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Arc 1-2: Shindig

Started by Sierra, December 09, 2007, 05:48:26 PM

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Sierra

<El-Cideon> Finally! The tests are over, written and otherwise, and the three students--no, graduates--are one step away from formally embarking on their adult lives. The speeches are over (dull and plodding more oft than not), the certificates and ceremonies dispensed with, and it is time for the grand finale: (more)
<El-Cideon> A formal dinner in the ballroom of the university's administrative center. It is a large and finely made enclosure, with wood-panelled floors of creatively varying shades and three out of four walls composed entirely of glass panes. Tables circle around the perimeter, leaving room in the center for dancing (a string quartet performs in one corner) and socializing. The partygoers are not simply students--(more)
<El-Cideon> --they are also teachers, government workers, alumni, and would-be employers of all classes. The governor himself is said to attend in person, but the mass of humanity is remarkably diverse in general. Nemesio, Derrick and Pilfer find themselves hungry from the long afternoon of sitting and listening, but perhaps there are more worthwhile pursuits here than satiating such simple drives?
* Pilfer lurks around the edges, tugging at his uncomfortably tight collar. The ubiquitous coat is not (obviously) present currently. He fingers the silverware and monopolizes the punch bowl, feeling tremendously awkward and out of place.
* Pilfer had never considered what would happen after graduation. Had even, in fact, avoided the question when put to him directly. If it had been up to him, he wouldn't have been here at all. Would it be so bad, to be a spy? It was hardly as though he had a street rep to protect. Even the last of his former 'siblings' were gone beyond his limited ability to find now.
<Derrick> Moving over to the buffet tables to grab something to wet his rather parched throat after sitting for so long, Derrick half smirks at Pilfer's obvious discomfort, "If it's any consolation, you can rest assured that no one will for a moment think that you actually belong in that getup. And step a bit to the left please, you're blocking the cups."
<Pilfer> "Derrick!" Pilfer seems glad to see Derrick, specifically. "Hey, watch what I figured out." He drops a grape on the table and covers it with a cup, adding two more beside it. "Just follow the bead. Er, grape," he says, sliding the cups around on the smooth tablecloth.
* Derrick doesn't really look any more natural in the formal attire of the graduation then Pilfer does, actually. Something about Derrick in expensive clothes just doesn't seem to click. Still, he bears up under the necessity and is very mindful not to spill anything on himself.
<Nemesio> Rather than act, Nemesio opts to observe the gathering passively. Perhaps surprisingly, he isn't in the thick of things, giving any potential employer a chance to approach him.
* Derrick watches the cups, looking for the moment the grape went from cup to P's hand. He IS from dockside himself, after all. He knows this game.
* Pilfer 's face is a mask of concentration.
<Derrick> Of course, Derrick isn't really expecting to catch PILFER at this.
<Pilfer> roll 2d8
* Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8 and gets 5." [2d8=4, 1]
<Pilfer> "And which one is it?" says Pilfer, finishing with a flourish.
* Derrick considers, "Hmm, I'd say your left hand. I didn't catch the swap though, you're good at this."
<Pilfer> "Wrongo!" Pilfer grins broadly, then chews and swallows, spitting the grape seed into a cup, which already contains several others.
<Derrick> "..."
<Pilfer> "I figured out how to get the glass ones to play a little song, too."
<El-Cideon> Nemesio spots a few familiar faces in the crowd--some teachers, some other students, some faces he only recognizes through constant exposure over the last few years--but no one has approached him yet. A plumed wig off in the distance could only be Marnie Aedes, but the Sandstroms haven't wandered into view yet.
* Derrick inclines his head, "Alright, that was impressive."
<Nemesio> "Not bad," Nemesio chimes in with, approaching the two.
* Pilfer blurs a bit, like a poorly drawn animation, as Nemesio startles him.
* Derrick blinks as Pilfer blurs, "You alright?"
* Nemesio just finds the entire thing amusing, snorting.
<Pilfer> "Well, we're at a party. We're supposed to be having fun," Pilfer points out. He gazes at the punch bowl contemplatively.
<Pilfer> A small smile begins to grow across his too-youthful face - even now, on the cusp of manhood, Pilfer could pass for a stripling apprentice.
<Nemesio> "Any plans to make this fun happen?" Nemesio asks, following the forlorn-seeming glance.
<Derrick> "And suddenly, a cold chill runs down my spine."
<Derrick> "This cannot end well..."
<El-Cideon> <Pilfer> roll 2d8
<El-Cideon> * Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8 and gets 7." [2d8=3, 4]
* Pilfer stiffens as he catches a reflection in the side of the bowl.
<Pilfer> "Horse pucks! Quick, hide!"
* Pilfer crouches behind Derrick, effectively disappearing as his scrawny frame is swallowed by Derrick's stolid bulk.
