MOD PLOT ↠ HOME FOR RIFTMAS

[faderifting]

WHO: Everyone (more or less)
WHAT: Rifter Show & Tell & Steal.
WHEN: Early Wintermarch 9:49 (forward-dated!)
WHERE: The Crossroads and BEYOND.
NOTES: OOC post. Please use appropriate content warnings in your subject lines.

Since Corypheus began opening the Gates, Riftwatch has been noticing pockets of instability in the Crossroads—crumbling platforms, paths newly blocked by rubble or broken bridges, sections where gravity has been shifted and altered in ways unusual even for the Crossroads, with new intrusions of green-tinged rock outcroppings or corners of temple walls. The barriers between the Crossroads, the Fade, and the world are thinning. It's a problem.

But more recently, Riftwatch has been made aware of an ancient artifact known (now; one hopes this isn't its original title) as the Sealing Stone, now in pieces scattered throughout the Crossroads, and the approximate locations of those pieces. If brought together and activated, the Stone may stabilize the barrier between the Crossroads and the other realms and may provide a model Riftwatch could use to reinforce the Veil elsewhere.

So Riftwatch ventures into the Crossroads to retrieve the pieces of the Stone. It's an intensive effort undertaken by large teams, due to the many now-familiar hazards of the Crossroads, the potential for encountering the Venatori that also use the eluvian network, and the need to cover ground as quickly as possible in hopes of finding the artifacts before the Venatori notice the increased Crossroads activity and come join the hunt.

It's not as simple as merely locating the pieces, however. Whenever a group of Riftwatchers get near enough to one of the artifacts, they're alerted first by the triggering of a sort of protection mechanism. In some cases—specifically, on teams without any rifters—spirits suddenly swarm from the metaphorical woodwork in numbers so great and with such hostility that retreat is the only viable option. The spirits chase the teams only as far as necessary to push them away from the artifact's location, then mass into a circling shoal, guarding the spot until they're left alone long enough to decide the risk has passed.

But for groups containing at least one rifter, something with the mechanism goes wrong. Or right, arguably. Rather than being overwhelmed by spirits, they instead find themselves abruptly engulfed by what appears to be a rift, opening suddenly and rapidly large enough to swallow entire masses of people before contracting again to lie in wait like a carnivorous plant for anyone else who comes too close. Those caught in its radius tumble out into what appears to be a new and unfamiliar world–for most. For one or more of the rifters in each group, it will be perfectly familiar.

The first group to encounter this effect will be one including Tony Stark and Stephen Strange, and will drop them and their compatriots straight into midtown traffic. Any groups attempting to travel to the same spot in the Crossroads to investigate the apparent vanishing—whether they have rifters with them or not—will find themselves drawn through the same "rift" almost as soon as they get within sight of the place, before anything can be discerned about their lost fellows. They will likewise emerge into Stark & Strange's United States.

Subsequent groups including other rifters will be seemingly drawn into their companions' worlds by the same effect. In each, Riftwatch will have to navigate local hazards and retrieve a distinctive lyrium-etched artifact, at which point the world will dissolve around them like a dream and they will find themselves back in the Crossroads where they began, in possession of a carved chunk of stone glowing with lyrium runes.

1 ↠ MCU Earth-199999

Alternate-universe Earth, New York and Los Angeles, 2012-2025, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange.

Earth-199999 is very much like contemporary Earth as we know it, featuring the same historic events, same nations, same conventions. For the average person, there is no difference, except that they know magic and aliens and gods and superpowers are all real and have been causing problems for a while now, with NYC as the hub for most of the shenanigans. MCU Earth has also made leaps and bounds in all science fields as compared to real Earth, although these leaps and bounds are not widely accessible, primarily exclusive to private organisations like Stark Industries, mad scientists, and the likes of SHIELD, but can range from interactive three-dimensional holograms through to biotechnology that turns people into supersoldiers.

It's commonplace to see or hear about criminals causing havoc in the streets with superpowers or gadgets, and crime-fighting vigilantes trying to stop them. The Avengers, as the world's first superheroes, became widely-known commercialised celebrities in-universe with merchandise, documentaries, book deals, and memorial murals to the deceased Iron Man.

Special Abilities: Everyone is nerfed to regular human, unless you want a sudden onset of mutant powers. 1 individual themed ability per character; like pyrokinesis, superspeed, superstrength, etc.

Arrival: One main rift opens in the middle of New York City, ejecting our rifters into midtown traffic… except thanks to Strange’s own multiversal mishaps, people in this world will seem astonishingly accustomed to this sight! Bystanders will be startled, but then the rifters will likely be dogged by strangers snapping photos and videos and tweeting about their arrival.

The Fade-constructed timeline will be a little off: the old Avengers tower and its penthouse is still standing and still accessible to Tony, and Strange will also offer up the Sanctum as a sanctuary, and these will be the main mission hubs while the team gets their bearings and tries to locate the artifact. In the meantime: relax, take in the sights, maybe check out a Broadway show, wrangle your new superpowers.

A secondary rift also opens up on Hollywood Boulevard, in case people want to do some helplessly stranded on Earth RP. Tony can very easily find out this has happened and go collect them, with various degrees of efficiency according to what people want out of that OOCly. As this universe will be available to explore for a few IC weeks, people can assume some degree of Stark-provided financial freedom for basics (i.e. clothes and food, burner phones, etc), and they can stay in the Avengers tower and/or the Sanctum.

2 ↠ Shifterverse

Original alternate-universe Earth, Midwest US, 2022, Jude Adjei.

Real-world 2022, but what if Shifters?

Special Abilities: All superpowers are unfortunately nerfed. However, everyone's a Shifter now. Your choice of animal. Enjoy.

