WHO: Bastien (so far) + Various WHAT: Catch-all! A diplomacy mission, a Fitcherless card game, more TBD. WHEN: mumbles WHERE: Various NOTES: This might transform into an actual open post if I get my shit together fast enough.
OOC | This is mostly for Fitcher talk! Everyone in one thread, ideally.
Between his overfull slate of work and his overfull slate of social commitments ashore in the city, Bastien has never fully managed to be a fixture at the weekly evening card games in the Gallows' spare dining hall. But he's been there once a month or so, often enough to establish himself as a modest better, average player, and good sport. And he's here now, some number of weeks after Fitcher's departure, arriving before anyone else with Byerly in tow. He looks slightly rumpled. Inky-fingered. The plate of finger foods at his elbow on the table is to make up for the dinner he worked through earlier in the day.
"—so he is selling the house," he's telling Byerly while he shuffles the cards in his hands. "I tried to tell him it was only a freak occurrence, but he's convinced he lives on top of a teeming cricket nest and they will emerge again at any moment. He says he's losing sleep. He looks like it, too."
He does a flickering bit of cardistry before holding the deck over toward Byerly with a look that says impress me.
"He did deserve it, though," is a last thought about Percy and his mysterious cricket problem, for which they may or may not have been responsible, before his glance catches on Fitcher's traditional chair. These were her games. A segueless subject change: "Do you think she misses us at all?"
It's been off and on that Barrow joins the weekly game, less on than off in recent days, but something compels him to peer into the dining hall and then divert his course when he sees Bastien and Byerly setting up.
"All sort of rings different now," he remarks as he approaches, already beginning to fish a pre-rolled cigarette out of his belt pouch.
Byerly - is not quite ready for that question. Nor for discussion of Fitcher. So, instead, he simply takes the cards and shuffles. (Unsurprisingly, given his character and his long, deft fingers, he is phenomenally talented at fancy shuffling.)
And he says, as an aside to Barrow, "We let loose some crickets in a friend's house. Things have gotten...out of hand since then."
Barrow's comment gets a nod; Byerly's shuffling gets a low whistle of admiration; and Byerly's resistance to the subject gets raised eyebrows. But Bastien goes along with it easily enough, for the moment. "If he were just a little less dramatic—"
The thought is interrupted, here, by a chair legs screeching as a chair slides out from the table to invite Barrow to sit on it, as if by magic, save for how obviously it's explained by Bastien pushing it beneath the table with his foot.
The pause also gives him time to think and admit, "—I might fall in love with him." He winks at By, silly and unsubtle. It's a compliment, not a threat. "Would you come clean, Barrow, if your crickets were about to make a man give up his house?"
With a dadly grunt of acknowledgment, Barrow settles into the offered chair and leans forward to get a good look at the setup on the table, scratching idly at the stubble on his cheek as the topic of crickets is broached.
"Depends," he muses, "I suppose. On how long it stays funny."
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open | the weekly wicked grace game
Between his overfull slate of work and his overfull slate of social commitments ashore in the city, Bastien has never fully managed to be a fixture at the weekly evening card games in the Gallows' spare dining hall. But he's been there once a month or so, often enough to establish himself as a modest better, average player, and good sport. And he's here now, some number of weeks after Fitcher's departure, arriving before anyone else with Byerly in tow. He looks slightly rumpled. Inky-fingered. The plate of finger foods at his elbow on the table is to make up for the dinner he worked through earlier in the day.
"—so he is selling the house," he's telling Byerly while he shuffles the cards in his hands. "I tried to tell him it was only a freak occurrence, but he's convinced he lives on top of a teeming cricket nest and they will emerge again at any moment. He says he's losing sleep. He looks like it, too."
He does a flickering bit of cardistry before holding the deck over toward Byerly with a look that says impress me.
"He did deserve it, though," is a last thought about Percy and his mysterious cricket problem, for which they may or may not have been responsible, before his glance catches on Fitcher's traditional chair. These were her games. A segueless subject change: "Do you think she misses us at all?"
I have been Threatened
"All sort of rings different now," he remarks as he approaches, already beginning to fish a pre-rolled cigarette out of his belt pouch.
no subject
And he says, as an aside to Barrow, "We let loose some crickets in a friend's house. Things have gotten...out of hand since then."
no subject
The thought is interrupted, here, by a chair legs screeching as a chair slides out from the table to invite Barrow to sit on it, as if by magic, save for how obviously it's explained by Bastien pushing it beneath the table with his foot.
The pause also gives him time to think and admit, "—I might fall in love with him." He winks at By, silly and unsubtle. It's a compliment, not a threat. "Would you come clean, Barrow, if your crickets were about to make a man give up his house?"
no subject
"Depends," he muses, "I suppose. On how long it stays funny."