* Derrick blinks, "What?" And then looks around for whatever Pilfer is saying to hide from?
<Pilfer> "It's HIM!" Pilfer hisses.
<Pilfer> "The guy! With the hat! And THAT DAMNED BIRD."
<Derrick> Now Derrick was even more confused, "Hat? Bird? What are you talking about?"
<Pilfer> "I've been feeding it scraps from the dining hall, but it just STARES at me all the time."
<Derrick> Then he stops, "Wait, THAT bird? The one you...um." Derrick then stops, unsure if he want to finish his sentance.
<Pilfer> "It tried to KILL me."
<El-Cideon> Sure enough, a glance at the crowd reveals the presence of that very figure, clad in ancient traveling clothes as before, floppy hat and all. He even has a shortsword buckled to his belt. As out of place as he looks, most of the crowd barely spare him a glance. Every now and then he even stops to chat as though familiar with some here.
* Pilfer peers around Derrick at about belt level, watching warily for the Bird Man.
<Pilfer> "How come no one's running away from him? He's totally scary and stuff."
<Nemesio> "How come indeed," Nemesio echoes. "I'm going to find out. Anyone else?"
<Derrick> "He's probably an alumni or something, and also probably already knows you're here. Besides, we're in a room full of people, a large portion of which are mages. This is the single WORST place for anyone to do somethig agressive I can think of."
<Pilfer> "Yeah, but what about the BIRDS!?"
* Nemesio can't go against his naturally curious nature, and decides to approach the so-called Bird Man, waiting just long enough to see if he's the only one so inclined.
* Pilfer cowers.
* Derrick eyes Pilfer and then Nemesio, and shrugs, then moves along after the latter, more to hear the conversation then get involved himself though.
* Pilfer panics as his shelter moves away, and skitters behind, keeping as far out of sight as possible.
<El-Cideon> The man seems to be behaving himself, from all outward appearances, strolling about with a glass of wine, observing, and exchanging the occasional comment. He notices the three students approaching him from some ways off, but just looks at them curiously, no immediate sign of recognition.
* Nemesio approaches him with a glass of his own that he picked up along the way, containing anything but punch. He raises it in a salute upon approach, waiting for a favorable sign to approach the man in earnest.
<El-Cideon> The man closes the distance in response, seeming to wonder why three graduates he doesn't know want to speak to him but hardly looking irritated about it. "Congratulations are in order, I suppose?" His voice is deep and rough, years of hard-living evident from just that. He doesn't sound unfriendly, though.
<Nemesio> "So do all the speeches today seem to imply, Sir," Nemesio responds amusedly. "Though, perhaps, finally having the formalities over and done with is what's worth celebrating the most."
* Derrick makes an amused snort, "That works for me."
* Pilfer remains silent, tight-lipped and nervous.
<El-Cideon> He grins in obvious approval of this remark. "One more reason I have no regrets about spending my formative years elsewhere." He extends his free hand (heavily-callused, occasionally scarred) to Nemesio first. "Talys," he says simply.
* Nemesio takes it, shaking the hand as he responds, "Nemesio Lamperouge, at your service."
<El-Cideon> Talys nods. If he recognizes the name of a notable East Riding family, it doesn't register on his face. Then he turns to Pilfer, stopping just short. "Ah, now I remember. Lock of the Maid? You took one of my birds."
* Nemesio laughs despite himself. "I hear it is being taken care of quite well."
<Pilfer> "I didn't! Never saw any birds! Don't know what you're talking about!" Pilfer barks sharply (and unconvincingly.)
<Pilfer> "Anyway you can't prove anything."
<El-Cideon> Talys laughs. "I'll bet it is. They will eat *anything*." He turns to Pilfer. "There's more where that came from. Keep it if you like, but I warn you, he'll leave when he wants. Do you yourself have a name, I wonder?" He sounds amused.
* Derrick nods to the man, "I'm Derrick Oaks. And...I'm sorry about our, uh, friend here, and your bird."
<Pilfer> "No," says Pilfer facetiously.
* Derrick sighs
<El-Cideon> He laughs again. "Very well, we'll call you Mr. No." He shakes Derrick's hand, and just passes on Pilfer in general if he's not going to cooperate. "Dare I ask what's next? Or have you had enough of that?"
<Nemesio> "It seemed like a good idea to approach various alumni and potential employers to hear more about our options," Nemesio responds to that.
* Derrick shrugs, "Nothing definitive planned, but we are considering whatever options we encounter."
<El-Cideon> A nod, and a smirk. "I'm not likely to be of much help in that regard, unless you're keen on seeing the Outlands. Most aren't. Though I suppose I could direct someone to BLM if pressed. I have a few contacts." He shrugs. "Still, I'm sure you can find better here."
