[open + closed]

[thereneverwas]

WHO: Barrow, Benedict, Brother Gideon, Bfifi, Bmado, you??
WHAT: June catch-all
WHEN: Justinianish
WHERE: around and about the Gallows
NOTES: Individual character starters below, hit me up if you want something specific.

Comments

Mado

[lumelume]

I. It's mid-afternoon, when most of the training groups are taking a break, and there's a strange man in the courtyard. He's a man most have likely seen around, who dresses in a manner both colorful and shabby, with a mop of curly hair and a face both bright and earnest as he hurls himself repeatedly from atop a construction of stacked benches.

He usually lands with a modicum of grace, slipping into a roll at the last minute or at least landing on his feet, but occasionally he does not. There's a strangeness to the way he jumps, as well, with his arms out as though he expects to take off into the air, carried by the same heartfelt enthusiasm each time until the last moment before it's clear he's going to fall.

Rarely, but often enough that at least one or two will have glimpsed it, he briefly becomes a dog before crashing to the ground.

II. In the evening hours, Mado can frequently be found sitting on the steps of the main tower with a lute or a tambourine, serenading the people of Riftwatch. If he knows them, or even if they just make eye contact, the song quickly changes course to be about whomever is walking by.
Never unfavorably, at least. And he does have a lovely voice.

III. Wildcard

II, naturally

[illithidnapped]

“Bravo,” urges Astarion, who’s already been well-stopped and quite contently positioned at the base of those stairs for some time now, shamelessly enjoying the attention. The limelight, so to speak.

His clap is delicate, fingertips patting just against his palm. “Encore.”

[lumelume]

"An encore?"

Mado's smile widens, his posture straightening as he poses his hands over his lute in anticipation of playing again.

"On the topic of your choosing, signore!"

[illithidnapped]

"Why, what else?" he asks, spreading his arms just so: a half-measure rather than anything overly dramatic, fingertips artfully arched. A divine portrait. A carefully carved statue.

—an asshole, fawning over himself in public.

"Myself, darling."

[lumelume]

One cannot observe such form and not pay tribute to it.

"Ohhhh one morning in Justinian, down by some rolling river,
A handsome chap I came upon whose visage made me quiver!
He carelessly along did stray, a-picking of the daisies gay;
And sweetly sang his roundelay, just as the tide was flowing!"

He plays an instrumental verse, waggling his eyebrows and, likely, taking stock of the strangers features for the next verse. ...it's made to order.

"Ohhhhhhhh, his hair it was so white as milk, and velvet did adorn him!
His voice was as the finest silk, just as a winter's morn, him!
His cheeks were pale, his eyes were red, his hair a crown upon his head;
He'd a lovely brow, without a frown, just as the tide was flowing!"

[illithidnapped]

"My word, you’ve a talent for this sort of thing, haven’t you?" He'd ask for a reprise if it wasn't so crude-cut a gesture. Then again, he might just ask for one anyways— not that he'll offer so much as a coin in tip.

But all things in good time. And all things in proper order, his fingers curling contently in midair as he folds one arm across his chest, the other left high, his hip cocked comfortably. Conversational.

"Are you a traveling bard, perchance? A mummer? A roguish pickpocket intending to lure in a crowd?"

[lumelume]

"None of the above!" Mado chirps, giving a final strum of his lute and then resting it between his knees, draping one arm on it to smile at Astarion.

"I belong to Riftwatch herself, though being that I did have to walk here, I suppose you could say I was a traveling bard. Now I am quite a stationary one!"

He grins.

"And I'll not pick your pocket, signore! I never had the knack for it."

[illithidnapped]

Eugh. Relentless mirth. Astarion finds he much preferred the relentless flattery.

“Riftwatch? You?” He scoffs, his eyes narrowing just so in unmasked scrutiny, head tilting to one side.

“Desperation does reek.”

The murmuring is sweet, even if the words themselves are anything but.

