you can't handle the truth

[bouchonne]

WHO: Whoever wants
WHAT: Kickoff of the truth plot!
WHEN: Right now
WHERE: The dining hall
NOTES: Feel free to use this to post open starters with prompts! Or make your own logs. Or create open posts on the network. Do whatever you'd like. No rules just right

If only the cooks had screwed up the soup. The problem is that it's a particularly nice soup today, full of fresh summer herbs, nicely seasoned, and plentiful. And so it's quite likely that you grabbed a bowl - maybe even got a second helping - and so ingested the potion that a devious hand had tipped in there earlier that day.

The effects begin to set in within twenty minutes of ingesting the soup. They may be mild - your tongue stumbling when you go to tell a little white lie...or they might be strong, and you might be overtaken by a sudden hysterical urge to tell deep truths to anyone who might listen. Or perhaps you skipped that soup, and instead, you're surrounded by babbling, confused people who want to tell you their life stories.

The potion's effects will last for up to two days. And they may at times be stronger, and at times weaker. Here's hoping you'll do minimal damage to your reputation in the meantime.

Comments

Barrow | OTA

[thereneverwas]

I. Immediately Post-Soup

Barrow isn't a small individual. In fact, it might be argued he's one of the larger among Riftwatch's ranks, which means that he puts away a not-insignificant amount of food during any given mealtime; the soup is no exception, and he's about three bowls deep when the comment bubbles up to the nearest person, emerging before he can do anything to stop it:

"Last time I had soup this good was right before I fucked Bann Loren's wife. That woman could cook."

He pauses, spoon raised, and blinks at it.

"...did I just say that aloud?"


II. After Soup, Any Ol Time

A quick "nope," and Barrow tries to abscond from anyone who looks like they might approach him to speak, his hands extended in a wordless plea for mercy. "Can't talk, I won't stop," he explains against his will, as he backs toward the door of his chamber, "and I'd rather not tell you my life's story, I doubt you'll react well to the lot of it, it's nothing personal, please go away--"

bastien | ota

[cozen]

i. ferry or docks (day one)

There are meals Bastien hangs around the dining hall to be chipper and chatty; there are others when has places to go, people to see, and he scarfs down a meal so quickly he's still eating on his way to the exit.

Today is the second kind. He doesn't even sit down. He begins spooning soup into his mouth from the moment he leaves the line for the pot, waves at a familiar friendly face with his elbow so he doesn't have to pause, and drinks the last of the broth from the bowl just in time to drop it off with other empty bowls and cups on the table nearest the door. Places to go! People to see!

An hour later, he's on the ferry coming back to the Gallows from the city—or sitting on the Gallows' docks after arriving, either way—with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. There's a long pause before he says, "Is there some bullshit going on?"

In his accent, that's bullsheet. It bursts out like he's been trying not to say it for the whole sixty preceding seconds and has finally lost.

"I told Lord Marinet I did not like his poetry. I have been telling him that I like his poetry for three years—and it is not that bad. I am sure it is good for someone. Just not for me. It's too opaque. I don't understand it." Plaintively, head still in his hands: "What the fuck."

ii. offices (day two)

Most of the last twenty-four hours, he's spent behind locked doors. But there is a war on, and Bastien can't in fact take a two-day vacation because of—whatever this is. He does some tests in the mirror first. Enough to discern he still can't lie, not even to himself, but is also more capable of holding his tongue than yesterday.

He traverses the space between his room and his office like he's on a mission. No getting caught. (Probably.) When he makes it to his office he shuts the door behind him. But it's not long before he's emerging again—cautious and cocky at the same time—to poke his head into the Scouting or Diplomacy work rooms.

"Do you still have that file on Barbeau?"

Questions seem safe.

iii. wildcard

(Or tell me if you want something custom.)

[bouchonne]

i. day one, mutual panic and discovery
When Byerly hears his neighbor at the table getting a little too honest about their most recent bowel movements, he laughs. It's funny. Or, well, it's funny until he opens his mouth and says, "I've had nothing but loose stools since I hit thirty," and then he looks absolutely stricken and gets up and absolutely hustles out of the dining hall.

