open
WHO: Matthias, Nikos, Salvio (tbd if Doki, Val, and Darras will get open stuff. how did I get all of these characters) + YOU
WHAT: just open stuff, man
WHEN: NOW
WHERE: various
NOTES: tiny bit of self-harm but it's so small and it gets fixed so fast
WHAT: just open stuff, man
WHEN: NOW
WHERE: various
NOTES: tiny bit of self-harm but it's so small and it gets fixed so fast

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Do you hear that?
[Is a somewhat hypothetical question, given that Wysteria doesn't wait for an answer before she hauls open one of the drawers between them to investigate that strange rattle.]
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[And then he has to take a quick step backwards to avoid the drawer--but with cautious interest, he leans forward to peer inside the drawer, too, to see what is making the noise.]
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FINALLY! I THOUGHT I'D NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN!
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He moves forward and reaches for the jar.]
I did not know you were in the office.
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[ if he had arms, he'd be holding them the way a child does while chanting up, up! ]
NEVER A DULL MOMENT 'ROUND HERE WHEN ANY GIVEN MOMENT YOU MIGHT BE BLACK-BAGGED AND SHOVED INTO A DRAWER.
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I don't suppose you've read any correspondence from a distressed mage while you were in there, did you? The Seneschal is evidently on the hunt for a bit of mail.
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[Somewhat strained, as he carries the jar over to a flat pillow beside the office's sole bank of windows (two, both cut too high to offer a view but still allowing in a narrow band of light), a more fitting place--]
--merely looking, to confirm.
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NOPE, NO MAIL IN THAT DRAWER. A PAMPHLET ON GOATS AND A TREATISE ON BUTTERFLIES, THOUGH.
[ A pair of eyes pop into the skull's sockets, rolling until their gaze lands on Salvio. ]
WHY, DID SOMETHING HAPPEN? YOU LOOK MORE HARRIED THAN USUAL, SAL.
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[She moves to the (theoretically correct) drawer hanging open and begins thumbing through the available rows there.]
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He crouches down, in order to avoid the Skull's sudden eyeballs, and turns his attention to the cupboards there. Never mind that Poppell is looking in the more correct place. He must be busy.]
Yes. Precisely as Poppell said. I will transport you there, later, if you-- if you wish to see for yourself. And there was evidence of a letter, a letter to the-- to the person, in question, which is what we are-- what I am looking for, and Poppell has offered her assistance.
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[ Maybe if Skull had facial features or a slightly less grating voice, it might be perceptible that he sobers ever so slightly at this news.
But only slightly. ]
YOU KNOW, BACK WHEN I WAS ALIVE I KNEW A RIGHT NUMPTY OF A FELLOW WHO KEPT UP CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE BUTCHER'S SON FOR MONTHS BEFORE REALIZING HIS MISSIVES WERE BEING INTERCEPTED. SOMEONE ELSE WAS PRETENDING TO BE THE RECIPIENT! WHAT A LARK, EH?
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[She begins to peel reams of paper from rear of the cabinet.]
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[His joints creak audibly as he struggles to quickly stand, so he can accept the stacks from Wysteria and begin shuttling them to the table.]
In any case. The letter that was found--evidence, and testimonial, in its way. It was one side of the correspondence. I suppose--interception is the most likely, in this case, but I--perhaps a small, um, slightly smaller stack, Poppell, this next--time-- [breathless, as he accepts the next stack of papers from her] --I want to be certain.
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[ With the attention no longer on him, Skull lets his eyeballs disappear. Without any sound effects, too! ]
GOODNESS, I HOPE WE DON'T HAVE A MOLE. HOW POSITIVELY DREADFUL.
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[And so dumps the whole stack more onto Salvio than otherwise.]
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[He stoops to gather some of the straying pages. Another creak of joints; he winces, oddly balanced, one arm clasping paper to his chest, the other actively seeking other paper.]
I do not think it will be anything so-- so dramatic. As a mole. This is a very... Well. I cannot imagine it, in Riftwatch.
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[ Now he's just being silly. Tugging at a loose thread in Salvio's calm. ]
FAR MORE LIKELY THAT IT'S JUST RUN BY INCOMPETENT BLOWHARDS.
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You're being very rude, you know.
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It is in its nature. I think. The, um. Pithy observations. I do not mean that as a critique, just--perhaps it is not an intention, um, you know, rudeness, precisely. I suppose I might somewhat agree. Not--in Riftwatch, precisely, or exactly, in--organizations as a whole.
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ALL I'M SAYING IS, IF SOMEBODY TOLD ME THAT THERE WAS A MOLE IN THE RANKS OF RIFTWATCH, AND I WEREN'T PRIVY TO ALL THE GOINGS-ON IN THIS PLACE, I'D PROBABLY LAUGH 'TIL MY BOTTOM RATTLED, WHEREVER IT IS.
WE ARE NEITHER LARGE ENOUGH NOR INFLUENTIAL ENOUGH FOR ANYONE TO EVEN SNIFF AT, MUCH LESS INVESTIGATE.
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[This all said in one long breath as she has worked a dozen more pieces of rescued paper into Salvio's possession.]
Besides, what we are doing now should hardly be the only subject which concerns a would-be saboteur. I would think what we might do could be just as compelling to such a person, and surely we are nothing if not suffused with possibility.