Alais didn't join this game, so much as fail to move in time.
It's some variant of Elephant's Castle, only the suits are scored backwards in the South, and it took a while to work out what was cheating, and what was cheating.
Everyone at the table is doing both.
An aggressive early strategy helped flesh out the rules, but it's become apparent that Alais is out of her depth, and ferociously bad at reading tells. Not that there's much on offer: A few coins on the table, and an ink pen engraved with tiny hexagons.
The way she looks at it — rather, tries not to — is certainly a tell of its own.
Ket, as is her habit, isn't playing herself; she's watching, chatting with the players who like to chat while they play, and enjoying a glass of wine. She likes seeing who plays and how, and laughs off the encouragement to play when it comes. She has no head for gambling, she says, she'll stick to games of pure chance like dice. No one has pushed, and no one has chased her off, so it doesn't seem anyone is actually offended by her refusals.
Alais is interesting. The natural movement of people as some come and go, others go to get more drinks and come back, eventually moves those assembled so Ket is near her. It offers the opportunity to speak without shouting over someone else's hand.
"It's nice to see a change of pace," she offers, conversationally, to see if Alais picks up the offer. "Not that I don't enjoy Wicked Grace, but I sometimes think Riftwatch members forget other games exist in the world."
[Appearing in her post box (if hers was fortunate enough to escape being destroyed by the abomination), or with other mail destined for her, or simply slipped under the door of whatever room Ket might call her own, is a cream colored envelope with a simple pale pink seal. The paper inside is rather fine, and the handwriting exceptional. It reads—]
Ser,
I am writing to extend my unalloyed best wishes for the fall season to you and yours, and to cordially issue an invitation to join myself and a few other select members of Riftwatch for an evening of dinner, dancing, and entertainment at the close of Kingsway.
This event has been arranged as a means to raise funds for the benefit of Riftwatch. Though a member of the Research Division and acting Assistant to the Seneschal, I have organized this benefit purely independently in the hopes of soliciting the good will of individuals who may, for whatever reason, typically not feel disposed to offer contributions to the organization. Nonetheless, I would be most grateful for your participation and engagement in this endeavor; indeed, your presence is vital to the evening's success.
If you are bold enough to accept this invitation, you will be rewarded handsomely with an excellent meal and very fine company shared in the setting of one of Kirkwall's finest estates, and will be required to perform no work more taxing than pleasant conversation (to whatever degree you find most appealing).
Please respond at your earliest convenience. Festivities will begin promptly at sundown on the selected date. All guests are encouraged to dress to their best advantage.
With Thanks, Miss Wysteria A. Poppell Research Division Assistant to the Seneschal Project Felandaris
a reply; the calligraphy is quite nice, I just don't want to code it
I was delighted to receive your kind wishes and your equally kind invitation. It would be my tremendous pleasure to attend the benefit you describe.
However, I must, regrettably, raise a condition of a rather delicate nature. Due to the nature of my arrival in Kirkwall, I am afraid I have no access to the vast majority of the wardrobe I once commanded; while I set aside a portion of my wages toward such ends, I have not yet had the time to rebuild it from scratch, as you might imagine. While I am not a vain creature by nature, I shouldn't wish to embarrass Rifwatch by appearing in the serviceable but plain gear appropriate for work in Kirkwall or beyond. If you know of another lady of about my size who might be convinced to part with a suitable gown for the evening, or if there is some other way to secure appropriate attire, I would be grateful for any advice or assistance you might extend. Otherwise, I will do my best with what I have and pray the party's understanding.
Most excellent. I would be similarly delighted to arrange to provide a fetching bit of wardrobe for the evening. Indeed, you would be most welcome to avail yourself of my things should you find it convenient. That said, I believe I may be just slightly taller than yourself so there may be some question of temporary hems and so on. What are your feelings with respect to the color rose?
Failing that, I will do my utmost to search out something more fitting for your person as a thank you for your participation.
I would be delighted to take you up on your generous offer. Rose is lovely, and I think it suits me quite well, especially in the darker shades. If we are to be mainly dining and conversing, I think a temporary hem would do quite nicely. If there is the chance of dancing, however, I would hate to risk a less graceful partner stepping amiss and ripping it out. I defer to you on the evening's composition.
If you wish me to pay you a call, or to meet in some convenient location, I am at your disposal.
