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

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?

[propulsion]

Mhm.

[ How weird, suddenly, that people who barely know him now finally might know his name ahead of time. Maybe by new year he'll be famous again. Anything could happen.

He fans out the collection of notes. Rumpled in places, ink smears, other stains from by virtue of being produced during fieldwork. It's hardly a formal report, but-- ]

Some, uh. Preliminary anchor-rift research. You want it?

[ --like, maybe she will compile it for him, is that her job? That would be great. ]

[rathercommon]

[ She looks at it - and then her open, curious expression immediately turns into disapproval. ]

Why's there - Did you spill water on it?

[propulsion]

[ There's a pause, and then Tony looks down at the pages with a slight rustle of reorienting them to do so. ]

That might be-- there was a river. And Ms Poppell had an accident. No big, still legible, but I'll pass along your feedback.

[rathercommon]

[ She sorts through the paper, issuing a series of noises from her throat that escalate gradually in disapproval and volume. Finally - ]

These are illegible.

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?

[thereneverwas]

[Barrow nudges his head toward the man.]

Noble. Likely wealthy. Connected. Not afraid to announce it, daring someone to challenge him.

[He tugs a cigarette out of his jacket and strikes a match on his own shoulder to light it.]

A man like that is better inconvenienced than attacked. [When he looks back down at her, there's a smile in his eyes, if not on his mouth.]

[rathercommon]

Wasn't going to attack him.

[ The stubborn, defiant look in her eyes rather says something else. But, intrigued a bit - ]

What's that mean. Inconvenienced.

[thereneverwas]

[Oh no. She's full of piss and vinegar, but she's still willing to hear him out.
That's not a good combination, but bless her for it.]

Be a pity if he were to stumble getting into the boat. I hear that water's filthy. [Puff, puff.] Happens all the time.

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.]

YES.

[rathercommon]

[ The voice takes a moment to really reach her consciousness. Which is ridiculous. It's such an unmistakable voice, an unmistakable accent and timbre, that it ought to have been instantaneous. But she's tired, really tired, and the water is so hypnotic that for a moment she'd been in a sort of a daze and so she doesn't even feel the sway when that heavy boot treads on the step and she doesn't recognize the voice till she's almost turned round to look.

Recognition comes just before she does make that turn. At the last moment, she keeps her face turned away, stays huddled with her face turned to the water. Fear runs up and down her spine, a jittering high panic as she considers the water as an escape (she does know how to swim now, a little, courtesy of Captain Vane, and why did he have to be the one to go and leave Flint here) but probably not as well as a lifelong pirate. But that's stupid, he's not going to come for her here, now, with the old oarman a witness - unless the oarman is in on it -

She could turn and hop back to shore. Yes. That's it. That's the best thing to do. Except that right when she resolves to do that, the old sailor gives the boat a good kick that shoves it off from shore, and the oarman laughs chummily, and calls out a farewell, and the boat sets off.

Shit. She huddles in on herself, trying to be small and unnoticeable under her cloak, tension in every muscle. ]

[katabasis]

[And for what must surely feel like a painful length of time, it works. The ferryman is in no hurry; he hacks leisurely at the oars, the boat creeping sedately out into the harbor, and at some point makes some effort to engage Flint on what by now should be a tired subject. They discuss the Lion's lines and speculate as to her port of origin and profession, and debate the legitimacy of I hear either it or the Captain came by some Qunari gold, from the oarman with a snort and 'What the fuck use would the Qun have for gold?' from the man in the dark coat.

But eventually - perhaps right after the thought occurs that Flint and the oarman might chat their way across the whole harbor without ever referencing the narrow shape sitting stiffly in the bow -, the ferryman calls out to her:]

Girl, if you're going to be sick then you better see to doing it over the side.

[rathercommon]

[ She'd really thought she'd get away with it. She was actually starting to relax a little. So what does she do? What does she say? Any ounce of tension she'd lost before comes back in full force. Does she say something? No; he'll know her voice. She can't -

A moment passes. One that's rather too long. And then, finally, she shakes her head, remaining silent, unable to trust her voice. ]

[katabasis]

I said-- [begins the oarman.]

She's fine. [It's not a sharp correction by any means, but it does slaughter conversation until Flint suggests to their skipper:] I'll give you tonight's drinking money to take a small detour. That ship there.

[The Walrus is a darkening shape where it lays at anchor.]

[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.

[rathercommon]

[ This is slightly unexpected. Kitty had been about to move forward, to take action, when this new man had come upon the scene. She takes a step back a bit uncertainly.

The loudmouth clearly didn't expect anyone to stand up to him. He glares at Jack and puffs his chest - quite a bit broader than Jack's, it must be noted - and says, Who are you? ]

[calicoy]

[Everything is a performance. You can't let on being afraid of rippling pectorals.]

Someone incredibly fucking tired of braggarts. The only people who talk like you do just impregnated a duke's daughter. Congratulations on the impending matrimony.

[rathercommon]

[ The man snorts. Maybe I did, he jeers. Aren't many ladies who can resist me. Maybe one of them was someone's daughter, eh? ]

[calicoy]

Fantastic. Wonderful. Now will you kindly shut the fuck up? Your voice is an advertisement for deafness.

[Jack sits, and crouches, even letting hid tricorn slip down a little on his head. A posture he learned from Anne. Not a technique. The watchful will note one hand has slipped inside his jacket.]

[You know. Just in case.]