“So you can’t steal, but you can certainly weave words. Am I to take it then that you’re— what, a diplomat, perhaps? Or do they just let you sit around and strum your...instruments all day.”

[lumelume]

Mado's smile is unflappable. By design, perhaps-- either he is completely guileless or the total opposite, both of which are very different beasts.

"A scout," he clarifies, raising his eyebrows in an amused glance before he looks down and begins to re-tune the instrument, giving it his focus. "Looking and listening are my strengths," he explains absently, "and I can turn into a dog."

[illithidnapped]

He pauses. Blinks.

"...you're a druid."

Well. A druid bard. And here he's been assuming this whole time no self-respecting devotee of leaves and wind and the sound of rocks banging against each other could be capable of holding a tune.

[lumelume]

Mado looks back up at him, his smile curious.

"A what now?"

[illithidnapped]

“A druid, my darling. Shapeshifters. Naturalists. Whatever you want to call them, it’s all the same.”

He folds long fingers over one another, his head cocking slightly, voice gone feather light.

“Don’t you know?”

[lumelume]

Mado opens his mouth and closes it again, shaking his head uncertainly.

"Naturalist," he repeats, and cants his head to one side. "I'm not familiar with the word."

I

[muckspout]

Edgard is passing through a courtyard to get to work when he sees first Mado and then a dog plummeting to the ground. He rushes over to him.

"Mado!" He yelps at the dog. "Are you alright?"

[lumelume]

Though he rapidly changes back to a person, Mado is flat on his back and looking up at Edgard with a dazed little smile.

"Did it work?" he asks hopefully.

[muckspout]

Edgard blinks a moment. It seems that Mado is alright, but he can't be too sure.

"Did what work?" He looks up into the sky. "Are you running from someone?"

[lumelume]

"Running?"

Mado blinks at him pleasantly.

"I'm practicing. Did it work? Was I a bird?"

[muckspout]

A long concerned pause stretches.

"Mado." Edgard says seriously. "You become a dog."

Maybe he hit his head a little too hard?

[lumelume]

"That's the very thing!"

Mado's gaze brightens, and he sits up quickly, perhaps quickly enough to bonk his head with Edgard's.

"Do you remember-- the dream we shared, how I flew after you? I was a bird! I could become a dog and a bird!"

[muckspout]

Edgard shakes his head.

"Don't remember you flying after me, just--" He looks to the ground and blushes a little.

He grasps Mado's hand and makes to pull him up, smiling widely, trying to cover up that memory.

"Think you could be a bird for real?" He turns to look from where he's been jumping. "There a safer way to figure this out?"

[lumelume]

Mado is light and easily pulled to his feet, a motion which he assists with a cheerful little jump, as though it were all choreographed.

"I think so," he affirms, following Edgard's gaze to the ledge and back, "but it's been so long since I started being a dog. I was a boy on the street, and it felt natural at the time."

[muckspout]

Edgard frowns a little. He has a hard time believing Mado ever wasn't a dog.

"Can you remember the first time? Was there something that made it happen?"

[lumelume]

Mado's eyes go distant for a long moment.

"I suppose," he muses, "I sort of just... felt it to be so. It made sense that my being should be arranged thus."

He knits his brow, looking back at Edgard. "Perhaps I offer some request that the Fade grants, but I don't know enough about it."

[muckspout]

Edgard is silent for a moment, thinking.

"Does it make sense to you that you're a bird or do you want to be a bird?"

Edgard shakes his head.

"Don't know anything about this, but maybe you should think about what birds are like and what they want."

Edgard fully sits down on the floor cross legged to contemplate this. What does a bird want?

[lumelume]

Pursing his lips in a frown, Mado considers this. It's not unlike the line of thinking he's already taken, but putting it into words, it's more sensible.

He sinks into a crouch, hands folded in front of him. What birds are like; what they really want.

"They want food," he explains to no one, "like a dog wants food. But a dog is pleasant. People want to give it food."