it is my duty to inform you that we took a vote all us women ( open )

[ipseite]

WHO: Petrana + ?
WHAT: Nuggalope training.
WHEN: Current-ish.
WHERE: The Gallows.
NOTES: No content warnings currently applicable. You are not hallucinating, this post does look familiar; it was originally posted end of last year, but mod plot took precedent so I have deleted the untagged original post and am recycling it for reasons.

It is rare, for much of the Gallows, to see Mme de Cedoux out of her office. Rarer still to see her out of her office and not presently engaged in being on the way to an office, possibly hers. Their respective obligations mean that more often than not, it is Enchanter Rowntree who takes Vysvolod for his constitutionals; her outings tend to be more Hightown-oriented than not. If she does take her nuggalope—yes he is named the Black Divine, no she doesn't see anything at all wrong with it—out for his constitutionals, it is typically somewhat further afield than merely nearby the stables and the docks.

And yet.

The physical exercise has done her a world of good, much as it has taught the Black Divine skills that she hopes will never be necessary and knows the sense in hoping; she is sufficiently confident, after some months, in both her own ability (less rusty than it had been) and his (unlikely to cause a catastrophe in front of an audience). So there is no need to take him as far as she's accustomed to doing for the sake of keeping both their hands in, and anyone nearby the dockside stables can,

if they so desire,

be treated to the unusual sight of Mme de Cedoux, in full skirts and corset but sans her sensible shoes, standing at her full five foot height atop the back of a saddled nuggalope, instructing him apparently by subtle shifts of her weight, and

there is a flurry of skirts. A running leap—and nothing beneath her bare feet but the opportunity that decent people will ignore to get a glimpse of knees and ankles until she lands hard and upright on her mount, beneath her at precisely the right moment, and precisely the right angle.

“Very good.”

Comments

[inkindled]

"Oh," Matthias says, first, then, "Yeah?", followed by, "Good," because it is good, isn't it, if she says suitable arrangement, 'suitable' is good, and so, yeah: good.

Meanwhile, the little map in his mind has sprouted several more lines between Madame de Cedoux and Marcus Rowantree and several strings of ???? and even ??!??!? ?, and more lines pointing to Enchanter Julius, who Matthias hasn't spared much thought for--up until now, at least, and now he will be sparing very many thoughts, and looking at him closely next time he sees him.

Roommates, she must mean. Surely. If he momentarily pictures, say, a kiss-- But he wouldn't. That would be weird of him. Roommates, surely. Those can be a suitable arrangement.

"Good," he says, again, and realizes that his hand has raised unconsciously to pat at the Black Divine's neck. Oops. But the great nuggalope hasn't taken his hand off, so, good at that as well. Different good.

What was he saying before all of--this?

"Did he, erm. Did he really tell you that? That he doesn't like to be called Enchanter?"

[ipseite]

It is not completely clear exactly what's going through Matthias's head, and Petrana is uncertain as to exactly how he's interpreted what she's told him — but there is certainly no question of elaborating in greater detail, and she relaxes slightly when he circles back to a topic she is much more at ease discussing.

Etiquette.

(There is no etiquette she can find for explaining to your colleagues and companions that you've acquired an additional boyfriend, but she will quite like the word 'polyfidelity' if she ever hears it.)

“I don't know that he dislikes it,” she says, measured, “but it is not his preference. After all,” absently scratching the Black Divine behind one of his ears, tilting his attention back more towards his diminutive mistress than the nervy mage who is, it has to be said, being very brave and cool right now. “As much as it is well and good for those mages who desire to hold titles that they duly earned, and the formality therein is not without its use, we are speaking of Circle titles, and Circle bonds.”

She spreads her hand. “I think it is not much controversial to say that Mssr Rowntree is not a great advocate of making oneself continuingly beholden to the Circle system. It could be argued that to do so, without careful examination or exception, legitimizes a system that he and you both fought to be free of.”

[inkindled]

In some ways, this is firmer ground for Matthias. He can toe his way back to the shore of Mage Politics and Debates, leaving behind the uncertain waters of Relationships and Connections. Less firm is applying these thoughts to Marcus Rowantree, who Matthias would build a statue in honor of. He turns over her words carefully.

"Not his preference means dislikes," he advises. And he shoots her a shy little smile, the corner of his mouth tugged up in self-deprecation. It's too direct to keep up for long, so, ducking his head, he turns his attention back to the nuggalope. Madame de Cedoux knows the creature best, so he tries to take his cue in the petting of the Black Divine by scrunching up his fingers and scratching, clumsily.

All of this buys him a moment of time to consider what she's said. "I don't like the Circles either. Obviously. Or being--beholden," her word, and it's as awkward as his attempts to scratch the nuggalope, "beholden, like, to the system. But--I reckon--people, mages, they earned those titles. Right? Even if it was in the Circle that they earned 'em, they still did it. Ench-- Rowantree--" He makes a little gesture, a wince, he's trying. "He definitely did. Not just 'cause of what he did in the Circles, more 'cause of what he did without. If anyone deserves a good title, it'd be him."

[ipseite]

“I do not at all disagree with your premise,” she assures him, warmly, “only I would more closely examine the definition of a good title, when the means by which Mssr Rowntree has earned the esteem in which we hold him - well, by the strictures upheld by that title, the things he has done to deservedly earn our respect explicitly disqualify him from its use.”