Arrival: Everyone will arrive in Yellowstone National Park, which is wholly staffed and operated by Jude's pack, but... not in an area where tourists are routinely and happily welcomed. Welcome to the deep woods and canyons and plains, where Jude's pack has built their den for some several hundred people. Characters will immediately be found by scouts in fur and feathers, who will be guarded and curious, but not hostile. The wolves and ravens will greet the interlopers as equals, and if they aren't offered any violence, they'll be treated as guests. Hundreds of pack members live in a mixture of hand-built cabin homes and meeting places, portable tiny houses and various shared spaces. There is wifi, a greenhouse, lots of tasty food and warm clothing to wear. If they stay several days and prove themselves trustworthy, they might even start to see children out and about, and there's nothing cuter than a toddler who can become a wolf pup at will. (Mind the raven toddlers and the bear cubs. They're less cute.)

3 ↠ Tassia

D&D Original World, Loxley & Richard Dickerson

Tassia is an original Dungeons&Dragons inspired world, a single continent divided into four nations that is otherwise completely isolated from any other possible world beyond it. These nations are Lloryndell, Sylvica, Ifrin, and Promias, and at its centre lies the Cruxal, a university-city of diverse cultural influence.

While Tassia resembles Thedas in its day-to-day technology levels, including its anachronisms, it is more heavily laden with fantastical elements. Along with humans, elves, and dwarves, there are goblins, dragonborn, tritons, tieflings, sentient robots, bird people, centaurs, and more (https://www.dndbeyond.com/races) (but no qunari). There are many different kinds of magic users who wield their powers openly. There are shops full of magic items, potions, and spell scrolls. There are monsters of countless kinds that lurk just about everywhere. Most cultures in the material plane are polytheistic and worship themed gods from the default D&D (Faerun) Pantheon. Some smaller cults and individuals worship ancient fey, fiendish, and eldritch beings who dwell on the outskirts of their respective planes and may provide power to the exceptionally loyal -- for a price.

Special Abilities: You can choose to be a normal depowered person, but you are equally encouraged to take on magical abilities, whether you're a mage or not. In brief, you can be a wizard, whose magic comes from spellbooks and knowledge, a sorcerer, who have innate magical abilities, a bard, who draws their magic from music, words, and performance, a warlock, who has made a pact with a powerful entity in exchange of magical ability, a druid, who draws their magic from nature, and a cleric, whose divine abilities are gifted to them by a deity. (Other classes have magic too, but it might be easier to pick one of these major ones if you are unfamiliar!)

Rather than overthinking it, we recommend you pick whatever sounds fun to flavour your magic with, and then browse magical spells using classes as a filter. (Eighth and ninth level are off limits, and it may be easier to limit yourself further due to how many spells there are.) Given the temporariness of these powers, don't worry too much about how many spells you get or how frequently you can do them, but know that higher level spells (anything above fifth) can only be cast one or twice a day.

Your character may be Tassia-ised, in terms of their race, but in a limited capacity. All humans will stay human, but elves may adopt D&D traits like seeing in the dark.

Arrival: Rifts will open in the streets of the Cruxal. People will be startled by the sudden appearance of rifters and stand offish, but otherwise: they've seen it all before! No one will be calling the guard on you, unless you decide to start something, so please don't. Or enjoy jail.

The Cruxal is a labyrinthian melting pot built up in concentric rings around a massive central university and library. Goblins scarper among humans, elves, and dwarves in the street. There are tusked half orcs and horned, scale-clad dragonborn mixed in among more familiar silhouettes. This is a university town, but while a large portion of the population are students, academics, and staff, it is also self-sustaining, with taverns, shops, temples, brothels, residences, and marketways.

The university itself is guarded and degrees of entry closely regulated due to the school’s extensive collection of dangerous artifacts -- one of which just so happens to have gone missing last night. News of the theft has been suppressed, but every temple, tavern, and brothel on the outskirts of town is abuzz with the rumor. The entire corridor, they say, was scorched black.

Loxley and Richard won't be too concerned about herding everyone but can provide some coin as needed for inn rooms and food. They appear to have a near bottomless stash, at least as far as living costs go.

4 ↠ Sulleciel

Original fantasy world, Petrana de Cedoux.

What if magic was real and holy emperors still kissed the ring in Rome, until someone beheaded the fucking pope? Welcome to Sulleciel, and specifically to Lamor City, capitol of Lamorre and the seat of the Lamorran empire, ruled over by Empereur Marius IX and his consort, Empress Petrana Solene. A nation and empire in the throes, still, of great upheaval — think Versailles or Orlais, but lurching ungainly out of its dark ages into a theoretically more enlightened time, control of which is being actively fought in the halls of power and at grassroots levels of social influence. Power vacuums abound, thanks to the fall of the church and the rise of a conqueror who is less interested in ruling than he was conquering; women are still the often-illiterate property of their fathers and husbands, but now there are more alternatives to family and marital homes, and dedicated studies of witchcraft are being encouraged, with pilot programs across the empire primarily in those early sanctuary cities, figuring out how this is all going to work. Known for her efforts to lean on the scales in the people's favour Petrana herself is, in this era, rumored to be imprisoned; graffiti of her crowned likeness can be found in some places in the city, with the epithet ""la reine du malheur"".

