[ (post this) it's that saaaame voice, although more subdued ]
You think it cowardice, but being forthright can very often be a liability in this world, especially if it is being overtly hostile when engaged with a foreign dignitary from a potentially hostile nation. [ no matter how much of a little shit they're being ] And not just for you, for all those like you. Rifters. I am not sure how aware you are of the current climate, but you and your kind are at the center of a delicate diplomatic negotiation at the moment, and general good will is of some import.
As far as Tevinter? Hate it if you like, but learn of it, and more than just the surface you find so objectionable and easy to call 'evil'. You will find it is easier to knock down a building if you know well how it is constructed... but you will also learn who the building will fall on if it comes down. All of this is true as well about people.
It may offend your... sensibilities..., but often it is truly more advantageous to whatever cause you mean to espouse to, as you say, take a whiff of sewage and smile about the perfume, or at the very least hold your nose and ignore it. There is only so much you can affect the world with self-righteous anger alone.
[ Kitty appreciates - slightly - that the girl seems to be being a normal person, instead of the coquette she is otherwise. But the politeness isn't enough to make her back down. Her answer is almost as fierce as before. ]
You think I don't know that? That honesty is a risk? I'm marked for death, back home.
[ Then a breath, and a little rustle as she shakes her head. ]
Good will is important, yeah. But not at the cost of silence. If pointing out evil jeopardizes our fight, then we should be fighting in a different way.
[ Oh. That's never good. Kitty mentally reviews all the things she's done that might have gotten her in trouble, and...yeah, okay, there are a fair number of possibilities. Ah, damn. ]
[ as promised, there was someone waiting just off the steps from Lowtown, and Kitty will find herself delivered, not unlike a package, to a lovely building with a veranda partially walled with trellised roses in full summer bloom, the smell of them even more distinct with the heat of the day. Somewhere there is someone playing lute softly. Two elven women in clean pressed uniforms are circulating with pitchers of something or other around the various chairs, couches, and lounges that are artfully arranged beneath the roof, one of which contains a stretched out Lady Alexandrie in full lounge, wearing a white robe tied closed at her waist which falls in folds so nicely that it’s almost certainly expensive.
Spotting the maid she’d sent, she sits up and waves with a bright smile and draws her slippered feet in to make room on the couch, which she pats in invitation. ]
Oh good! Come and sit! How were those beastly stairs?
[ For all of Kitty Jones' talk of openness and frankness and honesty, she does not have the bearing of someone open, frank, or honest. Kitty is a skinny, hard-faced creature, a girl whose large eyes are constantly watching for an attack that may or may not come, a girl whose face betrays little emotion aside from wariness. Part of it, admittedly, is the setting: a place like this feels dangerous to her, filled with enemies. But part of it is simply her personality. She's not going to relax easily, it seems.
She comes, and she sits; from her posture, you'd think there were needles embedded in the couch cushion. Still, there's no open hostility when she looks upon Alexandrie, just an intense focus, like she's trying to search something out. ]
[ The room's identical to any in the sweep of hall reserved for Inquisition visitors. A good black coat's been laid upon the bed, apparently to be mulled over.
It's not as though there isn't precedent for how to dress — the Orlesian embassy employs mages, and knights are required in turn. Even so. An unusual thing, to need represent nation, order, and quasi-heretical cause in one. Maker willing, Amsel will keep enough shut of her opinions to win them some goodwill here; a southern templar and some enormous elf certainly won't manage it.
The other half of the room is given over to Thranduil's domain (and a great deal of his luggage). She refrains from kicking it to turn, gesture to a chair. ]
I have been remiss. I've not asked how you prefer to be addressed.
[ The formality is odd, to be sure. Kitty isn't used to all the courtesies she's being given here. A girl and a commoner doesn't get asked how she prefers to be addressed; hell, she's likely to get a snappish you there what's your name. Typically, Kitty's accustomed to being called girl, the word dripping with boredom at best, menace at worst. ]
Kitty's fine. [ Or, well - ] Kitty's the best option, actually. Miss Jones always sounds so off.
[ Kitty's dressed plainly and practically. She sits, her posture prim, on the edge of the chair, leaning forward with equal parts nerves and anticipation. ]
What about you? I mean - I can definitely just call you Commander Coupe. That's how everyone else has been referring to you. I don't mind.
The Inquisition is organizing a mission of their own to Tevinter. If you've not heard. [But here's the really disgusting part:] To take the measure of the slave population, discern the use of it, and do little fucking else.
Edited (obviously but still) 2018-10-01 15:44 (UTC)
The sailors, all streaked with their paint and tar and canvas, aren't long for the Gallows' courtyard. Once they've secured their haul of wine casks and assorted bottles (nevermind whatever else the vanguard had managed to strip or steal from either the tables or those in attendance), off goes the dock cart with its host of howling and snarling men. They disappear into bitter cold night, their captain all in black with them.
