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.
He almost, almost forgets himself and deprives Athessa of scratchy chain-smoking tones.
But Aleksei's patience is dwindling. He's ready to ditch the cloak, strip all this excess hair off his face and meet his sister to make the most of their earnings. This is a momentary but irritating roadblock.
"No apologies!" he croaks. "You aren't hurt? Not bruised?"
Hopefully not interested in talking much more, because Aleksei has places to be.
"No, no, I don't think so," she says, trying to sound sweet and flustered as she hams it up, reeling a little so her hand on his arm is warranted. "I must've been watching my feet again, instead of where I was going. I didn't hurt you, did I?"
In these moments, there is always some need for politeness. But the hand on his arm makes Aleksei wary. He's picked enough pockets to know how certain things can come to pass. A sweet face and a light exchange, and then ten minutes later a great deal of money is gone and the culprit is nowhere to be found.
Aleksei has been on both sides of this. He takes a step back after a hearty pat delivered to Athessa's shoulder.
"You are kind to worry, but I have not been hurt in the slightest."
Other than being waylaid for another few minutes in a sweltering get up.
"Now, I must not delay you any longer. Please, be on your way."
A step further back, towards the wall, with a sweeping gesture as if to wave Athessa through.
Luckily for Aleksei, Athessa isn't trying to pick his pockets.
Unluckily, she's not planning to let him just walk away. So she smiles and releases his arm and turns as if to continue on, but stops.
"Oh dear," she says, sotto voce. The intersection has four inlets, two of which they had each emerged from for their collision, and two leading to wherever, away from here. But for Athessa's purposes, she looks around at the buildings first, then the pathways, then back the way she came. (If only Bastien could see this performance.)
"Shit," And at that, she covers her mouth with her fingers, as if she's not supposed to swear. "If I've gotten myself lost again..."
Aleksei is already backing away. His face is arranged into a small moue of sympathy, though most of it is likely obscured by the prickly beard he'd attached to his face. It's the thought that counts, isn't it?
She has a sweet face, but Aleksei's very few sympathies are not hooked. (And he doesn't know enough about Kirkwall to give directions, which may not be so strange but is something he's wary of exposing.)
"Trust your instincts," he says, extolling the matriarch's advice in his scratchy, borrowed tones. "You are never lost so long as you trust yourself."
This is an approximation. The matriarchs had said it better, and with far more gravitas. But Athessa will have to suffer his attempts.
Athessa steps foward, and Aleksei steps back two steps.
"Everyone has instincts," Aleksei intones, gravitas yet again marred by his choice in false voice. Some bartender in the Marches is unaware he's being made to sound so wise. "Perhaps if your employer is so severe, this is your heart telling you to avoid him."
Solid advice from a man who has not been gainfully employed in his entire life.
"Embrace your freedom!"
A cart plows through the intersection, it's portly attendant scowling at the obstacle they are presenting.
"Oh please—" The cart trundle past and though the attendant looks none too pleased about any of this, Athessa jogs after them with calls of Oh please, ser, can you give me directions, I'm ever so lost!
And when the driver tells her to sod off and continues on his way, as anyone who knows Kirkwall would expect, she returns dejectedly to the intersection.
Ever so helpful in this characterization is knowing how effective her doe-eyed routine was against an Orlesian lieutenant, and the consternation that she's having to work harder for this guy.
In the span of time Athessa's attention has shifted, Aleksei has walked briskly down the lane. The choice of road doesn't matter, not really. He'll need to find his way back later on, but that's after he's cleared the beard from his face and gifted the cloak and tunic to whoever is nearest to hand.
But her gamble on selling the poor-lost-elf routine has cost her valuable time and broken the line of sight between them by too wide a margin. She can't waste time rushing down the other alleys to find him from the street, so once more she takes the high road on the rooftops.
It won't be easy to regain a position to try and dupe him like she was. Maybe even impossible, without a disguise. Time will tell if an opportunity presents itself. In the meantime...
