries in a corner and paintings in frames propped against the wall. When not bent over a report, pen in hand, she might be found flipping through them, or contemplating the merits of a seaside landscape in various positions on the wall, frowning thoughtfully over a cup of tea late into the evening.

Comments

[keenly]

[There's a very small twitch of a smile. Byerly says a lot of things, and he suspects most people don't take them to the extreme.]

Your average degree of acquainted, [he corrects gently.]

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly sighs heavily and looks at Jenin with a wounded expression. He spreads his hands, palm-up, a clear gesture of do you see what I, a good and honest and decent man, must endure? But no protests. ]

[cozen]

[ Speaking of good and honest and decent men—and fashionably late ones, merci bcp—the door opens enough for Bastien to slide through with muted footsteps. Not silent-muted. Just in the way of an ashamed worshipper slipping into the back of Chantry when the sermon has already started.

Your average degree of acquainted is not very acquainted, he could say, with so many people in the world who aren't acquainted at all. Once you know someone's name, you're more acquainted than average. That's mathematics.

But he has a very solid sense of propriety. He stole it from a Duke and he's taken very good care of it. So he only smiles, with an apologetic skew, and takes the last empty seat. ]

[triamour]

A pleasure to so meet.

[ Yseult, and broader acquaintances. A consoling palm pressed upon Byerly’s shoulder — there, there —

Necessitates that she hook a foot about the edge of Bastien's chair, for balance. That does yank the seat a bit; unintentional, as unintentional as certain disclosures of who is who that have been overlooked.

A cook, a drunk, and a tamer of rats. What perils to paper and ink. ]

[hassaran]

[ Bastien's lateness can be forgiven because the timing of his arrival saves her from having to even pretend to respond to the back-and-forth between Byerly and Colin, for now. She gives him a nod in response to that tinge of apology before shifting her attention back to the other men. ]

We've received word that there is a faction in Orlais that favor making some sort of peace with the invaders. [ She looks to Byerly directly: ] Could you plausibly insinuate yourself, under your own name or another, given your history at court?

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly shoots her a slightly incredulous look. ]

Can I get myself invited to a scandalous party? I think I'll be able to figure it out.

[keenly]

He'll figure it out either way, [Colin says with a little more steel than before, and a glance at Byerly.]

And the answer is yes, and I've no history at court whatever. I mean, there are a thousand or more Colins without a last name. It won't take anything.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly pulls a face in return at Colin in response to that steely assurance. Honestly, this child. ]

[hassaran]

That wasn't my question. [ A glance between the two of them and all of their faces. If she finds Byerly exasperating (and she does) she does not show it yet. ] How widely known is your affiliation with the Inquisition in court circles? And would interest in appeasing the enemy be in keeping with your existing reputation there?

If there is any risk of red flags rising, I will switch your assignment with-- your colleague. [ A gesture indicates Bastien, whose current preferred nom de guerre she has just realized she is not entirely sure of. ]

[bouchonne]

[ A bow that somehow manages to look elegant even from his sprawled position. ]

My reputation for cowardice and casual betrayal is already quite well established, Mistress. Anyone who heard the rumor of my current allegiance would not doubt that I would abandon this stinking heap and my stinking comrades post-haste.

[cozen]

[ Bastien raises his eyebrows, when gestured at, with humble surprise. How flattering, to be a colleague. How dangerous and unfamiliar, to insinuate oneself into the graces of Orlesian nobility. How fortunate for the Fereldan's confidence—or cowardice—whichever of the two is enabling him most at the moment, and saving a poor printer from the task.

In the meantime he's been watching the shaggy one in his peripheral vision. Yseult he knows as well as he expects most people know her; Byerly he knew once, a long time ago; Jenin has seen him naked, metaphorically. (And also literally. But not sexually. Important notes.) And all of them knew him in some prior iteration. If it were just them, he could not bother with all of this.

But the shaggy one is an unknown entity, mostly, except for the eager assurance that is not quite self-assurance, and the accent, and the hair.

He turns his attention to him fully, rather than peripherally, with the mild interest an unintroduced stranger (because he was late), and in the process of righting his chair from Jenin's yank. ]

[hassaran]

[ Yseult pauses a moment, in case Colin would care to make some addition, or if Bastien is going to chime in or introduce himself or... something, based on his shifting and staring. When the silence drags, she nods, brisk, at Byerly. ]

Good. That should serve our goals well here. I'd suggest that Colin pose as your attendant of some sort, to mingle with the servants, but if either of you believe a different arrangement would be better, I will hear it. For the moment, the goal is simply to locate the core of this group in Val Royeaux, identify those who share these leanings, and evaluate whether they are inclined toward action or not. Questions?

[bouchonne]

[ And, indeed, Byerly is raising his finger to get her attention. His question is, perhaps, surprisingly practical: ]

What's our budget? It'll be a bit easier to function if we're sufficiently funded.

[keenly]

[Bastien starts the staring and Colin doesn’t notice at first, till he gives the man a second glance and sees. The line of his shoulders immediately tenses, head ducking as if he might like to disappear into himself. Any comment or question withers on his tongue. Byerly seems to have things in hand, at least, so he only listens now.]