For a time anyway. Flint must return to the island fortress almost directly after he's seen his men returned to the Walrus because it's still early in the evening, the festivities in the courtyard yet to reach their fever pitch, as they cross paths on some narrow back stairwell as Kitty's going up and he's coming down them. The death's head mask is gone and he's washed his face, though there are traces of black still about his eyes and some tar streak like a gash on his neck.
He pauses on the the landing when he sees her. The letter he carries in hand is tucked inside his coat as he resumes his descent.
The charms of the Satinalia party had worn thin rather quickly for Kitty. The problem was that it was just so transparent - the whole thing clearly invented to provide an outlet for the frustrations of the oppressed, providing a mockery of social change in order to suppress any possibility of real change. They make the fool into a king, upturn the social order, and in doing so make it into a joke. They give the common folk a sanitized version of power - the power to break the rules, to drink and eat and dance - and pretend that it's a pointless joke so that they never actually crave it. And they provide an outlet for the common folk's frustrations - it's all right if you're feeling powerless now, it's only two months to Satinalia, and then you'll get yours! Social control through playacting at freedom.
She had been down there to see the pirates' raid, though. She'd recognized Captain Vane, and had seen someone who looked like Captain Flint, but surely, she'd thought, it had been her mistake - But there's still greasepaint on his neck and a little smudge clinging to the side of his nose and so in spite of her bad mood she can't help but stop and gape a bit.
"Captain Flint," she greets in return. A moment as she contemplates how to ask this question diplomatically, and then she decides to simply be blunt - "That really was you out there? With the - " Stupidity isn't quite the best word, and so she simply waves a hand in a vague gesture like a cart rolling across a cobbled courtyard.
[ Oh - Kitty looks up, curious. No one had said they were coming over. But, in a mark of how much her paranoia has settled down since getting here, she gets to her feet and pads over to the door and simply opens it. No hidden knives or concealed weapons when she does. ]
We were not in disagreement because I am capable of holding two separate ideas in my head at the same time without nonsensically equating them, and I dislike it extremely when a specific point can't be discussed without first addressing something unrelated that ought to go without saying. I won't say that common folk have the same value as the people whose capture was under discussion because broadly speaking I'll give most people, common or otherwise, the benefit of the doubt that it would be a ghastly and untrue thing to say.
The reasoning behind who is and is not captured as a prisoner of war, in this war, is not about their value as people and should under no circumstances suggest to you that they are valued more than anyone else as people. They are scum whose innate worth is less than that of the Blight. They are men and women whose power or position would have allowed them to fight against Corypheus—something that many people with less have been willing to do—and instead they looked at the rest of us, they looked at what Corypheus is doing, and they decided that our lives are collectively worth less than the outside chance that knowingly working towards our annihilation will personally benefit them. Their only value is how they can be used and they can and should be executed the instant that they outlive that usefulness. If they survive the war to do anything other than stand trial for war crimes, that will be an injustice to those who died in their place worth fighting against, but arguing that anyone else deserves their treatment right now does a terrible disservice to anyone who isn't presently facing rightful execution, and I won't be finger-wagged into saying otherwise by anyone.
We were not arguing. Your point wasn't wrong, it simply wasn't relevant to the discussion at hand, which was the matter of what we do with scum we can use, and the cost-benefit analysis of taking such risks. Pointing out that it wasn't relevant because the things being discussed were entirely different isn't arguing against you. Someone isn't arguing against you simply because you don't like what they have to say or how they happen to say it. I don't bother discussing ideas with people whose opinions I disregard, so I don't know why I'm bothering writing this to someone who couldn't deign to hear mine when I said it the first time. Maker, you aren't even reading it. What's the point.
( although gwenaëlle had decided against sending this, she'd left it addressed on her desk; guilfoyle delivers it along with a number of other minor pieces of correspondence it had been among. )
[ Kitty looks at this, and reads it several times, and debates whether to answer it or to scream until she's red in the face. It's certainly not what she was hoping for - what she was hoping for was for Gwen to come over and for them to chat over tea - but, well...It's at least an overture. And she's not going to reject that. Not when she knows that overtures are bloody hard for Gwen to make.
And so she sits down and writes a response. Well, writes several responses, really. This is the one she settles on, though.
Her hand is neat and even, the formatting of the letter precise and formal. This is a girl who was trained to write a business letter. ]
Dear Gwenaelle,
What I 'dislike extremely' is hypocrisy. I know that where I came from matters not at all here, but my life (real or not) was spent hearing silver-tongued liars murmur about how important commoners like me were to the Empire, even as they tortured and hurt us and killed us in the streets and never faced a bit of punishment for it. Is that what the Inquisition is going to become? Is that what it is, even now? Is that what I'm fighting for? Because if it is, if we're the sort of people who refuse to name our hideous deeds - if we're the sort of people who murmur about how important commoners are even as we cut them down - then I've no use for the Inquisition at all.
I know that's not what you were talking about. I know you were trying to explain the reasoning. But it is what I am talking about. In truth, I do not care about battle tactics; I do not care about what we do with the scum we can use or not use or anything of the sort. What I care about is whether or not the Inquisition is made up of liars. I care about whether I can trust any of these people at all.