If anyone is an apostate by the Chantry's measure, certainly it is Templar-killer Marcus Rowntree.

“To call him by it does not, to those who hear it said, indicate what he has earned or why. The title enchanter means something particular that he has chosen, and exerted himself strongly to choose, not to be. It is well,” thoughtfully, “for those who hold what they earned to be valuable. So long as Julius wishes to be known by that title I shall use it for him, but in this I understand Marcus and I to be of a mind.”

[inkindled]

"Well, right, yeah--and he ought to decide for himself, and if he really, really dislikes it--'Enchanter', I mean, as a title--then 'course I won't be calling him that."

Not now that he knows, anyways. Matthias' scratching at the nuggalope's neck has tapered off as he thinks his way through this. He shifts his weight, chews at the inside of his cheek, then blazes on.

"But--like, the way I think of it--even if the Chantry is the ones what made up the structure--er, strictures," not a word that he knows, but he'll go for it, "and the title itself, and how you earned it, and all--then using it now is sort of a pis-- erm, a way to say 'get out of it', to the Chantry. 'Course, you and he likely know more about it. Or I'd guess, anyway, 'cause you're next to a mage, aren't you."

Or so he reckons. If Marcus Rowantree is willing to give her the time of day, share a room with her (and--? no, move on), then--even if Matthias wasn't impressed with Madame de Cedoux on mere presence--that recommendation would be more than enough for him.

[ipseite]

“A witch,” she supplies the term, “my practise of magic is termed witchcraft, but I have often been called mage here and it is fitting, albeit...”

She considers, visibly, how to explain.

“Witchcraft is a choice in a way that magic is not, for you, but it is rarely one made freely. It is a means by which the helpless may become strong, and so it is a threat to those who prefer them as they were, and until the dismantling of the holy church it was a crime punishable only by death. In dismantling that, and in the dangers that it held when the church was yet strong as it was when I began, my experience - while different - has proven useful to me here. Practically, and in understanding.”

It is rather the tip of the iceberg, but she sketches it for him as best she can rather than delving too deeply into something that is, ultimately, only a sidebar to his interests. “It has been my experience that such a gesture as you propose is most effective when it needs not be explained. So long as most holdouts of such titles are loyalists, it will always mean the Circle, first, and that is an easy victory to hand First Enchanter Vivienne.” Wryly, “But Enchanter Julius believed himself a loyalist for a long time, and I would let him shed it in truth in his own time, too. His work now does speak for itself...it is only he may be readily mistaken for something he has not been in some years.”

[inkindled]

"Right, but--" Frowning as he parses all of this out, Matthias abandons petting the Black Divine so he can scratch at his own ear, a sure sign he's thinking hard. "But if we don't use the titles, 'cause people might think we're loyalists, then they get to keep 'em without a fight. The loyalists. If someone says, oi, call me enchanter, and incidentally the Circles are crap--that'd stick in your mind, wouldn't it? Not yours, obviously. I mean yours generally, like."

There's a lot to take in here. Witch, for one. The holy church. Enchanter Julius the loyalist.

"I don't know Enchanter Julius well," he confesses, "or at all, really. S'ppose I didn't much think of him. So maybe that defend your point better'n mine, 'cause if I knew he wasn't a loyalist, I'd have thought more of him."

[ipseite]

“Your point is not a bad one,” she says, to be entirely clear, “it is only that we are not yet in a place where yours might supercede it. As the Enchanter exemplifies — you did not know his position had changed, for his titling has not. You understand implicitly the meaning of such titling, in his case; that is the way it sounds to speak of Mssr Rowntree thus, when we do not know him well.”

She considers, for a moment, and then: “Here is a question. I do not expect you to answer it — I do not pretend to have an answer, whole and perfect, to give you. But why should they not have those old things? In leaving the Circles, can we only imagine mages thriving in the ways the Chantry determined they must or must not? Those things have not served you. Have not served Mssr Rowntree. It is one thing to wear the ashes of what has been burned down and call it victory, but we might build something better yet. It would be a true shame to miss the opportunity for cleaving to the past.”

She strokes the Black Divine's great neck. He seems peaceful enough with waiting while they wrestle with questions of philosophy and rebellion.

“But at its most simple, Mssr Rowntree does not care to be called Enchanter and Enchanter Julius does, and it pleases me to give each of them what best pleases them.”

(They're probably just roommates.)

[inkindled]

Matthias frowns. Then he frowns harder, and scratches at his ear again.

"Well, I reckon," he starts, but then stops, because he doesn't know how to answer the question. He thinks about the stale air of Tantervale, and the cold air in the mountains, when you'd wake up and crawl out of a tent swaybacked by heavy snow. Then it seemed like there were two different words for air. One was stifling and hard to breathe and the other felt good in your lungs. Even when there was blood on the snow, if you were still breathing after the battle, that was good enough.

So titles might be like that, then. The same thing in a word, but different. Only how did you explain that to someone who hadn't lived it? They couldn't know. Magic done with your head down, magic done to spite everyone, magic done to help--they're all different. They should be called by different things. That's what she means, maybe.

"I dunno," he admits. "I never thought much of what might come after. After the war, I mean. Not until recently." And because he cannot--cannot--think too long about what she's said, and he cannot wonder if that's something you might say of a roommate--then again, he hasn't got good roommates--but even so-- "What would come next, d'you reckon?"