Let us approach this methodically then. Come along to my quarters in the Gallows this evening and we mat survey our options and judge the extent of the modification necessary. If they are not too significant, we may proceed as hoped. Otherwise, should the rose colored dress or any other fail to suit our purposes, we will then have plenty of time to search out a worthy substitute.
In Good Cheer, Miss W.A. Poppell Research Division
As requested (after a few discreet inquiries as to where Miss Poppell's rooms are), Ket arrives in the evening, a bit after the usual hour for the evening meal. She's dressed plainly but neatly; it doesn't seem necessary to dress up for the purpose of trying on other dresses. She has, however, brought a small bag along, tied neatly to her belt so her hands are free from habit. She raps confidently but not aggressively on the door.
And, after some suspicious shuffling and clattering, the door is summarily answered - by a narrow margin, so that Wysteria might peer through it. It's only once she's assessed the exact nature of the individual on her doorstep that she brightens and throws the door completely open.
"Miss Perrino! How wonderful. Please, do come in. Forgive the mess; I'm in the process of rearranging some of my files."
Indeed the room beyond is in something of a state of disorder. The papers and books on the desk have been allowed to overflow onto the floor and the foot of the bed, to say nothing of the series of charts and notes which have been tacked up on the wall itself. And while the bed itself it neatly made, its side table is stuffed with every assortment of frippery and the trunk at its foot is both open and bursting with a riot of fabric and frilly skirts.
"Not at all; you are doing me a tremendous favor by ensuring I don't embarrass Riftwatch or myself at this event." As Ket enters, she glances over the papers nearby, deceptively casual in her curiosity before they get down to business. "I expect a longer residency in the Gallows leads one to naturally accumulate more resources than the rooms were designed to hold."
As far as she knows, Circle mages, especially in Kirkwall, weren't allowed much in the way of personal property. But rather than dwelling on such an unpleasant thought, she carries on:
"Is the evening purely your idea, or a collaboration? I've not had very much contact with either Research or Diplomacy thus far."
"It is a collaboration," Wysteria confirms, and resolves to say very little else on the subject so that Ket might assume whatever she likes with respect to how intimately either division is involved in the affair. "However, myself on Monsieur de Foncé - also from Research - are organizing the thing. Are you familiar with the gentleman? If not, not to worry. I'm most certain he will regale you with every possible detail upon your introduction."
This she says while the door is closed in Ket's wake and as Wysteria swans to the overflowing trunk so she might begin to task of peeling out various combinations of bodices and skirts and so on.
"Here, try this one. The color hardly suits you, but it is easily my most middling article in terms of size and so the fit will give me some understanding of which direction we would best proceed in."
"I haven't had the pleasure of M. de Foncé yet. I look forward to making his better acquaintance."
She takes the offered gown, looking it over with a sharp eye before asking, "Do you usually fill out the skirts with crinolines, or is it meant to hang loose? I haven't seen quite this style before, I don't think, but my knowledge of fashion didn't extend quite as far down as the Marches before I joined Riftwatch." Still, she gamely begins to try it on.
(She's nearly half a foot shorter than Wysteria, which will present the most immediate challenge.)
"Oh, crinolines certainly. But I am less concerned with the question of the skirts - for those will need to be sorted in one way or another regardless - than I am with the fit of the bodice. One is very quick work the other can be so irritatingly complicated."
She buzzes about Ket as she changes into the garment, eye fiercely dedicated to the lay of the fabric even as she continues to chatter, "As for the gentleman in question, I'm certain he will be most happy to avail you of any little detail of her person that you might wish for. I'm shocked he hasn't already penned an autobiography for ready distribution."
Evidence that the dreams were not entirely in our control! If it makes you feel better, though, I think I was demoted to supporting character. I don't remember dreaming of anyone real before the very end.
[She will be very shocked if Edgard brings up a contradiction at any point.]
Alack and alas, it wasn't that simple. Even dreams can't get their narrative shit together. Are you busy tonight? I would like to take you out for dinner and a show.
[And, indeed, at the time they agreed, she turns up in a simple dress over heavy stockings, light but sturdy boots, and an nondescript gray cloak for the cold. With gloves covering her anchor shard, no one in Lowtown is likely to give her a second look. When she joins him at the street corner he'd indicated, she makes a small show of looking him up and down.]
