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Scene one: the Diplomacy offices, not too early—rapidly approaching lunchtime, in fact—but early enough that Monsieur le noctambule is presumably still asleep and definitely not in his office. But Benedict is in his, and now Bastien is there, too, with mail in one hand and a small plate of nothing but bacon and sausage in the other. He sets both on the edge of Benedict's desk.
"For him," he says, with a head tip toward the room that will eventually have Byerly in it, "but if you eat some of the bacon, no one will ever know."
"For him," he says, with a head tip toward the room that will eventually have Byerly in it, "but if you eat some of the bacon, no one will ever know."
However they're informed which desk is theirs—a seating chart? little name plates? we did not think this through—
However it happens, Kostos is there first. He brought a box with him: a couple of books, old notes, the supplies he previously used to do his work while hiding in his room, a few animal skulls decorated in the Nevarran style to set in the corner and hopefully make the Southerners keep a wide berth. He's still holding the box and standing in front of his desk when one of the others arrives.
"One of us has to move," he says.
However it happens, Kostos is there first. He brought a box with him: a couple of books, old notes, the supplies he previously used to do his work while hiding in his room, a few animal skulls decorated in the Nevarran style to set in the corner and hopefully make the Southerners keep a wide berth. He's still holding the box and standing in front of his desk when one of the others arrives.
"One of us has to move," he says.
A little roll of his eyes and a smirk, and Benedict takes the plate to relay it inside; he'll just knock on the inner door, and it's Byerly's funeral if the food's cold when he comes out.
"He'll know somehow," he remarks to Bastien over his shoulder, "a hedonist and his pleasures aren't easily parted."
Speaking from experience, of course.
"He'll know somehow," he remarks to Bastien over his shoulder, "a hedonist and his pleasures aren't easily parted."
Speaking from experience, of course.
Mado isn't adept at reading or writing, and likely never will be, but he at least has come to recognize his own name; it's for this reason that he's able to find his desk, at which he smiles fondly moments before Kostos speaks to him.
He looks up at his cousin with an open, cheerful smile, like a breaker against an angry tide.
"I like your friends, cugino," he says quietly, nodding to the skulls.
He looks up at his cousin with an open, cheerful smile, like a breaker against an angry tide.
"I like your friends, cugino," he says quietly, nodding to the skulls.
Bastien doesn't figure it out, straight away. The ring Ellis entrusts him with is small. On most people it would be a pinkie ring, and Bastien has fairly big hands. Squeezing it on and maybe never getting it back off is low on his list of things to try doing with it, beneath spinning it on its chain like a rapid windmill (what’s a propeller?) or spinning it on a table like a top or trying to swing it around into his pocket or—
Et cetera.
It takes a while.
But eventually, one morning when he’s pinned to his bed by Byerly’s head on his arm and the ring on his nightstand is the most interesting thing Bastien can reach without waking him up, he lets it drop over the end of his pinkie. It's stopped by the first knuckle—he could wobble it over, but it wouldn't make it past the second—and resting there, it begins whispering. Then not even the fact that Byerly sleeps like a precious baby angel-octopus hybrid is enough to save him from being shaken awake and enlisted in ring experiments.
Some days of more organized efforts later, in the evening hours when it's quiet but not silent, Bastien drags Byerly along (not literally) to the Scouting office, ring in a little bag in his pocket and a list of names in hand. To avoid theft or snooping, the list only has the names people are known by, for making sure none of them are overlooked; the names the ring whispered are currently stored only in memory. But his memory is good.
"Early Satinalia gift," he announces, while he ushers Byerly in ahead of him and shuts the door behind them both, which perhaps incorrectly implies that Byerly is the gift.
Et cetera.
It takes a while.
