EVENT: TRUTH BOMB

[faderifting]

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: TRUTH BOMB
WHEN: Bloomingtide 15-17
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: OOC information. Use appropriate content warnings in your subject lines, please.

It’s an ordinary day—so not a very pleasant one. The weather is dreary and muggy, and the day’s lunch is a soup that’s a little too watery and bland. The griffons are being their usual level of noisy and swoopy. The work is its usual level of urgent and difficult.

But in the storage rooms, something wiggles. Then it hums. Then it pops.

Outside of the storage room, there’s no actual sound, no shift in the wind, and no visible sign of a change. But the pop might be felt—like the moment something finally clicks, or two ideas suddenly fit together, except the opposite. In the heads of everyone in the fortress, something is suddenly not connected quite right.

The first sign of what’s gone wrong is that someone immediately stands up and tells the cook how bad the soup is.

A lot of people’s days are about to get exponentially worse.

Comments

closed to kenna

[heirring]

--The problem of course, and you'll have noticed this already so I don't really know why I'm telling you at all except to prove that I haven't simply overlooked the detail, is that the options available to us as far as incendiaries go are limited to the extreme. This design would, I'm certain, work perfectly with enough propulsion from the base of the barrel, but I don't have any idea what could supply it.

[Wysteria stabs a finger at a spot on the schematic spread before them over the smithy's worktable. It's a neat piece of work - surprisingly clean and reasonably well drawn (thanks to a straight edge and a series of compasses) -, but for all her boasting to the vile Ser de Foncé it isn't an especially ingenius creation. If she's being very honest with herself (and Wysteria's feeling awfully compelled toward that this afternoon), it's in fact painfully derivative. Why, she can almost hear Mr Ralston's voice in her ear saying, 'Please Miss Poppell, you'vemerely produced a poor copy from the work of others come before you. Don't think that just because none of these people know any better that you can get away with it.'

But that's not the point and no one has asked about it, so that purely hypothetical voice can go stuff itself.]

The other issue is the matter of casting and materials. I don't even know where we'd begin to tackle any of that. I don't suppose you're close friends with either an alchemist or the owner of a very large copper and tin mine, are you?

[gritted]

[ Is it a boring design? Maybe. But it's new to her, and it's also — well it's very well drawn, and it's very enthusiastic, and Wysteria sounds extremely cute saying words like propulsion and incendiaries.

Kenna's leaning over the table and the schematics in your traditional workman's survey pose, but she rethinks it when Wysteria leans in to jab at the paper. She straightens up, crossing her arms and then thoughtfully placing one hand on her chin. ]

Well, [ Does she know anyone? Not really. ] I'm not close friends with anyone. I mean, definitely not an alchemist or someone in tin or copper, but we might be able to hoard enough if I make some trades.

[ That's all true enough, and honestly eager. But it trails off a bit at the end, her head tilting marginally as she eyes the drawing. ] It's a very odd cast, though. It looks a bit... you know.

[heirring]

[A weighted pause follows as Wysteria studies the schematic. At length, sounding genuinely concerned:]

It looks a bit what?