open, catch-all

[bouchonne]

WHO: Byerly Rutyer and Linden Doesntgetalastname
WHAT: Just a general catch-all
WHEN: This month, last month, next month, as you wish
WHERE: The Gallows and Lowtown
NOTES: Everything open! Reach out to me if you want something special and closed!

Starters in comments!

Comments

Byerly

[bouchonne]

i. Ambassadorial duties

[ The Ambassador is, perhaps a bit surprisingly, a gracious host. His office is well-appointed, and guarded by a soft-eyed, soft-eared hound whose presence makes the atmosphere quite cozy and delightful. When someone comes into his office, he offers them a seat at once, and offers them a beverage of their choice. And he has fine beverages aplenty - good brandies, good wines, good coffees, even decent water if you’re the sort of perverse monster who drinks water. This is true both for those who come into his office on pleasant business and for those who come because they’re in trouble.

And, regardless of which category his visitor falls into, he offers them a smile. ]

I presume you know why you’re here.

[ ooc: please, when you tag, specify why your character has been called in to speak with the ambassador. Are they in trouble? Are they getting a medal? YOU DECIDE. ]






ii. Lowtown
[ Byerly is not an infrequent sight in Lowtown. So it’s not a surprise to see him out tonight, in a rather run-down pub, playing fiddle for the house band; he’s often taking the opportunity to play to a crowd.

What is a bit more surprising is that, this evening, he turns away his usual payment (a bottle of whiskey) with a shake of his head. Instead, when it’s brought over to him, he scans the crowd - and then, upon recognizing a member of Riftwatch, points to them.

And that is how you end up with a bottle of complete rotgut on your table. ]

lowtown.

[delphian]

( not anticipating the arrival of the bottle — the ale in front of her is only halfway through — tsenka is in the midst of lighting her pipe when it lands on the table, eyebrows going up. it's far enough across the room that the conversation isn't immediately audible, but upon consideration and following the server's pointing finger back over to what she's about seventy percent sure is one of the division heads,

tsenka signals two glasses, relaxing back into her seat and pushing out a second with her boot. probably if byerly doesn't join her, someone else will, and she's willing to play the odds that either way it'll be an interesting evening. )

[bouchonne]

[ He does, of course. Not that he wouldn't just donate a bottle of liquor to someone and then flutter off into the night, but - generally, it'd be someone he could be sure would get the joke. And he doesn't know Tsenka well enough yet to be sure that she will.

So he comes over, and without waiting for an invitation, drops into that second chair. ]

First -

[ Not even so much as a how-do-you-do. ]

I will only hear praise of my playing. I was exceptional tonight.

[delphian]

I'll take your word for it, ( amiably, ) I wouldn't say I've an educated ear.

( not many musicians in the circle, or anywhere she ended up afterwards— there's humour to that, though, not some bleak and maudlin plucking of the world's tiniest violin. tsenka thinks she's funny, and has never much bothered with whether or not anyone else agrees.

when the glasses land, she pours, and slides the second to byerly. )

I only know dirty rhymes and the Chant.

[bouchonne]

Tell me a dirty rhyme.

[ He grins, and lays a hand upon the glass without drinking from it yet. ]

i

[untiltheyarent]

To switch out your decanters, of course.

[True to her word, Fifi has come in wheeling a little tray of clean dishes, which she puts to work right away after giving Byerly a cheerful little curtsy.]

Busy afternoon, Ambassador?

[bouchonne]

I'd give the first knuckle of my little finger for a calm one.

[ He holds out his left hand, and uses his right to point out the very end of his pinky finger. ]

Right here. Maybe if I cut it off, I'll get a break.

[untiltheyarent]

Self-mutilation is hardly a solution, messere. [She clicks her tongue.] I imagine you'd still be swarmed, but now with a bandaged partial-finger to bother you.

lowtown

[muckspout]

[Edgard frequents here and is surprised at the bottle at his table and half smiles when he realizes it's from Byerly.]

Didn't recognize you. [It's true, Edgard was paying more attention to the bottom of his glass. He nods to the bottle.]

What'd I do to deserve this?

[bouchonne]

You existed and were lovely to look upon.

[ By settles into a chair opposite Edgard with a broad grin. ]

Isn't that enough?

[muckspout]

Not usually. [Never.] But won't complain.

[Edgard grins back and grabs the bottle opening it. He nods to Byerly.]

We sharing or do you have another one there somewhere? Maybe inside the--whatever it was you were playing?

ambassadorial duties.

[cozen]

[ A medal would be nice. But Bastien is here because Meo Fiesi, an Antivan merchant to whom they owe some portion of their pocket money, is conspicuously back in Kirkwall, two years after Bastien took him sightseeing among the common folk. It was like walking an excitable terrier with no sense of self-preservation, if the terrier also had more money than it knew what to do with and no idea that other people might find that aggravating and/or enticing. Bastien ended the night sitting on the edge of one of Kirkwall's filthy canals while Meo did some drunk, cold skinny dipping, unsure how exactly to fish him back out.