* Pilfer looks contemplative.
<Pilfer> "I thought the Outlands were all dirt'n'mutants?"
<Pilfer> "Like a big bowl of dirt'n'mutant stew."
<Derrick> "That's an interesting image..."
<El-Cideon> Talys chuckles. "Only temporarily, if you're to believe the Bureau's stalwarts. They do reclaim some each year." To Derrick: "But your friend's colorful imagery is not too far off the mark, at least in regards to most of what I see. The Bureau contracts a number of us to scout the borders for future expansion. I've seen my share of strangeness out there."
<Derrick> "And you're thinking the Waste, Pilfer. The outlands are what border the Waste. People can, and do, live there, from my understanding."
<Pilfer> "Is the Bureau out there?"
<El-Cideon> He shrugs. "In a manner of speaking. They have administrators in many outlying villages. Coordinating commerce between the Outlanders and the city, and such. I'm not precisely one of them, though. Simply someone they find useful." He grins at this.
<Nemesio> "Any particular direction the city is trying to expand into, or is it pretty random?" Nemesio asks curiously.
<El-Cideon> "I'm not in on any of the high-level planning. I go where I want and tell them what I find, mostly. But I've gathered enough to know they reclaim land evenly in all directions whenever possible. No isolated outposts that can be overrun by the Wasteland nasties."
* Pilfer looks slightly downcast.
<Pilfer> "What will they make into puppet shows, then?"
<Derrick> "Roughly even expansion does seem to make sense."
<El-Cideon> Talys grins at Pilfer. There's nothing malicious about his smile, but it does look like he could stand more regular visits to a dentist. "Say that when you've been out there and seen them, Mr. No. I could take you sometime if you're interested. Wouldn't be the first time I've guided some out, though it's usually on official business."
<Pilfer> "Oh, I've got, you know. Offers. And things." Pilfer looks around disarmingly. "There's all sorts of opportunities for a man of my talents. Apparently."
* Derrick chuckles, but doesn't say anything to the contrary
<Derrick> "It certainly sounds like an interesting place to see once, and I might think to do just that once I'm set up doing, well, whatever it is I decide to do."
<Pilfer> "I thought you were gonna be a preacher-man?" Pilfer says curiously.
<Nemesio> "It's always nice to keep your options open," Nemesio interjects.
<Derrick> "That's one option, yes. And probably the most likely one, but I haven't come to a concrete decision or anything."
<El-Cideon> Another laugh. Talys looks skeptical. "Such as?" he says to Pilfer. To Derrick: "Something could be arranged, I'm sure. I'm out of the city for long periods of time but, well...you could always leave a message for me at the Lock of the Maid if you're interested. I'll see it when I get back."
<Pilfer> "I don't know, but apparently there are some. The Chancellor keeps saying so, anyway."
<El-Cideon> He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely curious. "Oh?" Meanwhile, a voice rings out beyond Nemesio, female, rich and cultured, trying to attract his attention.
* Derrick nods, "A friend of mine has been studying wasteland creatures, so I'm afraid I know just enough to be curious but not enough to be properly terrified of the prospect of going that close."
* Nemesio excuses himself, unwilling to let this mysterious female waiting. Besides, his curiousity had more than been satisfied, and he has an address and a name to add to the face.
<El-Cideon> Talys nods to Derrick. "Well, I'm sure I could change that, one way or another. I'm asked to bring back specimens from time to time, so these loony biologists can track the kinds of changes at work out in the wastes. I'm sure there are some beasties stored somewhere."
<Pilfer> "How many spines do they have, on average?"
<El-Cideon> Nemesio's stalker turns out to be the flamboyant Marnie Aedes, dressed spectcularly as always and this time sporting a wig composed of gleaming silver strands, cascading down to her lower back. "Nemesio? You know Bennett Sandstrom, don't you? He's been looking for you, blackmailed me into playing messenger and all."
<Nemesio> "He must have some impressive dirt," Nemesio tells her, a smile coming to his face easily. "How have you been, Madame Aedes?"
<Derrick> "How many spines...?" Derrick stops to consider that for a moment, "You know, I doubt I can even picture something with more then one spine. How do you have more then one back?"
<El-Cideon> Talys, in response to Pilfer: "Now that is a question that would drive a mathematician batty. It's hard to draw an average when they refuse to stay in the species' boundaries, no?"
<El-Cideon> "Oh, well enough, I suppose," Marnie says. She leads Nemesio away from his friends, going on with her typical flair for the dramatic. "And truth be told, I rather felt sorry for the man. He's lurking in a corner table with his wife and daughter. Poor fellow gets out of sorts at these gatherings, sometimes."
<Pilfer> "What, like, mole-bats? Fish-lizards?"