But eventually, one morning when he’s pinned to his bed by Byerly’s head on his arm and the ring on his nightstand is the most interesting thing Bastien can reach without waking him up, he lets it drop over the end of his pinkie. It's stopped by the first knuckle—he could wobble it over, but it wouldn't make it past the second—and resting there, it begins whispering. Then not even the fact that Byerly sleeps like a precious baby angel-octopus hybrid is enough to save him from being shaken awake and enlisted in ring experiments.
Some days of more organized efforts later, in the evening hours when it's quiet but not silent, Bastien drags Byerly along (not literally) to the Scouting office, ring in a little bag in his pocket and a list of names in hand. To avoid theft or snooping, the list only has the names people are known by, for making sure none of them are overlooked; the names the ring whispered are currently stored only in memory. But his memory is good.
"Early Satinalia gift," he announces, while he ushers Byerly in ahead of him and shuts the door behind them both, which perhaps incorrectly implies that Byerly is the gift.
Edited 2021-10-10 00:01 (UTC)
In the space of a day, Derrica might reconsider. There is time enough to think twice about what she's agreed to, and who would blame her? She has offered up enough of herself in the past day.
But Marcus had thought there some possibility that Bastien would understand. It's the kind of assessment that carries weight; Derrica knows how rare it is for Marcus to apply such confidence to anyone.
And so she is where she'd said she be, tucked into a quiet corner, easily seen from the doorway. There are a pair of cups on the table, one full and one empty. She tips her head up, a slight smile in greeting as Bastien enters.
"Hello," she offers, a very reserved greeting. "I hope I'm not taking you from something else you'd rather be doing."
But Marcus had thought there some possibility that Bastien would understand. It's the kind of assessment that carries weight; Derrica knows how rare it is for Marcus to apply such confidence to anyone.
And so she is where she'd said she be, tucked into a quiet corner, easily seen from the doorway. There are a pair of cups on the table, one full and one empty. She tips her head up, a slight smile in greeting as Bastien enters.
"Hello," she offers, a very reserved greeting. "I hope I'm not taking you from something else you'd rather be doing."
Yseult is alone when they arrive—maybe they pass Darras in the hall, depending which way they come round from the stairs—and for once seems caught slightly off guard, at least by her standards. She is not at her desk but just stepping back into the office half of the suite when they enter (door shut behind), and is quick to twitch the collar of her blouse straight and into its proper fold once again.
"Come in," she says anyway, gesturing them toward the more sociable arrangement of chairs and sofa near the hearth, though a slight skeptical squint remains at the possibility that Byerly is meant to be the gift. Once they've moved past her there's a discreet and unnecessary touch at her hair, unbraided but neat enough, as she moves to the side board. There is a bottle of wine already open there that she collects, along with two clean glasses and her own, and carries over to join them. "What is this about?"
"Come in," she says anyway, gesturing them toward the more sociable arrangement of chairs and sofa near the hearth, though a slight skeptical squint remains at the possibility that Byerly is meant to be the gift. Once they've moved past her there's a discreet and unnecessary touch at her hair, unbraided but neat enough, as she moves to the side board. There is a bottle of wine already open there that she collects, along with two clean glasses and her own, and carries over to join them. "What is this about?"
"Not at all," Bastien says.
It might not be entirely true. He left a good book tented open on the arm of his chair, back in the Gallows. He passed a dockhand acquaintance, not far from the ferry, who invited him to join a card game. One of the taverns down the street had its door open and a particularly lively tune, accompanied by the voices of most of the occupants, spilling out.
But he's content enough to be here instead. He smiles at her, and catches peripheral sight of a waving hand—another acquaintance, on the other side of the room, to whom he waves back quickly enough for the gesture to feel like a hello and not today at once. Then Derrica and the cups have his full attention.
"I am supposed to buy you a drink first, no?"
It might not be entirely true. He left a good book tented open on the arm of his chair, back in the Gallows. He passed a dockhand acquaintance, not far from the ferry, who invited him to join a card game. One of the taverns down the street had its door open and a particularly lively tune, accompanied by the voices of most of the occupants, spilling out.
