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.
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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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.