[closed] don't go prison (breakin') my heart

[katabasis]

WHO: Benedict, Kitty, Kostos, Derrica, Lazar, Caspar, Poesia, Yseult, Flint
WHAT: The Gang Breaks a Guy Out of Prison
WHEN: Early Cloudreach
WHERE: Tevninter; a small island not far from Neromenian
NOTES: OOC Post; if you're in a group, I highly encourage flexible turn order. Feel free to self-assign where your character ends up once Things Get Real, but please don't have your lad or lady be two places at once. Prompts below are the main action of the plot, but feel free to do whatever you like before/after/adjacent to them.

Eione Island was once a staging ground for Tevinter forces eventually bound for the jungles of Seheron. Today, with the Imperium's attention and the bulk of its military might directed toward the South, the island fortress is an outpost in reserve - maintained by only a few dozen members of a private guard and overseen by Idothea Petrus, the third daughter of a Laetan family which has spent generations carefully navigating their way up Tevinter's social ladder. Much of the island is characterized by its challenging cliff faces with water too deep to cast anchor in. The only sure anchorage to be found is in Eione Bay itself, over which the fortress itself resides. Catapults at either end of the bay provide strong discouragement to anyone who might attempt a surprise landing to take the island by force. SO THEY'RE NOT ATTEMPTING TO SURPRISE ANYONE. Instead, Riftwatch is sailing straight into the bay in their own Tevinter ship, repainted in the reds, gold and blacks of the Artemaeus family and flying a flag of distress. The story? Benedict Artemaeus, son of a magister and heir to a textile trading empire, was returning from having overseen the sale of a large shipment when their ship was attacked by Nocen Sea pirates. Having barely escaped, the ship has put in here at Eione until the likelihood of further danger passes. Besides, wouldn't you know it? - Benedict's picked up some dreadful cough while doing business abroad and now requires the Petrus family's hospitality now more than ever as he recovers. The mages of the group in addition to Benedict are all to pose as semi-important mages in Benedict's company. The rest of Riftwatch's force will pose as servants and advisers and so on, including Yseult as Benedict's most devoted maid who is simply worried sick about her illness-stricken master and must keep close at hand at all times should he seem likely to tax himself overmuch by, say, spilling the beans, and so require the healing touch of a tender knife between the ribs. IF ALL GOES TO PLAN, Riftwatch will take advantage of Petrus' hospitality for the few days it takes to locate where their target, a once-prominent contact with the burgeoning enslaved rebellion in Tevinter who has been missing for two years, is being held. From there, Riftwatch's forces are to divide themselves into three groups: two groups will disable the catapults at each end of the bay in as flashy and dramatic a way as possible so as to draw attention; the third team will descend into the prison, locate Valeriantus, and then make their escape overland to the other side of the island where groups one and two, having made their own get away, will meet them with the ship for extraction. Simple, right?

Comments

the voyage there

[altusimperius]

i. [Another day, another dark container. It doesn't take long after they set sail for the resident of the sleeping quarters to become seasick, and he spends about two solid days huddled around a bucket in the corner. He's easily enough maneuvered to a hammock to be restrained there, if that's what they want, but one hopes they're prepared with a mop and possibly a bath for what inevitably results.]

ii. [The seasickness eventually passes, but the malaise doesn't. After all this time, still resigned to asking nothing and complaining never, Benedict rotates between pacing the room like an anxious cat and sitting with his back to the wall, staring at nothing. He's lost significant weight from his skinny frame since he was first confined back in the summer, and that in addition to months of no sunlight and arguably Interesting Circumstances have transformed the proud aristocrat into a gaunt wretch with the gaze of a madman.
He still talks when addressed, but only then.]

iii. [An exception is made on the morning that they first sight the island: the time is soon for the act to begin, and with some difficulty, Benedict has changed into one of his old outfits, which hangs off him ghoulishly but is nonetheless easily identifiable as his own.
He turns to the nearest person and says, in a timid, scratchy voice:]

...my hair's too long.

iii

[rathercommon]

[ The closest person is Kitty. It's not a bad choice: while Kitty's definitely not the kindest to him on the ship, nor is she the harshest. And as it happens, part of her education involved learning how to cut the fancy hair of fine lords and ladies, so. ]

What's it supposed to look like?

[altusimperius]

[He doesn't look at her, having long since accepted that he and Kitty are irreconcilable.

He motions toward his jawline with a little slicing gesture.]

About there.

[He seems to sink down a little further, and asks, before he can stop himself:]

..don't you remember?

[rathercommon]

[ Kitty, meanwhile, looks at him with her eyes narrowed incredulously. ]

Don't I have your every hairstyle and fashion preference memorized? No, actually, I don't.

[altusimperius]

[He wore it the same for years, but it seems that doesn't matter.

He shakes his head in easy surrender. It was stupid to ask.]

