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

[cozen]

Her exit is interrupted, at the door, by Bastien’s arrival.

He’s looking a little harried. Generally he is a difficult person to harry, and an even more difficult person to make appear harried if he doesn’t want to appear harried, but at the moment he doesn’t care how he looks, because no one likes anyone who’s too unharried all the time anyway, and also he’s harried. It’s been a week. Or it is being a week, presently.

“What is—hello, Fifi,” he says, and then gestures behind her toward Guyomar as politely as he can while making a what in the void is going on sort of face. “Did you do something to him?”

Not a serious question.

[untiltheyarent]

She glances back over her shoulder, then at Bastien, and gives a single, silent shake of her head. She's not having it even in jest today, apparently-- but Bastien's overall bearing signals that something is amiss.

"Are you all right?" she asks, suddenly transforming into someone who might conceivably give a shit.

[bombedtheinterview]

Guyomar had remained where he'd been abandoned by Fifi a puddle of misery and black clothing. At the sound of her voice, he raises his head to look at her--and then at Bastien, standing just behind her. Tears roll down on his cheeks; more tears stand in his great dark eyes, waiting their turn to fall. He sniffles, and tries to sit up a little.

"Please," he says, "my-- my apologies, please, I must beg your pardon. I-- I was-- struck, by a sudden memory. That is all. A-- trauma, that haunts my," and his voice breaks, "my every waking hour, oh--"

He begins again to dab at his eyes with the red lace handkerchief. It is entirely too delicate for the work it is being asked to do.