<El-Cideon> Talys shakes his head. "A little too straightforward, but I can forgive that when one's never been out. You might see a few familiar creatures twisted by the taint, but go far enough into the true wastes and you'll see things that could only come from jumbling together a dozen of Dala's worst rejects."
<Nemesio> "Some people aren't made for excessive partying like this, I suppose," Nemesio voices.
<El-Cideon> Talys's discourse on Outlands wildlife is interrupted by the arrival of another couple: a stately (if stern-looking) man with greying blond hair and a teenage girl (shorter by at least half a foot) with striking, bright blue hair cut in pageboy fashion. Actually, she's generally dressed like a young male suitor, oddly. The girl seems to recognie Pilfer, but points for a moment as though forgetting his name.
<Pilfer> "Oh, hey, it's the girl with the stale chocolates. Hiya, blue-hair!"
* Pilfer waves cheerfully.
* Derrick blinks, "That's...an interesting way to remember someone. Friend of yours?"
<Pilfer> "Why, how do you remember people?"
<El-Cideon> The girl laughs. "I have a name, you know...but I don't remember yours either, so I guess it's all fair. Who's your friend?" she says, gesturing to Derrick. "Oh, and I'm Monday, remember?"
<Derrick> "Certainly not for the freshness of their candy, unless they're a chocolatier."
* Derrick nods to the girl, "Derrick Oaks. Nice to meet you, Monday."
<Pilfer> "This is Derrick. He talks to God. I'm Pilfer. I don't." Pilfer peers around her. "Where's your pop? He was awfully crabby the last time I saw him."
<Pilfer> "Hope he's feeling better."
<El-Cideon> Monday nods, and shakes hands with the manner of two business associates settling down for a meeting over dinner. She has the look of a tomboy about her, but there's a slight shyness and reticence to her actions. "Oh, Robert? He's--" she peers behind, then turns to look for him. Robert Eldridge is now chatting with Talys some ways away. Neither looks pleased to see the other. "Oh, he's busy," Monday says tonelessly.
<El-Cideon> "Anyway, hello Derrick, and didn't you have a meeting with the Chancellor, Pilfer? How'd it turn out?"
<Pilfer> "About like they usually do," Pilfer said casually.
<Pilfer> "I mean, it got Robbie so hot under the collar, right? What do you think it does to us ordinary folk?"
<El-Cideon> Monday blinks. "Do you see him a lot? My father had him over for dinner once or twice when I was young. He scared me."
<Pilfer> "Oh, he's always calling me down there. I just give him the old runaround. He's just an old blowhard, but he falls in line if you know your way around him."
<Derrick> "Falls in...are you sure you're talking about the same Chancellor she is?"
<Pilfer> "Well, my way around him involves the back window of his office."
<El-Cideon> The girl nods. "Um. you'll have to show me sometime. I can't even manage Father." She peers behind her, but said entity is not there and she seems relieved that he didn't hear her.
<Derrick> "Or do you define 'in line' as being incoherent with rage at your latest antics?"
<Pilfer> "As long as he's doing what I expect him to," Pilfer nodded in agreement. "It's better when he's predictable, don't you think?"
<El-Cideon> "You're comfortable with him yelling?" she says, perplexed. "I don't understand, but...I guess it's better than him throwing you out?" Famously rich father aside, Monday doesn't talk like a cultured heiress. There's something very down-to-earth and simplistic about her.
<Pilfer> "Hell, he can't throw me out. Not with what I know." Pilfer is boasting, almost visibly swelling with pride.
<Derrick> "In Trouble is Pilfer's neutral state. He's not comformtable unless someone is yelling at him."
<El-Cideon> Monday considers this. "Father doesn't yell at me often. He just...looms, until I admit to doing whatever I did. I wouldn't know what to think if my father was yelling at me all the time. I don't know...did yours?"
<Pilfer> "Might have done. Never met the man." Pilfer scratches his nose. "Hey, you wanna see a cool trick?" He tosses a grape in the air with a knowing grin.
<El-Cideon> Pilfer's admission provokes a moment of awkward silence from Monday before she speaks again. "Huh? What do you mea--oh, sure," she concedes, leaving behind this bewildering concept of a fatherless reality for now. "What kind of trick?"
* Derrick half grins as he waits for the next slight of hand trick from Pilfer, and to see if she'll even come close to catching it.
<Pilfer> "Observe. Cup," Pilfer produces a cup from somewhere.
<Pilfer> "Ball." He drops the grape in the cup.
<El-Cideon> "Yeah," Monday says, watching intently.
<Pilfer> "Cup, ball," Pilfer adds a cup inside the first, covering the grape.
<Pilfer> "Ball, cup," he finishes, slamming the cup down on the table, and lifting it to reveal... the grape, miraculously passed through the bottom of the cup and unsquashed.