[rathercommon]

[ And Kitty presses her lips together, remembering very keenly why she didn't go down to visit him. This milquetoast behavior is more enraging by far than the aristocratic arrogance had been. ]

Fine. Jaw length. What else.

[altusimperius]

I'll need a shave.

[His eyes are fixed on the far wall.]

[rathercommon]

Obviously. I mean - have you got layers, d'you keep a fringe, if so how long, do you want it tapering away from the face, d'you want a curl in the ends - Give me some details.

[altusimperius]

[This all seems impossibly pointless at the moment: his hair has been the least of his concerns since he stopped caring about his appearance, which was around the time he stopped seeing other human beings more than a few minutes out of the day. It takes him far too long to think about it, and his response is stilted.]

...layers, I guess. Not much of a fringe.

[He tilts his head to make his hair fall down where he can better see it.]

Sort of... just... like it is now, but shorter.

[rathercommon]

Really?

[ The wrinkle in Kitty's nose is very, very judgmental. Still, he knows what he wants, she guesses, so she'll keep quiet. So she goes over to the supplies - including, as all good spies' kits must, implements for building disguises and the like - and draws out some barber's shears. ]

It could be better.

[ All right, so she won't actually keep quiet. ]

[altusimperius]

[He can hear the disdain in her voice, and even in such a meaningless context, it hurts more than ever.]

Make it better then, [he says quietly, without venom.]

[rathercommon]

[ Oh, good. Kitty nods at once in satisfaction, and pushes at him, visibly cheered by being given permission to steamroller someone. ]

Brilliant. Go find a place to sit.

[altusimperius]

[He obeys, spotting a crate on its side and moving to sit atop it. It pleases him as well, deep down, that he's being allowed-- and helped-- to groom, even if it's for a specific purpose outside himself.]

[rathercommon]

[ He's still a little tall for it - it's irritating how tall he is - but she'll make do. She pulls out the shears, frowns a little to herself, and starts snipping. Her hands are steady, and she works quickly and competently. ]

[altusimperius]

[The smallest amount of care goes a long way. Benedict closes his eyes and lets her work, keeping completely still and savoring the moment. It's been a long time; he has to be reminded, sometimes, that he's still a person.]

I'm sorry, [he says in a low, level voice, after a time. His eyes are still closed.]

For everything.

[rathercommon]

[ She pauses, pulls back a little. Her brows draw down. ]

What d'you mean?

[altusimperius]

[He continues to stare straight ahead.]

For what. My mother did. [His voice is quiet and level, bereft of self-pity or, really, any emotion at all.] For what I did.

...you came with me. You trusted me. And I betrayed you.

i

[extortionate]

You'd do better outside.

[ Lazar isn't sure he's allowed. It's not like there's anywhere to run — but it's not like that'd matter to everyone. Seems like the kind of thing to know. ]

[altusimperius]

[He isn't allowed, and that much seems to be communicated in the desolation of Benedict's gaze. He would do better outside, wouldn't he.
Like, in general.

This being something of a waste of time, he just looks back down into the bucket.]

[extortionate]

[ Gross.

He just watches a moment, hand slung into his belt. Size it up: Flint's got a reputation — but he's been running with this bunch too long to take that serious. Yseult comes across hardcase; hard to say any more than that. Neither's got a taste for the gratuitous, or Benedict would look worse.

(He looks like a drowned rat. But a rat with all its fingers.) ]

Aw, hell. [ Not worth it to rough the sap around then. Lazar stoops, hands splayed out for something skittish. One peels aside, to tug up a sleeve. ] Right. This is an old trick, works like a charm. You watching?

[altusimperius]

[If Benedict were feeling better, and had enough balls to talk back at anyone, he might tell the man to spare him the condescension and take his tricks elsewhere. But neither of those things is true, so, head resting wearily against the wall behind him, he looks dully at Lazar's arm.

Please let it be a sad attempt at hedge magic.]

[extortionate]

[ He flourishes two fingers — like the prelude to an adolescent joke — then presses them to bare wrist. Grips the back of his own arm, hard, and begins rubbing a circle through grimy skin. ]

You gotta be careful with it. Three clockwise, three counter, or it won't work. You want to count them out loud.

[altusimperius]

[Benedict watches with tired patience, and certainly does not count out loud, though Lazar is welcome to.]

[extortionate]

[ He does.

At first, without shame — just the steady rumble of someone who usually sounds that way. Steady. But as the moments drip past (two, three, start over) without action, he stops; stands again. Water runnels, collects upon the salty boards. ]

Suit yourself.

[ On his way out, Lazar considers the bucket. The brief, childish impulse to kick it is squashed before pressing into consciousness. Someone's gonna need to empty that, later, and he'd rather not be volunteered.]

[altusimperius]

[A little slow on the uptake on account of his nausea, it occurs to Benedict only after the man has left what he was trying to show him.

That's not hedge magic at all.

Quietly, he does it himself, trying to stay focused on his wrist instead of his guts, and it gradually begins to work.]