faderift | (no subject)

[It's been a hard road there with lots of bickering and getting lost. Yet somehow now they find themselves hiding in the underbrush observing someone in a field dotted with sheep.]

A person! [Edgard hisses, stating the obvious.] A shepherd! Or maybe a shepherd-killer! Or--

[Edgard grasps his head.] What if it's not a person at all? What if this is our chance to kill whatever it is and complete the mission? What if--

[Edgard whimpers and lets out a string of curses. Clearly the stress of actually leading a mission for once is causing Edgard to crack.]

[Speaking of not being a person at all: the third companion on the mission, who up until this point has not said a word on account of being a preternaturally intelligent dog content to provide his own meals and sleeping arrangements, has something to say.]

Why don't I do a loop of the meadow? [he offers, suddenly becoming Mado as he turns to cheerfully address Edgard, ever helpful.] I can get a better look. And a scent, I suppose.

Edited 2021-08-02 21:24 (UTC)

[ Kostos—who is lying in the dirt, who has been sleeping on the ground, who has a bug bite on his eyelid that's making him look (he imagines, with no access to a mirror) like an old hedge witch from a storybook, who does not enjoy indecision or Orlesians or being outdoors, but who has been trying to be efficient and useful so they can handle this and go home—has his mouth open, before the dog starts talking. So he leaves it open. Leaves his face in exactly the same what is wrong with you expression he'd intended to give Edgard.

He exhales through his open mouth.

What the fuck, he could say emphatically, sitting up in the bushes, surprised and demanding an explanation. He could do an inventory of every head scratch and embarrassing good boy he's given the dog since they left. But he feels like he's been made the butt of a joke, and he would rather not give anyone the satisfaction.

Besides, they're working.

So instead, much more quietly, less of an exclamation that a simple statement, he says, ] Fuck both of you.

[Edgard ungrasps his head and relaxes a bit at someone else making a decision. Before he responds, he turns to look at Kostos, who has complained and hassled him at every turn. As far as Edgard is concerned, every wrong turn they made and every hiccup is directly due to Kostos.]

No thanks. [He says sharply to Kostos' simple statement.]

Have you seen what you look like right now?

[He nods at Mado.]

Yes. Circling the meadow makes sense. See if he looks--normal, I guess.

Oh, [comes Mado's breathless exclamation, as he realizes his error: it's more or less common knowledge in Riftwatch these days, but few people avoid him quite so efficiently as Kostos.
He reaches a hand out to tenderly still Edgard-- no, amico, this is his mistake.]

Forgive me, cousin, I thought you knew. [His smile is wide and apologetic, all too similar to a dog's.]

I'll... yes. See if he looks normal.

[He hops to his feet and stretches, eyes on the meadow ahead and preparing to transform again.]

[ Under other circumstances, that no thanks from Edgard would have warranted a different sort of irritated look. As if Kostos would ever.

(He would though. Actually.)

Under these circumstances, when taking that fuck literally tangentially involves Kostos' cousin, who has secretly been a dog for quite some time now, it's too much. He can't put any thought into making his face do something new. It is going to continue doing the furious, bug-bitten thing it was already doing when Mado appeared and it got stuck that way.

Mado is not forgiven. Kostos watches him for a moment but doesn't wait to see the transformation before putting his head down on his arms in the bushes and hissing why the fuck am I even here into the ground. ]

[Edgard hears him and inhales sharply. What is his problem? The entire presence of Kostos is a complete mistake and the sight of him whining and cowering disgusts him.

(He would too. Obviously.)

He turns away from him watching Mado approach the stranger and keeps his eyes trained ready to help if something goes wrong.]

You are here [He whispers to Kostos.] because you were supposed to be good at tracking. Thank the maker I brought Mado along too.

[He shakes his head, still turned away, still confused by the previous interaction.]

Don't get angry at him just because he's better than you at it.

[This is something a leader would say, probably. Edgard will not fuck this up.]

[This seems like the perfect opportunity to get as far away from these two as possible. With a final, furtive glance over his shoulder, Mado Becomes Dog and races down the hill to scout out the shepherd.

WHOOF]

[ Kostos' head is still in his arms, so it's invisible when that woof makes him close his eyes in restrained outrage. ]

If he's so much better at it, why have we gotten lost?

[ He drags his head up to scowl at Edgard. ]

But next time, please, by all fucking means—leave me behind if you're bringing him.

We are not lost!

[Edgard hisses and scowls right back at Kostos.]

We are at the location we are supposed to be!

[Edgard is going to ignore the other comment. He points through the bush out into the meadow.]

Why don't you try to be useful at all and tell me what you think of that shepherd? And we'll see how your skills compare. Go on!

[If the trackers won't work together, make them compete, I guess? It's also what a leader would do.]

[The sheep are concerned by the new arrival, and they scatter gently, but by the time the shepherd has looked up to see what's bothering them, the dog has already situated himself behind the man's back. He crouches there in the long grass, ears forward and nose tipped up to sniff the air, collecting information.]

