( closed-ish )

[excipio]

WHO: Caspar Perakis, Kenna Carrow, Lukas & friends
WHAT: Misc starters
WHEN: Varies, default backdated to pre-Elf Drama
WHERE: All over Kirkwall/the Gallows
NOTES: Closed starters below! Feel free to DM/otherwise get in touch if you want something with any of mine.

[ placeholder to guilt me into writing open starters later, maybe ]

Comments

[heirring]

"Because I have seen it for myself, of course."

Here, she pauses to takes a conspiratorial sip from her mug. As far as dramatic pauses go, she doesn't have the patience to let this one go for long but the intent is there even if the execution is lacking. "Where I come from - if you believe in such things, I know there are lots of people who don't so call it a dream or whatever you like -, I studied with just such a man. Allegedly, he once had been quite popular in certain circles and the best of friends with a particular colleague. However, by the time I came to know he he had become something of a pariah among those same circles. How could such a thing have happened, I wondered to myself. It isn't as if the man's mind had faltered at all, and though it's true this his practical abilities were limited, he remained a brilliant essayist.

"So imagine to my surprise when we attended a gathering of like-minded intellectuals and I discovered this friendship, which he'd always been quite protective of, was hardly a friendship at all. And why? Why, because his colleague had been married to a lovely woman with whom he had nothing at all in common with and no companion of his own with which he might distract her, and so he and his dear friend had a falling out. All of which could have been avoided if he'd simply wed himself."

[gritted]

If you believe in such things doesn't even make sense, for a moment, because Rifters are about on par with magic at large — not something she gets or thinks much about. Easier to take for granted that Wysteria is very real and the place she comes from must be very real, too. She's not wispy or anything. Surely that counts for something.

"Wait," said while squinting, both through the beer and Wysteria's very roundabout way of saying literally anything. "So you're saying if he'd had a wife to chuck at this other man's wife, then they could have gone on being friends."

Also are they talking about....... friendship or........ friendship. Unsure.

[heirring]

"Yes," she cries. "That's exactly it! I'm so pleased you understood so instantly from just those details. It would be terribly crass to have to dig into the semantics of the thing - what he said and what was overhead, and the circumstances under which I learned any of this to begin with as pieced together by a half dozen remarks from the lady in question and, say, a series of notes found in a locked drawer. Which was not snooping; I don't have to tell you of course, but the discovery was accidental to the extreme.

"--Isn't it lovely when two minds are so well aligned as ours? Even the barest descriptions have such clarity."

looks at this tag a month later, laughs again

[gritted]

She has no idea what Wysteria’s talking about.

She knows what she’s saying, on the surface. That this man couldn’t remain friends with this male friend after his male friend had gone and got married? That if he’d had a woman with which to distract the man’s wife, then they could’ve continued being friends? What kind of society wouldn’t allow a married man to have single friends? Or, of course, she’s missing what isn’t being said. Which Wysteria clearly thinks she isn’t missing.

Kenna, entirely out of her element, leans forward and attempts a small, conspiratorial smile.

“Not too terribly crass, though. I mean, to discuss what he said, or what the notes said. Even less crass when you’re a whole rift away, I’d bet. Not that it’s necessary, obviously, because we are so well aligned, just— you know. I love hearing about your world.”

please god explain

[heirring]

The thing is, it doesn't really hurt anyone to discuss it now does it? It isn't as if Ralston or the Doctor or dear Lady Elizabeth will come tumbling out of a rift to be plagued by the fact that their personal dramas have been shared over a few drinks had in a loud public house. Or rather-- the odds seem very slim. Why, she cannot think of a single Rifter who has such a close association with any other. And if it does happen, she will simply have to swear Kenna to secrecy and it will be one more bond of true and everlasting friendship between them. There are, simply put, no drawbacks.

Besides, she rather likes discussing Kalvad when given the rare opportunity. It allows her to think of the place without considerable pangs of homesickness (or rather, guilt spurred on by the fact that she doesn't really seem to miss it all the much).

So, the story goes: "Well, just this once then. So you will have to listen closely, for I could not bear to repeat it a second time. As I said, it was at this evening salon where I first discovered that the two men's associated was hardly an association at all. Oh, the man's friend - let us call him Henry which is not his name, but it will be easier to discuss them in such terms - was warm enough and quite cordial, and his wife - Henrietta. Again, not her name and rather too close to Henry, come to think of it. Agatha? Lucasta? Oh no; let us call her Ursula. I have always fancied that name--

"Ursula and Henry were very cordial to the gentleman when we arrived, and though he did his very best to appear the same, I have something of an intuition for these things and could easily discern some uneasiness between the three of them. Not an uncommon state for those forced to bear the gentleman's company, mind you, but I had never witnessed it return in kind. He is a very irritable sort of person, you know, and those people rarely realize the discomfort they inflict on the people about them. Despite this, the evening went far more swimmingly than I would have guessed given the wide range of the company and the presence of at least four colleagues I am certain the gentleman in question despised.

"Toward the end of evening, myself and one of the other guests took some air in the back garden. You would like Martine. She is darling. --As we reached the rear of the garden, we realized suddenly that someone was speaking in a very sharp tones indeed. It was not eavesdropping, merely done incidentally as we made our way down the path. This voice belonged to none other than the gentleman in question and he was sharply upbraiding poor Doctor Henry himself on some matter of politics which is important, but hardly relevant here as shortly thereafter Henry cut in and informed the man that he would not discuss the matter under such pretenses, and if he wished to say something about his wife then he should simply say so directly."

Here, she falls into theater and pitches her voice lower: "'Your wife? Not everything is about your wife, Doctor.'" A different voice: "'Is it not?'" Toggling back: "''If you think I have even a single feeling for the woman, than you have grossly overestimate the situation. I am entirely apathetic to her.' --Isn't it shocking?"

This is, at best, half the story. But here she pauses for the appropriate reactions. One must pace these things appropriately or they risk alienating their audience.