<Derrick> "So did you port that one, or was that pure skill?"
<El-Cideon> Monday claps once, the noise sharp and bright amidst the hubbub of the ballroom. "That was magic, wasn't it? What, you know, what is your...schema, I think? You don't mind if I ask, do you?"
<Pilfer> "Hey, are you impugning my honesty?" Pilfer snaps at Derrick. (Besides, I don't have that kind of fine control anyway,) he adds to himself mentally.
* Pilfer turns to Monday.
<Derrick> "Your what, now?"
<Derrick> Even as he makes the remark, Derrick says it with a grin.
<Pilfer> "Er, it's hard to explain. Some of my stuff, I need, er, pockets. Somewhere to move. The rest of it, well, it's mostly in here," Pilfer taps his head. "It's a way of looking at the world. Apparently it's unusual or something. I dunno. I'm trying to learn some new tricks, but it's really hard. Probably 'cause I didn't have a proper schema to start with."
<Derrick> "Really? I think 'Distance' would sum it up pretty decently. That or simply 'transportation' to get more specific."
<Pilfer> "I guess. But it's not like that, it's like... it's both, kinda? And not?"
* El-Cideon nods along, her expression suggesting she gets the basic idea but is lost on the finer points. "I see. Kind of. What about you?" she says to Derrick. "Does everyone at the University learn this, or...?" She seems a little upset about not knowing this.
<Derrick> "Ah, mine?" Derrick pauses for a moment, and then shrugs, "My schema is meat. Flesh."
<El-Cideon> A blink. "How does that work? Can I see?" Monday says obliviously.
<Derrick> "Ah, it's not something that's demonstratable in a nice way. I need to cut myself to cast anything, and I don't want to bleed on these clothes."
<Derrick> "As for how it works...well, it's not pretty. Effective, but not pretty. My most notable talent is the healing of wounds. I use my own blood to...basically make a wound close itself and regenerate as if it had never happened."
<Pilfer> "And totally take crossbow hits to the chest," Pilfer puts in.
<Derrick> "I think that's the least descriptive way I can sum it up, and believe me, with my magic, the less description the better."
<El-Cideon> "Um. I don't get it, though. Why would you do that? Doesn't it hurt?" Monday wonders, obviously having some difficulty wrapping her head around this concept.
<Pilfer> "You're too modest. We should go out to the bow range and show her the cool stuff," Pilfer seems a trifle overeager, a maniacal glint coming to his eye.
<Pilfer> "Nah, priests can't feel pain. They're like fish that way," he assures Monday.
<Derrick> "Uh, yes. Yes it does. And I have to if I want to cast. Just as Flesh is my Schema, Blood is my Prima. I can't use my magic without it. And pardon me for a second," Derrick reaches out and slaps Pilfer upside the head, "Take anything he says with a grain of salt, if you would."
<El-Cideon> The girl actually seems more impressed by Pilfer's statement (or, rather, much less disturbed). "Really? You're a priest, Derrick? I like stopping by Honre Brangwin's when we're in the city, but it isn't often these days. I just like the building, mostly," she confesses.
* Derrick sighs, "No, I'm not a priest. I'm one of the Faithful, but not a full priest."
<Pilfer> "He can score you some sacramental wine if you ask nicely, though. Or just follow him to where the cabinets are, like I do."
<Derrick> "Make that three grains of salt."
<El-Cideon> Monday nods, scratching at an itch on her scalp and dishevelling that candy-blue hair in a most unladylike fashion. "Oh, I shouldn't have wine. Father wouldn't allow it. Maybe...Could I see the grounds sometime? I don't get out much, though."
<Pilfer> "Heck, let's go there right now! This party's for squares anyway. Your father's not watching, right?" Pilfer checks over his shoulder.
<Derrick> "Ah, while I'd not hesitate to duck off to church, I'm not about to bring her along without letting her father know where she is. That's a good way to make a man panic."
<Pilfer> "Pfft, he'll hardly know we're gone." Pilfer turns to Monday. "You don't get seasick, do you?"
<El-Cideon> "Uh, I don't actually know," she says, peering around for her father on reflex. "Why do you ask?"
<Pilfer> "If you're prone to it, the first time is way worse. Might wanna close your eyes anyway; it's pretty weird looking if you don't know how to see it properly." Pilfer lays a hand on Monday's shoulder and another on Derrick's wrist. "Which way is it, again?" he asks Derrick. "I never go there."
* Derrick removes his arm from Pilfer's grip. "I'm not kidding. I'm not going to be part of you running off with someone without notificaton. Unless you're WANTING to make yet another influential man mad at you, of course."
<Pilfer> "I'm starting a collection," says Pilfer sulkily.
