The Ambassador is Out

[sulahnan]

WHO: Athessa and you and Byerly too
WHAT: Athessa wears Byerly's clothes and pretends to be him for a joke, ends up doing real work instead.
WHEN: Solace
WHERE: Diplomacy Office
NOTES:

Things have been quiet for a bit, and everyone's been back from the jungle for a bit, and Athessa's need to commit to the bit is strong. One early morning after a night of not much going on, she remembers that she has an outfit of Byerly's tucked away, and inspiration strikes.

I. Can I Take A Message? (open to everyone but Byerly)

[ Byerly has yet to appear in his own office, making this a waiting game for Athessa. She's dressed in Byerly's clothes, which fit her about as well as a tent might. She's had to roll the trouser legs up to not walk on them, and she's rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. There isn't a glass of wine on the desk, but rather a cup of tea that she managed to procure exactly one lump of sugar for, and by the time anyone of note (that's you) comes by, her fake mustache has long since been wiped away.

By the looks of things, Athessa has been taking notes any time someone with legitimate business passes through. ]

II. Reading Back The Minutes (closed to Byerly*)

[ Well it's about damn time. Athessa is still behind the desk, her tea and mustache long since polished off and her fingers smudged with ink and graphite from taking down notes and messages all day with whatever writing implements she's able to find. First, a pencil, but then it got worn down and she couldn't figure out how to sharpen it so she switched to a pen. There's undoubtedly a smudge on her face as well, as she's taken to leaning on her elbow, propping up head in hand as she writes.

When Byerly comes in, she only just remembers the reason she's here and sets down the pen, tenting her fingers the way Byerly does, and raising her eyebrows just so. For someone who looks nothing like Byerly Rutyer, it's an admirable impression of him. And to his face, no less! ]

Ambassador.

*threadjacking welcome

Comments

[bouchonne]

You hardly have to tell me.

[ He sprawls into the chair sitting in front of the desk, blowing a strand of hair from his eyes. ]

Anything good?

[sulahnan]

[ She mirrors him, also puffing hair out of her face and looking at her notes. ]

Some Fade-touched onions, and riotous goats. One of our agents would like help getting coin that's owed her. Also a few people who tried to take the piss when they saw me, tried to make claims that you'd promised this or that.

[ She shrugs. ]

I played dumb and those ones went away. You're welcome.

[bouchonne]

So was a day as Lord Ambassador less of a lark than you thought it would be?

[sulahnan]

I wasn't planning on being Lord Ambassador for so long, [ She spreads her hands, defensive and empty. ] I figured you'd turn up first and I'd get a laugh about how bad my impression of you is, and —

[ She gestures to the ill fitting clothes. ]

But other people turned up first.

[bouchonne]

You didn't make any messes for me, did you?

[sulahnan]

Other than figuring out way too late that you have to blot ink after writing? No. I only took messages, and I recognized the arse-faces who were trying to exploit your poor, dumb little elf assistant.

[ Doe eyes: activate. No thoughts, head empty. Bat those lashes. Easy. ]

They didn't recognize me from my merc days, which kind of stings a bit.

[bouchonne]

[ He gives a small snort. ]

Why?

[sulahnan]

I just woulda thought I made myself plenty memorable. You've seen me fight, it's all flash and minimal substance.

[bouchonne]

And you expect them to draw a connection between that and an ink-stained little clerk pushing her sleeves above her elbows?

[sulahnan]

[ Shrug. You mean oafish mercenaries aren't watching the face of their highly flexible partner when she fights? ]

I guess not.

[bouchonne]

So take heart, my child. And take pleasure in anonymity, as well.

[sulahnan]

Sure.

[ She does rather prefer keeping her audiences to a minimum nowadays. Leaning back in her chair--Byerly's chair--, she can't her head to the side and ponders the letters that Bastien delivered. ]

Do people think Riftwatch is the cause of the rifts?

[bouchonne]

Some do.

[ A shrug. He doesn't seem particularly bothered. ]

There will always be someone out there who believes anything.

[sulahnan]

That person with the goats and onions, she wanted to either sell them to us, or shove 'em up our collective asses.

[bouchonne]

Did you decide which avenue we would be pursuing?

[sulahnan]

Not definitively, but I figure Research would want the onions, and we should send a team to close the rift. The goats and soil should go back to normal in time after that, but... I don't think we should apologize to the farmer for something we aren't the cause of.

[bouchonne]

[ He taps his nose. ]

No, we should not. Why not?

[sulahnan]

'Cos we'd basically be admitting fault.

[bouchonne]

And we'd have so very many people to apologize to.

[sulahnan]

[ She nods her agreement, and since there’s nothing else for her to report on, she pushes herself up out of the chair. ]

Well, now that you’re here n’ all, I guess I can get back to work.

[ Luckily, it looks like none of the ink smudges ended up on Byerly’s silly clothes. ]

And don’t worry; I’ll get these laundered before I return them.