PLAYER PLOT | Forgetti Catchall, now in the right comm

[wythersake]

WHO: Ennaris Tavane, Julius, Bastien, Viktor, Clarisse La Rue + OTA
WHAT: Strangers arrive at the Gallows.
WHEN: A week in Haring.
WHERE: The Gallows / elsewhere
NOTES: Check out this OOC Post for details.

This is a catchall post for threads with or about the forgotten characters plot. Feel free to thread about it elsewhere as well!

• OOC Info
• Rookery Post

 

Comments

FERRY;

[dissolving]

"There some trouble, Messeres?"

Uncanny, how quick he's slipped between them, back to the boat and hand resting on knife. A small man, but his forearm cords with muscle, and the unmistakable whiff of ozone. His smile is steady. It doesn't find his eyes.

A quiet shift on the storehouse watch. They aren't expecting visitors. Or loud, armed volunteers en masse —

His palm cants in faint adjustment, green flickering pommel.

"Jonah, why don't you shove off while we sort it?"

Without anyone aboard.

[cozen]

From the back of their cluster, mumbled around a cigarette: "No, no trouble."

This has to be a lie. On the walk through Kirkwall to the docks, three different people who ought to have waved to Bastien didn't. One or two might have been distracted or cross about something, but three? And Jonah—

He's banked a lot of goodwill with Jonah. Even if he'd been successfully roped into a prank, he'd owe Bastien a wink about it.

—so there's trouble. Just not on their end. Cedric's knife-resting hand in his peripheral, Bastien declines to look more than mildly perturbed, same as if he were barred from entering a café he only wanted to go to so much in the first place.

"Is Riftwatch doing passwords now?"

declaring loose tag order anarchy

[dissolving]

"Sure. We give them at appointments,"

His glance slides over Bastien and away. Not loud enough, strange enough, to register beside the rest. (The tall girl's the real concern.) A tourist, maybe. Try and shove them off on the Chantry gardens —

"Be glad t'set one up for you. What's this about?"

Behind him, the ferry poles from dock.

Kirkwall Proper; closed to Marcus and Petrana

[overharrowed]

Going no contact, involuntarily and without warning, would be concerning in any context. Julius well aware of how alarming it must have been in this one, given that he was on a mission to investigate Venatori time experiments. He is, perhaps, even the smallest bit shaken up himself, given how close a call it had turned out to be. That said, he isn't injured. Were the positions reversed, he wouldn't want to wait to hear either of his partners had returned safely.

When the five Riftwatch agents make it to Kirkwall, he tells the others he's going to stop over in town before returning to the Gallows. He doesn't imagine anyone will begrudge him a stop to reassure his loved ones, and the Commander may even be present, if someone insists that debriefing is critical. If neither of them are in residence, he may wash off the road dust before he goes further; he doesn't imagine anyone will begrudge him that, either.

He has a key, so there's no knock. That said, he isn't trying to be stealthy. On the contrary, he calls, "Anyone in?" as he shuts the door behind him.

[luaithre]

Outside the little study allotted to Petrana, she will hear brisk footfalls, Marcus across the length of their home with purpose.

And for good reason. She'd have heard the unsettling combination of their door being opened, a stranger's voice carrying through, just as he. He'd been busying himself changing out of the clothing he'd worn for caring for his horses in the stables, and so when he enters the front most room, he's in a state of slight half-dress, if still decent. Missing a jacket, shirt tails loose.

Boots on. Bladed mage staff in hand. His expression is subtle but nevertheless confronting in the way Julius will find himself being hastily assessed.

"What do you want?" sounds a little like a tensed diversion from what he would rather be saying, which, for the record, is a demand for this person to get out of his house. Julius is being paid the credit that there is a meaning to this intrusion.

[overharrowed]

This person, newly strange to Marcus, is tall and roughly Marcus's contemporary. Though dressed for travel in trousers and a cloak, he's also clearly a mage from the staff he's leaned against the wall for convenience while removing one of his boots.

While a stranger might have read Marcus's restraint a variety of ways (a warning signal, a weakness, an insult), the way Julius reacts is if he's been physically struck in the face. All of the clever ways he might respond if this weren't Marcus are absent in favor of a yawning mental blank. One boot on and the other off, he raises his open hands, somewhere between the universal gesture from "I'm not a threat" and "no thank you, I wouldn't like this, actually."