Special Abilities: In Sulleciel, magic is a skill that may be pursued like any other — and there are those of more or less talent, as if someone were to attempt the violin, or swordplay. It is practised primarily through incantations and foci, with more elaborate spellwork for more ambitious results sometimes requiring particular items or a full coven to achieve. As magic is limited in Sulleciel only by the will, imagination and stamina of those practising it, no one coming here will be subject to any nerfs; all mages and otherwise magical or powered individuals will be able to use their powers as they're used to using them. In addition to this, anyone who is as magical as a chair-leg ordinarily can feel free to have a go at Sulleciel's magic — it's up to you if they have a knack for it or not. Simple spells like casting a light or telekinesis of small objects can be mastered by toddlers; a powerful enough witch or coven might be able to summon a thunderstorm and alter weather patterns, but ""can"" and ""should"" are different and it's generally advised that you try not to do a climate change.
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Arrival: The rift will open into a spacious, luxuriously-appointed tower on the grounds of the imperial palace but not visibly connected to it above-ground. It was at one point the sole domain of the previous arciduc's personal astronomers, but is now the primary residence and working space of the Queen's Coven. The Queen's Coven is a particular group of women, so named for having been among the first witches to come beneath the new regime's protection in the first city-state to bend the knee where Petrana was first installed as Queen Regent; they are private, secretive, and increasingly cut off from the power-struggles of the imperial court, having been actively distanced from the Empress herself by a variety of other players in the game. Both relatively prepared for sudden magical happenings and inclined to keep shit in the tower on lock, they will be prepared to pass you all off as "foreign witches, seeking our enlightenment" and see both you and the sudden access to Petrana as potentially useful in their maneuverings. Which will make moving around easier, but will probably be an active hindrance to getting where and what you need. An underground tunnel connects the tower directly to the palace, though there are also pleasant, covered pathways to walk across the palace grounds; guards at the main, above-ground entrance to the tower will inquire about movements to and from, and will be skeptical but limit their interference initially ... as long as they don't see Petrana.

5 ↠ Kalvad

Original fantasy world, Wysteria Poppell.

Kalvad—specifically the city of Somerset, the magic capitol of the civilized world—is a mashup of Regency Era and Industrial-Revolution-But-Magic! Nebulously England (with the serial numbers aggressively filed off). When in doubt, default to Jane Austen vibes. But if it seems fun to do some weird magic-powered technological advancements, then go nuts.

Kalvad is an imperial island nation ostensibly ruled by three kings, though they're largely figureheads overseeing an upper and lower parliament. The country has made itself rich and powerful by doing a whole lot of war and colonization. As historically one of the most magically powerful regions in the world, magicians have long been a vital tool in the empire's efforts to do both those things.

Unfortunately for Kalvad, the strength of magic in the world has waned considerably in the last 40 years. Where once Talent was rare but reasonably powerful, magic users are both becoming more commonplace and considerably weaker. Even older magicians and hedge-witches who once might have manufactured considerable arcane feats have seen some diminishing of their powers. A popular, but unproven, theory in academic circles is that those with Talent all draw from the same "well" of magic. As more people are born with the ability to tap into that resource, the less there is to go around. Resentment for those with weaker Talents among older generations of magic users is A Thing.

That said, increased availability of minor magics has kick-started a 'minor magic' powered industrial revolution. Parlor witches who perform small arcane conveniences are growing in number; minor charms and enchantments have become more readily available to lower classes. Meanwhile, the non-magical population is slowly being shunted out of their respective cottage industry jobs and into factories powered by great enchanted machines. The empire as the world knows it is clearly teetering on the brink of major social and political upheaval, both at home and abroad. The consequences of all this change just haven't quite played themselves out yet, though you can bet there are people rushing around in an attempt to cover their asses before they do.

Special Abilities Characters will be nerfed of any abilities they had in Thedas, but can be Talented in Kalvad terms or not. Any Talented character under 40 is likely to be able to produce only minor magics (think lighting fires in fireplaces, being able to heal minor injuries, and temporarily being able to enchant objects to do one specific thing). Anyone over forty can be a little flashier (think appearance altering glamors, temporary invisibility, transfiguration and significant healing). General magic flavor is: Brothers Grimm fairy tales and Arthurian legends, except that someone somewhere made all that weirdly pliable magic adhere to a strict ruleset. Easy, thoughtless channeling of magic is a secret lost long before the arcane powers in the world began to diminish. Now, all magic must be carefully and deliberately designed and constructed. The magicians most accomplished by Kalvadan standards are methodical and patient. Think clockmakers and mathematicians, not wizards on the side of a van.

Arrival: Members of Riftwatch will arrive through a rift and find themselves on the wooded outskirts of a sprawling city. Luckily, no one will witness their initial arrival. Even more convenient: once they've gotten their bearings and made their way into the city, they'll discover they aren't the only weird strangers in town (although they may want to strongly consider indulging in petty theft to make themselves stick out less—particularly as it comes time to infiltrate places). It seems that a sprawling months-long academic conference turned party turned cover for political intrigue and cold warfare has descended upon Somerset.

In the aftermath of what everyone is claiming to be a major military victory somewhere, delegations from a number of implicated countries have converged on the city at the invitation of the Kalvadan Crowns in order to share and demonstrate their various technical and arcane achievements. The World's Fair-like atmosphere has drawn a number of non-Talented tourists, scheming politicians, and cutthroat spies along with the legitimately academically and/or magically inclined.

While Somerset is something of a city of wonders by the world's estimation, it's still first and foremost a dirty and crowded industrial hub in a world that has yet to bother with paving all its major roads. The conference has quadrupled that effect, transforming it into a riot of sights, sound, and (often to its detriment) smells. At this point, finding a room and board in the city has become less a question of where you want to stay and more one of how many other people you're willing to timeshare a bed with.

Luckily, it doesn't seem like Riftwatch will be sticking around long. Some snooping around the of pamphleting/gossip will reveal that the artifact they're after is likely to be found in the grand exhibition hall, and that there will be an opportunity to get their hands on it that evening.

6 ↠ Abeir-Toril

D&D Forgotten Realms, Astarion

The D&D continent of Faerûn is loosely based on Eurasia—if it ran entirely on magic, was roughly stuck somewhere in the 14th century forever, and was filled to the brim with elves, dragons, gnolls, faeries, gods, demi-gods, and just about any myth (or mythological creature) you’ve ever encountered in your life. For the purpose of simplicity, everyone from Riftwatch is going to get plunked down in the titular Baldur’s Gate: the city is massive, it’s known as the jewel of Faerûn, and its cultures, districts, trades and pastimes reflect that remarkable splendor. Still, think of it like Kirkwall in that there are some pretty damn rigid socioeconomic divides separating the city via districts. QUICK GUIDE.

The Upper City is the fancy part of town where nobles (known as Patriar) and their servants live, and it also houses the city’s government and key recreational buildings. There are no bars, pubs, taverns or drinking halls. Anything rowdy happens behind closed doors, and if you don't have an invitation, you'd better look for fun somewhere else. Magical enchantments and lanterns make it beyond stunning at night to stroll through. Lower City is more varied: you’ll find taverns, shops, tons of entertainment and ample trade, as well as pirates by the docks (and their ships), and the harbor waters are absolutely gorgeous for sailing on calm days. Doors are shut and locked during nighttime hours aside from taverns, inns or gambling parlors. Visibility is also lower at night when harbor fog rolls in, particularly where poorer residents can't afford oil, tallow or magic every night. The Undercity stretches deep (and hidden) beneath both the Upper and Lower Cities: it begins at its most shallow within the city as sewers and along seawall cliffs as open-mouthed caves. The deeper you go, the worse it gets: undead catacombs, cultists, temples, blood sport and bloody magic prevail alongside monsters too dangerous to clear out. Outer City sucks. There's almost next to no law or order, and is inherently dangerous to explore. Treat it like Lowtown for the most part, and you'll be pretty smack on (slavers and actual kind impoverished poor included).

CULTURE: Baldur’s Gate is primarily run by humans, and to a lesser extent, elves. Other races aren’t really considered a foothold here, but they’re more than welcome in the city and treated exceptionally well with a few exceptions here and there (ogres, trolls, more ferally inclined goblins, etc). This is not at all like Thedas: someone more familiar with discrimination against non-humans, certain pairings and particularly mages wouldn't find it here. Most of the time if you dress nicely and carry yourself well, you’ll be well respected. Or robbed. Or both!

Special Abilities: Characters will be adjusted to fit D&D, and powers are optional for all. For D&D’s magic/power/race everything, please take a look at some basic classes.

Arrival: Characters will arrive via rifts torn into the Outer City, just along its riverfront sprawl. They won’t be too far from the city gates, but witnesses to the scene will be inclined to gossip and gawk, assuming everything from a freak magical incident to believing the new arrivals are wealthy travelers from somewhere far and exotic, who simply missed their mark in teleporting to the Upper City for sightseeing. Anyone wearing Thedosian clothes will be fine to go without changing— wearing something more modern or say, nothing at all for some reason, will definitely require staging some kind of Terminator II style clothing (theft) acquisition in order to fit in.

Ideally, the team will at least want to make their way into Lowtown in order to begin snooping around, but it’s a big damn city to say the least, and information is expensive. Astarion will help within reason, but being a vampire means that he can only afford to fund so much on his own.

Might be a good idea to do some fetch quests or live your best Adventuring Party life, because you’re all going to likely be here for a (time distorted) relative while.

7 ↠ Orphan Black

Alternate-Universe Earth, 2014; Toronto, Canada; Cosima Neihaus.

Real-world mid-2010s, but secret unethical biology/biotech experiments including viable human cloning in the mid 1980s. Carrying out such technologically advanced work is a combination of international organizations including a private research company, at least one paramilitary organization and a shadowy organization that oversees both. (Orphan Black also features minor differences from our world typical of its genre, such as plot-convenient hacking and variably competent law enforcement, but the cloning project and related scientific offshoots are the most salient differences.) Relevant to this plot in particular, the Dyad Institute is a private organization, considered ""fringe"" by the mainstream scientific community, devoted to research related to human evolution and biotechnology. Some of its many employees had connections to the ""neolutionism"" community, the members of which believed human evolution should be actively shaped by scientific and technological intervention. The organization was responsible for the project that created Cosima and her sisters roughly 30 years before in-world present day. Also at the moment they're jumping to, Cosima works there, it's complicated. (If anyone is familiar with the canon, we're jumping in circa season two.)
A tiny pinboard.

Special Abilities: None, you're all just unpowered humans. Sorry/you're welcome.

Arrival: The group arrives at what turns out to be a nondenominational winter party for a local school; there are some mild shenanigans as Cosima clocks that it's a school attended by children she knows, and more pressingly, partially overseen by their mother, who has Cosima's face. Cosima press gangs one or more other people into helping her hide her own face while negotiating with Alison to borrow her minivan. She shuttles the group to Alison's large suburban Toronto home, which becomes the FR group's base of operation. (It is perhaps telling that while Alison finds this frustrating, she and her husband Donnie do sort of roll with it also.) If desired/depending on how big the group is, Cosima could also stow some Riftwatchers with Felix, the foster brother of one of her other clones, who has a big artsy loft downtown. She is not against taking anyone to her place, but she's a grad student; it's not huge. Everyone who knows how to use a phone or can be trusted to figure it out with a tutorial gets a burner phone for convenience. (Perhaps additionally telling how quickly Alison gets everyone a burner phone. She also decorates the protective cases for them. No, it's not optional.)

8 ↠ The Last of Us

Post-Apocalyptic Earth, Spring 2038, Seattle, Abby Lasterson & Ellie Williams.

This world was ours until 2013, when a worldwide pandemic broke out overnight. A fungus (cordyceps) that had originally infected mainly insects adapted to infect human beings. Anyone bitten by an infected person or who has breathed in a significant or concentrated amount of fungal spores becomes infected themselves. Over a maximum of two days, they utterly lose their humanity and deteriorate into violent monsters, eventually sprouting spores and fungal plates. There is no known cure, and the only human being ever known to be immune is Ellie Williams. 25 or so years later, humanity has crumbled into various factions in a struggle to survive. First came the Federal (FEDRA) response, resulting in Quarantine Zones and martial law. Life in the zones is highly regulated, with work assignments and rations that often aren't enough to go around. Many citizens are forced to turn to crime just to make ends meet. Orphaned children become wards of the state and are trained to become FEDRA soldiers by the time they're sixteen.

Various civilian groups rose up to rebel against FEDRA, forming factions such as the Fireflies (rebels who recruited scientists in an effort to find a cure), and the Washington Liberation Front (a militia-minded organization who overthrew FEDRA in Seattle). There are other smaller groups such as the religious zealots called the Seraphites, or the violent slavers known as the Rattlers.

Few and far between are independent human settlements like Jackson of Wyoming, where small communities have managed to gain self-sufficiency and safety with tireless group effort and highly vigilant defenders. They bolster their numbers by welcoming peaceful outsiders and engaging in trade with travelers.

Living outside of these groups, people are largely on their own, vulnerable to packs of hunters, bandits and even cannibals that prey on anyone brave enough to risk travel.

The infected are an ever-present threat everywhere, and the world is a ruin quickly being reclaimed by nature. (cw: body horror in the link) See board for world aesthetic and depictions of the Infected.

Special Abilities: Everyone is a normal human here. No supernatural powers, no magic, no non-humans.

Arrival: Welcome one of Ellie and Abby's least favorite places: Seattle. The Space Needle is visible in the distance, so despite the advanced state of decay, it's actually recognizable. Except it's been bombed, and rotting, and nature's reclaimed it for the last quarter-century. This adventure won't be for the faint of heart; there are no home bases and no safe space to be had. All clothing, supplies, weaponry and food are things you'll need to find yourself. Everyone can assume they'll get a quick lesson in gun safety and a rundown on various types of infected. Multiple rifts will open, so feel free to appear anywhere in the city (even apart from others) but expect to find no native allies. The city of Seattle is embroiled in civil war between the Seraphites (a religious cult who rejects anything "old world" and scars their faces, called "Scars") and the Washington Liberation Front (a ruthless mercenary coalition, called "Wolves") and both sides will assume you're with the other group and attack on sight. Better pick up a brick.

Comments

ENGRAVED

[cozen]

[ Bastien looks between Monsieur and Madame de Foncé with sharp-eyed interest—what a dynamic! he wants to study it with a microscope!—that bleeds into a wince as she marches off. It's hardly a good feeling, seeing Wysteria reduced to colorlessness and despair, even if it does mean he seems to be getting his way.

Nonetheless. He follows her. In the process he angles to hold his hand and wiggling fingers out for the pamphlet Val has torn down. Not that he'll be able to explain it. But now he has to know what needs explaining. ]

We are visiting someone, [ he tells Valentine, ] I think. But we won't embarrass her, will we?

[degenere]

[Val has seen a great many expressions upon the face of Wysteria--indignant, angry, annoyed, suspicious, cool, collected, pleased, cross, sharp, interested, curious, tired, occasionally even <>happy. This expression upon her face is new. It puts him on a wrong foot.

He narrows his eyes and, as he falls into step, puts the pamphlet into Bastien's waiting hand.]

Tout à fait. I did not think Madame capable of embarrassment. She is as armored as any Templar--better, in fact, as it is armor of a more natural sort, as a lizard wears. Ma biquette, [louder, so Wysteria might hear him, even though she is slumping along several paces ahead,] who is it that we visit? Are we visiting? I have only just come upon this little parade, I do not know our purpose.

[heirring]

[What a dreadful set of questions. Bastien might have eventually been dissuaded from them—he is such an agreeable sort of companion—, or at the very least may have been happy to satisfy his curiosity in some later hour (which, maybe, would simply fail to ever produce itself! Who can say how long they will or will not be in the city!) on his own. But Valentine de Foncé is another story all together. Better to simply take the bullet directly between the eyes than to be subject to every little relentless barb produced by his unsatisfied curiosity for the duration of the next Age.]

Which does beg the question as to what you're doing here at all, Valentine. Surely there are more reputable neighborhoods for you to have chosen to explore.

[Which isn't an answer to either of his questions. But maybe— Yes, in fact it's entirely possible that the answer is that no, they are not visiting anyone at all. And so maybe she's saving her answer for

when she has gotten far enough along to spy the open third floor window of a particular terrace house. She stops abruptly. And then lurches glumly forward again, the pause's duration having only been long enough to shorten the distance of her lead.]

You must say that you are [what, exactly? What is a reasonable story? After a moment's stalled consideration, Wysteria makes a frustrated noise and lengthens her stride.] Oh, I don't care what you say you are. It hardly makes any difference.

[cozen]

[ Bastien's mouth pulls wide with a mild sort of skepticism, at the argument that Wysteria is incapable of embarrassment, before abandoning it for a smile at ma biquette. Charming. Not a dynamic he'd ever want to emulate, but—charming.

Keeping up with her is easy; he's taller, if not as tall as Valentine. Keeping up while maintaining the impression of a casual stroll, less so. But he does try. And what he lacks in peak local fashion, he makes up for somewhat with peak local posture, shoulders and arms and chin all positioned to match the average man on the street, with the understated confidence that lets him go all sorts of places without people thinking he doesn't belong. He is even reading as he walks, glancing up only briefly when Wysteria stops, resuming when she resumes. ]

If it doesn't matter, [ is mild, ] I think I should be a gentleman gambler and Monsieur de Foncé should be my valet.

[degenere]

[It is Val's absolute born-and-bred confidence that allows him to walk the way that he does: as if he owns the place, or at least as if the place will entirely reshape itself to fit his whims. He is not trying to fit in but manages, by virtue of his self-assurance and innate patronization, to be fit in all the same.

As they walk he is looking around, taking in the sights--here a doorway, here a knot of men laughing, here a turn in the labyrinthian street that leads down a dark way--and here a house--and his hand strays toward his little writing-book, ready to make some note.

It is only Bastien's suggestion that strikes a chink in his confidence. He looks around with a little scowl.]

What! Why must I be the valet? Why can we not both be gentlemen gamblers!

[heirring]

You cannot be gentleman gamblers! [And then, recalling that she has just decreed the whole charade inconsequential—] Oh fine. He will hate you all the same.

[They have reached the dreaded doorstep. And here is the door with its faded green paint and it's brass knocker in the shape of a cut branch. Wysteria steps up onto the little stone step and jerks on the bell. And then she tries the latch and it comes directly open, and consequentially they may all spill into the cramped foyer beyond nearly in time with the appearance of a stick thin old woman rushing in from the door at the other end of the hall, bawling with a tack sharp contralto that, 'We're full up. Go back the way you came—oh!']

Mrs. Gilbert, you must forgive me! I've left my key behind. Could you please lend me yours? I promise to return it directly. [Mrs. Gilbert's eye has clearly already moved past Wysteria to—] These are my...

[She does not look at either Bastien or Valentine, but there is a general hopeless air about the hanging end of the not quite explanation regardless.]

[cozen]

[ Bastien's cheerful sideways smile at Valentine—that is why he must be the valet, that reaction right there—is smothered promptly by Wysteria's despair. He will hate them? He? Hate???

It would be great foolish arrogance to take this as a challenge without even meeting the man to understand why and what for.

But once ushered past the charming green door and greeted by the blustery old woman, while taking only a very normal-looking level of distractible interest in the details of the foyer and Wysteria's familiarity with its occupant and theoretical possession of a key, Bastien does not commit to gentleman gamblers (or gentleman gambler and valet) after all. ] Hangers-on, [ he supplies, rather, with the least smirky little smile in his arsenal. It's even a little timid—amused by his own answer, but unsure whether he ought to be. Not a smile here to cause trouble. ]

[degenere]

[People very regularly hate Val, especially at first meeting. He therefore remains completely unfazed by this comment, when Wysteria makes it, and is only still slightly sulky when they are received in the narrow little foyer.

Slightly sulky is good. He only snorts a little when Bastien supplies what they are. It is in a small way worse than being a gentleman gambler--at least a gentlemen gambler might have a very interesting story, whereas a hanger-on relies upon the story of others, or features very distantly and altogether uninterestingly in the background of the story of others--but on the other hand, it is better than being a valet, who is so thoroughly in the background one might forget entirely that he is there.]

Hangers-on, [he agrees, begrudgingly,] who very much require the key that the mademoiselle has requested, if it would not be a terrible inconvenience. In fact I myself do not care very much either way whether or not the key is received, [in case that was a question, that he might care; this he dismisses with a little flick of his wrist,] but the mademoiselle requires the key, so we require the key, and must pretend at a certain urgency for the fulfillment of this task. Our fates are after all intrinsically entwined with hers.

[heirring]

[Later, maybe, she will have the presence of mind to be sincerely grateful to whatever gods or prophets live that Val has so staunchly refused to recall that she is not a mademoiselle. (And then, immediately afterword, it will occur to her that it hardly would have mattered even if he had for no version of the Orlesian address will have meant anything to Mrs. Gilbert one way or another.)

But those are all mental hoops for jumping through at some later hour when she is not standing in the dim little foyer under the judgemental roving eye of the house's keeper. Mrs. Gilbert has one of those drawn shears blade-like faces for which it would be almost impossible for the emotion 'aghast' to cross, but from somewhere in the glint of that hack steel emerges a glimmer of knowing affront.

Hangers-on with entwined fates. Sure.]

I told the Maejyr this was no place for a respectable young girl. Two, [the old woman scoffs, unclipping a heavy key from her pocket chain with a rasp of its fine little metal links.] What will you mother say, Miss Poppell?

[Wysteria all but slaps the key out of the old woman's claw and into her hand.]

YesthankyouverygoodIwillhaveitbacktoyoudirectly.Thiswayifyouplease,gentleman.

[They are going up the stairs.]

[cozen]

[ They are going up the stairs.

In the meantime Bastien looks back over his shoulder at Mrs. Gilbert. On its surface it is a glance of mild apology for their supposedly unrespectable hijinks. Beneath it is the burning ache of two thousand unanswered questions. Among them: what will Miss Poppell's mother say?

Aloud he says to Valentine: ]

You talk very much.

[ Just an observation. It doesn't sound condemning at all. If anything, slightly admiring. What a personality, what a pair. ]

Miss Poppell, [ for the sake of fitting in, ] you have no advice?

[degenere]

Of course I do. [What a strange remark. Val's nose wrinkles.] It comes of having very much to say.

[And all of it very important, which of course goes entirely without saying. They are going up the stairs. Val now looks back over his shoulder (and, by extension, Bastien's, since he is a little ahead of him upon the stairs), to where the hatchet-faced old woman's shadow can still be seen, there at the bottom of the stair, cast upon the wall in judgement and disagreeability.]

What 'young girl'?

[Miss Poppell may have some advice. Val de Foncé is having his own thoughts now.]

[heirring]

[Wysteria's charge up the stairs abruptly falters just short of the next landing. Hopefully Bastien isn't following too closely lest she clip him with a whirling elbow.]

She was referring to me, obviously. I am quite young. And generally respectable.

[Oh but Bastien had asked something; what had it been? She mentally gropes back for it while resuming the climb.]

Advice? No. There is no advice. It's all hopeless. You will simply have to tolerate the abuse. —Valentine, under no circumstances are you to engage the Maejyr in any sort of conversation outside of whatever pleasantries you can manage. You must swear to me. He will see through you both directly otherwise.

[(They are going up the next creaking and distinctly shabby but rigidly scrubbed flight of stairs as well. Perhaps in defiance of the street on which the house is located, the iron nail of a woman certainly keeps everything scraped very clean.)]

[cozen]

[ Bastien—clipped by an elbow, yes, too fascinated to pretend to mind—narrows his eyes somewhat at hopeless, so they are conveniently already narrowed for tolerate the abuse and do not need to make any additional moves. If he were taking this as a challenge (which, again, would be arrogant and foolish), he would now be adjusting his definition of victory to be abused less than Valentine rather than liked. A low bar in any situation, but—

He is very quiet on the stairs. No helping the creaking, soft-footed or not, but he keeps his mouth shut lest he also be asked to swear anything. ]

[degenere]

[Val, who talks very much, cannot possibly keep his mouth shut. The noise of affront that he makes rings out like stone striking stone.]

Not engage in conversation? [At least he is communicating in a whisper. A sharp whisper, but still.] What am I to do if this person--this, the May-geour--speaks to me? Comment upon the weather? Compliment the moldering tapestry upon the wall? Mindlessly parrot polite remarks? Surely you know this to be impossible. Mademoiselle--

[He hurries so that he overtakes Bastien upon the stair, so that he is closest to Wysteria, the young and respectable girl.]

Mademoiselle Cannon, why are we being led toward abuse and terrible conversation? What is it that you intend to do here? We, [him, and Bastien, poor Bastien, cast voiceless, think of poor Bastien, and Val gestures to him,] we must know more.

[heirring]

[Her scoff of outrage—oh must they?—is hardly any more subtle. But there, halfway up the next rickety row of stairs, Wysteria does indeed draw short once more. This time when she whirls back around to face her Hangers-on, the elbow she clips Val with seems slightly intentional.]

I intend to get my things, [she hisses at a volume that almost certainly reaches the old woman lingering in the foyer to eavesdrop, and must serve to alert whomever this Maejyr might be to their impending presence.]

I've one or two dresses that will suit myself and a few of the other ladies of Riftwatch and I mean to gather them from my room here.

[The sharp look she splits between the two of them has the glint of a challenge lingering under all this distress. Mind your expressions, gentlemen, or she will kick someone down the stairs. Or throw herself over the railing.]

[cozen]

[ It would be the more offensive thing, wouldn't it, to seem unfazed by that? When Wysteria is such a respectable young woman. So it is not a loss of control at all that makes Bastien's eyebrows go up, mingled surprise and delight, and his voice echo, ]

Your room here,

[ in a thrilled whisper from behind Valentine. Previously happy to hide behind him and not endorse this we business, he now crosses the steps required to stand alongside him. Yes, yes, they must know more. ]

[degenere]

[Val, rubbing his arm where Wysteria's elbow has struck him (quite sharply! Quelle douleur!) gives yet another look around where they are standing. This look manages to encompass the outdoors that surround them as well. It is a look entirely lacking in judgement, and thick with surprise and amusement.]

I think I prefer your little mansion.

[--In case she was wondering. This is a restrained remark. So much else might be said but is not--yet--said.]

Have you ever had the occasion to visit, Monsieur Bastien? It is preferably in nearly every way. Why would we not simply purchase new dresses?

[heirring]

[The borrowed key—to Wysteria's lodgings, apparently—is brandished like a scolding wagged finger at the both of them where they crowd the same step.]

Stop looking, the both of you, [is irrational and no doubt primarily fueled by the hot red mark forming on the back of her neck and beginning to creep steadily upward to threaten Wysteria's ears and face.]

In addition to the dresses, I've some things here which— there is a little lapel pin which should be here which will be helpful and it can't be bought. And [and!] I'll have you that I had nothing at all to do in choosing the place. I room here with the Maejyr.

[cozen]

[ Bastien has not had occasion to visit the little mansion, no, and he communicates as much with a minute shake of his head. A small gesture because that is how much it matters. ]

Of course.

[ Not of course. But they do seem at some genuine risk of being sent back down the stairs, not permitted to see this room and this Maejyr, and he would hate that. It would be the greatest tragedy of this entire trip. ]

You cannot scandalize me, Miss Poppell. It's not possible. I am only interested. And Monsieur de Foncé only struggles to help himself in general, I'm sure. But we will behave. Won't we?

[degenere]

I am also interested, [with indignation,] and I struggle with nothing at all. In fact I am perfectly, perfectly--with such perfection am I capable of, be-have-ving--

[Each syllable punched, very not Orlesian--indeed this is the little affect he might use to imitate Wysteria herself, when the occasion presents itself. Val quits rubbing at his arm and makes a grand gesture toward the stairs.]

Lead on, mademoiselle. I will say no word more unless asked to do so, or unless the situation becomes so intolerable or interesting that I cannot help myself from speaking, but if this is all as commonplace as you have said--the May-jer, the dress, the little lapel pin of great importance--so perhaps this is not so commonplace, yes?--but I am not speaking of that now! I am not speaking at all. Beginning, [one finger up, and then he points. Now. And also, onward.]

[heirring]

[For a brief moment it looks very much like Wysteria is struggling to find some reason beyond the preservation of her own pride to punt them back down the stairs after all. And why shouldn't she? Except, of course, that she will then be forced to endure an even greater number of questions when she rejoins them.

No, says her withering (in the sense that she, personally, is withering; soon, she will be a mere featureless husk propped there in the corridor) expression. There is simply no use for it. So with a great sniff to avoid from emitting an even greater sigh, she wheels back around and resumes her death march.

At last, they arrive at the landing. At last, they reach the door. At last, Wysteria unlocks the heavy bolt and leads Bastien and Val through into the rooms beyond.]

Maejyr Ralston! Maejyr, I implore you to stay there in your chair! I will only be here for a short while. There is no reason at all to come and say hello, [she calls as they pass into the world's most cramped front hall. It is not cramped from a shortage of square footage, but rather from the shocking assortment of objects which seem eager to spill out into the landing after them.

Here is a coat rack overflowing with a dozen coats, and here is a pair of discarded men's boots which must be stepped over. A fabulous two-sided conversation chair is shoved up against the wall, blocking one of the seats entirely which might be a very funny joke if not for the fact that both cushions are so overflowing with books and papers and the various odds and ends that one naturally discards when they enter a house so as to render the whole piece of furniture utterly useless except perhaps as a shelving unit. There are stacks of newspapers and an even more formidable stack of luggage and a great mirror whose lead has begun to go spotty.

What there is not is a Maejyr, or an answer to their greeting. But an assortment of doors and a wide lintel leading further into the apartments suggests there must be more to the rooms than the crowded entry hall, so it's possible their host is only very shy—]

[cozen]

[ Just now there is no room for disappointment at the absence of the Maejyr and his promised abuse and suspicion. There is barely room for them, and that lack of room is due to a feast of details to be noted.

The size and quality of the boots. The luggage and whether it appears to be there in preparation for anything in particular. The age of the furnishings. The books—these Bastien steps closer to, fully intending to squat and read the titles without touching anything.

But before he can he is distracted by the newspapers. These he does touch, finger to the ink, corners flipped to examine the quantity of pages.

When he lifts one, it's to give if a good sniff.

Does the Maejyr's absence—or silence, shyness or nap both possible, or perhaps an intoxicated coma—mean they can speak freely after all? Bastien might ask if he weren't confident Valentine would eventually take that risk instead. Instead he mouths in silence, holding the newspaper aloft, May I have this?

Very politely, of course. The politeness is in his face. ]

[degenere]

[The books.

Val is unbothered by the disorganization, the clutter and the cramped quarters. He cares nothing of boots or coats or personal items. The books do catch his eye--he adores books, would boast a vast personal library if all of his assets were to be gathered into a single room, instead of spread across a workroom and a Hightown mansion and a much-neglected apartment in Val Royeaux and a storeroom and forgotten in bags and satchel in all of those places and then also somewhat forgotten upon the shelves of others to whom he has deigned to lend a volume or two. Books are meant to be read, to be enjoyed, to be written in and marked and have the pages dog-eared or occasionally folded entirely in half.

He stoops to examine a stack of books, making a great show of ignoring Wysteria and the not-at-all-present-and-perhaps-not-existent-Mayjer Ralston--

(Ralston? Who is this person? What is his purpose and his function and how does Wysteria fit into this life, and he into hers, and why--when she chatters on and on and on about friends and acquaintances whose names Val would say he forgets instantly--well, perhaps that is why he has he not heard this name before.)

--and even Bastien, fiddling with the paper. From the top of the stack, he selects a book and opens it. Then he decides to sit upon the floor properly so that he might read more comfortably. It is admirable, how silent he is still being.]

[heirring]

[Yes, fine. Bastien may have the newspaper, and Valentine may even sit on the floor which, under the carpet runner, has the distinct layer of incidental debris which suggests that the housekeeper—if indeed there is one—must be quite negligent. Yes, he's, they're both being very polite and following her instructions more or less and there should be no cause for concern. Indeed maybe they've a turn of luck! For the lack of an answer from the adjacent room should be quite gratifying! Indeed they may go about their business here with no great worry of interrogation.

But no, from the wretched look on her face that meets this ominous silence, Wysteria does not consider this silence very promising at all. Given a moment to listen to the dust meandering in the air, she throws a glance back across her companions, and then hurries directly into the other room forgetting entirely to warn them off following. This is fine. Maybe Valentine will remain on the floor and Bastien will be preoccupied with the newspaper. Certainly that will afford her enough time to—

Wysteria's strangled cry first of alarm and then something else is muffled thanks to the sheer density of books and papers and the maze of furniture and the thick cloth wallpaper dense with portraiture. It's followed by a shriller, more blood curdling scream which is significantly less muffled.

In the adjacent room, which is somehow more closely crowded then even the narrow entryway, is a chair by the open window. It is not empty. That's because Wysteria has collapsed dramatically into it with relief at having found it mercifully unoccupied.

The scream may be attributed to the black bird in a cage. It repeats the call for good measure, seeing as no one is paying attention to him.]

[cozen]

[ In any other configuration, perhaps Valentine—younger, not necessarily any less quick, and furthermore supposedly both more in love and more obliged to the madame than Bastien—would have beaten him to the door. But Valentine is sitting on the floor, and Bastien is only distracted by a newspaper, so after clambering through the narrow hallway so quickly that his wrists and elbows knock against the walls here and there on the way and coming to the type of sudden halt that sees his feet slide across the floor a few inches, he is the first to appear in the doorway, gripping the frame, looking for a moment ready to wrestle a knife away from someone if necessary.

It is fairly immediately apparent that it is not, but the moment he needs to consider the scene—the bird—is certainly long enough for Val to arrive, if he's coming. ]