open and closed.

[luaithre]

WHO: Marcus Rowntree and various.
WHAT: Activities.
WHEN: Kingsway
WHERE: Mainly the Gallows
NOTES: Some open prompts in the comments, but also works as a catch all for planned things. Let me know if you'd like to do something specific, or if we have CR, feel free to just hit me with a wild card honestly.

Comments

[luaithre]

Cassius talks, and Marcus drinks and listens. Feeling the familiar and always slightly weary churn of his own brain attempting to sift through words for information and intention and whatever else might slip through in between.

"We're not so much like a hive that way either," he inputs, his manner set to a certain conversational ease. "Besides our ordinariness. Riftwatch isn't of a single mind, and neither are its mages. But we've had no desertions," he adds. "I would think it less the in-fighting that might drive a mage away from a place, and more the inability to be heard."

He tips his head a little. "In one of the dreams we all experienced, last winter, there was stood a body called the College of Enchanters. Established by the mages of the Inquisition, who'd been recruited from the rebellion. Would you like to know about it?"

[satinet]

To say that here is when some little spark of interest catches in Cassius' startlingly green eyes would be disingenuous. He's been interested this whole time; why on earth is the likes of Marcus Rowntree making polite conversation with him? And no, indeed. In-fighting and bickering has little to do with it. But it certainly seems unlikely to encourage anyone to do much listening either, now does it?

But certainly there is a marked increase in his investment.

"I never quite did manage to get that story properly out of anyone. So by all means," is emphasized with a permissive turn of the hand. "I'd be delighted."

[luaithre]

Marcus glances down at the table between them, and it does take a second to sort through his memories, despite inviting this topic. Two dreams overlaying one another, fraying apart and braiding together, and so much context and history lost in the short span of memory he has access to.

Still, he doesn't communicate that difficulty, only works through it for a second before speaking. "The College was an institution and a collective," he says, lifting his focus back up from the table, his study of the other man frank and interested, "for mages who wished to exist free from the control of the Chantry. But more than that, it was an answer. Mages could attend it voluntarily, receive board and education as might occur in a good Circle. But they aren't being held unwillingly. They aren't cut off from their families.

"And then, when done with their training, they were free to go. To do what he or she may. Form families of their own, if they wanted. I believe, too, that the Circle of Magi also existed," Marcus adds, because it only seems fair. "To argue with, perhaps."

[satinet]

Cassius listens.

As a well-noted windbag, this is the part which ordinarily might take someone by surprise. Does he like the sound of his own voice? Yes, thoroughly. Does he like the ratta-tat-tat of his own interior stream of consciousness? Oh, frequently. But clever as he is, he can't very well be responsible for every little thought and fancy which comes to him. One must occasionally have input from an outside source. And it must be said that, for a great majority of the people in the world, there is nothing so thrilling or likeable as the pleasure of a listening ear.

The Perendale Circle (for it certainly wasn't Cassius' mother) raised no fool.

"And here I'd been led to suspect those dreams must have been universally unpleasant, given the general air of reticence. I'm pleased to know everyone on this island isn't so universally morose. Dreadful thing—fighting a war alongside people without any sense of humor."

From the brief wag of his brow as his hand moves to find his cup, Cassius implies to have ample experience in the subject.

"If only the waking world were so uncomplicated, yes?"