The Ferelden-accented voice has lost all the confidence of his initial query-slash-greeting. When he manages to say "...what?", there is something small and lost about it.

Whatever he wants, it doesn't seem to be to attack, anyway.

bastien collection.

[cozen]

fifi.

[cozen]

Something is wrong, and Bastien is moving through the street like something is wrong—so like nothing is wrong. The same way he's walked away dozens of times before, unhurried and nondescript, like he has somewhere to be but isn't in a particular rush to get there, politely interested in the wares of the market stalls he passes but not lingering long enough to register.

Until he sees Fifi, carrying her basket through the market like nothing is amiss.

Whatever is wrong, odds are good it's wrong with her, too. He shouldn't show his hand. He knows that. But the difference between this and all the times he's strolled casually away from the scenes of swiped valuables or split skulls is that he's afraid. He's pinching the flesh inside his mouth between his teeth hard enough it's going to leave welts. He's falling into step beside her with a white-knuckled hope that he can trick things into being fine, like pulling a tablecloth out fast enough the tableware stays put.

"If it is going to be this cold, it should snow," he says. "It is only fair. Right? Right now it is all the misery, none of the charm... Can I help you carry that?"

[untiltheyarent]

It takes a moment for Fifi to realize it's her the man is addressing, and, as she knows to do from years of experience, she offers him a pleasant little smile and a small, deferent incline of her head.

"Very kind of you, Messere, but I think I can manage," she reassures him, and a keen eye (much like Bastien's) might note the way she takes stock of his posture, his expression, the look in his eyes. Her face remains pleasant, relaxed, ready to defuse. She has no idea who he is.

byerly.

[cozen]

Breaking in would be a strong term. He has a key. He's here for things that belong to him. That he waits until the sun has gone down and times his entry to avoid being sighted is a matter of convenience only. That he waits a little longer to be confident Byerly is out, not in, is only because he can't deal with that right now. Not when he's this tired. Not after Fifi.

That he brings offal for the dogs—that's half because he loves them, and this way he might not have to find out either way if they recognize him. He drops the food for them downstairs and doesn't wait to see if it's made them love him forever before making his way up. The little flame from his runestone doesn't give much light to work by, but he knows his way around; his absence hasn't rewritten anything. His cello is still in the corner. The book he was reading before he left is still tented open on the nightstand. Signs of his life are everywhere. But Byerly wouldn't have said a word about Duke Bastien on the sending crystals if he knew who the signs belonged to.

The cello's too big to grapple with tonight, but he grabs the book without much thought, tossing it on the bed, followed by the things he really came for: clothes and money. If he's going to be a ghost, he'd like to be a clean one that sleeps in a bed.

His ear is on the stair, the door, the dogs. But more of his attention is on moving quickly, even when it means making a bit of noise. He doesn't want to linger.

[bouchonne]

If it weren't for Bastien's bad ear, he almost certainly wouldn't have been taken by surprise. But it's on that side that Byerly approaches. Maybe it's just coincidence - but even so, it might spark some hope that there's a memory in there, buried deep down. Some hidden knowledge of Bastien and his weaknesses.

And yet Byerly's voice, when he speaks, is chillingly pleasant. Not wry or teasing or warm or gruff or sultry or exhausted or any of the multitude of tones that Bastien hears from his beloved. Instead, it's the warm indifference of the Ambassador. Monstrous in its friendliness.

"A very pleasant evening to you, messere. Have you found everything you're looking for, or do you need a bit more time?"

His hand rests on the haft of his dagger. Not a threat yet, but a warning.

ota.

[cozen]

Points in favor of calling this good behavior: Bastien returns to the Gallows at least half voluntarily. He hands over his crystal, keys, and weapons without protest. There's no private room in the Gallows for him to insist on returning to, so he's agreeable about staying in the group quarters or wherever else, easily observed. He doesn't try to go anywhere that he would, in the rest of Riftwatch's shoes, fight a trespasser for trying to go. He contributes what he can to attempts to discern what the fuck is going on and (to whatever extent everyone believes something is going on, each given day) how to fix it.