<Derrick> Derrick's grin is now gone and he's giving Pilfer that flat 'I am not amused' stare that he tends to use when Pilfer suggests doing illegal things for kicks.
<El-Cideon> The trio of youths can almost feel The Glare settle on them. Robert Eldridge is back, looking as though he felt sullied from talking to the Outlander. He's quite tall, and has piercing blue eyes that betray little regard for humor. "Monday?" he says, approaching. Then he eyes the two graduates. "Do behave yourselves around my daughter," he states flatly.
<Pilfer> "Sure thing, boss!" Pilfer rips off a smart salute.
<El-Cideon> This provokes the expected frown, and Robert settles by Monday's side protectively. "I assure you, I am not your boss," he says coldly.
* Derrick fights the urge to sigh at Pilfer again, "Of course, sir. We were merely answering her questions about magic and later the church, which she has expressed an interest in seeing."
<Pilfer> "Could be the boss, if you like. Easy rates. Special discount for first time customers." Pilfer gives a greasy smirk and manages to sidle while standing still. "Anything you need liberated, easy-like?" he drawls, thickening his Dockside accent.
<Derrick> Now Derrick does sigh, "Do you get some kind of perverse thrill out of trying to convince everyone you meet that you, as well as everyone who hangs out with you, is some sort of villian?"
<El-Cideon> Robert raises an eyebrow, as if this interest of his daughter's was unknown to him. "Did she? I'll have to arrange it some time. As for now..." He glares at Pilfer, suggesting there's something particularly valuable he would like to see beyond the graduate's grasp, and steers Monday away without another word. The girl waves as she leaves (behind her back, where it's not obvious to her father).
<Derrick> "I'm sorry about him, Mr. Eldridge..." Derrick starts to say as the man turns to leave.
* Pilfer casts a wink at Monday.
<Pilfer> "That's how you do it," he mouths.
* Pilfer turns to Derrick.
<Derrick> "Well, thank you Pilfer, now he's thouroughly convinced that both you, and I, are some sort of undesirable criminals."
<Pilfer> "Hey, I didn't implicate you at all."
<Pilfer> "Besides, he thought that already. Didja see him come over like we was street thugs about to push her up against the alehouse wall?"
* Derrick raises an eyebrow, "Don't even try that. You grew up in Dockside the same as I did. Do you have to actually implicate the people you're with for people's impressions of you to stain everyone you're on good terms with as well?"
<Derrick> "Yes, he did. That might have had something to do with your hand on her shoulder though. A little more familiar then any man wants to see someone he doesn't know being with his daughter."
<Pilfer> "Nah, he was the same way when I ran into him before. Totally freaked out. They weren't even very good chocolates."
<Derrick> "And you'll recall that my first impression of you was quite the same. You cultivate it, I swear."
<El-Cideon> Robert and Monday disappear into the crowd, leaving Pilfer and Derrick alone and bickering again. Before long, though, another distraction of sorts makes its presence known. At first it's just a ripple through the crowd near the entrance, then growing silence as those nearby seem to be gawking at something, just here and there a whisper from one to another.
<Pilfer> "Well, sure. What fun is it if they don't know you're coming?"
* Derrick sighs, "Nevermind. I seem to have forgotten that you really aren't anything but a goon with magic."
<Pilfer> "Hey. I'm a *thief* with magic, thank you very much."
<Derrick> Walking away from Pilfer a bit, Derrick stops before long as he notices the crowd acting oddly, and tries to notice the source of it.
* Pilfer twigs off of Derrick's pause.
<Pilfer> "What's up?"
* Pilfer tries to peer over the crowd, his height (or lack thereof) betraying him.
<El-Cideon> Eventually the crowd parts to let someone enter the ballroom (boots, thick and heavy, echoing on the smooth wood floor). It's a woman, or at least looks like the right shape for one. She's clothed from head to toe, in a striking red silk cloak edged with gold trim and patterned with small sunbursts. The graduates are too far away to make out any detail of her hair beneath the cloak, and her face, well...(more)
<El-Cideon> Her face is wholly obscured from view by a mask. It looks like polished wood, and seems intended to match her clothes--a brilliant orange and gold sunburst in the center, on a white backdrop, it's sculpted in handsome contours that merely offer the suggestion of a smile. There are no perforations for sight or breath, nor obvious means for it to stay on. It simply does.(more)
<El-Cideon> After a moment, she speaks. The voice does not sound at all like one speaking through a plank of wood--it could not be there, for all that someone listening would know. It's clear, knowing, and obviously used to command. "Well, carry on then. Don't stop on my account."
<Nemesio> Getting a second glass, Nemesio makes his way towards the imposing figure past the rows of cowards and gossipers. "A drink?" he offers simply, holding it out to the masked woman. "It is a celebration, after all."
