[OPEN]

[heirring]

WHO: Wysteria, Marcoulf, Flint, and/or Fitcher & YOU
WHAT: Open log for Wintermarch
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Various
NOTES: Mix of open and closed prompts; some threads closed to first come first serve and/or contain a few different prompts. Want something specific but don't see it here? Hit me up on discord/plurk/PM/the astral plane, and we can figure something out (or just toss me a wildcard starter if that suits your fancy; I'm pretty flexible). Action brackets aokay if you prefer it over prose.

[see comments below for character specific starters]

Comments

[katabasis]

It's the question he should have some ready answer for. But he finds when he turns to reach for it, what waits there is jumbled, unsorted. So instead what he says is, "The world, and his place in it," as if that means anything.

And then he hums dismissively, packing away papers and folding in a woolen undercoat over the whole assortment. It's not a satisfying answer; it is unpleasantly partial. He tries adding, "I'd be shocked if I were the first person to throw a punch at him. It's an act of grace the man isn't walking around with one constant blackened eye."

[hornswoggle]

There's a noncommittal hum from John in answer as he considers these two statements. Neither satisfy. John has to try to glean from them what he should be most concerned with, and that's difficult in their present state.

"Should we be expecting reprisals?" is what he finally settles on. If there were a moment to weaken Flint's position further, it may very well be when he's away and isolated.

Please keep that ring on, he'd like to say. But calling attention to it seems like a foolish thing to do. If Flint hasn't divined it's purpose, then it's best for everyone that the ring is left alone to quietly do it's work while John quietly tries to fortify Flint's position here. Not so long ago, it was a given that John would have done this. Now, working on Flint's behalf seems fraught again for much more complicated reasons than him thinking John was an idiot.

[katabasis]

"I doubt it will be at all relevant to us," he says, and that is not a lie.

In order: a series of socks, a knife in its sheath, a chartbook which fits nowhere except on the top of the pile inside the chest. And then he is finished; Flint closes and secures the battered trunk, then reaches out to take the cup from Silver.

"I plan to make an offer to the mages."

[hornswoggle]

There is a moment of contact: Flint's fingers grazing his own as John relinquishes the cup. It does not distract from what Flint has spoken aloud. John's expression sharpens. He leans forward slightly, though a moment later he becomes aware of their positions in the room, that the space between them will not close neatly as it should.

"Offering them what, exactly?"

John can guess. At this point, he is more acutely aware than ever of what mages may want and their own unique position to at least offer to assist them in their quest to obtain it.

[katabasis]

"A partnership. They have no fast friends among the division heads - for all that the Provost is a Rifter, I get the distinct sense he would prefer to make the distinction between the two more clear to the Chantry, not leverage the fact that it isn't. It helps them, and secures our place here. More importantly," he says, taking a drink from the cup. The spiced wine is heavy, but the warmth is the point more than the taste is. "An alliance with Southern Mages makes for a good spear point by which we can secure our place while this war is happening instead of hoping the Divine March stops at Minrathous."

He offers the cup back, hand warm from its shape.

"What we helped them take from the Circles. That capital might be used now for something which benefits us both were we to find something we agreed on."

[hornswoggle]

"It's a good offer," John says slowly, receiving back the cup in the same breath as he processes this plan. "I believe we have friendly relations among enough of them that even were we met with skepticism, they would make an argument on our behalf."

Inevitably, John feels the cinch of a noose, the clutch of the trap he's caught himself in. There is the pressure of knowing an advantage and refusing to press it.

He continues on, pressing past the sensation.

"To which of them will you make your offer?"