OTHER PEOPLE'S PROBLEMS.

[murderbaby]

WHO: Fitcher, Mhavos Dalat, Lino Nieri, Derrica, Leander, Laura Kint.
WHAT: Some rich dicks got dicked around.
WHEN: Early Kingsway.
WHERE: The Wounded Coast.
NOTES: Violence, probably. Will update if More Happens.

To Review,

• Mhavos recieves word from former employers, the wealthy d'Antret family, that their ship to Kirkwall has run ground on the wounded coast.
• He's stopped from throwing the letter in the fire by Fitcher, who bullies convinces him to assemble a search party.
• Lino Nieri, Derrica, Laura Kint and Leander end up volunteering.
• When the wreck is found, it's not all that wrecked; the ship is largely intact, just beached. The wealthy nobles are nowhere to be found.
• However, there are some supplies of tea, coffee and sugar, only lightly damaged. There's also a ledger indicating a d'Antret heirloom (a Dalish amulet) should be on the ship, but can't be found.
• Everyone outvotes Mhavos, and the party decides to try and find the missing nobles.
• They track them to a cave filled with bandits, planning to ransom the nobles back to Orlais for a lot of cash.
• The bandits aren't too difficult to defeat, and the nobles are... moderately grateful. And not giving up their amulet or any of the stuff still on the ship.
• ...Unless you feel like stealing it / cajoling them more? Only Time Will Tell.

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

Comments

the c the c the open c;

[sarcophage]

Leander, who happens to be nearest at the time, gives no one a shape—that is, a slim one dressed practically for travel, skirted jacket ending at his knees (smartly cut, of course), light pack and modest staff on his back.

"How gaudy?" He's already got his share of spoils tucked away—a few bricks each of coffee and tea, to be given as gifts, and just one of sugar for himself—and now he's looking up at the main mast, and all its complex business, like he's thinking of climbing it to have a closer look. "Where does it rank on the Orlesian gaudiness scale?"

[murderbaby]

If Mhavos jams his elbow harder into the naked elf statue's ear, he thinks, maybe it'll fall off-- oh, his boss is talking.

Mhavos clears his throat. "Are you familiar with Dalish designs?"

And then, something of a chuckle, "I'm not. But I hear they added the gold leaves inlaid with jade, to make it look..." He stares at the masthead figure, its unseeing wooden eyes staring out at the sand... "more elfique."

[sarcophage]

"Elfique... now there's a word." A word he enjoys, by the sound of it. "Do you think it ought to be restored? To its original state, that is. Before the theft."

He's not only interested in an answer, of course, but how Mhavos chooses to interpret the question.

[murderbaby]

"It's just Orlesian for 'elven'," Mhavos murmurs, shaking some sand out of the book. He still hasn't broken the masthead, which is a shame.

"I don't know that it can be restored. It's not as though anyone alive knows what it used to look like." He entirely forgets that one can ask Dalish elves.

[sarcophage]

"Mmm, perhaps not—though it couldn't hurt to ask around. Merrill may have some insight." Though he's barely spoken to Merrill, he does respect her expertise.

As he picks his way toward the prow, mostly watching his feet, he says in polite Orlesian, "Please excuse me," and thinks Lady Alexandrie would be satisfied with his pronunciation. (And she should be; he's practised such niceties more than anything else.) "I'm still learning."

Abruptly, of the masthead: "Oh, dear, look at her."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos lets out the briefest of laughs. "You're quite excused," he replies, before switching back to Trade. "And if the thing can be retrieved, Merrill or whomever can do whatever they wish."

He looks over the masthead again, and lets out a despairing sigh. Very dryly, "they were obsessed with elves..."

[sarcophage]

"But not elven clothes?" It's not really a question, and while he doesn't really ask it, Leander is leaning on the rail in an effort to see her (them) at a better angle. "Lovely workmanship. No pun intended," he adds, with a conceding flick of his eyebrows.

Ugh. The lowest-hanging fruit. Why must he always?

Quick to recover, "If not restored, what would you rather see done?"

[murderbaby]

"Not for the women, no." Thinking about these people puts Mhavos in a poorer mood, even though it was a rumor, never confirmed, but... Mhavos takes the effort to unhunch his shoulders. It's over. He doesn't work for them anymore.

He does smack his elbow into the wooden elfess' ear again.

"Throw it into the sea. Melt it down. Sell it. Keep it in Riftwatch's archive. Why should I care?"

[sarcophage]

I never said you should, he could argue, but only tilts his head: a gesture of its own, removed from the attempt to look. Bare curiosity, a moment of companionable observation to go along with it.

"If you press much harder, it's likely to break off."

It's not a suggestion; it's not not a suggestion.

[murderbaby]

Mhavos is defensive and stuffy; he thinks he's hiding it well. He also immediately starts pressing harder. The thing finally snaps off, and Mhavos leans back with elated surprise.

"Ha!" A real bark of genuine laughter. Mhavos' expression brightens along with his mood. "I always hated that thing."

[sarcophage]

Leander watches the wooden ear fall, and the pathetic little crater it makes in the sand below, and when he lifts his face again, he's smiling all the way into his eyes. It was an easy guess; he's pleased with it all the same.

Look how happy Mhavos is. He did that. (It's nice to have a win once in a while, and contrary to the fears of some, they needn't all be negative.)

"What next?"