The other thing I dislike is being called stupid and ignorant. I am not stupid or ignorant. Hearing that, especially from the mouth of someone like you, is a miserable, awful thing; and I do not deserve to be made to feel awful simply because my concerns diverge from yours. I especially do not deserve to be called it in front of everyone, where everyone can hear, because people respect your opinions and hold them in high regard, and so if the words come from your mouth they will also begin to think of me as such.
I wish to express my gratitude to you for the kindness you did my brother in remaining with him til his end. I regret that I was unable to do so myself, and that I could not spare my niece the shock. It eases me to know that neither of them were alone, when duty obliged me elsewhere. My brother was
[ After a little bit of research to determine who Gervais V. is and who his brother is, because how excruciating would it be to misidentify him and his dead brother - ]
Dear Mr Vauquelin,
I am so awfully sorry for your loss. If it helps at all, your brother passed away thinking very fondly of the people he loved. He was terribly brave and terribly kind, and truly comforted me even more than I comforted him.
[ Kitty briefly considers telling him that Gwen got some of her father's things, but - well, inheritance squabbles can be nasty, and if Gwen wants Gervais to know, she'll tell him herself. Maybe. Possibly. Who knows with her. But regardless, Kitty's not going to instigate any trouble. ]
[The sun is just starting to rise when Lakshmi knocks on the door. A sickly light that brings no warmth and stains the world inspidily pale.
But Lakshmi is unashamedly waiting, knocking crisply, and horrifically a morning person. Dressed in her training leathers, tugging at the straps under her lower arm to make sure they're secure as she waits for Kitty to respond. ]
[ Certain habits die hard, especially when you're sleep-fogged and half-dreaming still. When Kitty answers the door, she opens it only a crack; and there's hard suspicion - even fear - in her eyes and a knife in her hand, concealed behind the door...and then she sees who it is, and the fear melts into exasperation, and she opens the door wider and drops the knife on the bedside table and goes and slumps back into bed. ]
[ When Kitty wakes, she'll find that she's received a terribly mysterious written invitation to meet at Gwen's Hightown home. A stranger (terrible, mysterious) may already be waiting.
Kitty doesn't have to accept the invitation. Not intentionally. Should she ignore or otherwise attempt to circumvent its summons, a chain of coincidences (terrible, mysterious, you get it by now) and well-timed accidents will conspire to get her there.
The invitation is beautifully calligraphed, and implies that Kitty ought to wear her best. It also implies that she might behave her best: After meeting at the manse, she’s to attend a very fancy card-game-slash-brunch at the Hightown equivalent of a very fancy board game cafe. The clientele are mostly wealthy merchants, both human and dwarven, with a few lesser members of the southern nobility.
OOC Note: Romain is played by Ammmy. Feel free to play out a thread, handwave things, or ignore it entirely, but check with each other first! And probably check with Libby, since I didn’t beyond the broad strokes. ❤ ]
Edited (it helps if i link the right journal) 2019-02-13 05:56 (UTC)
[ Alexandrie had, as promised, Not Been There when Kitty had gone to meet this Mandrake fellow. She had instead been a spot of white against the darker stone of the Gallows courtyard steps, looking very much as if she were reading the book in her hands.
She had instead been watching the proceedings through her eyelashes, waiting for any sign that it would be a better use of her time to toss the book aside and instead set her hands on one--or more--of the blades secreted beneath the heavy folds of her gown. Mercifully, that had been unnecessary, and she is still holding the slim volume when she glides across the courtyard to speak with Kitty in the aftermath. ]
Ah, Kitty! How fortunate. I was about to take tea, and I should greatly enjoy your company if you have the time for it.
[ Kitty seems almost surprised by Lexie's presence. It's not that she'd forgotten that the woman was going to be there, not exactly; it's more that, well...She seems like she's stepped suddenly from another world. Talking to Mandrake had been -
Well, it had taken her back to her old self. Looking at Lexie, this woman who's she's come to call her friend, who not a year ago she would have thought of as a blood enemy - It's strange. ]
[A suitably short length of time after Grand Cleric Agathe is announced as dead--]
What happened?
[--back in Kirkwall, Nikos steps out from an alleyway or side passage, depending on where he finds Kitty. The shadows drop off from around him like a cloak. He's still wearing his actual cloak.
He doesn't try to stop here, wherever she's off to. Instead he falls into step beside her, brusque--but not entirely ill-tempered, and wearing less than his usual glare. He's just off the ship, so there's a smell of the sea still about him--and the ever-present smell of wine that hovers around him.]
[ What happened. A bloody monkey broke in and destroyed the pamphlets. Is it any wonder she's been dodging talking to him? Or any of the others? I screwed it up, not because of a demon, not because of the wiles of a cunning enemy, but because I got outsmarted by a stupid animal.
Her step falters when he talks to her. She doesn't quite meet his eye - just shoots him a faltering, sidelong glance before staring down at her path once again. She thinks momentarily of playing coy, What happened with what?, so that she might dodge this question, but...
No. That's stupid. ]
I screwed it up.