But he's content enough to be here instead. He smiles at her, and catches peripheral sight of a waving hand—another acquaintance, on the other side of the room, to whom he waves back quickly enough for the gesture to feel like a hello and not today at once. Then Derrica and the cups have his full attention.
"I am supposed to buy you a drink first, no?"
Three hours prior, Nikos Averesch--fresh off a ship and fresher off the ferry, sun-dark and a little thicker than he had been when last in the Gallows--had approached the common notice board and read the bulletin announcing this new feature. Two and half hours prior, Nikos had grudgingly dragged himself to find his desk assignment, and, when reading the nameplates of his desk neighbors, had considered throwing himself from the walls of the Gallows to be dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Or eaten by sharks, or, preferably, dashed to pieces and then said pieces would be eaten by sharks.
He had settled instead for fetching a saw and sawing the leg of one of the chairs right up near the seat so that it would be very weak and would collapse under any weight put upon it. And for the other, he had shoved a small stint of wood under one of the desk legs which would cause its legs to be unbalanced and the desk itself to be perilously wobbly.
So upon this hour, when Nikos enters the room and comes along to find his brother and his cousin in a one-sided standoff--well, he still does not look precisely happy. He does look neutral, which in of itself ought to be worrying.
"Maybe you both move."
Just a suggestion. That it will make Kostos dig his heels in and not move, and sit at his trapped desk, well, that won't exactly be Nikos' fault.
He had settled instead for fetching a saw and sawing the leg of one of the chairs right up near the seat so that it would be very weak and would collapse under any weight put upon it. And for the other, he had shoved a small stint of wood under one of the desk legs which would cause its legs to be unbalanced and the desk itself to be perilously wobbly.
So upon this hour, when Nikos enters the room and comes along to find his brother and his cousin in a one-sided standoff--well, he still does not look precisely happy. He does look neutral, which in of itself ought to be worrying.
"Maybe you both move."
Just a suggestion. That it will make Kostos dig his heels in and not move, and sit at his trapped desk, well, that won't exactly be Nikos' fault.
Kostos—who before Nikos' timely interruption had spent several seconds simply staring at Mado at a sullen loss for words—is quick to round that expression on his brother instead. His brother is less baffling.
"Maybe you fuck back off," he says, and, oblivious to his own predictability, sets his box of belongings on top of the desk with an air of finality. Any wobbling that may occur in the process is lost beneath the sound and movement of the wooden crate hitting the surface. "And take him with you. You can be agents in Antiva together. It will be adorable."
"Maybe you fuck back off," he says, and, oblivious to his own predictability, sets his box of belongings on top of the desk with an air of finality. Any wobbling that may occur in the process is lost beneath the sound and movement of the wooden crate hitting the surface. "And take him with you. You can be agents in Antiva together. It will be adorable."
Those were the terms, even though Derrica finds she isn't so concerned with drinks or bargains or anything else. She hooks her cup by the handle and lifts her to swig the entirety of the contents in one smooth motion.
Only the smallest of flourishes when she sets it back to onto the table. An empty cup. Under different circumstances, it might be cause for a little gloating, or a bit of teasing, but this isn't really that kind of occasion.
"Whatever you like," she says, in anticipation of the question, as she rests her chin on one palm. "I don't really know what you prefer."
Only the smallest of flourishes when she sets it back to onto the table. An empty cup. Under different circumstances, it might be cause for a little gloating, or a bit of teasing, but this isn't really that kind of occasion.
"Whatever you like," she says, in anticipation of the question, as she rests her chin on one palm. "I don't really know what you prefer."
A deep mock-gasp, and Benedict presses a hand to his chest as though in affront. It quickly goes away, however, as he nods with a smirk and turns to go into the office.
Setting the plate on the desk, he knocks on Byerly's door.
Setting the plate on the desk, he knocks on Byerly's door.