But - not fast enough; he runs smack into someone and bites out, "You look like an absolute mess today."

ii. day two, a little more controlled
After a certain point, Byerly has learned to isolate himself. He creeps out only every once in a while. When he does, though, his tongue is horribly unstoppered - blunt and unadorned commentary on anything and everything around him. Approach with caution, avoid if possible.

wildcard.

[deuselfmachina]

Has it been, simply, weeks since Madame de Fonce told Florent Vascarelle about this newsletter business that he has not been invited to? Maybe so. But maybe certain people are very busy, and certain people include Florent himself, and probably Bastien as well, but the point is,

now's a good time.

"Hey!" he greets, cheerfully, swooping in on where Bastien is power-walking down the hallway. Swooping as in borderline coming out of nowhere, trailed by errant flutters of satin from whatever mostly-decent clothing he is wearing in this frankly disgusting weather. "There you are. I have a pressing matter that needs your attention."

ii.

[exequy]

"Oh, no," Kostos says.

There is still time for him to go down for soup, before anyone figures out what to warn people away from, but he hasn't had it yet. He is only a shark who's smelled blood in the water, stepping toward Barrow as he tries to back away.

"Let's hear it.

[cozen]

For several paces after that hey, Bastien looks as if he might not stop, or slow down, or acknowledge Florent at all. But manners do slow him down, and pressing matter stops him enough to permit Florent to catch up and keep pace without too much fluttering.

"Here I am," he agrees. He smiles; his caution is only evident in how few words he's given up.

ii.

[cozen]

At this particular moment, Byerly has not crept out. Bastien is creeping in. The door to By's office creaks open slowly, with no immediate visible cause, like something out of a ghost story—and then around it peeks Bastien's head, at an angle, so only his hair and eyes appear.

He'd wanted to see him yesterday. He'd also wanted not to see him. Back and forth. Moments of fear someone would say something that would hurt, moments of certainty they wouldn't. And there's nothing left to hide, really, but Bastien has always cherished having the choice to keep things to himself, and the choice to offer them up.

But this is a choice, too, to be peering around the door. Bastien raises his eyebrows in question. Behind the door he's biting both his lips.

i

[armd]

"Wow. Thanks," Abby replies gruffly, on her way in for lunch, "Is this some kind of thing we do now?" Where he tells her that she looks bad, and she feels like an idiot, "I don't like it."

There isn't even any dog-related mud on this outfit do you understand how rare that is

[thereneverwas]

"No no," Barrow insists, backing himself against his own doorway as he fumbles around behind him for the latch, brow furrowed in concentration.

"You don't know what you're asking to hear. ...and neither do I, actually." As long as we're being forthright.

ii

[altusimperius]

"I don't remember."

A frown of vexation and a sigh through the nose-- Benedict would have liked to hedge that a little more, maybe come off with a bit more confidence that they can find it, but that's just not the way things are going lately.

"...you're welcome to look for it," he adds apologetically, with a resigned little gesture toward the rest of the office.

wildcards u like a fiend

[altusimperius]

In order to properly escape the world, Byerly will first have to return to his chamber through his office. It's just his luck that on this particular night, Benedict remembered mid-soup that he'd left some t's uncrossed in some correspondence or another, and brought the bowl up with him to finish his work while most of the Gallows is down in the dining hall.

What a peaceful and quiet evening it is, with everyone out of the offices, allowing a fellow to work undisturbed.

[deuselfmachina]

Florent lays a hand on the back of Bastien's arm, giving him a wolfishly big smile in thanks for slowing.

"I had a conversation just recently," he explains (and it is worth stating that he defaults to swift Orlesian when speaking to his fellow countrymen). "A fan of mine, I believe, Madame de Foncé, but first—"

A wave of his other hand, as if to scatter this thing he just said into irrelevance. "First you have to tell me if the rumour is correct? You've been commissioned, or something, to set a pamphlet? For news items and things."

