open

[bouchonne]

WHO: Byerly & Kitty & you
WHAT: Open log! Assorted prompts!
WHEN: Months of Harvestmere & then Firstfall
WHERE: In and around Kirkwall
NOTES: If you're not into this junk tell me what junk you're into and I'll give you that junk

Prompts in comments my pretties. If none of em catch your fancy, then just throw up something that does.

Comments

Byerly

[bouchonne]

docks. night. up to no good.

[bouchonne]

[ On a foggy damp night, one of those nearly-moonless nights where no one is ever up to anything good, you might make the bad choice of going out walking. And if you are, you might make the worse choice of approaching the docks, home of ne'er-do-wells and wastrels. And if you have made these bad choices, then you're probably in a state where you'd approach a dark-cloaked individual with a face hidden under a hood.

And then when he takes a draw off his pipe enough that the embers illuminate his face, you'll be disappointed, because instead of being someone sinister, it's just Byerly.

Obviously, whatever he's doing is beyond shady. Yet even so, he greets whoever approaches him with a cheerful wave, and a casual offer of his pipe. Just in case they want a puff. ]

shady af

[sulahnan]

[ So she makes a number of bad decisions. She makes them frequently, moreso lately than in prior months, but what's a girl supposed to do? Not get high and wander around at night?

And she laughs when she sees that this cloaked figure is neither a hallucination nor a ghost, but just Byerly. Returns his offer with her own, though the joint is far less elegant than a pipe of any caliber. ]

What's your poison, Rutyer?

[bouchonne]

[ Ah, what she's offering him smells quite a lot more pungent than what he's smoking. ]

Nothing all that fun. Just common tobacco. What have you there?

[whatthefuckami]

[She's coming back from Kirkwall proper, as it happens--less wandering around the docks for the hell of it, more working her way toward her ship in an unhurried walk. There's a bottle in her grip, but not much of a stumble in her step; Anne Bonny knows how to hold her liquor.

(By the neck of the bottle, naturally.)

The thin orange light of his pipe doesn't reveal anything meaningful to her. Cleanish face, moustache, utterly unrecognizable as a face worth knowing. She in turn is a knife of a silhouette, a thin figure shaded further in the darkness by the hat flopping low on her brow.]

You want something?

[No one stands around docks offering puffs of tobacco for his health.]

[bouchonne]

A fellow makes an offer, and a lady assumes his intentions are selfish. Ah, these times; ah, these customs.

[ He pulls the pipe back in and takes another drag. His long exhale through his nose mingles with the fog and drifts away. ]

Is kindness so unthinkable?

office. various times. up to no good.

[bouchonne]

[ Part of being the head of diplomacy means that you need to keep open office hours. Of course, that doesn't mean you need to be particularly helpful during that time. That wasn't what he agreed to.

And so that is why, if you show up to the Diplomacy office when it's Byerly's turn to hear complaints, you may well find him vigorously playing a violin while a small dog runs in circles around his feet, yapping loudly. Or perhaps at another time, you'll find the office quite crowded - there's a circle of two burly men and one burly woman, watching intensely as Byerly attempts to build the top tier of a house of cards. Or - very rarely, on the most special occasions - you'll find him sitting in the quiet, mending a ripped jacket with tiny, precise stitches. ]

[overharrowed]

Now, look.

[Julius leans in the doorway, casually observing the little white dog. He does, at least, wait for a pause in the music, or at least a quieter moment.]

I thought Project Sashamiri was in charge of the dog stereotypes. Am I to understand I gave Alistair permission to replace his desk with a giant dog statue for nothing?

[bouchonne]

You made the boy happy. That's worth something.

[ Never mind, of course, that Alistair is barely younger than either Byerly or Julius; he's still a boy, the way that the yapping dog will always be a puppy. ]

And I get happy when I take things away from him.

appears

[hemitheoi]

[ It's hard to say if he's stomping on purpose or just the way he walks as a whole. But he definitely comes into the room with determination. His whole frame filling up the frame with his build. Eyes down on a piece of paper as he marches in, talking quickly in Qunlat -

Until he looks up and cuts himself off. ] Who are you? [ Wait, no, he doesn't care. ] Where's Eshal?

[ As if he has a single right to answer any of those questions. ]

dining hall. dinner. up to no good.

[bouchonne]

[ And then, perhaps, one day, in the dining hall, Byerly might approach you, and sit down, and say - ]

Tell me about something I can use.

[doneisdone]

For good or for ill?

