player plot: the walk-in

[sumptus]

WHO: Benedict, Bastien, Lazar, Caius
WHAT: Making Bene wear an elaborate disguise to recruit a Tevene defector
WHEN: Ferventis / Justinian
WHERE: Nessum
NOTES: Tbd.

The Tevene city of Nessum is a little like Kirkwall in the way that peacocks are a little like pigeons — structure, not aesthetic. A shimmering mirage on the edge of the Silent Planes, its hills roll green out of the desert and crash against a dizzying jut of rock that peaks at Andraste's gleaming crown. Like Kirkwall, its lowest levels host a warren of alleys and hovels giving way to markets and shops, taverns and townhouses, but instead of eau de fish guts and ocean damp, the cool breeze off the valley below brings in farm feed and summer grass, even in wartime. The markets may be barer than usual, the guard towers full, and the roads mudded with soldiers' boots, but this city isn't falling to rubble. In place of Hightown's crowning mansions, the ringed walls of these widening streets open to the glittering jewel of southern Tevinter — the Black Divine's Summer Palace.

And for some reason, some idiot in there wants to swap.

At least their contact's potential has been verified, if not his sanity. A young mage of no great rank, an academic of some esoteric discipline, but a Venatori collaborator, confirmed to be in a position to offer useful intelligence. Anything more, Riftwatch will have to learn for themselves.

The party where they're meant to do that is not being held in the Summer Palace, but in a residence near enough to it that the rich and influential can annually exert both in person, blessedly free from the burden of vows. That the Black Divine has been so recently and scandalously replaced hasn't escaped anyone in the city's notice, but it has if anything fueled the need for such a gathering — so that everyone who's anyone can display, publicly but not gauchely, how entirely fine they are with the new situation.

Comments

[extortionate]

Behind her, plate of steadily-disappearing canapes in hand (those which aren’t in mouth), Lazar grunts under his breath:

"If he’s playing coy, he’ll wanna see it through. Get the kid somewhere he can follow easy. Box him in then."

Suggestion, not command — they aren’t here to kill the guy. Probably. Just nice to have the option. His chin cants toward Bastien, What d'you think?

[cozen]

Bastien answers with a cheerful head wobble. A decoy could serve more than one purpose. Someone to die in his place, obviously. But also a test. How bumbling are they. How well do they pay attention to details. Whether they appear to mean him harm or not, seeming to believe the lie or being too heavy-handed about seeing through it might have their willing defector deciding he'd better play his cards at another table after all.

He sums this concern and advice up as, "Delicately."

Mostly agreement. A little biased; it's hard for him to make sense of what anyone is saying in an indoor crowd. A garden or an alcove, yeah, and he'll feel less hobbled and vulnerable.

His eyesight is fine, though. He marks the angle of Fausta's gaze but doesn't follow it up to the balcony; peripheral vision does the job fine.

[sumptus]

The lift of a gaze his direction is so brief, but its direction — toward the elf, and then around — is enough to make Caius think, maybe. Maybe that's them. Maybe it isn't a trap. Maybe he's really doing this. (Maybe the eels writhing in his gut will settle once it's done.)

Marel isn't a perfect match, he knows that. Who do you throw to the wolves but one of their kin? But he knows most of the people Marel knows; he doesn't know these. That's enough to at least warrant a better look.

Above, the figure moves between party-goers along the rail, not rushed but not idle, too much purpose in his strides for subtlety. There are people who are good at this, he ought to have practiced— what, weaving through crowds? Committing treason? But a better angle is all he's after just yet, a look at the young woman's face while she decides what to do next.

[altusimperius]

What she does next is wait, as secretly advised by her entourage. A coy little angle of her head, and her gaze flickers to meet Caius', now that she's certain he's looking at her; yes, that one does fit the description.

It's a come hither, if not the kind she's used to. Come hither so we can steal you.

[sumptus]

--Not the kind of look he's used to, either way it's meant. But it's certain enough, safe enough. If he's been exposed and it's a trap, or if it isn't and anyone's watching, who's to say he isn't just following the alluring gaze of a stranger?

Down the nearest staircase, then, and when the crowd next breaks he gives a more pointed nod-- behind her, left. A hallway, with doors leading off away from prying eyes.