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[It had begun as a disagreement.
That's hardly irregular. They have a talent for it. What is uncommon is that as they'd gone over planning the details of this ostensibly joint ventures between the two divisions and had reached that point they regularly do - the one in which Flint bristles, and Byerly presses, and Flint gets sharp (or the exact order only with the roles reversed) -, Flint had instead knocked back his glass of whiskey and calmly as if remarking on the weather had said, 'I'll fight you for it.'
The small courtyard in which they find themselves is not, strictly speaking, empty save for them. Being one of the faster ways out of doors from a higher floor by a narrow back stairwell means they are likely to have some kind of small audience either coming or going (or gawking). But it's quiet, and private enough, and there is a low retaining wall for a struggling hedgerow that makes for a good resting place for the bottle and cups that have come down with them.
Flint draws his sword, turning it in hand.]
Best of five?
That's hardly irregular. They have a talent for it. What is uncommon is that as they'd gone over planning the details of this ostensibly joint ventures between the two divisions and had reached that point they regularly do - the one in which Flint bristles, and Byerly presses, and Flint gets sharp (or the exact order only with the roles reversed) -, Flint had instead knocked back his glass of whiskey and calmly as if remarking on the weather had said, 'I'll fight you for it.'
The small courtyard in which they find themselves is not, strictly speaking, empty save for them. Being one of the faster ways out of doors from a higher floor by a narrow back stairwell means they are likely to have some kind of small audience either coming or going (or gawking). But it's quiet, and private enough, and there is a low retaining wall for a struggling hedgerow that makes for a good resting place for the bottle and cups that have come down with them.
Flint draws his sword, turning it in hand.]
Best of five?
[The clash of steel on steel is so loud in the closed room.
With a majority of the furniture pushed to the margins of the room and the carpet rolled back, Flint and Gwenaëlle are at their liberty to thrust and parry to their heart's content around the quarters. Each ringing point of contact is punctuated by an attentive twitch from Hardie, the monstrously large dog playing at being an objective third party observer while sprawled across Mhavos' feet.
Twisting hard to bring up his blade in time to parry a particularly clever lunge, Flint pulls some face that must translate roughly to 'Fuck's sake' before his battering riposte cuts past Gwenaëlle's guard and draws the whole set short by the imminent threat to her shoulder.]
Mere stage and show, indeed. [He taps the flat on his blade against her arm.] You're overextending on the advance.
With a majority of the furniture pushed to the margins of the room and the carpet rolled back, Flint and Gwenaëlle are at their liberty to thrust and parry to their heart's content around the quarters. Each ringing point of contact is punctuated by an attentive twitch from Hardie, the monstrously large dog playing at being an objective third party observer while sprawled across Mhavos' feet.
Twisting hard to bring up his blade in time to parry a particularly clever lunge, Flint pulls some face that must translate roughly to 'Fuck's sake' before his battering riposte cuts past Gwenaëlle's guard and draws the whole set short by the imminent threat to her shoulder.]
Mere stage and show, indeed. [He taps the flat on his blade against her arm.] You're overextending on the advance.
Edited 2020-11-17 08:28 (UTC)
[In a corner of the recently renovated (whether we are using the term according to the common parlance to refer to the repairs done, or making a tongue-in-cheek reference to the abomination related damage which made said repairs necessity) dining hall, a particular table has been staked out for the evening. This table is the meeting place for a certain weekly and highly exclusive card game hosted by the Most Esteemed Madame Fitcher.
An invitation is required to join the festivities, although rest assured that the lady and her fine company are open to bribery: bring along an offering of a decent bottle for sharing, a particularly fat purse, or an especially juicy bit of gossip and you're all but assured a seat at the table.
Fitcher herself may or may not be in attendance. Conversely, she is sometimes a solo player - working her way through an elaborate spread of solitaire alone at the table. Or she is late - arriving all fresh faced from being out in the chilling autumn weather and with the opening line of, 'Oh good, you've started without me. Pour me a glass, won't you?'
Sometimes the game is Wicked Grace. Sometimes it is Primero or Bassett or that nasty Antivan cheaters game, Hens & Foxes. What is true always true is that every week, someone is playing.]
An invitation is required to join the festivities, although rest assured that the lady and her fine company are open to bribery: bring along an offering of a decent bottle for sharing, a particularly fat purse, or an especially juicy bit of gossip and you're all but assured a seat at the table.
Fitcher herself may or may not be in attendance. Conversely, she is sometimes a solo player - working her way through an elaborate spread of solitaire alone at the table. Or she is late - arriving all fresh faced from being out in the chilling autumn weather and with the opening line of, 'Oh good, you've started without me. Pour me a glass, won't you?'