You don't seem too much the worse for wear for a demotion to Tragic Backstory. I'm glad.
Edited (seeing a spelling error right after hitting post) 2021-02-18 02:09 (UTC)
[ Loxley is not as good at discretion, with his height, his horns, the gravestone grey of his skin and bright eyes, but an effort has been made, and his clothing is likewise unremarkable. The cloak he wears is big and heavy, speckled with rain, stained at the hem from mud.
He splays it out with his arms as if to show himself off for her inspection, smile crooked. ]
Not bleeding all over the place, [ he agrees. ] You—do in fact resemble a supporting character, I'm loathe to say, but that's the point.
Shall we? Before we start losing toes.
[ The street is a mess of snow-slush, frozen mud, iced over pavement, just about every hellish thing you could wish out of a wintry city street in Lowtown. ]
I'd like to make a slight detour before we arrive.
I'm with you. You haven't subjected me to a boring evening yet.
[The weather is certainly unpleasant, and Ket is still not entirely sure why anyone would live in Kirkwall on purpose absent a Fade-related accident tying them there. Still, she's light-footed enough to navigate the slushy streets without too much trouble as long as she pays attention. That means her eyes aren't on him when she asks:]
We're seeing about a man who's been sighted lurking about the alienage at night.
[ Loxley knows a little, knows enough, that possibly assuming that Ket would give a fuck about some city elves being harassed is not a guarantee. But he knows even less as to her point of origin, and besides all that, he knows better that she has a skill in finding for herself the answer to such questions as: what's in it for me.
Which, as an adventurer for hire, he can respect. ]
And reports of people—elves—going missing, which has apparently happened before for spells at a time. Now, I know what you're thinking, Loxley, why not just cut something off him so he doesn't do it again, to which I say, excellent question.
The answer being, I don't think that'd sort the issue. I don't think he's working alone.
[Her expression doesn't change and her step doesn't falter. But her tone shifts chillier, matching Kirkwall's weather more neatly.]
Do you think we could also cut something off him, though? Once we've sorted the rest of it. As a treat.
[She's usually not terribly bloody-minded, that's so. But on the other hand, he wouldn't have picked her for this job if he imagined her sympathetic to this sort of behavior.]
[ An easy laugh, dry, a little nefarious in affect— ]
I like your style.
[ Beneath the quip, there is relief. Not that he doubted her, as such, but a job is better done right when it's a little personal, in his opinion, especially something of a more altruistic nature. ]
Our venue for the evening is the Changing Hands. I received a tip that our new friend's expected there, although I've no news why. But, they've a card table, so if we're completely out of luck of anything interesting, maybe you can make it worth our while.
[They can talk about what makes it personal later, or maybe never; see how it goes. For now, though, they're on the same page, and that's what matters.]
Ah yes, I see. Well, you're in luck, no one should know my face at Changing Hands, as far as I'm aware. [Meaning someone will willingly play with her, yes.] You can keep an eye on my back while we're waiting for him. You know I can get focused.
Very well. Your back is plenty charming, if not as much as the front.
[ These lines deployed too effortlessly, as if there's just a part of his brain that's ready to deliver them even as a distracted glance follows a cloaked figure crossing by them. False alarm, but one cannot be too careful. A figure in a cloak so often has a dagger.
That's why they call it that.
Anyway— ]
Rugo Kerrit. He's a bruiser for hire from Darktown. Likes a bit of gambling and beating the shit out of people who owe smarter people than him money, but no particular history of elf hatred, or kidnapping in general. Hence, I doubt he's the end of the line. He sounds very replaceable.
Sounds like the type who would be angry to lose to a woman, a foreigner or both, but equally the sort not to ask questions when a stranger inexplicably finds him attractive while still sober. Do you have a preference for the sort of distracted he is?
[She may have a preference, but either would do in a pinch, and she's the invited guest. Only fair to let the planner take the lead.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's some variant of Elephant's Castle, only the suits are scored backwards in the South, and it took a while to work out what was cheating, and what was cheating.
Everyone at the table is doing both.
An aggressive early strategy helped flesh out the rules, but it's become apparent that Alais is out of her depth, and ferociously bad at reading tells. Not that there's much on offer: A few coins on the table, and an ink pen engraved with tiny hexagons.
The way she looks at it — rather, tries not to — is certainly a tell of its own.
