FOLLOW THAT BARON

[murderbaby]

WHO: Leander, Isaac, Romain, Athessa & Mhavos (we're pretending no one has last names so the mages don't feel bad.)
WHAT: We're following that baron, lads.
WHEN: Right about... now. And a little later.
WHERE: The infamous Baron Deshaies'... house.
NOTES: Athessa might break her arm again.

To Review,

• Team Polite, consisting of Mhavos Dalat (as a simple servant), Leander (as a normal person), and Romain (as himself), waltz in the front door.
• Team Sneak, consisting of Athessa and her moxie, sneak in the back door to root around; Isaac is acting as a backup dancer.
• Isaac discovers the Baron is already making a run for it! Thanks for putting the pressure on, Daddy Warbucks Romain!
• Team Polite becomes Team Impolite as they race to catch the bastard.
• Mhavos hears that minor nobles Arienne Vérier and Etienne de Pentilion have been sneaking around and being Suspicious.
• Athessa finds some damning evidence, including ciphers and other creepy crap.
• Everyone tries to decide whether they should: Straight up do some murder, tell Celene, all of the above, or none of the above.

Please feel free to make top levels at various points in the mission for maximum versatility.

Comments

mhavos dalat | ota.

[murderbaby]

a. ON THE ROAD.

There are, of course, more horses. Mhavos can only stay atop his from sheer, raw determination, and the fear of falling is starting to annoy him. Because that's a natural reaction to fear.

He looks about his companions. He knows most of them, and the other he's been given a brief introduction. "When we get there, don't introduce me," he says. One of them may already know-- almost certainly knows-- the expected etiquette, but he mentions it for the benefit of all. "I'll stand two steps behind and stare at my feet. No one will notice when I'm no longer in the room."

b. THE CHASE SCENE.

When it's clear the Baron is not, actually, inside the damn house, Mhavos is all quick footed fury to find him. The servants don't speak favorably of him. That's enough for Mhavos.

De Revin escaped consequences. Mhavos is discovering a propensity for revenge, even by proxy. As a consequence, he vaults over a fence and through a gazeebo with more grace and art than a mere clerk ought. "Dépêchez-vous!"

c. THE END, OR WHATEVER.

Some enterprising individual has made sure the Baron isn't going anywhere. Mhavos has offered to hogtie him. That option currently rests on the table.

"Our orders were to find proof, and not garner the ire of l'Impératrice," he says. "We've found proof. How much do you think Celene cares for him?"

His words are calm and cool, like he has no opinion at all, yet he's still holding that rope. Are you sure you don't want the Baron hogtied?

d. WILDCARD.

And Now For Something Completely Different.

[sulahnan]

a.

Athessa, in stark contrast to Mhavos, is so relaxed on the back of her steed that she's laying backwards, resting her head on the horse's rear, feet swaying freely and not in the stirrups at all. She's letting the horse follow the others of its own accord, and just enjoying the ride.

She's only half-listening, too. Not that it isn't important, just that it doesn't apply to her. They won't be introducing her and she won't be going in the front door.

[murderbaby]

Mhavos sighs. Well, that's one way to converse. "Do I want to know how you learned to do that?"

[sulahnan]

"Learned to do what?" She looks over at him. "Lay down? Well you see, you just sort of go horizontal, and let whatever's under you hold you up."

The horse chooses that moment to blow out a harsh jet of air, almost like a scoff.

[murderbaby]

At least the harsh jet of air comes from its front end. The more Mhavos learns of horses, the less he cares for them.

"You know precisely what I mean," he says, rolling his eyes. They're huge, so it's pretty hard to miss.

[sulahnan]

She sits up, mostly just so her shrug is easier to read.

"There's nothing to learn, Mhav," she says, earnestly. She gestures to the horse. "Look at this guy, he's twice as wide as we are, and these ones are trained pretty good so you just...sit on them. And if it's an easy pace like this, you can just--" She demonstrates again how easy it is for her to lay back, as easily as one would lounge on a sofa.