Points against: unless it's about the immediate problem and security concern, he doesn't have a true word for anyone. He's Talbot. He's Evrard. He's a duke's useless nephew here to lend credibility to the Diplomacy division. He's a mage—don't ask for a demonstration, that's beneath you both. He's your best friend. He's cross with you for a disagreement that definitely happened.

But mostly he's reading books in the dining hall—a whole short stack of them, while he's not allowed near anything sensitive anyway—in a spot where sunlight manages to slither in through the narrow windows and keep things a little bit warmer, with a bowl of snacks. Gotta hand it to Riftwatch, they don't starve their suspicious and unwelcome and possibly blood magic-addled visitors.

[dissolving]

He's Talbot. He's Evrard. He's a duke's useless nephew.

To Cedric, he's the one took off first. They haven't spoken since the docks. The bruise eating his jaw makes smiles a strained affair, and after that scuffle he doesn't expect them to take it.

But habit's habit.

"That any good?" Creaking into the chair opposite. He's found facts, and found them lacking. Something's on. Just, Cedric's got the funny idea — some phantom itch — that he's seen that mustache before. (Of course he has, because they've been here a day now and he's not fucking blind.) "Haven't read it yet."

He wouldn't have. It's denser Orlesian than a child's vocabulary can support.

clarisse party

[laruetheday]

(( gonna do a couple open prompts too, but in the meantime, if anyone wants something in particular, hmu on plurk! ))

abby

[laruetheday]

They're allowed into the Gallows. Kind of. Barely. It feels like being allowed into the mall, but followed at a distance the entire time because security thinks you're stealing shit. (Has that ever happened to Clarisse? Maybe.)

One wrong move, and you're out.

She waits until no one seems to be watching her, and then she walks into the tower and climbs the stairs to the fourth floor. It's all housing up here, and she doesn't expect to run into anyone in the middle of the work day. She still has her room key, and though she's half-expecting it not to work, it slides in easily and unlocks with a soft click.

Her room. Her stuff. Still here.

It looks like she never even left, just as she remembers it being. The sight of her bed and her things fills her with a crashing wave of relief, but it's not enough. Not if she can't trust her own memory. She hurries to the bed and crawls half-underneath it to find what she's looking for.

benedict

[laruetheday]

The griffons might not know her anymore, but the key to her office still works. How's that for confusing?

Clarisse waits until she figures everyone will be finished with paperwork for the day before she lets herself into the office. It's not like she spends a ton of time in here, so there isn't much, but she just needs some paperwork with her name on it. Something. Anything that will prove to herself that she's not crazy, that this was all real.

Of course she's barely stepped inside when the office door next to hers opens. Clarisse freezes mid-step, looking guilty as hell, even though she hasn't done anything wrong. Right? Right.

julius

[laruetheday]

Swept up in the drama of whatever's going on with Cedric, Clarisse doesn't really clock that Julius is gone until it's too late to do anything about it. It's only after she's back on the dock, soaked, shivering, and in pain, that she realizes. It doesn't exactly help her mood.

They don't let them into the Gallows, of course. The dockside apartments are offered instead, while their friends and colleagues try and figure out whether they're the shittiest Venatori spies in the world. Clarisse paces around near the entrance, fuming. She needs to get in there. She has to.

So when Julius makes his reappearance, he doesn't get far before she stops him.

"Where have you been?"

as discussed, lmk if you need adjustments

[inmycare]

Siegfried has started taking the griffons down to the training yard, one at a time, to get them used to him and to take the opportunity to become more familiar with them in good health. He's scrupulous about taking them each out the same number of times, to avoid accusations of favoritism, though it's inevitable that he'll connect with some more than others.

(He'd discussed his intentions with Clarisse before he'd started, pitching the benefits for taking care of ill or injured griffons in the future. Not that he knows that now, presumably.)

Today it's Artichoke Siegfied has out. Once he's learned that he'll be rewarded, Artichoke is generally willing to stand still and let Siegfried run his hands over his wings and flanks, though he's not afraid to impatiently nudge the doctor if he takes too long about it. Today, the griffon glances up at someone's approach, alert but not alarmed. Siegfried follows his gaze. "Ah. Hello."