[hassaran]

[ Yseult lifts a brow at Byerly. ]

You already have an income sufficient to keep you in this style [ a roll of one wrist indicates him generally ] as others will expect.

[bouchonne]

[ An incredulous look. ]

Mistress, a job requires more than just looking very fine. If that's all that was needed, I'd never need a purse at all. I'll need funds for bribery, for securing women and wine and song for my targets - song, of course, being a charming tincture of poppy that's all the rage right now - because, you may be shocked to hear, but generally my targets don't keep me around for my charming personality. I need to be able to procure things for them. I'll need money for travel, for a hasty escape if necessary, for entry into the gambling-halls to make initial contact...

[ A little shake of his head. ]

I understand that the Inquisition is a rather...bare-bones organization, so it's certainly not as though I expect the resources my prior employers would have supplied. [ And isn't it a mark of trust in Yseult, that he's willing to make reference to his prior employers in the presence of a person not known to him. ] But a bit of something, please.

[keenly]

[Colin watches Byerly with interest, then looks back at Yseult with brows twitched upwards, awaiting her answer. It would seem he agrees with Byerly.]

[cozen]

[ Bastien had been on the verge of looking away from Colin—his interest only mild, on its surface, the same fleetingly attentive look he’d give anyone across a dinner table while keeping up with a conversation he wasn’t participating in, and medium at best underneath—but his gaze is only halfway back to Yseult when the young man’s shoulders tense up, so it’s really no trouble to turn it back toward him.

Quizzical, this time. Either he’s done something to offend in the past, which definitely isn’t the case, because he doesn’t forget faces, or he can add easily spooked to his short list of Colin Facts. So easily spooked it is. But he caps the puzzlement with a smile, meant to be encouraging, before going back to his prior plan to look back at the people who are talking, which now means Byerly. ]

It would cost less to just be charming, [ he says, smile slanting. Employers can go on his list of Byerly Rutyer Facts, while he’s making lists. ]

[hassaran]

[ Yseult's smile is close-lipped, unruffled. ] I am well-aware of the potential expenses. Though as he says [ her head cants, faux-thoughtful, toward Bastien ] I cannot recall ever having to pay to make up for the displeasure of my company.

[ In any event. ]

I was operating under the impression that your dealings with your prior employers involved a continuing financial relationship. [ She lets it show, the moment she now spends considering, tongue sucked along her teeth, before she decides some professional courtesy is in order and stops there. ] Draw up a proposed budget, and we can discuss the details.

[bouchonne]

I can't imagine you have. You're a lovely and charming woman, Mistress.

[ Well, one of those things is true, at least.

Briefly, By considers his old friend. "Bastien." He wonders for a moment how the man would feel to learn just how much Byerly had used some of the skills he'd taught him in their long-ago acquaintance. Well - no good telling him; he'll just get a big head if Byerly does.

So he shoots the man a flutter of his eyelashes. ]

Without a doubt it would cost less to be charming, dear man. But, alas, one cannot send a butterfly to do a scorpion's job.

[ Then, to Yseult: ]

My prior employers will not be funding expenses incurred on Inquisition missions. Anticipate this budget and more, if you wish to continue to take advantage of my considerable skills.

[keenly]

[That smile from Bastien gets an awkward return smile before Colin looks back to the conversation between his boss and his partner. Is partner the term? He thinks he read it in a crime serial somewhere. Either way, the posture shifts back to something more relaxed when he sees he's not the long-term focus of this mustachioed stranger's attention.]

[hassaran]

[ Yseult would very much like to roll her eyes at Byerly's considerable skills but annoyingly he really is considerably more skilled and experienced than nearly all of the agents at her disposal. She doesn't quite sigh, but there's something of it in her nod. ] Within reason. I won't ask that you risk keeping written record of your expenses but I will expect you--all of you [ a glance includes the other three as well ]--to be able to account for your spending if asked.

[ She plucks out a couple pages from the folder beneath her notebook, and offers it out to Byerly and Colin. It contains a list of five or so names, all nobility of various ranks and reputations. There is a summarized dossier on each, noting potential motivation for preferring a treaty and vulnerabilities to outside influence. ]

It's thin, I know. I would begin with either Lucienne du Pre [ a dowager comtesse with a young son and a gambling problem, rumored to be struggling to afford the troops Celene demands ] or Georges-Clement Lito [ a baron of notoriously outsized jealousy whose nemesis owns an iron mine and is making a fortune supplying the war effort ] but I leave that decision to the two of you. Questions?

[bouchonne]

I think this will be sufficient.

[ He takes the folder, and then looks over at Colin with widened eyes. In a conspiratorial murmur - ]

How exciting.

[keenly]

[He can't tell if Byerly is mocking him, but either way, a broad smile creeps across his face, and it is genuine. He likes being around Byerly. They have fun.]

Do servants in Orlais wear livery? If I mingle with them, how would I know who works for who?

[cozen]

[ Someone else can actually answer the young man's question, but Bastien supplies the beginnings of a response by smiling and tapping the bridge of his nose—where a mask is not, because he's neither a noble nor in the service of one—before giving Yseult his attention again. ]