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

[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."