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

closed to bastien, byerly, colin & jenin

[hassaran]

[ Byerly, Colin, Bastien, and Jenin have all received instructions on where and when to meet: a cellar several levels below the central tower, where there is little danger of interruption or curious passers-by unless you count the occasional mouse. The wine racks that line the walls are, sadly, empty, a few stains and shards of glass all that's left of the collection formerly housed here. (Meredith probably didn't have any taste anyway.)

Several chairs are arrayed around an empty barrel that Yseult is using as a desk just at the moment, a small notebook unfolded atop it and a stub of pencil used to scratch out notes as she waits. It's shut and secured with a few quick coils of a string as the invitees begin arriving, dropped into a discreet pocket cut into her skirt. She doesn't rise, but greets the first of them to enter with a polite nod. ]

Good afternoon. If you'll all take a seat.

closed to fifi and nikos

[hassaran]

[ Fifi and Nikos are directed to a spare office room in one of the towers along the Gallows' outer wall, up several flights of tightly-winding stairs. The sound of the sea lapping at the cliffs below travels up even this high, to what appears to be a guard office, long disused. The worst of the dust has been cleared from a few mismatched chairs, and Yseult sits perched on the edge of a battered desk. She gestures at the chairs once all three of them have filed in. ]

I apologize for the excessive secrecy. The office is not available at present and we do require discretion. Are you two acquainted?

closed to coupe

[hassaran]

[ The chapel at night is cavernous, the soaring vaults disappearing into the darkness, statues shrouded in shadow. The eternal flame provides most of the light, burning away in the hollowed center of the altar, and scattered candles illuminate the pillars and pews. Yseult sits in one, not down on a knee or even bent over a copy of the Chant, but back straight against the bench. The book is in her lap, hands loose around it, and her head is tipped back to face the ceiling, eyes closed. ]

[keenly]

[This is barely more comfortable than Colin remembers being when Beleth summoned him to tell him she'd caught him dealing lyrium.

Does the new Scoutmaster know what the old one knew?

He moves in like he's apologizing for it. Walks with a wince like he shouldn't exist and he knows it. He can't be competent, he is probably not really what she is looking for. He's just been blackmailed into being here.

But he does take a seat, without a word, waiting for what is to come.]

[triamour]

[ Is that the cook? And a drunk, ever curious.

Jenin trails a hand delicately along a dusty shard of Chateau du Marcher Swill, refrains from lancing her finger inward (clumsy!); there's no point, the kindly and callow don't meet in basements. She drops into the chair beside Colin, skirts swept ungainly aside. In stage whisper to him, ]

I hope we will not see a rat.

[bouchonne]

The room's already full of them, my dear.

[ Byerly is as dramatic and flamboyant as ever when he swans in, delivering that line to Jenin with a grand gesture and then sprawling gracefully into a seat of his own. He throws an arm over the back of his chair, crosses his long legs at the knee, and pouts very pointedly at Yseult. ]

Inviting us to a meeting in a wine cellar and then providing us no wine. What a nasty little trick you've played, Mademoiselle Renarde.

[limier]

[ She doesn't intend to disturb.

— It's why she does, the heavy trod of feet unmuffled by more than token effort (her best, she expects, would bear little difference). A warning: That neither of them is alone.

The box tucked under her arm is slim, inscribed with sun; her cloak pulled close against a season that hasn't haunted the air for a month or more. Flame flickers on upon a conscious silence. Yseult looks too composed for sleep, and for all the unity of the Chant, there is an honour due one's private devotions.

But privacy is what she sought here too, and neither will have it now. ]

Yseult,

[ She says, instead of Scoutmaster. It's small warmth, but present; if she'd come to arrangements with Ashara, their relationship yet snarled about the edge of some future dream. The future becomes present, and Beleth is not, and instead — ]

A poor time.

[ To speak, as she's hoped to. The twist of her mouth is wry, self-deprecative. The future becomes present, and if this is a poor time, there's no saying they'll be afforded better. ]

[hassaran]

[ Yseult watches them enter and choose their postures through her lashes, a look angled up from the notes that remain her focus. The banter gets no response from her, just a few more scratches of pencil--the sound a little like rat claws tickling on stone in the distance--for a minute or two more before she folds the little book shut beneath her hands. Jenin gets her attention first. ]

Miss Triamour: we have not met before, but my name is Yseult. I am now in charge of the Scouting department. You will be paired with another Inquisition agent for this mission, but as he is late in joining us, we will begin with Colin and Byerly. Are the two of you acquainted?