"If you trust the horse, he'll trust you, and you won't have anything to worry about."

[murderbaby]

Telling Mhavos to relax, in any way or form, generally has the opposite effect. He hunches up a bit more, and the horse underneath him huffs. "It bit me this morning. We aren't on good terms."

[sulahnan]

"What were you doing when it bit you?" She squints, dubious. "And where?"

[murderbaby]

He just glowers and pulls up his sleeve, revealing a bruise in the shape of horse teeth on his elbow.

[sulahnan]

"Didn't even break the skin," she says. Her tone says don't be such a baby. "What did you do to make it bite you?"

[murderbaby]

Still glowering. "It didn't say."

[sulahnan]

"It probably did and you just weren't listening."

[murderbaby]

"I'll leave the communication with horses to you, then, seeing as you're an apparent native."

[sulahnan]

Athessa mimics her horse's previous expulsion of air and laughs, delighted, when Mhavos' horse responds in kind, bobbing its head.

c.

[sulahnan]

It was a group effort, of course, with everyone playing their part and doing very well at it, but Athessa will boast that it was she who knocked him off his horse with impressive aerial verve and vigor. In other words, she tackled him and sent him sprawling. When she tells this story later, she'll gloss over the fact that she also went sprawling ass-over-ears when they both landed on the other side of the speeding equine, and skip right to the part where the Baron is subdued.

She's already given her vote of yes, hogtie him but for the moment she is simply sitting on the ground and ensuring the Baron doesn't do anything stupid with the very persuasive glimmer of blades at his throat.

“Probably not as much as he hopes she does.”

[murderbaby]

Mhavos' smile is a cruel thing, devilish. He's rarely had need of it since joining Riftwatch-- never, in fact. Yet, he deploys it now, entirely for the Baron's benefit.

His grip on the rope tightens somewhat. Maybe hogtying isn't what he had in mind. "That's a good argument," he murmurs. "Anyone else?"

If the elves go and make up their minds, they'll be blamed for everything.

[toujoursdroit]

The baron keeps glancing between Athessa (who has the blades) and Romain (who an Orlesian noble is likely to assume is in charge, under the circumstances). Romain, for his part, is inscrutable as ever, though he certainly makes no move to suggest the baron should be let up.

"The empress may have uses for him. None, I grant, that he is apt to find especially pleasant." Which, as far as the duke is concerned, is all to the good. "Given that he was so eager to make a deal with the enemy to save his family and his retainers in the first place, perhaps he can earn them a bit of clemency that I don't expect he'll receive himself. That is, assuming the promise of delivering his Venatori contact isn't another convenient lie."

A pause, then he adds: "That said, I don't know that the empress will care if he's in a particular shape. Within reason."

A quick death is an easy out. An Orlesian who crosses Romain, even unknowingly, deserves a longer and more humiliating punishment than a simple execution.

[sarcophage]

And any human being in the baron's current position, Orlesian or otherwise, should be glad not to be left alone with Leander, and thankful the decision isn't left only to him. (But then, he's of the highest rank here, so perhaps it is. What bad luck.)

He's been watching the man since they all caught him up: from the moment he was spotted in the process of escape to the circling of their makeshift committee, Leander's eyes have held steady in a calm, opaque stare. A couple of times now he's toed the precipice of absorption, staring down a tunnel of something like his own gravity, entire seconds of motionless silence but for his breathing and the rhythmic nudge of his own pulse—

But he is present, now, and his attention sated enough for now to move between his compatriots as they begin to turn this decision over in their collective hands.

"A lie wouldn't serve him. His punishment would be delayed, yes, but then made all the more severe for it, and he isn't that sort of foolish," tilting to find the baron's eyes, "are you? Only desperate." Without leaving room for an answer, his gaze slides away. "Before he organizes any meeting, I think he'll tell us everything we need to know to reach his contact ourselves. Just in case something should happen to him before it can be arranged."