[ Her voice is quiet. ]
So all of this - what you did - was all for nothing. [ And then, quieter still - ] Sorry.
There are certain visitors one might expect to find upon opening the door to their narrow little accommodations in the Gallows which might be considered unpleasant but wouldn't necessarily be wholly unexpected. Spiders? Certainly. Flies and gnats? In the summer heat, Kitty should be thankful every shadowy corner isn't crawling with them. Maybe even a big obnoxious seagull right there on the ledge of the window left cracked in an attempt to cool the room, whooping and hollering at its competition swirling endlessly wing over wing over the high towers. And then there is the visitor she has: a great tawny lioness sprawled the length of the unmade bed.
Hours ago, having entered the room through that open window in the guise of an unnaturally large grackle, he'd taken this form with the intention of sitting in the center of the room and showing her all his teeth the moment she came through the door. But the effort of holding this shape in the interim combined with the alteration he'd done to take it over that of the bird, has driven him to the indignity of exhaustion as he raises the lioness' head now and curls back its upper lip for a measly flash of one or two long fangs.
"Alright," he growls. For those wondering, it is a very fullthroated, caramel-y type of rumble. It most certainly does not betray any of the effort he's gone through for this, or speak to any doubts he has concerning his ability to pounce on her should she turn to run. Really. "Out with it. Which dark pit have you pushed him down?"
She wishes she could pretend that she's not terrified at the sight of the beast. Especially since - well - that's really not the most impressive lion she's ever seen, not by far. Kind of pathetic and ragged, really. But even a pathetic, ragged lion is more than enough to rip her limb from limb.
Bartimaeus' voice, issuing from the creature's mouth, is hardly any sort of reassurance, either. After all, as she's reminded constantly, she hardly even knows him. And he certainly doesn't ever seem particularly warmly inclined towards her. Case in point. And yet even so - even so, she's got to be perfectly polite to him, hasn't she.
So when she sees him stirring on her bed, she fights hard to keep herself from grabbing at her dagger, or going for the silver pendant in her pocket. Instead, she just clenches her fists, and takes in a level breath to keep from yelling in fear, and says, "I don't know what you're talking about. Which dark pit have I pushed who down?"
It has come to my attention, through kindly means, that you are curious and interested in learning more of how one might heal without the use of magic. As the most proficient member of the Inquisition on this topic, Head Surgeon and a high born lady myself, I am content to offer tutelage in such a thing if you desire to learn more.
Please, allow me to know what it is you would like to learn and I would be glad to teach you as much as I can.
Hi. It's Eshal Fazon. You don't have to answer if you don't wanna. I'm just balancing my scores.
I heard a bit about what happened after we talked. You withheld information. I'm not a part of anything handling that. But if there was anything you didn't tell Flint-- don't. Trust other people, sure but don't give him anything. I can't say more than that. Fuck knows you got no reason to trust me, but don't share shit with Flint.
And I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, but I can't tell you what to do.
[ Soon as Kitty'd heard that voice, she'd tensed up for another tongue-lashing -
But instead, this.
It seems like some sort of - She doesn't understand. So on the other end of the crystal there's silence for a long moment, before she asks, equal part defensive and baffled - ]
( it hasn't escaped gwenaëlle that there are times that they communicate better when they're forced to do it slowly, and so: she does not seek out kitty, nor terrorise a runner, but writes to her in the crystal-activated book so she can see it when she likes. respond when and how she likes. )
I don't want you to think I would ever do anything to hurt you. I mean, knowingly, obviously sometimes people do things and don't realise, that keeps fucking happening, but as much as I'm not always good at it I am trying to be on your side. Even if I don't handle things terrible graciously when blindsided with them after several glasses of wine. Or ever, when I'm frustrated. It all feels so fucking unnecessary. We're all supposed to be trying to do the same thing and pull in the same direction. I thought I could convince Flint to see what I see in you, so that is what I tried to do. And to his credit he let me speak my piece, for all the particular good it did. He said he'd directed you to the Vashoth diplomat (I know this isn't related but don't you find it frustrating they have all these to purpose words and then it's all Qunari this and Qunari that and trying to differentiate just the species is so difficult if they aren't human or elven or I don't actually know if the Qun has any dwarves, I've never asked) and anyway I think you're better off with that avenue if you can reconsider whatever went awry with it.
It's stupid, you know. You were so angry with me when I left, you're probably not even reading this. He was so angry with me. I try and convince you both of what I see in you and I think all I ended up doing was reminding everyone how intolerable I am. And fucking Thranduil can
( can what, madam.
after a short time, the writing resumes. )
You said I try. Well, I do. I did. I will continue to, despite the obvious general consensus that I should stop. So there it is. If I could have only upset Thranduil and not you that would have been preferable as it's what I was trying to do.
[ Unfortunately, the ability to read slowly and write slowly and think things over does not - in this case - temper her temper. Kitty's handwriting is always very neat, but when she writes, there's a slight jaggedness to it that speaks to a tensed forearm, stiff fingers. ]
Is your only regret about all of it that I was upset, then? If I could have heard all of it without flinching, then everything would have been fine? If people had just said, 'Thank you for being a part of this, Gwenayel, we appreciate what you have done,' then you would have been completely content?