Sometimes the game is Wicked Grace. Sometimes it is Primero or Bassett or that nasty Antivan cheaters game, Hens & Foxes. What is true always true is that every week, someone is playing.]
Edited 2020-11-17 15:38 (UTC)
[ There are certain rules that Byerly, historically, has tried to follow. One of the prominent ones is: no dueling when drunk. And if one is to duel when drunk, one certainly should not be using live steel. And if the two preceding rules are broken, then they must be broken with someone whom one trusts utterly and completely.
By certainly doesn't trust Flint. And he is, if not drunk, then tipsy. And in his mind, the thought is resounding: this would be a perfect way to dispatch a fellow who knows rather too many of your secrets (a thought he has, very likely, because a few years hence he'd orchestrated just such a death - not on his behalf, nor to protect his own secrets, nor by his own hand, but on behalf of the throne through an agent rather more deadly than he).
But here he is. And for some reason, as he hefts his blade, he's in dreadfully good spirits. Sometimes, you do a stupid thing in the name of fun. ]
If I survive that long. I suspect you shall butcher me by round two. Rutyer chops upon the ground. Did you know, I've never done one of these before? I've always prided myself on being sensibly craven.
[ When he lifts his sword, though, there is a certain assuredness. His feet are light on the ground, his height tensed and waiting. ]
By certainly doesn't trust Flint. And he is, if not drunk, then tipsy. And in his mind, the thought is resounding: this would be a perfect way to dispatch a fellow who knows rather too many of your secrets (a thought he has, very likely, because a few years hence he'd orchestrated just such a death - not on his behalf, nor to protect his own secrets, nor by his own hand, but on behalf of the throne through an agent rather more deadly than he).
But here he is. And for some reason, as he hefts his blade, he's in dreadfully good spirits. Sometimes, you do a stupid thing in the name of fun. ]
If I survive that long. I suspect you shall butcher me by round two. Rutyer chops upon the ground. Did you know, I've never done one of these before? I've always prided myself on being sensibly craven.
[ When he lifts his sword, though, there is a certain assuredness. His feet are light on the ground, his height tensed and waiting. ]
[Mhavos has taken off his boots so he can slowly retract his legs away from the giant canine beast attempting to cozy up to him. He's more interested in watching their fight, extending and retreating, fascinating.]
[The poem, he's read before, and neither loves nor hates it, though he ascribes the writer some significant talent.]
A false spring, fair weather cast over a sinful life. [Clang, clang, whining dog-] If one of you loses something, which medic would you prefer I call?
[The poem, he's read before, and neither loves nor hates it, though he ascribes the writer some significant talent.]
A false spring, fair weather cast over a sinful life. [Clang, clang, whining dog-] If one of you loses something, which medic would you prefer I call?
[The POP! of the confusion grenade bursting in the middle of the workshop is just loud enough that it might draw some unlucky passerby from outside the Research division workshops to stick their head in. Far more likely, however, is that whatever division members happen to be working in the same hour as Wysteria, will find themselves at the mercy of the noxious and disorienting fumes she's just inadvertently bombed the room with.
Wysteria herself, wearing a thick pair of elbow high leather gloves and a work apron over her general frippery, is in the middle of the explosion's cloud. Unhurt unless you count how she has yelped and fallen backwards off her stool and onto the floor (it is not that kind of grenade), but coughing, she is seemingly too baffled to discern exactly how best to untangle herself and escape her little experiment gone wrong.]
Wysteria herself, wearing a thick pair of elbow high leather gloves and a work apron over her general frippery, is in the middle of the explosion's cloud. Unhurt unless you count how she has yelped and fallen backwards off her stool and onto the floor (it is not that kind of grenade), but coughing, she is seemingly too baffled to discern exactly how best to untangle herself and escape her little experiment gone wrong.]
[She is sitting on a step in one of the Gallows stairwells and cannot fully remember how she arrived there. It is, she thinks very loudly (sometimes one's thoughts are like that - very near and large behind the eyes), rather odd, but is pleased to find herself largely unconcerned.
No trouble. She will sit here for a moment and be perfectly comfortable until she recalls what she is doing and where she is going.
Sounds of footsteps either coming up the stairs or going down them dredges the point of her focus to the present (and away from a serious contemplation of the pattern of dust motes floating in the pale sunlight filtering through the narrow window above her). She scoots amiably to one side on the step so that the footsteps might pass, however cannot quite stop herself from asking—]
Pardon me. Would you tell me which part of the Gallows this is?
No trouble. She will sit here for a moment and be perfectly comfortable until she recalls what she is doing and where she is going.
Sounds of footsteps either coming up the stairs or going down them dredges the point of her focus to the present (and away from a serious contemplation of the pattern of dust motes floating in the pale sunlight filtering through the narrow window above her). She scoots amiably to one side on the step so that the footsteps might pass, however cannot quite stop herself from asking—]
Pardon me. Would you tell me which part of the Gallows this is?
Edited 2020-11-17 16:10 (UTC)
Amos likes to gamble. His favorite game is soft G pachinko, or as the Belt calls it, pachinko. He also likes dice games, but cards are fine. He's only ever played card games that end in fist fights and the occasional homicide, but it seems unlikely here, which is novel.
"I got the rules," he says. He's wearing a cheaply made shirt, the sleeves are rolled up, revealing the shard in his elbow. He's an easy mark, or he looks like one.
Darktown has been amusing, in its way.
"What's the pot? Money?" He pulls out some bronze and silver coins, enjoying how antiquated it feels to hold physical money. It's like some kind of historical vid. The coins even clink as they hit each other, falling into a pile on the table.
Fucking hilarious.
"I got the rules," he says. He's wearing a cheaply made shirt, the sleeves are rolled up, revealing the shard in his elbow. He's an easy mark, or he looks like one.
Darktown has been amusing, in its way.
"What's the pot? Money?" He pulls out some bronze and silver coins, enjoying how antiquated it feels to hold physical money. It's like some kind of historical vid. The coins even clink as they hit each other, falling into a pile on the table.
Fucking hilarious.
You've no cause to be overly concerned, [he says, working his shoulder and elbow for a moment before falling into place across from Byerly.] I don't much care for pork.
[It is likely the tempering effects of the whiskey, or perhaps there is simply something satisfying about the imminent pleasure of choosing not to filet Byerly when an alternative has presented itself so readily; regardless, some flicker of humor moves at the corner of Flint's mouth behind the bristle of his beard in that squaring up moment of not-quite-stillness. There is something upright to his bearing even here—
He lunges, high and direct—a good tempered opening strike more fit to some fencing school master of a mind to educate an unruly pupil than a fearsome northern seas pirate. The first crack of steel rings like a bell in the courtyard.]
[It is likely the tempering effects of the whiskey, or perhaps there is simply something satisfying about the imminent pleasure of choosing not to filet Byerly when an alternative has presented itself so readily; regardless, some flicker of humor moves at the corner of Flint's mouth behind the bristle of his beard in that squaring up moment of not-quite-stillness. There is something upright to his bearing even here—
He lunges, high and direct—a good tempered opening strike more fit to some fencing school master of a mind to educate an unruly pupil than a fearsome northern seas pirate. The first crack of steel rings like a bell in the courtyard.]
[ From the very first blow, Byerly seems rather overmatched. Oh, he doesn't sell it too hard; he doesn't feign to scramble backwards, or fumble his sword, or anything of the sort. He keeps it subtle: a slight weakness in the wrist that allows Flint to push just a little further than he should, something that Flint likely won't see as much as feel.
He parries, and then delivers a riposte, blade sliding up the other man's to make a pass towards his shoulder. He's just a hair too open. It invites a strike at Byerly's left shoulder, though doing so would require Flint to lunge forward into a posture that would be hard to recover from with any speed. ]
He parries, and then delivers a riposte, blade sliding up the other man's to make a pass towards his shoulder. He's just a hair too open. It invites a strike at Byerly's left shoulder, though doing so would require Flint to lunge forward into a posture that would be hard to recover from with any speed. ]
Ellis is not so much an avid gambler as he is a graceful loser. Apparently content to be present at the table and enjoy the company while parting with a little of his money, he's not a regular by any means but this isn't his first appearance at Fitcher's table.
A nod to Amos, eyes settling on his elbow then flicking to the clatter of coins.
"Money. Sometimes collateral, if someone's feeling adventurous. I lost a decent knife that way."
Without any real heat to the admission. Yes, it was a good knife. No, he's not very concerned over it's fate. He taps a coin against the edge of the table absently as he speaks.
A nod to Amos, eyes settling on his elbow then flicking to the clatter of coins.
"Money. Sometimes collateral, if someone's feeling adventurous. I lost a decent knife that way."
Without any real heat to the admission. Yes, it was a good knife. No, he's not very concerned over it's fate. He taps a coin against the edge of the table absently as he speaks.
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positioning
2020-11-17 06:41 pm (UTC)(link)
There is theoretically some point during the course of the month where Wysteria is unaccompanied in the dining hall, perhaps enjoying a meal or minding her own business. Aleksei hasn't been watching specifically for it, but when the opportunity presents itself, he appears directly across from her, having occupied with the opposite seat with a wide grin.