There's no recognition in the look from the man or the griffon, though at least neither of them are hostile either.

wildcard!! location up to you

[brennvin]

It’s hard to know exactly how to prove these new arrivals right or wrong. But with the Gallows having suffered demonic impersonators just earlier this year, they’re taking reasonable precautions.

One of those precautions is Astrid-shaped: not as big as Clarisse herself, but scrappy enough and well-trained enough to hold her own if they did have to fight.

The newcomers have been set up in the dockside apartments; not locked up in the cells, but not given complete free rein around the organisation either. The project rooms have reports on sensitive topics, there’s mysterious magical artifacts, there’s years’ worth of secrets, there’s the priceless eluvian on lock.

So they usually have someone from the organisation trailing along, politely keeping watch. At one point they’d been joined by Noose, that shaggy old husky; he doesn’t look at Clarisse with any recognition, but still gave a tired friendly lick of her hand.

(It doesn’t mean anything. He’s always friendly with strangers.)

The woman supposedly named Clarisse already had an opportunity to slyly check on her belongings and now she’s roaming elsewhere. Astrid is tagging along; not in the way of a friend walking side-by-side, but annoyingly keeping a few steps behind, just like a dog trailing the other woman’s heels.

She tries to look casual, though, hands shoved in her pockets. They both know she’s watching Clarisse. It’s awkward.

barrow

[laruetheday]

Following the confrontation in the doorway to her office, Clarisse walks down to the docks to wait for the next ferry.

This isn't a permanent retreat, she's not giving up, but today has hurt her feelings enough times in a row to make her want to disappear into Kirkwall for at least the next several hours. Maybe a day or two. Then she'll regroup, probably.

As she waits, she sees Barrow. The stitches on his cheek are still visible, the stitches she gave him, and it makes her jaw tighten up. She can't bring herself to say hi to him and get treated with suspicion in return, so she just jerks her head in a stiff nod instead, then crosses her arms and looks out at the harbor.

sticks leg back in here

[armd]

Initially, Abby is more than happy to ignore their new group of 'recruits' because she's decided she doesn't have time for them — it's only when everybody else seems to accept them being there that she starts to relent out of curiousity. That and the things in her room that don't belong to her... didn't she agree to letting them use half of her room for storage? She doesn't remember ever being asked, but surely that's what happened. It can't actually have something to do with the girl who kept insisting on knowing her, right?

Three days into the disturbance she goes looking for Clarisse on purpose.

"Hey." She's in the dining hall. The group that came in with her are allowed to walk around unencumbered by security — they've been cleared. They aren't dangerous. Abby stops in front of her. "Can I talk to you?"

crystal, ota

[untiltheyarent]

[A hushed, panicked message comes over the public crystal right around when this is happening:]

Someone is following me.

[Fifi rarely speaks up on the crystals, and it's quite possible most won't know who she is by voice alone. But a few might.]

[dirthsal]

[ hey, the lady with the dog. ]

Where?

forgetti convention.

[cozen]

It's been close enough to a week to say that it's been a week, and glimmers of progress have been just that. Glimmers. In the meantime, the war and the work have gone on largely without them—untrusted, unstable, or both—so:

"We need to find a way to continue even if this is as good as it's going to get."

Bastien says this around a cigarette he's only half smoking, half letting burn down while hanging from his mouth, and without looking up from his book, and to whomever of their cursed little club are around at the moment, which could be all of them. They're all allowed in the dining hall unsupervised. No secrets in the soup. It's as good a place as any to congregate when everyone else has work to do that doesn't involve supervising them or trying to figure them out.

[laruetheday]

It's a thought Clarisse has had, too, but it doesn't make her happy to hear Bastien say it aloud—that this might be as close as they get to the people they know and, in a lot of cases, love, remembering them. That this might just be the way it is from now on.

Also, she's still kind of salty about Bastien disappearing during that whole conflict at the docks, so there's that too.

"We'll just keep working at it," she says around a mouthful of bread, one fist curled tight around a spoon. "It will get better." She doesn't have her fingers in her ears, but metaphorically...