But Meo loved him. Of course. His new favorite Orlesian.

It's not a big deal, if he wants a reprise. Even if it were a big deal, it's the job. But for show, Bastien drops his head into his hands. ]

Noooo.

[bouchonne]

Ye-e-e-e-e-es.

[ Byerly tries to look imposing, haughty, Ambassadorial. (For no one's benefit but Bastien's, of course. It's funny.) He lifts his head and steeples his fingers. ]

Meo Fiesi demands - [ A finger rests upon the letter before him. ] A night at the opera.

[ That actually doesn't sound too bad. ]

[cozen]

A night at the opera?

[ His oppressed offense at the idea is just as fake as By's haughty professionalism, which, he's correct, is hilarious. Bastien needs a moment to be sure he's not going to crack a smile before he's willing to lift his head out of his hands. ]

What does he take me for? A—

[ What he might be taken for depends. ]

The Liberation of Nicolosia, [ lavish in Hightown, ] or The Secret Wedding, [ endearingly janky in Lowtown, ] does he say?

[bouchonne]

He does not.

[ By balances a pen on his fingertips as he narrows his eyes thoughtfully. ]

The opera might be a metaphor.

Linden

[niminypiminy]

i. Training yards
[ In the Gallows’ training yards is a small, slight elf of some years. His shoulders are slightly hunched, his back slightly stooped; his face wears an expression of constant stress. His clothes aren’t fine, and his hands are careworn, and he generally just looks like someone who’s never slept a full night in his life.

When he raises a hand, electricity crackles around it. He lets loose a bolt of lightning at a training dummy - or perhaps bolt is overstating things a bit. A zap of lightning is perhaps more apt. It does not blow the dummy to bits, the way that other mages sometimes do; instead, he just leaves a blackened, smoldering mark on it.

He lets out a heavy sigh, but doesn’t seem particularly frustrated or disappointed. This is, apparently, what he’s able to do. ]





ii. Dining hall
[ Linden lingers over his meals. It’s not that he eats slowly or elegantly - on the contrary, he inhales his food like he thinks it’s going to be taken away from him - but more that once he’s eaten, he sits for a long time with a book and a cup of coffee, occupying the space silently even as his stablemates come and go.

This book, evidently, is of particular interest, or at least particular curiosity. He frowns at it as he reads. ]

dining

[armd]

(Usually Abby would never interrupt somebody mid-read, because she hates it when people do that to her, but the frown on his face is too curious to resist asking–)

S'any good? (Gesturing at the cover with her chin. Mouth is currently full, apologies.)

[niminypiminy]

[ He doesn't seem put out by her interruption. Instead, he looks up, and answers bluntly: ]

No.

[ But - ]

It's interesting.

[ He flips the book to make visible the cover: Hard in Hightown. ]

[armd]

(Ah, a classic. She rolls her eyes in sympathy, tearing off a piece of her bread roll. They're in agreement over this much:)

It's not good. (But sometimes you don't want that anyway, so.) Pretty fun though.

training yards

[inkindled]

S'not bad.

[Matthias' staff is laying on the ground behind him. He's been practicing with a sword for today, repetitive drills meant to fix the motions in his mind so it isn't just magic that he reaches for each time. Magic will always be better, yeah, but it doesn't hurt to have a second option in case you get Silenced. Or so you have it as a surprise, even.

Taking a break to catch his breath has given him a moment to observe the other mage. He gives him a little grin.]

If you want to brand your enemies, like. Is that what you're after?

[He's teasing a little--but good-naturedly, nothing meant by it.]

[niminypiminy]

[ Linden turns, looks at the human boy with the sword in his hand, starts to frown - and then sees that there's a staff behind him. Instead of answering the teasing, he looks at the child, and then flicks his eyes down to the staff. ]

Is that yours?

[ He still isn't smiling. But his manner isn't defensive or hostile, either. ]

[inkindled]

Yeah.

[Matthias chips the sword into the soil of the yard and leans his weight on it. There's a little pride in his smile.]

I've been trying to get better at lightning myself but I dunno if I have it in me. I'd like to. I think it's proper brilliant.

Training yard

[thereneverwas]

[Unless someone asks him for help or is actively damaging the equipment, Barrow generally minds his own business in the training yard. He's been taking special care to do so since he spotted Linden's arrival, but it's nearing the end of the day and he's sweeping nearby when he hears that sigh.]

Not all that bad, is it?

[He regrets speaking as soon as he's done it-- truly, Obeisance, what would it cost to keep your mouth shut once in a while-- but there it is. At least he didn't insult him.
He's pretty sure.]

[niminypiminy]

[ Linden's head swivels around. His gaze fixes on Barrow. What he's thinking is - utterly impossible to tell from the cool, impartial look on his face. ]

I beg your pardon?

[thereneverwas]

You...

[With the sort of reckless smile that comes from knowing one has stepped in it again and figuring it can only go downhill from here, Barrow rolls his eyes gently and gestures toward the dummy.]

You sighed. Seemed to be having a rough go of it.