<Pilfer> "Holy crapmonkeys!" Pilfer elbows Derrick in the side (or at least the upper thigh). "Nemesio's macking on the dead lady!"
<Derrick> "Macking? No, that's not what he's doing. He's making contact with an extremely influential person in such a way that she cannot help but remember him."
<Pilfer> "Yeah, and he's being totally James Bond about it, too. Didja see him duck that old guy's elbow?"
* Derrick just sighs. Pilfer seems to invoke that reaction alot
<Pilfer> "Man, talk about a notch for the old bedstead..."
<Derrick> "You can't really be that dense. And if you're just trying to make me visualize, it won't work."
<El-Cideon> Audra Locrise, the lich, examines Nemesio for a moment (but of course, there's no seeing her actual eyes--she simply turns her head in the appropriate direction). "I think not," she says eventually. Was that tone amusement, approval? "I do applaud the effort, however." She walks straight into the crowd for now, which parts before her and gradually eases back into the usual chatter.
<Pilfer> "Sure? Not even a little bit? Maybe in the dark part of the night, when you wake up out of a nightmare and feel that leathery cheek next to yours..."
<Derrick> "I swear if you sneak something leathery into my bunk I will turn you inside out. I can, you know."
<Pilfer> "Hafta catch me first," sniffs Pilfer.
* Nemesio shrugs, and discards the extra glass with a nearby waiter. "Another time, perhaps," he muses, heading off to seek out Greta.
<Pilfer> "Pssh. Struck out. Cold."  Pilfer's grin widened. "Just like, I bet, her-"
* Pilfer is cut off abruptly by Derrick's glare.

Sierra

[GM's note: This occurs during the time Nemesio was away from Derrick and Pilfer at the graduation ball]

<El-Cideon> Marnie nods seriously. "Indeed not, and poor Bennet's certainly among them. Have the two of you met before? He was at my ball last weekend, with that peculiar daughter of his." She seems content to make small talk while playing the part of the messenger and leading Nemesio to a corner by the window.
<Nemesio> "We have," he affirms. "I've been hired as a tutor of sorts for Greta."
<El-Cideon> Marnie raises an eyebrow? "Have you? Interesting. You'll have to tell me how you fare. Greta's had a rather notorious amount of difficulty talking with those her own age. Perhaps she'll do better with someone closer to her own intelligence." She peers to the side quickly. "I don't mean that as a slight to you, of course. She's remarkably intelligent for her age."
<Nemesio> "Perhaps she's not the only one who needs a challenge to improve," Nemesio responds vaguely.
<El-Cideon> Marnie nods and offers a noncommittal "Hm." Before long, the two of them arrive at a mostly empty corner table, where the Sandstroms (minus the hyperactive Dala, as Lily had said would likely be the case) chat quietly, Bennett slowly working at a haunch of meat on his plate.
* Nemesio bows as he is delivered to the table by the ever-helpful Marnie. "Good evening," he greets, straightening up. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting for too long?"
<El-Cideon> Bennett does seem a little out of sorts, but he manages a rueful smile. "No need to worry. The company is good, at least." He gestures to his wife and daughter, Lily giving a little wave and Greta nodding politely as always. "Thank you Marnie, much appreciated. I'm not up to braving the dance floor this evening." Marnie sketches a mock bow and retreats respectfully, leaving you alone with the Sandstroms.
<Nemesio> "You wished to see me, Sir?" Nemesio asks, glancing surreptitiously for any vacant seats for him to take.
<El-Cideon> Bennett nods. He gestures to an empty seat across the circular table. "Be at ease, Nemesio. We have something of a tradition of offering positions to graduates at this event, and I've been asked to relay yours to you. We needn't get right down to business, though, if you want to relax first. Greta's glad to see you, for one thing." The girl nods, and observes simply that "Marnie's wig tonight is an old one."
<Nemesio> "Yet it seems to suit her, wouldn't you say?" Nemesio asks Greta, taking the proffered seat after thanking Bennett.
<El-Cideon> Greta nods. "Otherwise she wouldn't wear it. But she doesn't repeat them very often. I've kept track, and I only saw this one once, a very long time ago when she came to our house."
<Nemesio> "You might get to see an interesting reaction if you tell her that she had worn that one before, already," Nemesio proposes.
<El-Cideon> Greta considers this for a moment. "I believe I shall," she concludes. "May I be excused, father?" Bennett nods, and Greta slips away without another word in search of the bewigged widow. Lily follows to keep an eye on her, and then the two men are along at the table.
* Nemesio follows Greta with his eyes as she leaves, allowing Bennett to speak to him at his leisure.
<El-Cideon> "Well. Onwards, then?" Bennett says. "Joran relayed to you that there would be a position for you in the Registry should you be so inclined, as I recall? Though I myself am not a Registry employee, I've been asked to fill you in on the details," That rueful grin again. "I imagine you'll hardly complain, as I don't recall you getting on too well with the Chancellor at last report?"
