whisper campaign!!

[hornswoggle]

WHO: john, max, thor, sidony, lakshmi, freddie, lexie, romain
WHAT: gossipin' at a fancy party in ostwick.
WHEN: wobbles hand
WHERE: ostwick
NOTES: will update as needed!

Comments

[shri]

"Silver," oh it's wicked, her laughter, at his compliment. Pleased as always, to do just that, and so completely unapologetic about it. But still, she gives his hand a fond squeeze as if they knew each other better than a brief bit of huddling post-battle. "Did you earn that name from having a silver tongue, I wonder?"

But she nods, shifting, trailing her eyes over the room, always, to it and then back to him. Something on her tongue about telling them they saw the woman whoring upstairs, and see how many of them ran off to check. The last attempt, truly.

Granted, his question, she looks back for, meeting his eyes briefly. Pretty blue things, they were. Like gems sitting in his face, like the statues carved in temples she only could half remember now. "Truthfully?" A huff, deep in the back of her throat. Something that wants to get out, and she is tired, perhaps, in her own way. "I despise it. But I suspect that's not surprising."

[hornswoggle]

The question gets a smile but nothing else. No, there's no telling where he came by the name. No, there's no delving into the man he'd once been before he was a cook and a pirate and a boogeyman Billy's using to terrorize whatever's left of Nascere.

There's more pertinent topics to consider anyway. But even with the damage they're attempting to accomplish at hand, he still asks:

"The party or the gossiping?"

Since there is some difference between the two. He knows nobility when he encounters it, though Lakshmi is...something else, to understate her entirely. He suspects she dislikes both, considering what he knows of her.

[shri]

She pauses when someone comes close, a deliberate little hover like they are sharing some secret that has been interrupted, eyes following them as if to make the point that they shouldn't be listening. A half protective, half suggestive curl against John's side, all glitter, all gold, that warms her words by his ear. As if they all don't know it doesn't make them want to listen more, being in such a whispered quick place.

Courtiers. All the same. French, English, Maratha, Mughal. Birds of a particularly ridiculous feather. But oh, how they could flock. They might fancy themselves peacocks, but they were ever crows. Ready to pick the eyes out of the dead for the sweetest bits.

"I dislike anything with this veneer of falseness." She speaks once they are left alone again. "If you mean to play in these games, learn that of them. Learn that not even your letters are safe. If they are willing to carve their own bodies this way, it will be nothing compared to what they will do to you. At least a soldier will hold a blade and you can both be honest about what he intends to do with it."