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. ]

[delphian]

( without missing a beat, )

There was a young blood mage named Mabel whose monthlies were always quite stable. At every full moon, she took out a spoon, and drank herself under the table.

( pipe in her teeth, she offers her glass to clink. )

[bouchonne]

Not bad at all.

[ He clinks his glass with hers, frowning appreciatively. Then he lifts the glass to his mouth to wet his lips - but does no more than that.

Then - ]

There's something I've always wondered. Slap me if you want to for asking it. But could a lady blood mage...? [ He gestures vaguely downward to capture the uterine/menstrual nature of his question. ]

[delphian]

( tsenka laughs, abruptly— not offended, certainly entertained by the boldness of the question. certainly one she'd ordinarily assume anyone who'd ask would reserve for someone they'd probably not have to see again with any frequency.

she breathes out a wreath of smoke, considerately not in his direction. )

I'm by no means the expert to ask, though I can see where you might think.

( the scars around her wrists are old enough to look more like bruises or discoloration; tevinter sure was a time. )

To what I've heard, doubt it.

[bouchonne]

I'm not sure whether to think that's a pity.

[ He tips his head from one side to the other. ]

On the one hand, one would want a blood mage to use a harmless source of power. On the other hand, one would want there to be no blood magic at all. So.

[delphian]

No such thing as a harmless source of power for blood magic, ( is matter of fact. she tilts her hand— )

It's not the blood that makes it powerful. D'you ever see the statues, before your lot all cleared them out?

( a tip of her head, toward the gallows. she's wearing a scouting pin, but they're not at we or our yet. )

What makes blood magic strong is the pain and the fear. That's what's wrong with it. You can't make that good. Blood magic does harm by its nature; it derives its power from harm. Not as popular up north as you'd think— but where would that end, if it was?

( a tevinter that endorsed blood magic would be a tevinter that tore itself apart, that ripped its own throat out. corypheus's tevinter.

reflectively, )

Mind you, I've had some bad months.

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.

[cozen]

Oh. That's what he takes me for.

[ A joke. Also a joke: ]

He's a married man, you know.

[ Scandalous. ]

[bouchonne]

[ Not precisely dropping the act, but lowering it for a second: ]

Has he made a pass at you?

[cozen]

[ Bastien likewise slips out of his feigned offense to smile fondly while he shakes his head. But for honesty’s sake, he hedges: ]

I don’t think so. It was very hard to make him go to bed last time. He wouldn’t let go. But it was more like a child wanting to bring a doll to sleep, you know? He was drunk and cold—and Antivan.

[bouchonne]

The more fool him, then.

[ Byerly winks at Bastien. (He's a little relieved.) ]

He should take full advantage of you.

[cozen]

He should, shouldn't he? I'm delightful.

[ Grinning, somehow making the way he's sitting in the chair look cocky and preening while barely moving at all. But it fades into a smile that's more serious and focused. ]

If someone ever does—if I need to, you know, for the work—do you want to know about it?