[ also, yes, kitty has no idea how to spell her name. ]
You asked me once if I had done as I did for the sake of witches—of mages—in Sulleciel. In what was my home. And we debated the precise...the semantics of what magic is and is not to one world and another. Of why that was not my motive, and indeed why it could not have been, but I did not answer the question that I think, that I presume lay behind it.
( why did she act as she had. and while it's a fair assessment that they had got somewhat derailed, it's also fair to say that petrana might not have ever intended to answer, regardless. on a day that had been a great deal of unwilling exposure already. )
I was put in mind of that conversation, recently. I wished to say, what I imagined was—
It was unusual for a woman to be educated the way that I was. A novelty, like watching a dog walk upon its hind legs. Amusing, but ultimately irrelevant. A man might better himself, but a woman might only hope to catch the eye of one who had. The structure had rot within it, but so long as there was someone else lower, who would risk burning it? If they might lose, and be crushed beneath it. A woman need not perform magic to be called a witch for the sin of opinion.
That was why. And when it had taken from me all that it could, I had no reason not to fight it. I was meant to be grateful that I might be an exception, that but for a living brother I might have been a dull flower set upon the sill of a dull man. But I was not remarkable, I was simply lucky, and how could I not see the unfairness in that? I did not deserve more by virtue. I was given it because I had no brother to come before me. What might any of us do, if we were a little luckier? I thought to find out. It betrayed the lie of the whole of it.
Magic did not free me. It was a choke-chain to control me, and until Thedas it was never more than that. But education is what allowed me to see what was wrong and think it need not always be. That in recognizing it I had a responsibility to act upon my knowledge. I fear I did not do enough, then. But that is one thing that I have learned from the past.
—this is doubtless a wearisome lecture. I thank you if you have listened to it.
Edited (love finding redundancies after i tag its great) 2019-11-13 08:37 (UTC)
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rathercommon) wrote2018-06-25 09:47 pm
in the middle of that tevinter crystal snip fest
You think it cowardice, but being forthright can very often be a liability in this world, especially if it is being overtly hostile when engaged with a foreign dignitary from a potentially hostile nation. [ no matter how much of a little shit they're being ] And not just for you, for all those like you. Rifters. I am not sure how aware you are of the current climate, but you and your kind are at the center of a delicate diplomatic negotiation at the moment, and general good will is of some import.
As far as Tevinter? Hate it if you like, but learn of it, and more than just the surface you find so objectionable and easy to call 'evil'. You will find it is easier to knock down a building if you know well how it is constructed... but you will also learn who the building will fall on if it comes down. All of this is true as well about people.
It may offend your... sensibilities..., but often it is truly more advantageous to whatever cause you mean to espouse to, as you say, take a whiff of sewage and smile about the perfume, or at the very least hold your nose and ignore it. There is only so much you can affect the world with self-righteous anger alone.
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You think I don't know that? That honesty is a risk? I'm marked for death, back home.
[ Then a breath, and a little rustle as she shakes her head. ]
Good will is important, yeah. But not at the cost of silence. If pointing out evil jeopardizes our fight, then we should be fighting in a different way.
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crystal | backdated to early Justinian
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About what?
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action; don’t fret darling it’s spa day
Spotting the maid she’d sent, she sits up and waves with a bright smile and draws her slippered feet in to make room on the couch, which she pats in invitation. ]
Oh good! Come and sit! How were those beastly stairs?
treat. yo. self.
She comes, and she sits; from her posture, you'd think there were needles embedded in the couch cushion. Still, there's no open hostility when she looks upon Alexandrie, just an intense focus, like she's trying to search something out. ]
Decent exercise. Have you been here before?
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in minrathous, before kitty peaces out; just lmk if anything needs changing
[ The room's identical to any in the sweep of hall reserved for Inquisition visitors. A good black coat's been laid upon the bed, apparently to be mulled over.
It's not as though there isn't precedent for how to dress — the Orlesian embassy employs mages, and knights are required in turn. Even so. An unusual thing, to need represent nation, order, and quasi-heretical cause in one. Maker willing, Amsel will keep enough shut of her opinions to win them some goodwill here; a southern templar and some enormous elf certainly won't manage it.
The other half of the room is given over to Thranduil's domain (and a great deal of his luggage). She refrains from kicking it to turn, gesture to a chair. ]
I have been remiss. I've not asked how you prefer to be addressed.
[ 'That girl' probably will get old. ]
this is perfect, you are perfect
[ The formality is odd, to be sure. Kitty isn't used to all the courtesies she's being given here. A girl and a commoner doesn't get asked how she prefers to be addressed; hell, she's likely to get a snappish you there what's your name. Typically, Kitty's accustomed to being called girl, the word dripping with boredom at best, menace at worst. ]
Kitty's fine. [ Or, well - ] Kitty's the best option, actually. Miss Jones always sounds so off.