[ Kostos looks at the shepherd, who looks like a shepherd. If Mado weren't here he would do something more than look. He would send wisps out, hidden low among the sheep, to eavesdrop on the man while they trailed him at a distance. He would know how to follow low and quiet and stay out of sight until either something or nothing happened, so they would know.

But Mado is here. So he's been suffering the outdoors and Edgard's presence for no reason at all, except to lie here in the dirt while Bouncy the Wonder-Boy handles things, supposedly, with his magical nose. ]

Why the fuck would I compete with a dog?

[Edgard has killed men before and regretted it nearly every time, but right now in this moment he doesn't think he would regret it at all. He clenches his fist to stop the impulse. His face flushes and he turns to Kostos and inhales tremendously. Edgard's eyes are wild like they'll burst out of his head and he opens his mouth to yell. Instead what comes out is a deadly whisper.]

Just. Do. Something! Anyth-

[Before Edgard can finish, there is a rustling behind Kostos and a strange growling. Back in the field, the Shepherd is suddenly armed and charges toward them.]

[In case they haven't turned to see the shepherd yet, frantic barking precipitates his arrival and, while Mado's at it, scatters the flock. He races back toward his companions to bite at the shepherd's trouser leg, only realizing once he's got a mouthful of fabric that the actual threat is behind Kostos and Edgard.

Dropping his quarry, he's taking a breath to bark the alarm when it becomes a plaintive yelp instead, the shepherd's foot swinging into him. Who would do such a thing]

[ The growl sends Kostos rolling onto his back. This is not a good position to be in, when something is growling behind you, but it frees his arms to cast—which is what he's doing. The glow of a magical barrier springs out from his chest, settling over him and Edgard like a film.

From there he rolls again, this time onto his feet. Just in time to hear Mado yelp—and dammit, he gives a shit so he looks away from the rustling brush and toward the dog. ]

[Edgard's arm becomes a bow and he instinctively cowers back from the magical glow. He realizes what it is just in time to see a fade touched wolf collide against the barrier.

He hears Mado yelp, but doesn't take his eyes off the wolf. He huffs in frustration again and shouts at Kostos.]

Let me shoot!

[Kostos, naturally, is facing the other way.]

[From behind them comes the shepherd, and then the dog a few paces behind, having regained his feet and continuing to bark the alarm. No matter the form, he's rather useless in a fight, but animals tend to find him upsetting enough for his strangeness that he can at least bank on getting the wolf's attention.

Racing around the barrier, he pounces against the much larger canine in an odd, semi-acrobatic maneuver, pushing at it with all four of his paws against the shoulder to knock it off its feet as he bounces away and sticks the landing.]

Edited (just normal dog stuff) 2021-09-18 01:06 (UTC)

Edgard wobbles a little on deck, still not a person with sea legs, even when the boat is docked. He pounds his hand on a railing with emphasis to disguise this fact.

"Green." He says decisively. "No, orange. Blue?"

He looks all the way to the sky as if considering it's exact shade.

"Definitely green. Also, I can draw a griffon"

He looks to the other two expectantly.

Edited 2021-08-02 21:08 (UTC)

"Edgard, I say this with all the love in my heart," Barrow says lazily, leaning on the railing with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, "please draw a griffon."

From the margins of this exchange, there sounds a distinctly dismissive sniff the source of which can only by the Seneschal who has made a seat out of one of the nearby hatch covers on deck. He has a folio of papers open on one knee and is actively noting down a series of notes to correspond with their very recent survey of the ship. They have only just finished their tour; between it and the report provided by the Forces division office about the ship's overall repair, condition, and so on and so forth, there is quite a list accumulating before him.

"Charming as I'm sure your artist impressions must be, griffons are the symbols of the Anderfels. I suggest that we stay far away from presenting our business partner with a symbol that recalls what is meant to be a mutual enemy. Consider a horse. Or a fish. Or a harming combination of the two?"

Cassius writes down and underlines green in his notes. From the papers provided by the dockyard, it is the cheaper of the two pigments available to them.

Edgard sits for a moment considering the Seneschal buried behind his notes. He gives a sharp stern nod and walks over to him. He looms for a moment, he likes to think threateningly, but it only works sometimes.

Then, very quickly he swipes one of the papers in the folio along with the writing implement Cassius is using. He quickly draws something on it.

"Like this?" He says. He presents his drawing to the two men, first Cassius where he keeps a stern face and then to Barrow to whom he grins widely.

Barrow's face is serious, contemplative, like a collector's at an art gallery. He takes the drawing and looks it over from top to bottom, then hands it back with a nod.

"Fine work," he decides.

Hey now that was his— Cassius lowers his hand with a sigh and crosses once wrist over another as Edgard scratches out his ninety second masterpiece. He has settled fully into this position of relative repose by the time the results are turned his direction.

"Yes, yes. Congratulations, we're all very funny here." He wiggles his fingers toward Edgard. "My pencil, if you please."

