open | full circle pt 1

[exequy]

WHO: Concerned mages/rifters/others
WHAT: An emergency meeting!
WHEN: Solace 20
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Explanation in the OOC post. Please tag this like a network post. There are top-level comments to provide a little chronology/structure, but threadjack to your heart's content.

Before and during dinner on an otherwise unremarkable Wednesday, there's a chain of whispers (or notes, or perfectly audible comments from the particularly unsubtle) about an emergency meeting, at an evening hour, in a basement room, regarding a matter of concern to rifters and mages.

The basement part is probably unnecessary. It's certainly ineffective; the organization is too small, the Gallows too contained, and the halls too echoey for something arranged with this much finesse-wrecking haste to truly remain a secret. They could have done it in an empty office or the recreational dining hall, probably, and sat on chairs instead of storage crates. But Kostos picked the location, and he's dramatic. If nothing else it signals a clear intention to do this as unofficially as necessary.

Anyone who accepts the invitation (or just decides to come see what the fuss is about) will first encounter Marcus Rowntree, posted up outside the door like a bouncer, letting mages and rifters move through undisturbed but stepping in to question and likely bar the arrival of anyone else. Inside, Kostos is nothing but a dark scowl in the room's far corner, picking at a splinter of wood on a crate and not mustering a word of greeting for anyone who comes in. Derrica has parked herself within arm's reach of Kostos, a long gold-edged shawl spilling over one shoulder. Her diplomacy pin gleams from the front of her tunic. The worried pinch to her brow is the only outward sign of anxiety; otherwise, she is tightly contained, watching people enter. Julius–notably not in robes–is serious but calm as people come in, standing next to the ever-composed Madame de Cedoux.

Once as many people have arrived as seem likely to, Marcus closes the door, remaining beside it, and they explain what the problem is.

Comments

[tender]

[ It hadn't occurred to her that this might be something to practice, but lining up her thoughts before she has to stand up and share them suddenly seems—

Essential.

She's quiet for a few moments, temple pressed against Loxley's shoulder. Listening to the conversation flow around them. ]

That would be nice, [ she says, piecing the words together slowly. ] I'm worried it's a lot to ask of you.

[ Hearing the details of Dairsmuid pieced together over and over in different configurations. ]

[charmoffensive]

[ As she settles, Loxley brings his arm up to bracket in around her shoulders, a squeeze of his hand on her arm. ]

It isn't. Or—

[ Maybe it is, actually. Big diplomatic speeches, high stakes. He amends. ]

I don't mind. It'd be an honour, actually.

[tender]

[ An honor. Derrica's fingers tighten at his hip again, turning her face in briefly against his bicep. ]

Thank you.

[ Softly.

What else can she say? He must have an idea of it, what kinds of things she's going to have to arrange in this speech. It's a kindness, listening to her unspool them and rearrange them to find a palatable way to describe a bloody history. ]

ties off bow

[charmoffensive]

[ Part of his reluctance to attend this little get together had been his usefulness in the discussion. He knows what he wants for himself, which is to be left alone, and what he wants for those he cares about, which is for them to be left alone, but what good is that in the chorus of voices and their grander plans?

But he feels her press her face into his arm and he dips to nudge a kiss into her hair, and doesn't worry about that for a moment. ]