[murderbaby]

The brightness in Mhavos' eyes doesn't dissapate, though he manages to get his smile under control.

"Ah- yes." He clears his throat, just happy to not end up scolded for his impudence. Leander is allowing him this petty victory. That's very kind. "Yes, well. There's nothing else in the ledger of interest."

[sarcophage]

Why stop at an ear, really? They could burn the whole ship if Mhavos likes. But not, Leander thinks, if it isn't his own idea. A delicate thing, guiding someone who seems intimidated by his own agency—in some ways, it was much the same with Ilias.

"Pity. Could've had a pair of earrings to go with that amulet."

And speaking of him...

After a comfortable break, Lea settles against the ship's rail with his elbows resting on either side of him, casual as you please. That twinkle in his eye, it lingers wickedly. "I noticed you were at the Esterhauzy estate."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos, oblivious, hasn't a clue. He hums, deciding whether or not that was a joke directed at him. He decides to trust Leander, and his high spirits certainly, completely, definitely, have no say in that.

"I doubt they would have matched your ensemble."

And then, a tilt of his head. The Esterhauzy estate. That intolerable party. "Yes," he says with a sigh. He tilts his head a little, trying to get a better look at Leander without being obvious about it. "Yes, endured that intolerable party, if that's what you mean."

[sarcophage]

There's a good lad.

"It was dreadful, wasn't it?" His widening smile says otherwise. "You could have disqualified yourself. No one would've thought less of you, I think—no one who matters, anyway." A shift of weight, a hand coming up to scratch alongside his mouth with a delicately poised finger—nothing subtle happening, it's a genuine itch— "Did you make any new friends?"

[murderbaby]

"I'm still new here. I want to make an attempt at a good reputation." That's his cover story, anyway. He still sees the entire event as an inexorable failure. There are certain things he isn't made for. He ought to have posed as a servant.

He'll know for next time.

"Thank the Maker, no. At an event like that, I'm more likely to make enemies."

[sarcophage]

That gets a laugh, brief and light. Warm, even. Companionable. Here on this derelict ship, Leander is perfectly at ease, the same as he was in his Gallows workshop—the same as he is almost everywhere. Practised body language, a cultivated social contagion now committed to muscle memory, though for all the world it appears natural.

"Come, now. You can't be that bad."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos' lip twitches, and he can't decide if it's because he's edging toward a frown or humor.

"Not something I strive to make a point of in conversation," he murmurs. Is Leander the flirtatious type? Maker, Mhavos hopes not. Best be safe. "Or in action."

And the thought of having to say all that aloud surprises a quiet laugh out of him, a cough in comparison to his earlier crowing. "Which may rather prove my point."

[sarcophage]

"Fair enough."

Leander's chuckling as he says it, not discouraged in the least—the flirtatious type, that's a fantastic understatement—but willing to back off all the same. This isn't the time for it, anyway, and there's professional complexity to consider, and complex social interconnectedness, and blah blah blah, all the details that seem designed to prevent him sating his motives.

He's already won, anyway. The rest is just... willful territorialism.

On that note, with beautifully contrived ignorance to context—and maybe Mhavos can sympathize with going from that thought to this next one—

"Say, are you acquainted with the Speaker? Speaker Fabria?"

[murderbaby]

Mhavos can put a little of this together. He's never seen Leander and Ilias together, but he was obviously seen with Ilias. Which- well. He could react like a stone, would prefer to, but that's more suspicious than an elf with too much humility.

Which, luckily, he thinks he is. Most of the time, anyway.

So he lets out a hushed groan, and drops his face into the palm of the hand not holding the ledger. "Yes," he says, the word coming muffled through his hand.

[sarcophage]

Beautiful. He was ready to pretend, but now that he doesn't need to, delight takes its place. A giggle, even—a manly one, of course—the kind one may very easily associate with mischief. This very giggle has turned many a Senior Enchanter's head in its day.

"I'm sorry," no he isn't, "I just couldn't resist. He's lovely, isn't he? To talk to, I mean." No he doesn't.

[murderbaby]

Mhavos keeps his head where it is. He feels the tips of his ears beginning to color-- if only he wasn't so bloody pale. So this is a real feeling, after all. Good to know.

"Can we skip the teasing? What can I bribe you with?"

[sarcophage]

Were they closer—or close at all, really—he might aim a playful swat at the elf's nearest limb, but in the here and now that seems like a poor idea, so he keeps his hands to himself.

Playfully defensive, "I'm not teasing! All right, I'm half teasing... mostly teasing. But it's a real question, it really is. I promise. Aside from the," a loose-wristed and looping hand gesture here, in place of the dreaded k-word.

[murderbaby]

"You are most certainly teasing. I would have thought it beneath you, serah." But there's almost something like a laugh in his voice. Leander is being so... convivial about it, Mhavos can't help but feel freer for it. He's never had someone to joke with.

Does he, now?

"He is very kind," Mhavos says, peeking one eye out between his fingers to glance over at Leander. "He is also very human." And the eye is covered once more. "A distinction not all consider, but I do."

[sarcophage]

"I had wondered. Not to be discouraging, mind you." Not on that account, at least. He carries no conscious bias against elves, himself, it's more that he doesn't care—but elves aren't special in that regard. "He's quite charming, isn't he, regardless of who you are. Has an elegance about him." Calming, now, into his own thoughts. "We were in the same Circle, you know—for a time."