[ Kitty's dressed plainly and practically. She sits, her posture prim, on the edge of the chair, leaning forward with equal parts nerves and anticipation. ]
What about you? I mean - I can definitely just call you Commander Coupe. That's how everyone else has been referring to you. I don't mind.
four hundred years later
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you're a hero i'm on email tags again
<3
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crystal;
crystal;
I heard a rumour about that, yeah. [ She bites her lip. ] I'm - thinking I'll go.
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2 small 2 furious
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crystal.
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Yes - hello, that's me. Who's this?
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satinalia, because like hell im wasting flint in skeleton makeup;
For a time anyway. Flint must return to the island fortress almost directly after he's seen his men returned to the Walrus because it's still early in the evening, the festivities in the courtyard yet to reach their fever pitch, as they cross paths on some narrow back stairwell as Kitty's going up and he's coming down them. The death's head mask is gone and he's washed his face, though there are traces of black still about his eyes and some tar streak like a gash on his neck.
He pauses on the the landing when he sees her. The letter he carries in hand is tucked inside his coat as he resumes his descent.
"Miss Jones. Not turning in so early, I hope."
god he's such a loser and I love him so much
She had been down there to see the pirates' raid, though. She'd recognized Captain Vane, and had seen someone who looked like Captain Flint, but surely, she'd thought, it had been her mistake - But there's still greasepaint on his neck and a little smudge clinging to the side of his nose and so in spite of her bad mood she can't help but stop and gape a bit.
"Captain Flint," she greets in return. A moment as she contemplates how to ask this question diplomatically, and then she decides to simply be blunt - "That really was you out there? With the - " Stupidity isn't quite the best word, and so she simply waves a hand in a vague gesture like a cart rolling across a cobbled courtyard.
wow excuse you he's clearly super cool
mmmm
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a little after satanalia and secrets being revealed etc
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Oh - Lakshmi. Hullo.
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cease and desist notice!!!!
K.
We were not in disagreement because I am capable of holding two separate ideas in my head at the same time without nonsensically equating them, and I dislike it extremely when a specific point can't be discussed without first addressing something unrelated that ought to go without saying. I won't say that common folk have the same value as the people whose capture was under discussion because broadly speaking I'll give most people, common or otherwise, the benefit of the doubt that it would be a ghastly and untrue thing to say.
The reasoning behind who is and is not captured as a prisoner of war, in this war, is not about their value as people and should under no circumstances suggest to you that they are valued more than anyone else as people. They are scum whose innate worth is less than that of the Blight. They are men and women whose power or position would have allowed them to fight against Corypheus—something that many people with less have been willing to do—and instead they looked at the rest of us, they looked at what Corypheus is doing, and they decided that our lives are collectively worth less than the outside chance that knowingly working towards our annihilation will personally benefit them. Their only value is how they can be used and they can and should be executed the instant that they outlive that usefulness. If they survive the war to do anything other than stand trial for war crimes, that will be an injustice to those who died in their place worth fighting against, but arguing that anyone else deserves their treatment right now does a terrible disservice to anyone who isn't presently facing rightful execution, and I won't be finger-wagged into saying otherwise by anyone.
We were not arguing. Your point wasn't wrong, it simply wasn't relevant to the discussion at hand, which was the matter of what we do with scum we can use, and the cost-benefit analysis of taking such risks. Pointing out that it wasn't relevant because the things being discussed were entirely different isn't arguing against you. Someone isn't arguing against you simply because you don't like what they have to say or how they happen to say it. I don't bother discussing ideas with people whose opinions I disregard, so I don't know why I'm bothering writing this to someone who couldn't deign to hear mine when I said it the first time. Maker, you aren't even reading it. What's the point.
( although gwenaëlle had decided against sending this, she'd left it addressed on her desk; guilfoyle delivers it along with a number of other minor pieces of correspondence it had been among. )
bless guilfoyle
And so she sits down and writes a response. Well, writes several responses, really. This is the one she settles on, though.
Her hand is neat and even, the formatting of the letter precise and formal. This is a girl who was trained to write a business letter. ]
Dear Gwenaelle,
What I 'dislike extremely' is hypocrisy. I know that where I came from matters not at all here, but my life (real or not) was spent hearing silver-tongued liars murmur about how important commoners like me were to the Empire, even as they tortured and hurt us and killed us in the streets and never faced a bit of punishment for it. Is that what the Inquisition is going to become? Is that what it is, even now? Is that what I'm fighting for? Because if it is, if we're the sort of people who refuse to name our hideous deeds - if we're the sort of people who murmur about how important commoners are even as we cut them down - then I've no use for the Inquisition at all.
I know that's not what you were talking about. I know you were trying to explain the reasoning. But it is what I am talking about. In truth, I do not care about battle tactics; I do not care about what we do with the scum we can use or not use or anything of the sort. What I care about is whether or not the Inquisition is made up of liars. I care about whether I can trust any of these people at all.
The other thing I dislike is being called stupid and ignorant. I am not stupid or ignorant. Hearing that, especially from the mouth of someone like you, is a miserable, awful thing; and I do not deserve to be made to feel awful simply because my concerns diverge from yours. I especially do not deserve to be called it in front of everyone, where everyone can hear, because people respect your opinions and hold them in high regard, and so if the words come from your mouth they will also begin to think of me as such.