Edgard puts a hand on his chest, clearly greatly insulted.

"This is exactly what you asked for." He gruffs at him.

"Think you can do better then, fine, here you go." He pelts the pencil back at those extremely annoying wiggly fingers.

"Barrow liked it." He adds defensively. He looks at Barrow and nods, a good man! A man of taste!

Barrow nods sagely, smoke streaming from his nostrils as he exhales.
"Beggars can't be choosers," he informs Cassius.

Cassius shouldn't catch the pencil. It would be extremely annoying if he did—people who look and act like him aren't meant to be dexterous on top of everything else; that's just insulting to everyone's sensibilities. And yet: yoink. Somehow, the pencil contrives to gravitate straight into his hand. He spins it reflexively between his fingers and brings it back to his little sheaf of papers to make some new note. Presumably that note is not 'Edgard Lastname is Riftwatch's best artist and we should give him a condemnation for it,' but who can say.

"—is precisely not what our decorating choices should imply to this ship's new owner. Much though I appreciate your enthusiasm, Edgard. In fact, I recommend that you convey your design to the ship's carpenter. I assume we have one. That woman they have for the current masthead looks like she wishes she were dead and is unremarkable besides. Your seahorse is likely more impressive in three dimensions."

He has continued to make notes while talking, and here finally tucks the pencil behind his ear. He tears the piece of parchment before him in two even halves and hands one to each of them.

"If you would, gentlemen."

Each side of the list has a neat list of duties written on it. The first, Edgard's, reads:

- Consult with carpenter regarding masthead
- Takes measurements of rail, various trim and so forth for painting
- Tally all bronze deck fittings for polishing/organize polishing thereof

And for Barrow—

- Recruit two seamstresses
- Purchase paint (green), per recorded measurements
- Hire 6-10 children (ages 10-13)

"It's a Merhorse." Edgard says automatically. "Seahorse is something else I think."

Edgard has a vague memory of seeing something once in a jar that a merchant called a seahorse and it looked nothing like what Edgard drew. But, he's contended that his drawing will have life somewhere.

Edgard grabs his list, frowns a little, shrugs and nods. Measuring is going to be difficult for him, but he'll manage. He then looks up at Cassius.

"Where's your list?"

Edgard is willing to do work so long as everyone does their fair share. He tries to squint at Barrow's list, to see if Barrow got any duties that look more fun than his.

Barrow idly reads over the list, exhaling a puff of smoke down at it, apparently unimpressed by his duties-- except for one, anyway.

"We talking seamstresses, mate? Or 'seamstresses'?" He waggles his eyebrows at Cassius. One of these options will make the job a lot more fun, anyway.

"My list is in my head," is the smooth as silk reply. What remains of the sheaf of papers is folded over once and then tucked succinctly inside his robes. "And I would prefer these ladies be professionals with a needle and thread, but as to the exact nature of their profession— I've little preference. But Riftwatch's coffers will only be paying for their stitching."

For the record.

"Now, I suggest that we all attend to our business and reconvene here tomorrow afternoon. Agreed?"

"No." Edgard says pointedly. He folds his arms over his chest.

"Recite it."

The list in his head, presumably. He raises his head up in defiance.

"And I want to help Barrow with the seamstresses."

"Well I haven't got time for that," Barrow says fondly, patting Edgard on the shoulder as he turns to go-- the less he has to listen to Cassius, likely the better-- but there's no reason to be a pill about it.

"Come along Edgard, we'll lose all our daylight."

"No, no. The man has a point."

Surprise, Barrow. You're going to be audience to Cassius' indisputable wits and charms for at least a few minutes more; he turns his attention to Edgard with a magnanimous tip of the temple.

"For my part, I'm going to requisition a great sum of money from Riftwatch's coffers with which to fund this little project of ours. There are a great deal of forms which require filling out for such a thing. Then, I will be endeavoring to locate a weaver or tradesman who will sell us some respectable yardage at wholesale to be worked by our favorite seamstresses. Preferably, all of this will be done in consultation with someone who has better taste than the three of us"—well, two of them; his taste is impeccable, but pretending at humility never ruined anyone—"Which means I will need to scour our contacts among Hightown for someone kind enough to lend their expertise."

If that scouring requires a certain number of hours draped across some esteemed ladyship's chaise sofa or schmoozing over little glasses of sherry and trays of finger foods, then he will simply have to endure these impositions for the good of the work.

"But by all means. Two men to recruit a cadre of seamstresses must be better than one."

Edgard listens quietly to this and slowly lowers his arms that were folded over his chest. The man has clearly thought this through. This is unexpected.

Edgard furrows his brow and looks at Barrow and then back at Cassius and then says something no one was expecting.

"You're alright, Cassius." He gives him a gruff little nod.

He turns to Barrow. "Shall we?"

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On the Orlais-Nevarran border, Closed to Kostos and Mado

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Hands to Laces, Closed to Barrow and Cassius

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