faderift | open and closed.

Marcus moves with slow intent, senses attuned to his surroundings and attention direct, but after enough time, his mind does wander a little. He might try to look and pick out the rooms in the towers where his companions are likely working late, still, or replay some scrap of conversation, or think to a reminder of a task left unfinished—and then a noise, in the silence.

And all that focus hones in to a sharp and deadly point in that direction. He pauses his patrol, and listens. At his back he carries a mage staff, and it's one that's clearly intended to do harm, iron, bladed sword shining at one end past his shoulder, but he doesn't reach for it. His expression only hardens, but doesn't shift.

He moves, quietly as he can—which is not very—to the edge of the rampart. He places a hand on the stone edge, a silver ring on one finger decorated with a glass gem, and he carefully leans over to look in an attempt to see what he can.

Edited (clarity) 2021-09-03 06:49 (UTC)

Focusing on keeping himself unseen, Cole stands very still, even as the mage comes close. It isn't that he's even doing anything wrong...well, not really. He imagines that Riftwatch would prefer for him to stay where he can be seen, be kept track of. Many people still don't trust him, after all. A spirit, let alone one who could come and go and affect minds?

He swallows hard, and lets out a shaky breath.

One that can be heard, right next to where Marcus is leaning.

Marcus' posture immediately stiffens, drawing a step backwards from that sound. Light blue eyes catch what light there is to see by, gaze darting over the empty space, while one hand drifts backwards with the intention of putting it in range of taking a hold of his staff.

It isn't anything to do with latent hurts or psychic things when the breeze shifts, and Cole might detect a scent of smoke in the air, as some part of Marcus, whether consciously or not, draws a little power out of the Fade. Just to have.

But rather than use magic, he uses words. "Who's there?" he asks, Starkhaven lilt compressed into sharper syllables. Quiet, though.

The song of the Fade thrums in his ears when the power is pulled - it's familiar and terrifying all at once, home and hostility. Briefly, he considers running away, dropping and running, making the mage miss him....

But then there is speech instead of an attack.

Drawing a breath deep in, Cole lets it out slowly, gradually shimmering into view. He holds his hands up in a placating fashion, frown trembling, head shaking from side to side. His blades remain in their sheaths, zero intention to fight evident in his demeanor.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, widening his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Marcus sketches a step backwards as the young man appears. He notes those empty hands, that sign of supplication, but remains guarded, expression closed. A person who can hide invisibly in plain view and reappear could do all sorts of things, after all, even if it doesn't escape him that such a person would probably have done all sorts of things while invisible.

"Your name," he asks. "And your business in the Gallows."

Beyond a quiet awareness of how close his staff is to his hand, he is also thinking of his sending crystal slipped beneath his collar, but both things remain as they are. Curiousity lances through the once over he gives the youth in front of him.

The mage is still not attacking. That's good. He starts to hear his heart, now that his own isn't pounding in his ears. He licks his lips to wet them. They taste of ash. He swallows hard.

"Cole," he finally answers. "I am...I am here now. With Riftwatch. I'm here to help, to stop the hurt, the harm." He keeps his hands up, the fingers splayed wide as if trying to leave no shadow where any secrets could hide.

"I came out here to listen to the night, nothing else. I'm not used to being seen. I'm trying."

"Alright."

This is not said with comprehension so much as acceptance, of his name, his business, and that's he trying. Marcus checks again those raised palms as if perhaps he could have missed an anchor-shard embedded there. There is none, so this Cole is no rifter. A lot of strangeness and sin can be dismissed, when it comes to rifters, and he's never seen a mage make himself disappear.

He lifts his own hand, not quite the same signal of surrender, but an open gesture to signal back that Cole should likewise be calm. "Cole," he says. "I'm Marcus.

"How were you able to do that? Go unseen. I've not met a mage of that talent."

"Hello. Marcus."

It steels Cole, the introduction, the motion that signifies that the mage isn't gearing up to attack. The ash is still heavy on his tongue, but if there will be no fight here, he is more than fine with that. He keeps his hands up, but lowers them a fraction. Relaxing, reticent, recoiling.

"I'm not a mage," he murmurs into the night air, expression uneasy. "I - I'm not. I'm just Cole. I don't...stay, in memories. Forgotten. Faded by the Fade."

Marcus absorbs this in silence, and then looks over his shoulder, across the ramparts. No one in sight.

He fishes a flat silvery case out of a coat pocket, thumbing it open and extracting a cigarette rolled in dark paper. There's no attempt to fill the silence as this is set between his teeth, lit at the same time with his fingertip pressed to the end. It glows a point of bright orange, loosing a ribbon of smoke.