This is an ambush.
"I did very much like your gift," he says, by way of greeting as he reaches to lift whatever is most easily snatched from the edge of her plate. "Did you make it yourself?"
This is an ambush.
"I did very much like your gift," he says, by way of greeting as he reaches to lift whatever is most easily snatched from the edge of her plate. "Did you make it yourself?"
[Having been at work and gone to find Byerly, who was unsuspiciously absent (it happens sometimes), Benedict paused in the hall to see his quarry and Flint walking the other way and making to descend while holding swords.
Afraid as he is of the latter, he felt compelled to scurry after them at a distance, and is now leaned somewhat surreptitiously against one of the courtyard's pillars to watch; he's relieved that it doesn't seem to be a real fight, and is equally intrigued by what he hadn't known about either of them previously.
It promises to be a good show, at least as long as Flint doesn't take issue with his presence.]
Afraid as he is of the latter, he felt compelled to scurry after them at a distance, and is now leaned somewhat surreptitiously against one of the courtyard's pillars to watch; he's relieved that it doesn't seem to be a real fight, and is equally intrigued by what he hadn't known about either of them previously.
It promises to be a good show, at least as long as Flint doesn't take issue with his presence.]
Amos shrugs one mountain of a shoulder. "Anything goes, no blood. Got it."
It might be nice to play cards and not worry about how the inevitable fight will break out, whose side he'll be on, if he'll be on his own...
He puts down a few cards, a promising start.
"This is the popular game, right?"
It might be nice to play cards and not worry about how the inevitable fight will break out, whose side he'll be on, if he'll be on his own...
He puts down a few cards, a promising start.
"This is the popular game, right?"
Edited (important distinction.) 2020-11-17 19:07 (UTC)
The easy target for theft is a piece of toast, only moments ago smeared with a spoonful of apricot jam. Wysteria is too busy juggling her fork and the book she's had her nose buried in through breakfast to successfully intercept him.
"You."
As far as single word responses go, it's a fantastically poisonous indictment.
"You."
As far as single word responses go, it's a fantastically poisonous indictment.
Aleksei's smile widens. He folds his ill-gotten slice of toast in half, takes a considering bite before speaking again.
"I would like another one," he tells her. "Another bear."
The subject of the note presently seems to be far from Aleksei's mind, but it had been equally cherished.
"I would like another one," he tells her. "Another bear."
The subject of the note presently seems to be far from Aleksei's mind, but it had been equally cherished.
"Another—" A moment ago, it wouldn't have seemed possible for her to bristle further.
And yet.
"I think you will find that the bear was not a gift, sir. It was a"—she realizes she is reaching some upper register likely to carry the length and breadth of the expansive dining hall, and lowers her voice to a suitably secretive hiss—"a threat."
And yet.
"I think you will find that the bear was not a gift, sir. It was a"—she realizes she is reaching some upper register likely to carry the length and breadth of the expansive dining hall, and lowers her voice to a suitably secretive hiss—"a threat."
Undeterred, if slightly confused, Aleksei holds off on his response to crunch his way through the last of the stolen piece of toast.
"Why would it be a threat?"
Surely the note had been the threat, and the bear an entreaty of some sort?
"Why would it be a threat?"
Surely the note had been the threat, and the bear an entreaty of some sort?
"It was very thoughtful," Aleksei agrees smoothly. "Don't be so modest."
Having finished the toast, his gaze moves back to her plate again, assessing the options.
"I was thinking maybe you make me say, ten. And one extra for my sister, but that one must be brown."
Having finished the toast, his gaze moves back to her plate again, assessing the options.
"I was thinking maybe you make me say, ten. And one extra for my sister, but that one must be brown."
[Flint has more pressing concerns than certain skittish and sniveling children lurking at the courtyard's fringe. Namely, the temptation of pressing into that opening left to him.
His pursuit of is feinting, trajectory dipping toward center rather than chasing after the high target of Byerly's shoulder—measured, a test of that space's authenticity, but not cautious.]
His pursuit of is feinting, trajectory dipping toward center rather than chasing after the high target of Byerly's shoulder—measured, a test of that space's authenticity, but not cautious.]
Her scoff of disbelief carries, as does the clattering of her utensils when they're thrown down. The book's page is dog-eared. Wysteria snaps the volume shut and shoves it with great outraged fanfare under one arm.
"I did not make it. But even if I had, I see no reason why I would have any interest whatsoever in doing as you ask."
"I did not make it. But even if I had, I see no reason why I would have any interest whatsoever in doing as you ask."
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