FINALLY thanks for your patience
Alais is interesting. The natural movement of people as some come and go, others go to get more drinks and come back, eventually moves those assembled so Ket is near her. It offers the opportunity to speak without shouting over someone else's hand.
"It's nice to see a change of pace," she offers, conversationally, to see if Alais picks up the offer. "Not that I don't enjoy Wicked Grace, but I sometimes think Riftwatch members forget other games exist in the world."
an invitation;
a reply; the calligraphy is quite nice, I just don't want to code it
I was delighted to receive your kind wishes and your equally kind invitation. It would be my tremendous pleasure to attend the benefit you describe.
However, I must, regrettably, raise a condition of a rather delicate nature. Due to the nature of my arrival in Kirkwall, I am afraid I have no access to the vast majority of the wardrobe I once commanded; while I set aside a portion of my wages toward such ends, I have not yet had the time to rebuild it from scratch, as you might imagine. While I am not a vain creature by nature, I shouldn't wish to embarrass Rifwatch by appearing in the serviceable but plain gear appropriate for work in Kirkwall or beyond. If you know of another lady of about my size who might be convinced to part with a suitable gown for the evening, or if there is some other way to secure appropriate attire, I would be grateful for any advice or assistance you might extend. Otherwise, I will do my best with what I have and pray the party's understanding.
Warmest regards,
K. Perrino
what a mood
Most excellent. I would be similarly delighted to arrange to provide a fetching bit of wardrobe for the evening. Indeed, you would be most welcome to avail yourself of my things should you find it convenient. That said, I believe I may be just slightly taller than yourself so there may be some question of temporary hems and so on. What are your feelings with respect to the color rose?
Failing that, I will do my utmost to search out something more fitting for your person as a thank you for your participation.
Best Wishes,
Miss W.A. Poppell
Research Division
no subject
I would be delighted to take you up on your generous offer. Rose is lovely, and I think it suits me quite well, especially in the darker shades. If we are to be mainly dining and conversing, I think a temporary hem would do quite nicely. If there is the chance of dancing, however, I would hate to risk a less graceful partner stepping amiss and ripping it out. I defer to you on the evening's composition.
If you wish me to pay you a call, or to meet in some convenient location, I am at your disposal.
Most sincerely,
K. Perrino
no subject
Let us approach this methodically then. Come along to my quarters in the Gallows this evening and we mat survey our options and judge the extent of the modification necessary. If they are not too significant, we may proceed as hoped. Otherwise, should the rose colored dress or any other fail to suit our purposes, we will then have plenty of time to search out a worthy substitute.
In Good Cheer,
Miss W.A. Poppell
Research Division
/action, definitely not two full weeks later
time is fake
"Miss Perrino! How wonderful. Please, do come in. Forgive the mess; I'm in the process of rearranging some of my files."
Indeed the room beyond is in something of a state of disorder. The papers and books on the desk have been allowed to overflow onto the floor and the foot of the bed, to say nothing of the series of charts and notes which have been tacked up on the wall itself. And while the bed itself it neatly made, its side table is stuffed with every assortment of frippery and the trunk at its foot is both open and bursting with a riot of fabric and frilly skirts.
no subject
As far as she knows, Circle mages, especially in Kirkwall, weren't allowed much in the way of personal property. But rather than dwelling on such an unpleasant thought, she carries on:
"Is the evening purely your idea, or a collaboration? I've not had very much contact with either Research or Diplomacy thus far."
no subject
This she says while the door is closed in Ket's wake and as Wysteria swans to the overflowing trunk so she might begin to task of peeling out various combinations of bodices and skirts and so on.
"Here, try this one. The color hardly suits you, but it is easily my most middling article in terms of size and so the fit will give me some understanding of which direction we would best proceed in."
no subject
She takes the offered gown, looking it over with a sharp eye before asking, "Do you usually fill out the skirts with crinolines, or is it meant to hang loose? I haven't seen quite this style before, I don't think, but my knowledge of fashion didn't extend quite as far down as the Marches before I joined Riftwatch." Still, she gamely begins to try it on.
(She's nearly half a foot shorter than Wysteria, which will present the most immediate challenge.)
no subject
She buzzes about Ket as she changes into the garment, eye fiercely dedicated to the lay of the fabric even as she continues to chatter, "As for the gentleman in question, I'm certain he will be most happy to avail you of any little detail of her person that you might wish for. I'm shocked he hasn't already penned an autobiography for ready distribution."
enchanted book. a week or so after dreaming.
no subject
Evidence that the dreams were not entirely in our control! If it makes you feel better, though, I think I was demoted to supporting character. I don't remember dreaming of anyone real before the very end.
