[closed] test flight

[doneisdone]

WHO: Marcoulf, Nikos, Teren
WHAT: ostensibly subterfuge, in truth a lot of shitfighting
WHEN: Kingsway
WHERE: Perendale
NOTES: stupid

"I've got a lead," Teren says in a low voice, tugging off the middling-quality Orlesian mask she's taken to wearing in the guise of a wine merchant (it covers the scars on her eye, makes her less memorable). She shuts and latches the door behind her, enclosing them in one of their inn rooms where they can speak with some privacy.
They've been here for several days now, conducting their 'business', listening to surrounding conversations and gauging the state of affairs in Perendale. These are Teren's old stomping grounds, and she knows the gathering places where sound doesn't carry, the shady haunts where the respectable and loud-mouthed don't dare to go-- but with this in mind, it's all the more vital that she conceal her own identity.

"There's some sort of meeting happening tomorrow evening," Teren continues sinking down onto a stool and tugging off her terrible Orlesian boots, "if we're lucky, we'll meet some faces of the resistance."

Comments

[exsecutus]

His own little glint of appreciative amusement shows briefly, gets buried almost instantly by his defensiveness. Now he permits himself to take a quick sip of wine. It's a better taste than having his credentials questioned.

Get used to it, Caspar would say, more amused than unkind. You don't look inspiring. It's not his job to look inspiring. That part is Caspar's. The best Nikos can do is manage not to snarl outright. The wine helps there.

"I prefer working alone. And not getting caught. Which solves the question of torture. This is a chance," he repeats, again, "and if we aren't doing it for the people of this city, and their resistance--which needs help--then, fine. For Riftwatch. What secrets are in that public office will be useful."

Does that help.

[esquive]

Now he does glance to Teren. Well - does it?

[doneisdone]

"But you're not working alone." Teren paces in front of him, glancing back at Marcoulf with a tiny nod of acknowledgment; she's handling it.
"By bringing it up, here, in this room, you've made us complicit. So either we're all doing this, or none of us are. And as much as we all prefer not getting caught, these things have a way of happening with or without our permission." She pauses to sip her wine, scrutinizing Nikos once more.

"I say we go to the resistance meeting. Feed them the idea, see what they can make of it. We keep our hands clean, Riftwatch oversight can go about their day, and, worst comes to worst, the resistance botches it and we come back to pick up where we left off."

[exsecutus]

"And I say we take advantage of this opportunity, now," Nikos snaps, and loses one notch more on his composure, "because I am not interested in keeping my hands clean. What will move you to act? The resistance is left to act, to take that chance at getting caught. They botch it." Her words; he fires them back. "It goes badly enough, and they get snuffed out. If some spark survives, it will be diminished. Or we come back and there will be nothing left to pick up. This doesn't wait for paperwork to be filed. This doesn't wait for someone's approval. This moment is now, and it must be planned for, or it will be lost."

He shoves back his chair, too frustrated to remain seated. There's nothing particularly graceful about it. Thick with anger like a seep that wells up under the skin. "You've asked for my resume because you think it will tell you something. We are, neither of us, here to answer to you. Go order the griffons around and see how far it will get you. I want to do something, to benefit the people of this city. Not mumble a chance and bow out to keep safe."

[doneisdone]

Teren stands her ground, letting Nikos erupt out of his chair and get right in her face, where she continues to stare him down with a calculating expression. As if to prove overtly how much he isn't getting to her (that little twitch was allergies, really), she takes another sip of her wine without breaking eye contact.

"Don't try to bully me, lad," she says in a warning tone, "you're being a fool. And if you truly intend to run in half-cocked, on a whim, taking the option from the resistance without even speaking to them, you're going to be a dead fool by this time tomorrow."

[exsecutus]

"I never said I would not speak to them," Nikos counters, quick enough that he's nearly talking over her, "I never said that I would act without them. I said that I would act. Help. Not leave, and sit back, and see what happens next. What option do we take from them by assisting, now? The option to throw themselves on the rocks, alone? We abandon them and come back to pick up the pieces. Why? Because it will be more convenient, because we can fit those pieces into something we want, because it suits our timing better to hold back--"

The pause for breath is so he can spit on the floor. Not because he actually needs to take a breath. He could keep going.