[hassaran]

[ Half-asleep, at least, or she was before the sound of a footstep in the doorway reached her ears. The shift to wakeful alertness was invisible, but had there been any bristling tension it would have eased at the careless tread and further at the voice. She lets the half-formed thoughts she'd been failing to weave into a coherent prayer drift away again for now.

Her smile matches Coupe's, once she gets her eyes open and her head turning. She shakes it, lifting an arm to lay along the back of the pew, open. ]

There are worse. You have need of me, or--? [ The gesture of her head takes in their surroundings. ] I can go you if you came for solitude. I've had my turn.

scouting office.

[ipseite]

( it isn't quite so odd to come here absent beleth as it had been to first present herself to herian in what had once been her own office—still, she finds there's a certain wistfulness to regarding the changed space, that she might work closely with the scoutmaster and it isn't the one she knew better. but, ah: change is the only constant.

the new scoutmaster is competent, she understands. that is the most important thing, and the reminder to herself is less stern than it has to be when she is regarding the office of forces. )

Scoutmaster? ( a light knock against the doorframe as she pushes the door from ajar to open. ) Mme de Cedoux. Chief Cryptographer, for my sins.

( just her little joke. )

[bouchonne]

[ He switches gears smoothly, switching his pout from something petulant into something prurient. The implications of the look he shoots Colin are - well - obnoxious. ]

Oh, quite well.

[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. ]

[hassaran]

Madame. [ Her smile is warm, polite. ] Congratulations on your appointment.

[ Yseult wasn't here for all that, but she's read the files, so this creep back up and onto the ladder of power is interesting. She slips off the corner of the desk where she had been propped, considering a pair of tapestries opposite. ]

I expect we will be working closely together.

[ipseite]

Thank you.

( a rote courtesy to neither set store by, nor entirely disregard; they are not meaningless things. little is when one takes the time to pay attention, and petrana has spent the better part of her adult life surviving by an ability to read meaning from the raise of an eyebrow, and adapt.

it is refreshing, in the inquisition, to consider someone that on appearance makes sense to her. )

I expect that we will. I thought it prudent to present myself, that we might discuss how you wish that to proceed.

( deferential as the position is due, but not ingratiating by her tone, her manner; she is compact and matter of fact, almost businesslike for someone who still looks a little like a doll that some noble girl has mislaid. )

[exsecutus]

Well enough to complete a job.

[Nikos sits in one of the chairs. He's a little out of breath after climbing the stairs of the tower, but he's not particularly dissatisfied on the venue. It's a sort more familiar to him than an office.

He's answered without having spared Fifi more than a cursory glance. There are few people with which Nikos genuinely likes to work--the same people as those on the list of those really and truly trusted while working. In the Inquisition, he's kept his habit of finding out as much as he can about those around him, in case the information ever becomes useful. Some of that has informed a second list, and a third. People he might tolerate. People he might tolerate a little less, but still manage. There is little movement between the lists. People don't often prove themselves more than their first impression.

All this is to say that Nikos is waiting, reserving judgement, but the prognosis of worth is already at a disadvantage thanks to his natural cynicism. He's still in the room, at least. He crosses his arms over his chest, and waits for more.]

[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?

[hassaran]

[ A few steps deeper into the room invite Petrana to follow, even before she sweeps a hand at the wingback chairs arranged in front of the hearth. The fire is low in deference to the warming season, and a kettle hangs on a hook to one side. ]

I have time now. Can I offer you tea?

[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.

[ipseite]

That would be lovely, thank you.

( petrana arranges herself neatly in one of the gestured-to chairs, at home in her surroundings in both the specific and in their context, more; more at ease with the forms of politeness than the general camaraderie (whatever else lies beneath its surface) of the outpost that always seems more rough and tumble to her than she's entirely comfortable with.

this is more her natural habitat. these rules are easier for her to divine. )

I assume that you have a vision, yourself, for the direction of your division.

[bouchonne]

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

[hassaran]

[ Yseult sets down her cup on the tea table as Petrana takes a seat in one of the chairs alongside it. She moves about collecting another cup--a match to her own, pale clay painted with delicate, red-flowering vines--and the box of tea from the mantle, swinging the kettle back onto the heat. ]

I have plans. [ 'A vision' would be a stretch, and not one she's inclined to make. The Inquisition appears to have a surfeit of visions already. ] There is a great deal of work to do. How long will you need to fully assess the state of our codework, both offensive and defensive? A report on the current status and any known issues would seem the place to begin.