WHO: Athessa, Bastien, Doki, Sylvestre, Aleksei, Laura, et al WHAT: An informal inquest into recent acts of thievery WHEN: TBD, between Athessa's day as Ambassador and now WHERE: The Gallows, around Kirkwall NOTES: nah.
This is not an unfamiliar gambit, but it is the first time making the attempt without the option of simply skipping town after the fact. As such, Aleksei has put in a fair bit of effort to disguise himself. The false beard itches, and the hooded cape means he's sweating in this heat, but it's only for a short amount of time. Just a single transaction, and then the entire business is finished.
And they'll have turned a neat little profit. That's worth the sweat. He's grown used to the eye patch by now, after all.
At the sound of heavy footfalls, Aleksei looks up from where had been fussing over a selection of wares spread across a borrowed stretch of cloth. The cello case is lovingly propped against the corner of the table.
"Hello?" calls a scratchy voice, a decent imitation of a bartender he'd met three years ago. "Hello? Is that a customer?"
"Hello," Bastien answers, coming into view, and, "Monsieur Bravo? We are—"
Not finishing that sentence, because he's spotted the cello case, and there is nothing he can do* except cross to it and drop to his knees, hands on either side of the body of it, overcome with relief.
"Grâce à le Créateur, mon cœur, tu es en sécurité!" And so on. He might continue like this for some time.
Doki, with one eye on the armor that is glinting outside of the window, puts her other eye on Bastien's reunion. She does not laugh. She can feel it in her chest, Alek with his stupid voice! A beard that you could raise goats in! But instead she heaves a little sigh, and presses one meat-greasy hand to her chest.
"A relief," she announces. "Bravo, you remember me? I was only just here. And see, I have brought the man who owns this case and the instrument inside. He has been looking--oh, how he has looked. Or he was looking for another one very like it."
She stretches out one leg so she can nudge Bastien in the small of his back with the toe of her boot.
Outside, Dumas tromps a few slow steps closer to the door, thud, thud, thud, to get a better angle on the inside through the curtain, or to better listen, if there’s anything to listen to. The tyrannosaurus vs water cup impact of each step is metered towards a kind of idle, sentry wandering, some inherent threat in the danger of his presence without the pressure of active pursuit.
The question doesn’t stop Bastien’s quiet effusions—heartfelt, for the record, just played up, with the dignity that would normally at least keep him on his feet cast willingly aside for The Bit. But he is truly delighted, and he only says, “The right one, the only one,” in Trade before he returns to Orlesian.
But he does begin to open the case for a peek inside. Just to be sure. And once he’s touched the body and the bow and confirmed the case is not full of wood chips, he shuts it again and stands up, with the case in hand and no intention of setting it down again.
Several answers come to mind: found it, stole it, fell off the back of a cart—
But no, those are not quite right.
He does preface his answer with the offer of a handkerchief. (Mostly clean.)
"I traded several goats for it, and a few other things," Aleksei creaks. "I might have paid too much, but the craftsmanship seemed very fine even to a know-nothing like me."
Slowly, Aleksei looks around the room, then sighs.
"My wife will be so dismayed if I come home with no coin. Perhaps we can make a bargain for your beloved instrument?"
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And they'll have turned a neat little profit. That's worth the sweat. He's grown used to the eye patch by now, after all.
At the sound of heavy footfalls, Aleksei looks up from where had been fussing over a selection of wares spread across a borrowed stretch of cloth. The cello case is lovingly propped against the corner of the table.
"Hello?" calls a scratchy voice, a decent imitation of a bartender he'd met three years ago. "Hello? Is that a customer?"
no subject
Not finishing that sentence, because he's spotted the cello case, and there is nothing he can do* except cross to it and drop to his knees, hands on either side of the body of it, overcome with relief.
"Grâce à le Créateur, mon cœur, tu es en sécurité!" And so on. He might continue like this for some time.
* He could do any number of other things.
no subject
"A relief," she announces. "Bravo, you remember me? I was only just here. And see, I have brought the man who owns this case and the instrument inside. He has been looking--oh, how he has looked. Or he was looking for another one very like it."
She stretches out one leg so she can nudge Bastien in the small of his back with the toe of her boot.
"Hey--it is the right one?"
no subject
There hasn’t been any running or wailing, so.
It’s probably fine.
no subject
But he does begin to open the case for a peek inside. Just to be sure. And once he’s touched the body and the bow and confirmed the case is not full of wood chips, he shuts it again and stands up, with the case in hand and no intention of setting it down again.
“How did it come to you, Monsieur?”
no subject
But no, those are not quite right.
He does preface his answer with the offer of a handkerchief. (Mostly clean.)
"I traded several goats for it, and a few other things," Aleksei creaks. "I might have paid too much, but the craftsmanship seemed very fine even to a know-nothing like me."
Slowly, Aleksei looks around the room, then sighs.
"My wife will be so dismayed if I come home with no coin. Perhaps we can make a bargain for your beloved instrument?"