For his part, Mado's smile remains steadfastly printed onto his face, even if the little bit of tension around his eyes betrays that perhaps not all is as well as he wants it to be.
With trepidation, he gently opines: "we are all sensible grown people, yes? It could be nice, if--"
Then he pulls his chair out to sit in it, and instead watches as it collapses before him. The smile dies.
With trepidation, he gently opines: "we are all sensible grown people, yes? It could be nice, if--"
Then he pulls his chair out to sit in it, and instead watches as it collapses before him. The smile dies.
Edited 2021-10-11 21:00 (UTC)
"It's magic," By sings. His grin is broad, shameless, and delighted. For two reasons: first, this gift, and second, because Yseult was absolutely just getting busy with Darras, which By fully intends to giggle about with Bastien later.
"But unlike most magic," he continues, "this is fun. No demonic possessions or anything. Well, maybe." By turns and prods Bastien's cheek. "You're not a desire demon in disguise, are you?"
"But unlike most magic," he continues, "this is fun. No demonic possessions or anything. Well, maybe." By turns and prods Bastien's cheek. "You're not a desire demon in disguise, are you?"
"Usually I drink wine," he says, scooping up the cups, "but you drink—whiskey?"
It's ninety percent rhetorical, not a wild guess. She said so over the crystals during the pin hunt. So unless she contradicts him, he's gone and back again within a few minutes, with two full cups in hand. Whiskey in both, for the sake of being companionable.
"I am kind of a lightweight," he confesses while he takes his seat. He will not be knocking this back in one go. Fortunately it's decent enough to sip. "And I didn't mean to ask you something difficult—why you came here. We can talk about something else, if you want."
It's ninety percent rhetorical, not a wild guess. She said so over the crystals during the pin hunt. So unless she contradicts him, he's gone and back again within a few minutes, with two full cups in hand. Whiskey in both, for the sake of being companionable.
"I am kind of a lightweight," he confesses while he takes his seat. He will not be knocking this back in one go. Fortunately it's decent enough to sip. "And I didn't mean to ask you something difficult—why you came here. We can talk about something else, if you want."
Whether Byerly comes to the door or not, and whether he notices the missing bacon or not—these are mysteries Bastien is willing not to know the answer to, straight away. He's gone before Benedict comes back to his own desk, bacon dangling from his mouth and slowly crunching inward on the stairs, like two crispy noodles being slurped in slow motion.
But he's back an hour and a half later, now with a report in his hand. This one is for Byerly—who'd better be awake by now—but he stops at Benedict's desk first and whispers.
"Did he notice?"
But he's back an hour and a half later, now with a report in his hand. This one is for Byerly—who'd better be awake by now—but he stops at Benedict's desk first and whispers.
"Did he notice?"
Bastien gives his eyebrows a contemplative maybe I am raise, while his head bobbles under the cheek-prodding, then grins at Yseult. Good for her. But there's nothing knowing about his grin, nothing salacious. If anything there's a touch of apology, for assuming that at this hour she'd be at her desk with nothing more exciting to do than this.
"We cannot rule out the possibility there is a demon in the ring—it's a magic ring," he says, handing her the list of names on his way to one of the chairs by the hearth. "Maybe one of the mages can check. But if it is a demon, it seems to have one job, and that is telling you what a person's real name is."
"We cannot rule out the possibility there is a demon in the ring—it's a magic ring," he says, handing her the list of names on his way to one of the chairs by the hearth. "Maybe one of the mages can check. But if it is a demon, it seems to have one job, and that is telling you what a person's real name is."
Yseult takes her time pouring wine into all three glasses as this little comedy double-act proceeds, then sits back with hers, smoothing her skirt over a knee and reading this list of names she already knows. They'll have to forgive her if she's slightly slow in catching up.
"These are people a magic ring tells you are using false names?"
"These are people a magic ring tells you are using false names?"
No, Derrica doesn't mean to throw this drink back all at once either. She takes a sip, slow and careful, giving her attention to the taste instead of Bastien while she thinks of what to say.