And if he doesn't, says the briefly twitched shape of his mouth—not quite a smile—perhaps something will.

[wythersake]

Athessa knocked the man from his horse. There's a knife at his throat, a bloodthirsty clerk leering in his face. There's a duke.

(Deshaeis isn't the only one splitting his attention between Romain, and a more immediate danger.)

If fear's sufficient incentive, the Baron has enough. Isaac's hands sway up, a half-turn that only now abandons clear view of Leander. The lurch in his gut isn't entirely false — some things are never easy to stomach. It doesn't mean he's unaware of his likely place in this: Let him bleed a little, Isaac. Don't let him bleed too much, Isaac. Thank you Isaac. How would we torture a man without you?

Well, probably they'd just cauterize it.

"He can't promise you anything with that in his neck." He can, he has. "Your grace, is this what the Inquisition stands for?"

They're not the Inquisition, that's the point.

[murderbaby]

Well, that's a question. All of this is... something, certainly. It's interesting to see how people's emotions break down over the idea of hurting another person. Some are eager. Some are attempting to, what, appeal to reason?

He wonders why Isaac is doing it. Every time he meets the man, he's given a different impression of him. This would even be favorable, if not for... well. His own pettiness.

Mhavos' gruesome smile falls. Now isn't the time for it, anyway. He was getting ahead of himself. And most importantly, he has a role to play.

He dips his brow in Romain's direction, just short of a real bow. "Your Grace?"

[sulahnan]

Athessa lifts her shoulders in a small shrug in response to Isaac's apparent concern about knives in throats and all. Won't go in his neck if he doesn't move, is what she's thinking, but as a visible sign of her priorities, she rotates her grip on the hilts so the sharp edges are pointing skyward. There. Now he won't accidentally impale himself.

[toujoursdroit]

"What the Inquisition stands for is a question we haven't the leisure to dissect," he says, bone dry. "But I imagine pragmatism would likely find its way onto the list of possibilities. So. I think the question really becomes which is more useful in the end. I'm inclined to let him buy his way out. All the necessary information and then a meeting."

Or he's inclined to let him think he's buying his way out and then ensuring the proof finds its way to Celene via a back door. Or let him buy his way out and then slowly dismantle his social credit over the next few years. Luckily or unluckily, how he outwardly plays the situation now looks identical for all three contingencies. Let Deshaies think he's buying his way out by the skin of his teeth.

[sarcophage]

This group acquiescence—in the moment, Leander feels as though only he and Duc de Coucy stand on equal footing. Not in professional or social authority, but in self-assurance. It's been worth watching him, and perhaps he'll pick up some of that remarkable fluency in gravitas. The duke's voice goes a long way toward it—Lea will never have that, but one day, perhaps, he too will command a room simply by entering.

Between that and the man's reputation, he thinks he's glimpsed what's happening here. It would dovetail nicely with his inclination to ensure Deshaies feels watched by hostile eyes for the rest of his life, however long that may be. And perhaps he will be. Let those innocent in the baron's family survive while he withers under the pressure of a waking nightmare.

And, ideally, meets his end in its culmination, able to see it coming from a long way off but powerless to escape. Suffering all the while.

"Very good, your grace," is Leander's respectful reply.

[murderbaby]

Mhavos nods. He's an elf with an Orlesian accent, taking orders from a duke. He assumes his acquiescence needn't be stated. It's writ.

So he doesn't say what he's thinking, I hope it bankrupts him. Instead, he speaks with an unassuming tone. "Pragmatism and favor ought not to be forgotten... We'd be kind to leave him a memento. Mademoiselle?"

Athessa should do it. Mhavos doesn't understand the Dalish, doesn't respect them as he assumes they do not respect him, but even he can't deny the poetic balance of a Dalish elf scarring an Orlesian noble. He doubts anyone but him will care, or see the connection. Somehow that makes it sweeter.

