[ may catchall ]

[wythersake]

WHO: Isaac, Cedric, Lazar + Clarisse, others, you??
WHAT: Open & closed prompts for a bit
WHEN: Vaguely post-attacks, like enough that it isn't silly
WHERE: Here n' there
NOTES: Adding these as I go. Wildcards welcome. HMU on plurk or Discord if you want anything bespoke.

Comments

[wythersake]

"Perhaps. I don’t see why we were invited if we might act as a true spoiler."

But this theory has more than a few holes. They may never have been meant to make it this far. Isaac slings onto the chaise, drapes a hand over his face. The pleasant prickle at the back of his eyes is — distracting.

"We could win goodwill for throwing it, but frankly we better need the gold. And I’d very much like to see whichever head you drag back to stuff." Toledor’s would do. "I could seed the word we're short on something, some alternative trade. A payment plan? An heirloom? His firstborn child?"

A gesture to Clarisse. She's steeped more deeply in Forces: What do the kids want?

[laruetheday]

"Umm," Clarisse says, rubbing the spot between her eyes like that's gonna massage her brain a little. Problem is, she never has much of a clue what the other divisions are up to, and Forces is primarily an excuse for her to play soldier and lift heavy shit.

Still. She's got some idea of what could be useful. "We're always looking for people who we could call on for a favor later," she says. "And, I mean, we've been kind of fucked with all the trade routes getting disrupted, so anything that we can't get our hands on..."

But she's not really thrilled about either idea, because—"I'd rather we just win."

[wythersake]

It's a moment before he responds. Starts, really – ah, right, of course –

"I’m confident of that," He sounds a touch looser than confidence implies. He sounds like he’s about to take a nap. "If you weren’t a fine challenge, they’d none of them need worry."

A yawn. Cracking his fingers to find her gaze:

"You're going to win."

Maker, it's been an Age since he smoked.

[laruetheday]

Clarisse watches him, amused and wondering if she maybe smokes too much. She doesn't react like this anymore, that's for sure. Oh, well, that's something to consider once they're back home.

For now, she nods and pops a piece of sausage into her mouth. "I like your confidence," she says with her mouth full.

She does, she's not being snarky. Because either he just has a lot of faith in her, in which case she's flattered, or he's going to pull off something sneaky and underhanded tomorrow and secure their victory. Either way she emerges from this situation looking good.

[wythersake]

And eventually, they do emerge: Victorious, and covered in leaves, and alright, a little underhanded.

(Toledor had frozen, strange, for a crucial shot. Tomas' hart was found rotten through, clearly an old kill dragged in to fake.)

The Teryn looks a sour man at his own celebrations; Isaac smug enough for the both of them, when he pulls aside to discuss alternate prizes. Among the arrangements promises the return of Clarisse's trophy to Riftwatch, a finely-stuffed –

What did she take down, again?

[laruetheday]

It was definitely a bereskarn, and its stuffed body will make a delightful addition to the Gallows.

Clarisse, for her part, is able to play it cool at the celebration afterward. She's obviously pleased with herself, and proud of their work, but she's not going out of her way to brag. (She saves all that for the trip back.)