"That is not what this should be. What Riftwatch should be. The world is full of the overcautious, waiting in the wings to see what comes next. We don't know, what comes next. And the more we wait, the less we can do. You act so you can shape it. The future of this, of all of it."

[doneisdone]

With a sneer of distaste, Teren looks from Nikos to the spittle only centimeters from her foot, then returns her gaze to him.

"And you're going to decide this, on behalf of Riftwatch," she continues in her low voice, "shall we ring up the division heads, see what Yseult thinks?" Tugging the crystal forward on its chain around her neck, she taps it with a talonlike finger.

"--and we're not fucking leaving, you intractable infant, not without contacting the resistance first, which is why we're here."

She leans forward slightly, growing more impassioned.

"It's your way or no way, isn't it? What do you think Riftwatch is, your toy fucking soldiers?"

doublepost lalala

[doneisdone]

[Then this happens.]

By now Teren is used to being commanded by people half her age, but it doesn't mean she likes it any more than she ever has. To be fair, she's never liked being commanded by anyone.

But here they are, and she's not about to cut the line on Yseult, who-- loathe as Teren is to admit it-- is right to question what they're doing. Forcing her temper to quiet, she raises the crystal to speak into it better, maintaining eye contact with Nikos.

"We've infiltrated the city and successfully sorted out who's leading the resistance. I'm hoping to meet them tomorrow evening, but it would seem Averesch has a more. ...creative idea."

[exsecutus]

“We have an opportunity,” Nikos says, for what feels like the fiftieth time, and still with more teeth than before, “one we didn’t know we would have. The state of the city, for one. The state of the resistance—smaller, nascent—if we leave it without real aid, it could die. Now. Tomorrow. Soon, too soon to have made a difference.”

His voice will sound a little far off to Yseult. He’s still stood close to Teren, but hadn’t gotten his own sending crystal out, too furious to trust himself. Hands clenched, jaw set. How she managed to broadcast their shit to everyone he doesn’t know. Angry, at that, at the exposure, at everything here.

“Tevinter has as great a hold on this city, as great a hold as it has on Val Chevin. Its people are just as threatened. Everything is one moment away, when the tension will break. We must help. We’re here, to help.”

[hassaran]

Yseult's voice is clear and immediate, the near-silence of a closed office. She does not yet sound annoyed, but the emphasis in her question is pointed: "What precisely are you suggesting?"

[doneisdone]

Teren looks down at the crystal, then up at Nikos, raising an eyebrow.

it's all you pikachu

[exsecutus]

Nikos glowers right back at Teren, radiating as big an energy field of fuck you as he can manage.

"We make contact with the resistance in the city," he says, tightly. "We inform them of anything that we know about the situation. Tevinter's occupation, what we have observed of its forces, its governance. And we offer them our support, now, with gaining access to General-Mayor Gosleus. His records, his correspondence, his quarters. Whatever we can get, we get with help from the resistance. What we find will be ours as much as it is theirs. He will be receiving some orders from Tevinter. The plans for Perendale. Any further conquest. The short report of what we have seen is control, and order, and it will not last for long. Something will change, and it could be overnight, or in a fortnight, or in a year's time. We don't know. We can't gamble the fucking chance."

[hassaran]

Firmer this time: "The rhetoric is not helpful. If you wish to convince me you will do it with plain facts and clear plans. Now do you have intelligence to suggest Gosleus has recently received new orders from Tevinter with plans for Perendale or elsewhere, or is that a guess? Have you identified a way of accessing his office undetected and an opportunity when you could do so for long enough to find and copy any useful material?"

[doneisdone]

Teren's gaze remains fixed on him.

[exsecutus]

"I have observed his office and I will be able to do no more than that if we pick up our skirts and run home tomorrow, which is what's been suggested. I can plan," he snaps, as much to Yseult as to the room around him--Teren, Marcoulf (still a silent observer), the city at fucking large. "You can give me that. von Skraedder wants a record of my achievements, a transcript from a damn training program, some proof I don't need to offer. When what we actually need is time, here. We can invest in this resistance. We can give them the support they need, now, to resist while there is still life and will in them, and room to move."