[sulahnan]

When nobody else says anything, and when it strikes her that mademoiselle means her, Athessa looks up from where she's been idly tapping the blunt backside of the blade against the baron's throat. Every little tap tap makes him jump, and it's a good reminder to him that he shouldn't try anything.

Not that a man in his position even could.

But wait, what had they been discussing? Mhavos is addressing her as if he expects her to respond, or act, or something. She looks at him, then at each of the others in turn, then back to Mhavos.

"What? Sorry, I wasn't listening."

[toujoursdroit]

Romain makes a small gesture, as if to say no matter. "The suggestion was a souvenir. Now, we shouldn't be hasty." A pause, then he asks, "Baron, which is your dominant hand?"

Deshaies goes pale. "Your grace, please, I..."

Romain cuts him off, no louder. "Which one?"

The baron swallows and murmurs that it's his right.

"Well, as my granddaughter is not, in fact, dead, I might suggest the left pinky, then." Romain is now addressing the group rather than Deshaies, ostensibly. "Inconvenient and painful, but he could hide it with well-made gloves, at least in public. Or, of course, there's the face. As long as we mind the eyes, he can cover most mementos with a mask. No one would ask any inconvenient questions, and the baron would certainly know better than to volunteer." Under the circumstances.

[sulahnan]

Well, shit. She doesn't want to torture anybody, no matter how much they might deserve it.

And she can't just say as much, because it'd undermine everything. Athessa might not be a good spy, but she sure as hell knows that a united group is scarier than in-fighting about morality.

So she gets a grip on Deshaies' left wrist and pulls against the baron's panicked attempts to keep his arms in tight against his body.

"I'm gonna have to break your arm, too, if you don't stop struggling."

It's surprising to her just how well the threat works, considering she put no malice or heart behind it. He relents, and she's able to pull his arm away from the man's side, flattening his hand so his palm is pressed into the earth and his fingers are splayed with space enough between them to maneuver a blade.

And then she looks at her companions. Am I really gonna have to do this?

[wythersake]

The vague taste of bile.

It isn't as though he hasn't seen (participated, caused) worse, but it's finally enough to shift his eyes to Athessa's. Hardly as easy to read a still expression as the stories would have it; often enough a stare is only that: Opaque as the silent, psychic pressure to not cut off his fucking finger.

"Then the terms are clear," He states, as if that makes it true. The Duke isn't anyone he particularly wants to tangle with (a distant name of Montsimmard, a nearer reputation), and if Romain proves intent -- well. No one can say he didn't try. "My Lord will speak now, and honestly,"

The Baron, for however long he warrants the title.

"That he needn't be reminded so."

That last, to Deshaeis. Now would be a good time to talk. Now, before anyone gets knife happy. Happ-ier.

[toujoursdroit]

Romain's stance gives away nothing more than his mask does; he seems willing enough to stand there forever. To let the moment stretch to the point of breaking.

Deshaies, for his part, latches on to Isaac as a lifeline. Yes, he is quick to assure them, of course he understands the terms, understands them completely, cannot wait to be of service in any way they find fitting. So happy to make amends for his actions.

After a few moments of this, Romain glances around his companions and nods, slightly. "Well enough. He seems to be able to do without the reminder. I am content to let him go without if everyone else is. We shall see how his memory fares soon enough."

He comes closer and looks down at the Baron. A younger man might crouch; the duke does not, but his voice is low enough that it's clear his words are meant for Deshaeis, even if the rest can hear. He speaks in Orlesian, almost conversational, though the farthest thing from glib. "Understand that you are worth less than my granddaughter" the one Celene splashily and publicly humiliated. That one. "Were she dead in truth, I would take more than a finger, and if you do not cooperate fully now, I am still happy to make sure you understand your exact relative worth. I trust that term is clear."