open | baby come back

[cozen]

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: Failed attempts to hire a new head for the Diplomacy Division
WHEN: Late Solace
WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall
NOTES: OOC post! IC announcement also to follow shortly. This log will contain some top-level starters for some of the NPCs (but not all of them, just the ones me, Cee, and Hope feel like, thanks), open to anyone who wants to tag them!

Players who signed up for scaring off specific NPCs are also welcome to set up logs here for that, open or otherwise, if they want to play it out.

The Diplomacy Head's office is really too nice to be so empty for so long—and someone to handle public relations would be, you know, not a bad idea—so it's time for proactivity and a small parade's worth of potential ambassadors on Riftwatch's behalf. The candidates arrive in twos and threes to be interviewed, shown around, and, ideally, convinced that taking on the diplomatic efforts of an organization this weird wouldn't be the worst career move they've ever made.

Comments

Ghito Acordolo

[bombedtheinterview]

"So let's say - "

This candidate, Ghito Acordolo, is well-dressed. He's handsome. He's impressively coiffed. He's also an elf, and yet somehow he does not seem to show the least sign of shame or apology for it. Which, bravo, but at the same time, it seems a little odd that an elf in diplomacy seems so utterly unaware of the effect that his race would have on others. Perhaps that's part of his technique? Just wowing them with self-confidence?

"Let's say," Acordolo goes on, "you've just said something to offend me. Right. Let's say that. You've said something to offend me - " At this, he stands up, dramatically, so suddenly that his chair tips over and clatters to the ground behind him - "And so I say to you, I say, I say, then you can take your offer, and you can shove it down Corypheus' throat. And then I do this - "

With a broad, sweeping gesture, Acordolo knocks his glass from the dinner table so that it smashes on the ground. And then he puffs out his chest, as though expecting applause.

"And how's that for diplomacy, huh?"

[rowancrowned]

Thranduil is feeling—something. He cannot quite put a name on the emotion, but it falls somewhere between ‘flattered’ and ‘threatened’, and he is struggling with this new circumstance on a most profound level.

He leans back in his chair, and takes a drink from his unbroken glass, crossing his legs with ankle resting upon the knee of the other.

With the hand holding the glass, he gestures, elaborates— “A young Orlesian lady has just made a disparaging comment regarding your height. There are no other witnesses. What do you do?”