More acrid and real than the scent of his Fade summoning, which has lessened. Marcus offers the case to Cole, held open in his hand, where four more cigarettes lay flat.

He's not sure spirits smoke, but—

Well, it still beats being attacked. He watches in curious silence as he lights the cigarette - fire, fury, flames inside him, furrowing if faint, flowing from within into little habits - simply standing there and letting the mage think.

But then he is being offered the case, and he blinks down at it, clearly confused. Seldom has anyone offered him anything at all, and this one is...definitely a first. He's given cigarettes TO people, but never really understood why.

So, in shaky fingers, he takes one, awkwardly holding it in front of him as if not sure what it's really for.

Hmm.

It's not demonstrative, the way Marcus holds his own cigarette between his knuckles and takes in a smooth breath of smoke, holds it a moment, and then breathes it out in draconic curls that rise and dissipate, but—it is anyway. He stands there, looking at the boy-shaped spirit holding an unlit cigarette for an extended amount of time.

And then, "Have you registered with our records? As being an agent of our organisation."

Edited 2021-09-07 15:09 (UTC)

Wide eyes follow the path of the cigarette, studying the motion, the look of it. Mirroring, Cole moves the one pinched in his fingers into the same position...but then doesn't have a means to light it.

So now he's just holding it awkwardly, but differently. Look! He's being human!

"Registered with records?" The tilt of his head is made all the more dramatic by the wide brim of his hat. "What does that mean?" Riftwatch knows of his presence, of course, but...well, paperwork is a strange concept to a being like Cole. (Paperwork had been part of what killed the real Cole, anyway, but he tries not to think about that.)

Edited 2021-09-08 05:23 (UTC)

"Reported your presence officially," Marcus says. "Joined a Division, and getting compensated for your work with wages."

It's very possible that the boy-spirit has done all of these things, and that Marcus missed the memo on the Gallows being haunted by something friendly, but it would be good to verify it all the same. That, and there's a low thrum of dry humour, if only for himself—the absurdity of the conversation isn't wholly lost on him, for all that he's quite serious about getting the paperwork in order.

The unlit cigarette is ignored. That seems like a problem, albeit a minor one, for Cole to sort out.

The cigarette remains unlit, dangling uselessly between his fingertips, and is likely to stay that way. He doesn't really understand why people smoke, anyway, though he doesn't begrudge anyone their needs and habits.

Cole is more focused, anyhow, on the rest of the conversation. He's quiet for a moment, considering the topic carefully. He doesn't care at all for compensation - he needs very little, himself - but if he had regular coin, he could use that to help others. His brows knit together.

"...How do I do that? What is a...Division?"

"Research, Diplomacy, Scouting, and Forces," Marcus says, with a pause, sure, but no hint of impatience. "They're as they sound. I'm of Forces. You should match your talents to one of them." A beat, and then, "Scouting is occupied in stealth work."

Just a guess.

He taps ash from his cigarette. He could give Cole a series of instructions, set him on a path that would probably lead him to the Seneschal's office, talk a little of administration, but that absurdity is perhaps a bridge too far. He has what he needs to know, which is that Cole is an unknown, an intruder, but seemingly a benign one.

"If help is what you mean to bring here," Marcus says, "I will say so when I signal your presence to the leadership. But you'll need to become an agent of Riftwatch, if that's your intention."

"Oh."

The explanation is enough for Cole to use - he's been milling around the Gallows, after all, and has seen people coming and going and talking about some of these terms. Having someone put them into perspective is useful.

The latter half of what Marcus has to say, on the other hand, draws a clear line for Cole. He's going to be reported if he doesn't muddle Marcus's memory...so he has to make a choice.

Still, it sounds as if this is...a better way to help.

"...I will join," he rasps, giving a resolute little nod. "But...I will have to figure where I fit."

"You will," Marcus agrees. "Some move between divisions, if they realise their talents might be useful elsewhere."

Not him.

He considers Cole for a longer moment, and then, more broadly, this conversation on this rampart at this hour. He says, "I'm going to resume my sentry," not unkindly, just bluntly. "I'd advise you not to make trouble for yourself by wandering so, at night. You should return to the room you're staying in," and that is if he has a room, "and report yourself in the morning."

Strangely enough, the idea that he doesn't have to slip and settle too soon is soothing to the Spirit. He gives a little nod as Marcus expresses that he is going to go - wincing a little at the thought of him making trouble wandering about.

He doesn't have a room, of course. So he will just have to work harder at not being seen out at night.

"I will," he assents to making himself known - and after a moment of awkward silence, he adds, "...Thank you. For giving me a chance."

open and closed.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject