[open]

[thereneverwas]

WHO: Barrow, Fifi, Benedict? and you
WHAT: March catch-all
WHEN: whatever this month is called
WHERE: hither and thither
NOTES: slowly piecing this together, if you want a bespoke starter please yell at me in some form

[watch this space for open prompts I promise they'll happen]

Comments

for Gannicus

[thereneverwas]

It's morning in the training yard, and Barrow has all but dozed off at his makeshift throne. Jolting awake at the sound of metal on stone, he realizes he's dropped the dulled practice sword he was cleaning, and, with an appropriately late-forties grunt of disapproval, rises to his feet to take a jaunt among the training few and see if anyone needs anything (or more importantly, wake himself up).

"Two swords," he remarks amiably to a man he's seen around, who seems consistently underdressed, "'s been a while since I saw the likes of that."

Re: for Gannicus

[panulus]

He has seen Barrow around but hasn't really bothered to either introduce himself or make any kind of fuss about the other man; this is one of the quiet mornings in the yard, however, so when he's approached he holds his swords down, just at something resembling rest.

"Where was the last you saw a man with two swords, then?" he asks. His swords are not the straight, double edged ones that are favored here, but slightly curved, lighter, better for the quick kind of dancing he does with them.

[thereneverwas]

"Rifter," Barrow says with a shrug, "bit of a nob, but that was a personal choice." Alas, Ser Buckets, how we miss ye,

"Seems a vicious way to fight," he adds, "risky, but what isn't."

[panulus]

He has the look of a man who is trying to parse out vocabulary from context. Okay. He's got it. His eyebrows rise up a little, thoughtful. "It shows off skill, to do it well," he says, thinking of the roar of the crowd. "It will kill you fast, to do it poorly."

He sheathes them both. "I am not so fond of a shield, but I can use one, if needed."

[thereneverwas]

"Well said." Barrow smiles, hooking his thumbs in his belt.

"You know, if you told me ten years ago I'd ever stop using a shield, I wouldn't have believed you-- but it turns out there is another way. And it's more fun, besides." After a moment, he clarifies: "warhammer. Two-hander. I wanted to try one for the longest time."

[panulus]

Gannicus almost perks up, then. "I've fought a man with a warhammer. Clumsy and slow, but if you catch the bad end of one there are not words to describe the level of fucked you'll be," he says, almost cheerily. "Are you good with it?"

[thereneverwas]

Barrow laughs, a warm and cheerful sound. "I'm slow and clumsy," he confirms, "but that's as a rule, got nothing to do with the hammer." He's underselling himself, obviously-- he's still here, after all.

"Bit surprised you made it, if you caught the bad end of one."

[panulus]

"I am too quick," he says, without too much pride in his voice. He was fast, faster than most people could keep up with. It was truly what kept him alive; speed and skill. So. "But I saw many of my brothers fall to the strike."

He eyes him, a bit. "Age?"

[thereneverwas]

With the air of someone who has just completely stuck his foot in his mouth and is regretting it, Barrow takes in a little breath of air and then sighs it out, chiding himself for being so cavalier.

"Apologies, mate," he says with sincerity, "hate to hear that." It's easy to get inured to these things, when one's entire life has been dedicated to violence of some kind or another.

"...older than you," he then replies, a bit of the wryness coming back, "by a dog's age at least, I'd say."

for Basterly

[untiltheyarent]

Fifi looks and feels small standing in the cavernous entryway of the main tower, dressed in what remains of her traveling clothes after all these years of disuse; she's left Satina to her own devices in the servants' quarters for the day, more out of concern for the dog's safety than for any fear she'll get in the way. Bringing her along is requisite in town, less so in... wherever it is they'll be going.

She lights up in an anxious smile at the sight of her approaching friend(s), watching them with a straight-backed, naturally balletic posture of anticipation.

[cozen]

Bastien and Byerly have had the walk from Lowtown, the wait at docks, and the ride across the harbor to prepare for the sight of her. So not a beat is missed between the moment she comes into view and the moment a ditty begins bouncing off the stone walls:

"La Vulpesse, la Vulpesse, listen now, we'll confess,
our dreams, they are haunted by you in your dress,
your leaps and your turns, your prowess and finesse,
look our way for one moment—we'll call that success."

There's harmonizing. There's choreography—the minor kind that can be performed while also walking steadily toward her. At the end, twin bows. Bastien looks up from his bow to smile at her and threaten, "Applause or we cry."

[bouchonne]

“If you liked it - “ Byerly adds, cutting in quickly before she can start applauding - “I wrote it. If you didn’t, he did.”

He grins up at her from his bow, eyes sparkling. It’s clear that whatever is ahead of them, it’s going to be a good time.

[untiltheyarent]

Of course she applauds, laughing in such a way that it's difficult to stand up straight.

"Keep your voices down," she chides, grinning, "what good is a secret identity if everyone knows it?" Clearly her ire is limited, however, as she comes forward to meet both out of their bows with the appropriate number of greeting kisses to both cheeks.

"Will the whole trip involve singing? I haven't learned any songs for it."

[cozen]

"Only the usual amounts," Bastien assures her, switching to Orlesian now and probably forever, as he offers her his travel-jacketed arm.

They'll need to go back out into the cold to reach the eluvian; it's stored in one of the smaller buildings with an entrance in the main entry courtyard, where guards can pull double duty keeping an eye on the front gate and the door and comings and goings can be monitored more easily than if it were tucked into a corner somewhere.

[bouchonne]

"You did learn the choreography, though, right?" Byerly asks guilelessly.

[untiltheyarent]

"You insult me, ser," she replies to Byerly with a false aloofness, humor in her eyes as she accepts Bastien's arm.

"Have you been through very many times?" she asks, pivoting to the topic at hand as they make their way, "is there anything I should be worried about?"

[cozen]

"I've been through a fair amount," Bastien says, holding his free hand out for Byerly's as he leads the way from the middle. "More than Byerly. They chained him to that chair, you know. They would come in with cuffs every day and come back again to release him in the evenings. But he is free now."

They're free now. He angles a smile up at By for that. He knows it wasn't all for him—the quitting—but it was enough for him for him to be grateful.

"Anyway—there is nothing to be worried about. Before we had to walk all over the place to reach the eluvians and we might run into things, but we've moved them all now, so they are close together and we can have a look around without needing to wander off very far. And even the things we would run into were usually more annoying than scary."

A short jaunt across the cold, windy courtyard, a borrowing of a key, and they're inside. The eluvian nearly reaches the ceiling of the storage room. It looks, for the moment, like a dingy, normal mirror.

Keeping the passphrase from Fifi is, on the one hand, absurd. On the other, they did share a dream once where she worked for the Dread Wolf. So Bastien takes the minimum precaution of asking her to cover her ears and asking Byerly to sing at the top of his lungs as Bastien unlocks it.

Wakened, it shines brighter, the light on its surface shifting like a swarm of silver fish just beneath the surface of shallow water. He steps out of the way to bow and gesture: ladies first.

Men close behind, though. Probably there aren't demons or Venatori lurking on the other side, but it's never impossible.

[extortionate]

[ The long-time, much beloved, and absurdly good looking bodyguard of Lady Amelda Araminta Rowan Carolina Sinette Hillingham, an eccentric (and extremely ancient) Hightown noblewoman, has fallen ill. Lady Hillingham is convinced that her good for nothing nephew with ties to the Kirkwall City Guard is trying to poison her, and so has offered an exorbitant sum of money to Riftwatch in exchange for protection services until her usual companion makes a full recovery.
]



"I said," Lazar bellows, toward a comically large ear trumpet - ”Y’look lovely today,"

"What?" Croaks Lady Amelda Araminta Rowan Carolina Sinette Hillingham, a woman somewhere between eighty and eight hundred years of age and ensconced in velvet in the manner of a mummy en shroud. "Speak up lad!"

She gropes for Barrow’s arm, squeezing for a support as she shuffles into the narrow Hightown garden. Her hand finds his pec instead.

[thereneverwas]

Barrow's mind has been elsewhere, lost somewhere between the flowering vines on the wall and the birds in the fountain, but it comes right back where it belongs when a sharp little hand tweaks him on the chest. He makes a noise like a startled horse (and rather resembles one, too), as he points his offended gaze at Lady Hillingham, but quickly collects himself in favor of plucking her hand off its current location and moving it to his bicep.

Lazar receives a patient, long-suffering look. This should've been you.

[extortionate]

Lazar squints back with every impression of agreement -

Just because Barrow's too good to try and get written into a will, doesn't mean everyone shares his scruples. The bodyguard could still bite it. He lit a little candle to the Prophet for just exactly that.

"Valet says we're taking her to the Viscount," He murmurs, to Barrow. Probably doesn't need to add: "He definitely won't see her. So we're gonna need to fake it."

[thereneverwas]

Opening his mouth, ready to argue, Barrow stops and sighs-- he'd love to not waste a bunch of time lying to a little old lady, but fucking imagine the dramatics if they don't.

"Can see if someone will volunteer," he mutters out of the side of his mouth, offering a shrug of one shoulder.

[extortionate]

"Lia'd do it," She'd look good in a beard, too. "Or there's that peaky-bird Rifter."

Lady Amelda points at an early daisy.

"That's what he used, I know it, that terrible nephew of mine -"

[thereneverwas]

"You got her on hand right now?" is muttered in response, as he nods mechanically to Amelda's assertion.

"Aye, those'll getcha," he agrees.

[extortionate]

Is Barrow asking if Lia will answer his calls? It seems like Barrow's asking if Lia'll answer his calls -

Lazar looks right at him while murmuring into the crystal. Amelda is trying to stomp on the daisy, throwing her nonagenarian balance into Barrow's muscular arms.

[thereneverwas]

He catches her without hesitation, allowing this wanton murder of plant life in favor of listening to what's happening on the crystal. This is... look, this is pretty good, is all.