Sincerely,
Kathleen Jones
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crystal.
crystal.
crystal. tmw all my icons are variations on "distressed" or "vaguely sexy".
smoulder at me
SMOULDERS
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delivered mid-month.
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Dear Mr Vauquelin,
I am so awfully sorry for your loss. If it helps at all, your brother passed away thinking very fondly of the people he loved. He was terribly brave and terribly kind, and truly comforted me even more than I comforted him.
[ Kitty briefly considers telling him that Gwen got some of her father's things, but - well, inheritance squabbles can be nasty, and if Gwen wants Gervais to know, she'll tell him herself. Maybe. Possibly. Who knows with her. But regardless, Kitty's not going to instigate any trouble. ]
Is Gwenaelle doing all right?
Sincerely,
Kathleen Jones
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But Lakshmi is unashamedly waiting, knocking crisply, and horrifically a morning person. Dressed in her training leathers, tugging at the straps under her lower arm to make sure they're secure as she waits for Kitty to respond. ]
Kitty, rise and shine.
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a very mysterious invitation
Kitty doesn't have to accept the invitation. Not intentionally. Should she ignore or otherwise attempt to circumvent its summons, a chain of coincidences (terrible, mysterious, you get it by now) and well-timed accidents will conspire to get her there.
The invitation is beautifully calligraphed, and implies that Kitty ought to wear her best. It also implies that she might behave her best: After meeting at the manse, she’s to attend a very fancy card-game-slash-brunch at the Hightown equivalent of a very fancy board game cafe. The clientele are mostly wealthy merchants, both human and dwarven, with a few lesser members of the southern nobility.
OOC Note: Romain is played by Ammmy. Feel free to play out a thread, handwave things, or ignore it entirely, but check with each other first! And probably check with Libby, since I didn’t beyond the broad strokes. ❤ ]
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A certain head of community outreach thought you might like to have your new associate followed. Would you?
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Action; after Kitty's Courtyard Showdown
She had instead been watching the proceedings through her eyelashes, waiting for any sign that it would be a better use of her time to toss the book aside and instead set her hands on one--or more--of the blades secreted beneath the heavy folds of her gown. Mercifully, that had been unnecessary, and she is still holding the slim volume when she glides across the courtyard to speak with Kitty in the aftermath. ]
Ah, Kitty! How fortunate. I was about to take tea, and I should greatly enjoy your company if you have the time for it.
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[ Kitty seems almost surprised by Lexie's presence. It's not that she'd forgotten that the woman was going to be there, not exactly; it's more that, well...She seems like she's stepped suddenly from another world. Talking to Mandrake had been -
Well, it had taken her back to her old self. Looking at Lexie, this woman who's she's come to call her friend, who not a year ago she would have thought of as a blood enemy - It's strange. ]
Yeah. Tea would be nice.
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voice;
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acshun
What happened?
[--back in Kirkwall, Nikos steps out from an alleyway or side passage, depending on where he finds Kitty. The shadows drop off from around him like a cloak. He's still wearing his actual cloak.
He doesn't try to stop here, wherever she's off to. Instead he falls into step beside her, brusque--but not entirely ill-tempered, and wearing less than his usual glare. He's just off the ship, so there's a smell of the sea still about him--and the ever-present smell of wine that hovers around him.]
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[ What happened. A bloody monkey broke in and destroyed the pamphlets. Is it any wonder she's been dodging talking to him? Or any of the others? I screwed it up, not because of a demon, not because of the wiles of a cunning enemy, but because I got outsmarted by a stupid animal.
Her step falters when he talks to her. She doesn't quite meet his eye - just shoots him a faltering, sidelong glance before staring down at her path once again. She thinks momentarily of playing coy, What happened with what?, so that she might dodge this question, but...
No. That's stupid. ]
I screwed it up.
[ Her voice is quiet. ]
So all of this - what you did - was all for nothing. [ And then, quieter still - ] Sorry.
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action;
Hours ago, having entered the room through that open window in the guise of an unnaturally large grackle, he'd taken this form with the intention of sitting in the center of the room and showing her all his teeth the moment she came through the door. But the effort of holding this shape in the interim combined with the alteration he'd done to take it over that of the bird, has driven him to the indignity of exhaustion as he raises the lioness' head now and curls back its upper lip for a measly flash of one or two long fangs.
"Alright," he growls. For those wondering, it is a very fullthroated, caramel-y type of rumble. It most certainly does not betray any of the effort he's gone through for this, or speak to any doubts he has concerning his ability to pounce on her should she turn to run. Really. "Out with it. Which dark pit have you pushed him down?"
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Bartimaeus' voice, issuing from the creature's mouth, is hardly any sort of reassurance, either. After all, as she's reminded constantly, she hardly even knows him. And he certainly doesn't ever seem particularly warmly inclined towards her. Case in point. And yet even so - even so, she's got to be perfectly polite to him, hasn't she.