[She will be very shocked if Edgard brings up a contradiction at any point.]Did I miss out on anything very exciting?
no subject
I was someone's Tragic Backstory apparently. I only got to see the end bits.
no subject
Sounds frustrating. Did the person at least vow to avenge you?
no subject
Are you busy tonight? I would like to take you out for dinner and a show.
no subject
Sounds delightful. What dress code?
no subject
You know, Business Casual.
book to action
Perfect. I will see you then.
[And, indeed, at the time they agreed, she turns up in a simple dress over heavy stockings, light but sturdy boots, and an nondescript gray cloak for the cold. With gloves covering her anchor shard, no one in Lowtown is likely to give her a second look. When she joins him at the street corner he'd indicated, she makes a small show of looking him up and down.]
You don't seem too much the worse for wear for a demotion to Tragic Backstory. I'm glad.
no subject
He splays it out with his arms as if to show himself off for her inspection, smile crooked. ]
Not bleeding all over the place, [ he agrees. ] You—do in fact resemble a supporting character, I'm loathe to say, but that's the point.
Shall we? Before we start losing toes.
[ The street is a mess of snow-slush, frozen mud, iced over pavement, just about every hellish thing you could wish out of a wintry city street in Lowtown. ]
I'd like to make a slight detour before we arrive.
no subject
[The weather is certainly unpleasant, and Ket is still not entirely sure why anyone would live in Kirkwall on purpose absent a Fade-related accident tying them there. Still, she's light-footed enough to navigate the slushy streets without too much trouble as long as she pays attention. That means her eyes aren't on him when she asks:]
Anything I ought to know before we arrive?
no subject
[ Loxley knows a little, knows enough, that possibly assuming that Ket would give a fuck about some city elves being harassed is not a guarantee. But he knows even less as to her point of origin, and besides all that, he knows better that she has a skill in finding for herself the answer to such questions as: what's in it for me.
Which, as an adventurer for hire, he can respect. ]
And reports of people—elves—going missing, which has apparently happened before for spells at a time. Now, I know what you're thinking, Loxley, why not just cut something off him so he doesn't do it again, to which I say, excellent question.
The answer being, I don't think that'd sort the issue. I don't think he's working alone.
no subject
[Her expression doesn't change and her step doesn't falter. But her tone shifts chillier, matching Kirkwall's weather more neatly.]
Do you think we could also cut something off him, though? Once we've sorted the rest of it. As a treat.
[She's usually not terribly bloody-minded, that's so. But on the other hand, he wouldn't have picked her for this job if he imagined her sympathetic to this sort of behavior.]
no subject
I like your style.
[ Beneath the quip, there is relief. Not that he doubted her, as such, but a job is better done right when it's a little personal, in his opinion, especially something of a more altruistic nature. ]
Our venue for the evening is the Changing Hands. I received a tip that our new friend's expected there, although I've no news why. But, they've a card table, so if we're completely out of luck of anything interesting, maybe you can make it worth our while.
no subject
Ah yes, I see. Well, you're in luck, no one should know my face at Changing Hands, as far as I'm aware. [Meaning someone will willingly play with her, yes.] You can keep an eye on my back while we're waiting for him. You know I can get focused.
no subject
[ These lines deployed too effortlessly, as if there's just a part of his brain that's ready to deliver them even as a distracted glance follows a cloaked figure crossing by them. False alarm, but one cannot be too careful. A figure in a cloak so often has a dagger.
That's why they call it that.
Anyway— ]
Rugo Kerrit. He's a bruiser for hire from Darktown. Likes a bit of gambling and beating the shit out of people who owe smarter people than him money, but no particular history of elf hatred, or kidnapping in general. Hence, I doubt he's the end of the line. He sounds very replaceable.
no subject
Sounds like the type who would be angry to lose to a woman, a foreigner or both, but equally the sort not to ask questions when a stranger inexplicably finds him attractive while still sober. Do you have a preference for the sort of distracted he is?
[She may have a preference, but either would do in a pinch, and she's the invited guest. Only fair to let the planner take the lead.]