[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

[doneisdone]

Teren is silent as she considers, and doesn't even look at Nikos when he jabs at her. She's too tired, too annoyed, to deal with him right now.
But Marcoulf has a point. She offers him a single nod of agreement.
"Shall we, then."

[esquive]

A curt nod; Marcoulf swallows another mouthful of ale and then rises again from the chair. He shouldn't have bothered with sitting down in the first place. "Let's not begin with those three," he suggests, motioning with his cup toward the cluster of rabble-rousers he's just slipped away from. They're still discussing their pit. One of them is making hand gestures suggesting the presence of sharpened sticks at the bottom.

All things being equal, there must be better options in the room. Marcoulf trusts either Nikos or Teren has already picked them out.