[closed] RACK YOUR BRAIN

[lumelume]

WHO: Bastien, Edgard, Mado, Nikos
WHAT: a seminar on torture devices, given by people who know nothing
WHEN: early Cloudreach
WHERE: the countryside around Hasmal
NOTES: we're shaving Bastien's mustache. also cw for incompetent torture I guess

This had been a perfectly standard scouting mission, a small party sent some days north of Kirkwall to investigate alleged Venatori activity in the region. What they find is just that, but not in the way they might have imagined: it's a fallen caravan, the colors and heraldry surrounding the wagons identifiable as Tevinter if not Venatori, the occupants and their horses long gone.

Upon further inspection, it seems that there was a small contingent of Venatori on their way to a salon at the home of Ailbert Chins-Ranton, a wealthy Marcher who has been, up till now, otherwise unremarkable. Amidst their belongings is a letter addressed from Messere Chins-Ranton to a Hortensia Bambalio and her husband, Marcus, inviting them to attend a salon where they can showcase their 'marvelous discoveries'.
The marvelous discoveries in question are a case full of what appears to be torture paraphernalia, devised by (if the nameplate is any indication) one Titus Pasilias, an artificer local to Vyrantium, who was commissioned for this purpose and, as it would seem in the letter, is quite enthusiastic about demonstrating his creations on an unfortunate slave named Manius.

These four were to attend a salon at Chins-Ranton's country manor this very day, and the party has just enough time to rifle through the caravan's supplies to determine who among them will be whom.

Comments

[muckspout]

[Edgard quietly approaches Bastien, glancing at the razor. He touches him lightly on the back. Edgard has been forced to groom himself on multiple occasions. He knows the struggle. He too has known loss.]

Do you need some help?

[cozen]

[ Bastien nods. ]

You will have to do it.

[ He holds up his straight razor in offering. There’s cream or something somewhere. However medieval fantasy shaving works. ]

If I start and it is horrible, I won’t finish. I can’t see until it is done.

[muckspout]

[Edgard gives a sharp decisive nod.]

Of course.

[He takes the straight razor carefully from Bastien and spins him around away from the mirror.]

You won't see a thing. It will be fine. Hair grows.

[Edgard applies the medieval fantasy shaving cream. Meringue? Butter? Some sort of animal fat? Whatever it is, it covers the mustache.]

I have done this before. [He reassures Bastien.] Used to be clean shaven. This, [He gestures to his general appearance.] is a choice.

[He lifts the razor and takes a deep breath.]

[exsecutus]

I think that was a threat.

[Nikos--not exactly the poster boy for clean-shaven--looking more like someone dredged his chin in milk and rolled him in dirty breadcrumbs to make a beard--puts in this comment from where he is sitting and listening in and also still going through the case of objects.

He holds up a horrible spiked melon-baller to consider it. Or at least it is something related to a melon-baller. He is not exactly smiling.]

[lumelume]

Oh, Bastien.

[The words are spoken with genuine sympathy, and Mado comes over to take his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.]

It will grow back! You are the Hortensia we need, and you will be wonderful.

[He's going to hold his hand the whole time, if Bastien allows it.]

[cozen]

[ He'll allow it. He'll squeeze it, even, while making a noise somewhere between a whimper and a stop at Nikos' I think that was a threat.

Then he closes his eyes and holds his animal-fat-smeared face very still. His trust in Edgard's competence with a razor doesn't stretch quite far enough for Bastien to try talking in the meantime. ]

[muckspout]

Not a threat, [He objects. Edgard throws a look at Nikos. He needs to keep an eye on that one.]

Don't worry, Bastien. You can keep your eyes closed, but I need you to lift your head up a little. Good.

[With one hand on Bastien's jaw, it strikes Edgard how few swipes of the blade it takes to rid Bastien of the mustache. Something so powerful vanquished so easily.]

There. It's done. [Edgard wipes the animal fat away with his sleeve and then quickly squats to collect the remains of the stache for presumably a burial. He pats Bastien lightly on the shoulder.] You look great. You can open your eyes now.