mission: fall of the house of dace

[satinet]

WHO: Cassius, Benedict, Matthias, Ellis, and Bastien
WHAT: Investigating House Dace, whose symbol was on the dwarven chest found in the Temple of Dumat, to try to identify any potential ties to the Venatori and learn what connection dwarves have to the Gates.
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Orzammar
NOTES: OOC Info

Comments

[satinet]

"This and more, if this place is as genuine as it seems. Which I trust it is, given the trade relations between Orzammar and the North."

He glances up. There's a distinct glint of good humor lurking there in Cassius' pale, amber-green eyes.

"They'll bring an extra set with dessert. Really Warden, of all people I would have thought you might have some familiarity with this arrangement. You must have spent some time in Orzammar prior, yes?"

[heorte]

An extra set?

Ellis doesn't say this. But it's possibly obvious to guess that reaction, considering the look he directs back at Cassius.

"I've never found the time for fine dining."

Though he spares a moment to glance over at their target, and straighten slightly in his chair in an attempt to look more enthused.

"He hasn't noticed us?" is surely a better conversational topic than previews of whatever culinary pitfalls Ellis is going to have to try and avoid. He lobs it out at Cassius, hoping it takes.

[satinet]

"Who, Boral?"

Cassius twists in his chair. From their discreet little table, he leans out from it at an angle so extreme with all his attention so blatantly planted on the table in question, that it's a small miracle from Andraste that the lamp hanging above them doesn't immediately also contrive to burn three times as bright in order to further illuminate the horrifying lack of caution.

And then Cassius leans back and twists back around.

"No. But you saw him leaning close in the Shaperate library to read titles." He holds his hand nearly against his nose for demonstration, and talks to Ellis around it. "I'm tempted to—"

The attendant reappears at that moment with a pot of chilled spice wine which she pours neatly into two cups for them. It's accompanied by a long platter with a slate of delicate little offerings—luscious roasted olives fit to bursting, crumbling triangles of stuffed pastry, and spiced sausages with slivers of richly red peppers and the paste of tomatoes. Cassius' hand lowers to press against his breast; he makes a soft sound of appreciation.

"But, bless me, it seems the man's tongue is still perfectly functional."

[heorte]

There's no anticipating it.

Ellis makes some low, abbreviated noise of protest as Cassius turns, but once in motion, anything Ellis might have done would have only added to the spectacle. All he can do is grimace through Cassius' momentary inspection and exhale slowly through the following report.

It's just as well the attendant interrupts. Ellis isn't sure he needs to know what Cassius is tempted towards, suspecting it's equally indelicate.

"Thank you," is a murmured undertone for the attendant, or simply putting off dealing with the abundance of silverware.

Ellis glances over to Boral once more, before considering the newly arrived platter.

"I meant, if he suspected being tailed‐" Ellis says meaningfully, quiet as he nudges the cup aside to nudge the tray more fully into the center of the table.

[satinet]

"I doubt it. There is a certain caliber of people who are so used to being trailed after that if we were to want to be noticed, we'd have to all but set ourselves on fire to do it."

This, Cassius remarks, while he hitches back his sleeve a little so as not to risk dredging it through the plate between them while he delicately impales one of those sausages on the tine of one of the smaller forks in the available array.

"Why?" He raises his attention from the platter, skimming Ellis' place setting before his eyes rise farther still to the man himself. "You don't think we've been indiscreet, do you?"

[heorte]

Surely Ellis can be forgiven for assuming that was a joke. There's a huff of laughter that doesn't gain purchase, fading as he considers the expression on Cassius' face.

They aren't so familiar with each other, but Ellis thinks he is at least familiar enough with this man to gather when he is and isn't joking. And this seems to be a sincere question, one Ellis isn't certain how to answer without some offense.

So he takes a moment to pick over his silverware, carefully select a fork before answering, "I think we might have made a few missteps."

Minor things, not worth mentioning, of course.

"But we're not scouts, so it's to be expected."

[satinet]

And yet—

Across from Ellis, the very sincere expression Cassius had adopted cracks and slips sideways into something far more impish: the serious line of his mouth slanting crooked, a humorous punctuation of eyebrows rising and falling. Yes, actually. He was cracking a joke.

"True enough." Folding the fork's contents onto a delicate layer of thing flat bread, Cassius helps himself to a bite. "My concern is less with being seen than with what we haven't. I don't know if you've noticed, but we've haven't exactly turned up anything definitive. Witnessing a clandestine meeting with Corypheus himself might not have been ideal, but it certainly would have been lent the whole business some sense of clarity. Here's to hoping our companions have had better luck than we have. Cheers."

Cassius raises his cup of wine, makes a vague gesture of a toast, and then helps himself to a sip of that as well. It is, predictably, a delightful vintage.

[heorte]

The toast is met with a nod of Ellis' head, attention split between Cassius and the work of his hands over his plate.

It's reassuring to hear Cassius say what Ellis had been thinking, for the joke to give way to the task at hand. But it does leave them without anything to show for a day's work.

"We might have picked a bad day for this," Ellis says carefully. "But it's just as likely that there is nothing to find. He couldn't have put off a meeting today without one of us having noticed."

It would have looked strange. But so far, there'd been no sign of even a small hiccup in Boral's routine, which doesn't bode so well for their hopes of unearthing collusion.

[satinet]

"The element of chance is the struggle with surveillance, I suppose. We could watch him all week and have nothing to to show for it if he's a particularly methodical Venatori sympathizer," he says over the rim of his cup.

And then pauses. And then hums thoughtfully.

"How much money do you have on you?"