[bouchonne]

Ah, in this immoral age, what's the difference?

closed to Gwen

[bouchonne]

[ By is in his office in a rare moment of quiet, rubbing his chin as he looks over some papers. At his elbow is a cup of - perhaps shockingly - not wine, not brandy, but the infusion of roasted roots that tastes a little like coffee and so has come to be a sad substitute. The door is not open, but it is ajar - company not invited, but clearly won't be turned away, either. ]

[elegiaque]

Byerly,

( there is a distinct sway to her, in the doorway of his office, for once not trailed by elderly sword-arms or over-large dogs or the half-naked cat that stalks this floor in her absence—she has almost certainly already had a drink or several before growing tired of her own company.

she holds up one finger. )

If you say one clever thing about being in your company, I will turn around and leave again.

Kitty

[rathercommon]

research office

[rathercommon]

[ Have you wanted to get in to see Thranduil? To leave some report on research you've done or collected? Just want a consultation? Well...Too bad. Because in your way is a rather tall girl who's quite thin but also it's easy to tell by the way her arms are crossed, and by the very large mabari at her side, that she's not going to be easy to budge. ]

What do you need?

[ Once, this role was filled by Casimir, who was calm and none too difficult. Now it is filled by a moody teenage girl. Definitely a downgrade. ]

[propulsion]

[ Tony is eyeing the dog more than he is the teenage girl who is as tall-- taller, by a hair-- than he is, wondering if this many giant dogs routinely coming in and out of one building is OSHA approved.

But either way, he is stopped. Probably by now at least seen about town, 'rifter' as a first impression stamped all over him. Today, he's avoiding curious stares at the centre of his chest by wearing a jacket of dense enough weave to trap the spill of glowing blue light. In his hands is a collection of loose leaf pages, all marked by different hands and methods of note taking. ]

Hi, [ he says. ] Kitty, right?

[rathercommon]

Mm.

[ She nods, and squints a moment, and then manages to pull out - ]

Mr Stark, right?

[ She hopes that's right. Regardless, her hostility eases somewhat; she knows from reputation that he's been poking around in things and digging into things, so whatever he's bringing, it's likely interesting. ]

What have you got?

dining hall

[rathercommon]

[ Of course, moody teenage girls sometimes have good moods, too. You may have the good fortune to spot Kitty when the cooks have managed to obtain enough sugar or honey or molasses to make a proper sweet iced bun. Sitting with a pot of tea and sweets and a good book is enough to make Kitty calm, a very slight smile on her lips. This is the time to approach her if you don't want a fight. ]

Gallows docks

[rathercommon]

[ There is a man standing at the docks, waiting for the ferry to take him back to the mainland. He has a companion. The man is very casually holding forth to his companion about nobility, and the virtues of nobility, and how it's good that the common folk aren't all uppity and rebellious where he has his lands. Nothing extraordinary offensive, but held in a very loud tone of voice, and at length.

That's probably why Kitty looks like she's about to jump him. Someone should probably stop her. ]

[thereneverwas]

I wouldn't recommend it.

[In a low voice, from a very large man, who leans down slightly to ensure Kitty knows he's addressing her.]

That's the sort of man who makes people disappear.

[rathercommon]

[ She jumps slightly in response to that sudden voice. Her head whips around, and she stares at Barrow, eyes wide and then narrowing slightly. ]

He's - What, meaning what? What does that mean?

half wildcard, half not; full kill bill sirens

[katabasis]

[The sun has just finished setting and the last shocks of light paint Hightown and the Viscount's Keep a vibrant yellow. But down here in the close cut of Lowtown and the leaning overhands of the Kirkwall docks, shadow is falling almost as quickly as the small boats are running in from the channel. The exception to this rule is the nearly empty boat bound for the Gallows. The oarman is doddering around about lighting the ferry's stern lamp so he can jaw for a few minutes longer with some grey whiskered old sailor over some new ship at anchor in the harbor. The gossipy quality of the talk - 'Mark me, she came from up north'; 'the Captain's a ponce, and are you surprised - have you seen the leaf on the stern rail'; 'If the Viscount doesn't mind things--'; - has a lulling, mindless quality to it, punctuated only by the intermittent and half hearted clack of steel on stone.

The ferry should have been gone five minutes ago. If it had, Kitty Jones would have safely been safely esconsed in it. As it is--]

Stepping on.

[Captain Flint joins the little boat just as the light finally catches in the lamp.]

[calicoy]

[Jack Rackham has very annoying laughter. It's high-pitched and loud and cuts through people's concentration. He hasn't noticed Kitty. He's noticed the other loudmouth and wants to fight for supremacy.]

Tell me more about the titles you hold, Messire, we're all absolutely fucking riveted.