So when she sees him stirring on her bed, she fights hard to keep herself from grabbing at her dagger, or going for the silver pendant in her pocket. Instead, she just clenches her fists, and takes in a level breath to keep from yelling in fear, and says, "I don't know what you're talking about. Which dark pit have I pushed who down?"
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letter.
It has come to my attention, through kindly means, that you are curious and interested in learning more of how one might heal without the use of magic. As the most proficient member of the Inquisition on this topic, Head Surgeon and a high born lady myself, I am content to offer tutelage in such a thing if you desire to learn more.
Please, allow me to know what it is you would like to learn and I would be glad to teach you as much as I can.
Yours, in kindness and warmth,
Sidony Venaras Rutyer
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What's being high born got to do with anything?
Probably interested.
Kathleen Jones
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crystal.
Re: crystal.
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switching to prose bc im lazy :*
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crystal, prob backdated a tad (what is time)
Six, if we count the one with my wife.
hey pops
Why? About what? With whom?
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me -> you -> libby?
me/you/libby
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sorry I wasn't being bossy about tag order I was just shipping the three of us
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crystal, late in the evening.
I heard a bit about what happened after we talked. You withheld information. I'm not a part of anything handling that. But if there was anything you didn't tell Flint-- don't. Trust other people, sure but don't give him anything. I can't say more than that. Fuck knows you got no reason to trust me, but don't share shit with Flint.
And I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, but I can't tell you what to do.
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But instead, this.
It seems like some sort of - She doesn't understand. So on the other end of the crystal there's silence for a long moment, before she asks, equal part defensive and baffled - ]
What are you...playing at? Is this some ploy?
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CEASE AND - no it's the book.
I don't want you to think I would ever do anything to hurt you. I mean, knowingly, obviously sometimes people do things and don't realise, that keeps fucking happening, but as much as I'm not always good at it I am trying to be on your side. Even if I don't handle things terrible graciously when blindsided with them after several glasses of wine. Or ever, when I'm frustrated. It all feels so fucking unnecessary. We're all supposed to be trying to do the same thing and pull in the same direction. I thought I could convince Flint to see what I see in you, so that is what I tried to do. And to his credit he let me speak my piece, for all the particular good it did. He said he'd directed you to the Vashoth diplomat (I know this isn't related but don't you find it frustrating they have all these to purpose words and then it's all Qunari this and Qunari that and trying to differentiate just the species is so difficult if they aren't human or elven or I don't actually know if the Qun has any dwarves, I've never asked) and anyway I think you're better off with that avenue if you can reconsider whatever went awry with it.
It's stupid, you know. You were so angry with me when I left, you're probably not even reading this. He was so angry with me. I try and convince you both of what I see in you and I think all I ended up doing was reminding everyone how intolerable I am. And fucking Thranduil can
( can what, madam.
after a short time, the writing resumes. )
You said I try. Well, I do. I did. I will continue to, despite the obvious general consensus that I should stop. So there it is. If I could have only upset Thranduil and not you that would have been preferable as it's what I was trying to do.
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Is your only regret about all of it that I was upset, then? If I could have heard all of it without flinching, then everything would have been fine? If people had just said, 'Thank you for being a part of this, Gwenayel, we appreciate what you have done,' then you would have been completely content?
[ also, yes, kitty has no idea how to spell her name. ]
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probably the day after the dinner
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Excuse me?
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crystal.
( why did she act as she had. and while it's a fair assessment that they had got somewhat derailed, it's also fair to say that petrana might not have ever intended to answer, regardless. on a day that had been a great deal of unwilling exposure already. )
I was put in mind of that conversation, recently. I wished to say, what I imagined was—
It was unusual for a woman to be educated the way that I was. A novelty, like watching a dog walk upon its hind legs. Amusing, but ultimately irrelevant. A man might better himself, but a woman might only hope to catch the eye of one who had. The structure had rot within it, but so long as there was someone else lower, who would risk burning it? If they might lose, and be crushed beneath it. A woman need not perform magic to be called a witch for the sin of opinion.
That was why. And when it had taken from me all that it could, I had no reason not to fight it. I was meant to be grateful that I might be an exception, that but for a living brother I might have been a dull flower set upon the sill of a dull man. But I was not remarkable, I was simply lucky, and how could I not see the unfairness in that? I did not deserve more by virtue. I was given it because I had no brother to come before me. What might any of us do, if we were a little luckier? I thought to find out. It betrayed the lie of the whole of it.
Magic did not free me. It was a choke-chain to control me, and until Thedas it was never more than that. But education is what allowed me to see what was wrong and think it need not always be. That in recognizing it I had a responsibility to act upon my knowledge. I fear I did not do enough, then. But that is one thing that I have learned from the past.
—this is doubtless a wearisome lecture. I thank you if you have listened to it.
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[ Wow. This is a lot to wake up to. Especially when you're waking up from a midday nap. ]
You've - clearly been - doing a lot of thinking.
[ what the fuck is this ]
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crystal; at some point idk
Do you like cats?
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I...guess? I like that they've got claws.
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