[doneisdone]

"Oh, is that what I want," comes the mumbled reply.

[esquive]

Here, Marcoulf does finally break his silence - a small clearing of the throat, a click of metal as he rearranges the riding harness draped over his knees.

"It would be a mistake," he says, the air of a man picking his words carefully. He glances sideways to Nikos as if saying it to him directly as a kind of apology might be better than simply stating it to the room. "To extend our timeline. Keeping the griffons here past the new moon won't go well."

[hassaran]

"de Ricart is right, you don't have time. Speak with the resistance. If there is some action they are already prepared to take in the next day that you might assist with, then help them as you can without revealing your presence. If not, then get as much information from them as you can, including what they believe would most support their cause, and we will plan a return. But either way you will all leave on schedule."

[exsecutus]

Nikos doesn't turn his glare on Marcoulf when he speaks up at last. He even takes the focus of his glare from Teren, directs the cut of its beam at the point where the floor meets the wall and leaves it, pointed, there, as the situation is decided for him.

Let me stay are the first words that come to him. He will not beg for it. He won't plead this case. There's a thick hatred in him, a sour bile. He sets his teeth against it, against all of it, and winches himself up very small and tight.

"If they are all gone when we make our return," he says, eventually, in a low voice. "I'll remember."

[doneisdone]

"Understood," comes Teren's clipped voice into the crystal, and she deactivates it, still watching Nikos. She glances away only long enough to meet eyes with Marcoulf: he seems to be on her side with this, but if he's not, she's going to have double the mess to clean up.

"Can we expect you to behave yourself," she says to Nikos in a growl, "or will we be throwing you over the back of a griffon like a trussed pig come tomorrow?" She Is Not Bluffing.

[exsecutus]

Since they're not in a standoff any longer, Nikos turns away and returns to the wine. He pours out into his glass, downs a quarter of it, quickly, and refills, finishing off the bottle and filling his glass nearly up to the brim.

"I don't care what the fuck you do," he says, with his back to Teren, and takes another mouthful of wine before he says anything more. The sour taste of it curdles, so unpleasant it's nearly pleasant, and not nearly distracting enough.

[esquive]

Marcoulf's own attention slides away from the pair of them, winding back down to the work to be done with the harness. In this moment of supreme awkwardness, that translates to fiddling with the stitching and fussing with the security of one of the repaired buckles. Don't look at him; he's just here minding his own business.

[doneisdone]

Nikos' back is to her, and it seems the conversation is over.
Downing the rest of her wine, Teren then heaves a sigh through her nose that, coupled with the vacant look in her eye, might suggest a part of her soul just left her body.

"Tomorrow then," she grunts, sets the cup down, and turns to go. If she catches Marcoulf's eye, he gets a mumbled "goodnight" before she departs.

It's not immediate, but once it sounds like everyone's settling in, the tripwires come out.

[esquive]

The air's all stale after the Warden leaves - smells like that sour wine - and Marcoulf is all too happy to ignore it for a long series of minutes as Nikos works through the bottle and he fusses with driving the last few punch holes through the leather. Tap, tap, TAP. Tap, tap, TAP. By the time he at last turns his attention back to the stitching proper with it's dense needle and heavy waxed thread, he expects the uneasy pinch between his shoulder blades to have settled. It might not have followed Warden von Skraedder from the room directly, but he trusts it will find its own way from it given enough time and patience and with enough attention devoted to the busy work of repairs.

Think of what might happen if he doesn't secure this strap, and that buckle. How awful it would be - to fall from such a great height.

"It might still be done," he says very carefully to the room at large and without looking up. "The meeting could go well."

[exsecutus]

Somewhat sluggishly, Nikos looks up from his wine. The cup is not so large, which means he's nearly finished it. And the room is not so large, which means that the distance his look has to travel is, conversely, not so great. Which means that Marcoulf ought to be able to keenly feel its poison.

"The meeting could still go well." His tone is less tight, some of the tension unspooled by the wine he's quickly taken. Still dark, and displeased. "And then what."