bury it and rise above | closed

[hassaran]

WHO: Yseult & Darras
WHAT: Sometimes Riftwatch is a frustrating place to work
WHEN: Now?
WHERE: Scouting Office
NOTES: n/a

The office door is locked, but Darras has a key. Opening it draws cool fall air rushing past him from the windows thrown open at the other end of the room, fluttering curtains and rustling papers, tugging against the paperweights holding down three maps of Nevarra on the table, markers scattered on their sides, gathered into piles.

Undisturbed by the breeze is Yseult, her head ducked down low out of its path, ear pressed to the round door in a big metal box set in the center of the room. A dwarven-style safe by the looks of it and brand new, with neat gold-painted piping and POLLANDER & SONS SINCE 8:24 on the side. On top is a glass, nearly empty of wine.

Yseult doesn't look up, or even open her eyes, just holds up a hand with one finger extended.

Comments

[staysail]

Darras' smile is one more of commiseration than anything else, with a bit of a wince. Throw it over, he might have suggested at another time, leave them to it, who needs it--if it's a bloody hassle, let them sort it--but he doesn't, this time, say it. Yseult has left her wine behind; Darras takes a sip of it, then shifts so he can sit with his back against the safe, facing Yseult where she's paced away.

"Find out what the others think," he says. "Or what they'll confess to thinking. There's no one better at reading people than you. Even if they say one thing, mean another--you'll have a hint at it. If you want Flint sorted, and you've got to work with the others, might as well know their measure."