[bouchonne]

Byerly tenses up when he sees a head poking in - and then half-relaxes when he sees it's Bastien. But, because of the circumstances, the relaxation is half, and no more, and normally he'd keep that to himself but instead he finds the thought rising to his lips and he says -

"I'm afraid I'm going to say something horrible and drive you off."

And then immediately winces, because -

"I worry constantly about making you feel unwanted."

And then he drops his face into his hands and mumbles, "Fuck."

[bouchonne]

"I'm sorry," he says, and the look in his eyes is one of growing dismay. "Insults are simply comfortable. I should like to be able to say that I like you, as I do, but then I fear you'd laugh in my face and fuck, what's wrong with me - "

He claps a hand over his eyes and shakes his head.

"There's some spell - some spell that's taken hold in there, and I have no control over my mouth, and - Maker help me."

[cozen]

"I have more important things to do than look for files you don't remember that you have," Bastien says, which is true—and then, "I'm sorry," which is also true.

He looks around the room once, takes a breath, and goes to a likely assortment of papers to begin searching. He's still in full control of his body, at least, if not his mouth.

[cozen]

It's taking effort, to keep his lips pursed. But he manages. All that training. He'd meant to ask if it was alright for him to come in. And there's the answer, right? Sort of yes. Sort of no. That he takes that ambiguity as a reason to step around the door and shut it behind him, rather than offer to leave—that's growth.

There are a half-dozen honest responses that his truth-obliged mouth could choose from. When he's close enough to put his hand in By's hair, petting the exposed back of his head and neck, what comes out is, "I don't want to make you worry. I want you to feel safe."

[cozen]

The broadness of Florent's smile earns a slight narrowing of Bastien's eyes. Good humored, still, but is he doing this on purpose. It seems just as likely he doesn't know, at the moment. Who can ever tell what Florent knows about anything?

The tension is invisible, so so is the relief, when Florent asks him a simple question with a safe and simple answer.

"Yes, that's correct," he says. "The working title is The Hangman's Papers."

[exequy]

"Your life's story," Kostos proposes, advancing another few inches, because that is what Barrow's babble mentioned. He has no real idea.

Yasss

[bouchonne]

“You shouldn’t work so much,” is what Byerly says on the way in. He looks unnatural - uncomfortable to the point of nearly looking stricken.

[altusimperius]

"I'm sorry," comes spoken almost simultaneously with Bastien's, and though by this point Benedict knows what's going on (and is dealing with it himself), it's hard not to be a little stung.

"I don't want you to think I'm lazy," he says as he gets up, wincing a little as the words spill out, but at least it's not something he's ashamed of thinking. He comes over to help, looking through the scrolls on a shelf.

[altusimperius]

Benedict looks up once to acknowledge Byerly's entry, but it turns into a double-take at the sight of the ambassador, his quill lowering as he blinks in concern.

"...Byerly?"

[thereneverwas]

"I've-- well I've been alive for a while," Barrow stammers, increasingly troubled by his inability to even deflect the stupidest remark. "I'd rather not tell you, you get angry so easily."

[cozen]

"I don't think you're lazy. No one thinks you're lazy," Bastien is relieved to hear himself say, but the relief is ruined a second later by, "They think you lack sense and a spine."

A pause, before he adds, "Shit," with feeling, and lifts the collar of his own shirt into is mouth, biting down like that might help.

Barbeau, Barbeau, Barbeau. Maybe it's not here. It's hardly worth this trouble if it is. Maybe he should just leave.

[altusimperius]

Pausing in his sorting, Benedict lowers his hand and falls silent in favor of staring at the scrolls on the shelf.

"I'm trying," he says after a moment, then tentatively continues to look, if only to keep himself from dwelling on the comment. "I'm tired of having that reputation."

i.

[notathreat]

"Thanks. I've always hated your beard..." she gestures. "Situation."

Ellie, on her way into the dining room, has feathers and griffon down stuck in her windblown hair, and other than her hands, hasn't scrubbed off the blood from her last assignment.

She also hasn't had any soup yet.