faderift | (no subject)

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(no subject)

WHO: Edgard and some people
WHAT: A catch-all
WHEN: August
WHERE: Orlais-Nevarran border and on a boat respectively
NOTES: Right now a couple closed plot starters, but open to ideas, i love you

Starters in comments, if you want something hit me up or simply surprise me.

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"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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