"Do you really want to know?" seems like a fair question.
Maybe her suspicion is unfair. She has never had the sense that Bastien is a bad person, and it is only that he is—
Not a mage. A man who will never be constricted in the same way as she is. A man who stands very close to someone she does not and cannot trust.
So she needs to hear again: is he truly interested in what he's asking after?
"Do you really want to know?" seems like a fair question.
Maybe her suspicion is unfair. She has never had the sense that Bastien is a bad person, and it is only that he is—
Not a mage. A man who will never be constricted in the same way as she is. A man who stands very close to someone she does not and cannot trust.
So she needs to hear again: is he truly interested in what he's asking after?
"No, no, dear Scoutmaster," By says. "It tells you anyone's name at all. For example, it told good Bastien my middle name, in spite of the fact that I very rarely tell anyone my middle name."
(This is not true. Byerly's middle name is unimportant, and he only keeps the important things secret.)
"Or - did you know that Loxley's real name is Chivalry?" He laughs - "No wonder he keeps that one secret."
(This is not true. Byerly's middle name is unimportant, and he only keeps the important things secret.)
"Or - did you know that Loxley's real name is Chivalry?" He laughs - "No wonder he keeps that one secret."
“I think it’s charming,” Bastien says, passing one cup to Byerly and taking the other for himself. “He could have gone by Chiv for short.”
But they are somewhat ahead of themselves, he supposes, in the excitement to be delivering a present. So his smile shrinks to something more serious, and he gestures to the list.
“I didn’t write down the real names,” he explains. “I didn’t want to have them lying around while I collected them. Someone broke into my room again last month, you know—got into all the nooks and crannies. But we can write them down now. They’ll be safer with you.”
But they are somewhat ahead of themselves, he supposes, in the excitement to be delivering a present. So his smile shrinks to something more serious, and he gestures to the list.
“I didn’t write down the real names,” he explains. “I didn’t want to have them lying around while I collected them. Someone broke into my room again last month, you know—got into all the nooks and crannies. But we can write them down now. They’ll be safer with you.”
Sensible grown people. Yeah.
Nikos, who had not ceded ground but had instead lifted his chin defensively at Kostos' retort, now slides a glance over at Mado. A little smirk lifts the corners of his mouth.
"Riftwatch clearly spared no expense," he says. Deadpan drawl. He can't be blamed for this.
Nikos, who had not ceded ground but had instead lifted his chin defensively at Kostos' retort, now slides a glance over at Mado. A little smirk lifts the corners of his mouth.
"Riftwatch clearly spared no expense," he says. Deadpan drawl. He can't be blamed for this.
"Chivalry?" Yseult's with Byerly on that one. It may be cute but what kind of parent--.
"So this is a list of people a magic ring tells you are using false names," she says again, to confirm. But without giving them a chance to imply otherwise again and confuse the issue further. "Let me get a pen." She rises to collect one from her desk (neatly covered in half-finished work), along with a book she props on one knee as she retakes her seat. 'Chivalry' is filled in alongside Loxley's name, and then scans down the list more closely. "Stark?"
"So this is a list of people a magic ring tells you are using false names," she says again, to confirm. But without giving them a chance to imply otherwise again and confuse the issue further. "Let me get a pen." She rises to collect one from her desk (neatly covered in half-finished work), along with a book she props on one knee as she retakes her seat. 'Chivalry' is filled in alongside Loxley's name, and then scans down the list more closely. "Stark?"
“He is not lying,” Bastien says. “He is Anthony Edward Stark. But I thought it was interesting to know for sure that it really is Stark, since he lied before.”
Not to Bastien, directly, but he was ambiently aware.
“Tony Roads-Pots—do you think he picked the first two things he saw?”
Not to Bastien, directly, but he was ambiently aware.
“Tony Roads-Pots—do you think he picked the first two things he saw?”
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