"Hey, Big Turnip," she speaks into her crystal once she's spotted Aleksei once more. Much easier to keep pace without having to dodge passers-by. "You get a good look at that Bill Bravo guy when he was leaving the shop?"
For his part, Aleksei has been roped into a meandering discussion on beard care with two dwarves passing the same way as him. Keeping pace with them is truly a test of his patience.
Upside: he has convinced them egg is the key component of growing such a lustrous and bushy beard as his own.
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no subject
But Aleksei's patience is dwindling. He's ready to ditch the cloak, strip all this excess hair off his face and meet his sister to make the most of their earnings. This is a momentary but irritating roadblock.
"No apologies!" he croaks. "You aren't hurt? Not bruised?"
Hopefully not interested in talking much more, because Aleksei has places to be.
no subject
Blink blink, sparkle sparkle.
no subject
Aleksei has been on both sides of this. He takes a step back after a hearty pat delivered to Athessa's shoulder.
"You are kind to worry, but I have not been hurt in the slightest."
Other than being waylaid for another few minutes in a sweltering get up.
"Now, I must not delay you any longer. Please, be on your way."
A step further back, towards the wall, with a sweeping gesture as if to wave Athessa through.
no subject
Unluckily, she's not planning to let him just walk away. So she smiles and releases his arm and turns as if to continue on, but stops.
"Oh dear," she says, sotto voce. The intersection has four inlets, two of which they had each emerged from for their collision, and two leading to wherever, away from here. But for Athessa's purposes, she looks around at the buildings first, then the pathways, then back the way she came. (If only Bastien could see this performance.)
"Shit," And at that, she covers her mouth with her fingers, as if she's not supposed to swear. "If I've gotten myself lost again..."
no subject
She has a sweet face, but Aleksei's very few sympathies are not hooked. (And he doesn't know enough about Kirkwall to give directions, which may not be so strange but is something he's wary of exposing.)
"Trust your instincts," he says, extolling the matriarch's advice in his scratchy, borrowed tones. "You are never lost so long as you trust yourself."
This is an approximation. The matriarchs had said it better, and with far more gravitas. But Athessa will have to suffer his attempts.
no subject
Athessa looks from alley to alley again before imploringly stepping towards Aleksei again, hands clasped in front of her.
"I hate to impose, but... could you give me directions? If I'm not back by the time my shift starts I'm done for!"
Shift where, though? She's gonna have to think fast.
no subject
"Everyone has instincts," Aleksei intones, gravitas yet again marred by his choice in false voice. Some bartender in the Marches is unaware he's being made to sound so wise. "Perhaps if your employer is so severe, this is your heart telling you to avoid him."
Solid advice from a man who has not been gainfully employed in his entire life.
"Embrace your freedom!"
A cart plows through the intersection, it's portly attendant scowling at the obstacle they are presenting.
no subject
And when the driver tells her to sod off and continues on his way, as anyone who knows Kirkwall would expect, she returns dejectedly to the intersection.
Ever so helpful in this characterization is knowing how effective her doe-eyed routine was against an Orlesian lieutenant, and the consternation that she's having to work harder for this guy.
no subject
His thanks to random surly cart attendant. Maybe.
no subject
But her gamble on selling the poor-lost-elf routine has cost her valuable time and broken the line of sight between them by too wide a margin. She can't waste time rushing down the other alleys to find him from the street, so once more she takes the high road on the rooftops.
It won't be easy to regain a position to try and dupe him like she was. Maybe even impossible, without a disguise. Time will tell if an opportunity presents itself. In the meantime...
"Hey, Big Turnip," she speaks into her crystal once she's spotted Aleksei once more. Much easier to keep pace without having to dodge passers-by. "You get a good look at that Bill Bravo guy when he was leaving the shop?"
no subject
Upside: he has convinced them egg is the key component of growing such a lustrous and bushy beard as his own.