<Nemesio> "I can't say we have a rapport between us," Nemesio agrees, before shrugging. "Regrettable, of course, but I can't win them all."
<El-Cideon> A nod. "I understand, of course. He's not an easy man to deal with. At any rate, onwards with the proposition: the Registry wishes to invite you into its Intelligence division. Specifically, given the glowing reports of your observational abilities sent from the University, they wish to offer you a position as an analyst. A vast amount of information flows through Registry HQ; not all of it is of genuine importance, and (more)
<El-Cideon> "--and not everyone has the knack for picking out the details that matter. Given your obvious skill at analyzing and interpreting human behavior--and I can note this myself just from seeing how well you deal with Greta--they believe you would be ideal in serving in such a capacity."
<Nemesio> "It does sound quite interesting," Nemesio comments, thinking the offer over. "Is this job something one could put on a resume, though? Or mention to friends, without going into detail?"
<El-Cideon> This actually provokes a chuckle. "Well..." He adopts a more serious tone. "In all honesty, Nemesio, that depends in part on one's friends, though I don't imagine you're the sort to associate with dissidents. What you do can be discussed. The specifics of what you see there cannot, but I imagine you've sufficient discretion to realize that."
<Nemesio> "I should hope so," Nemesio agrees. "Yes, it does seem quite interesting, indeed. If I were to take the Registry up on this offer, whom should I approach with a response?"
<El-Cideon> Bennett shrugs. "I can relay the message for you, if you like, though they should know to expect you at the Registry building if you introduce yourself at the front desk. In any event, you do have some time to make up your mind. A week or so, perhaps? Wouldn't expect you to make this sort of decision on a moment's notice, of course."
* Nemesio nods. "Certainly. And I would like to respond in person, Sir. It certainly seems like the proper thing to do."
<El-Cideon> "Of course. Do take your time and relax some first, if you wish--it may be the last you have for a while. We like to work our graduates in this city," he adds with a smirk. "Well, enjoy the rest of your evening, will you? Don't dwell too much on it for now."
<Nemesio> "I believe I will," Nemesio says, thanking Bennett once more. He stands up, and moves in the direction of the refreshments, intent on getting himself a fresh drink and casually spotting people of note along the way.
<El-Cideon> ~~~

[GM's note: The interruption with Audra Locrise goes here]

<El-Cideon>~~~
<El-Cideon> Greta and Lily can be found caught up in the swirl of glitz and gossip that usually follows Marnie around, though the younger girl does most of the talking (her mother seems more than content to sit back and observe--she smiles and nods at Nemesio and then goes back to watching Greta. Greta looks up at Nemesio's approach. "That was the dead woman, wasn't it?" she asks matter-of-factly.
<Nemesio> "The mage everyone calls that way, though never to her face," Nemesio affirms. "There is, of course, a very good reason for that."
<El-Cideon> "Is she a wrathful woman?" Greta inquires seriously. Lily seems to dislike the line of conversation, frowning, but does nothing to intercede. Marnie seems content to sit back and observe the strange girl.
<Nemesio> "Credible reports seem to suggest this," Nemesio tells Greta, observing her reaction.
<Nemesio> "When provoked, naturally," he amends.
<El-Cideon> She contemplates this for a moment. "What did she do?"
* Nemesio smiles. "Rather than relying on gossip, why not make an effort to find out the truth at a later time?"
<El-Cideon> Greta frowns, not sure what to make of this. "Is there a book about it?"
<Nemesio> "Quite possibly so. Are you so interested that you can't wait until the reception ends before looking for it?"
<El-Cideon> She shakes her head. "I was only curious. But I am curious about most things." You can almost see her mentally filing the matter away on a list somewhere. "Was father feeling better? Large gatherings disagree with him."
<Nemesio> "I think so. He seemed very pleased that you happened to be enjoying yourself," Nemesio tells her.
<El-Cideon> Greta nods as though content that this fits the natural order of things. "Yes, he cares about me very much." As usual, no major inflection; no gushing, just a statement of fact.
<Nemesio> "Speaking of enjoying yourself," Nemesio continues, "would you like to dance? I don't believe a party can truly be experienced without this."
<El-Cideon> Greta looks up at Lily, who nods, and then turns back to Nemesio. "It is not one of my strengths, but I will try," she says, offering Nemesio her hand. She almost looks fragile, pale skin and long fingers.
* Nemesio accepts it, leading her through the steps whenever she seems hesitant. "This seems surprising, as dancing can be broken down to rotes and timing," he comments.
<El-Cideon> "I need more practice," she states, displaying lack of knowledge in regards to dancing but picking up quickly on Nemesio's directions. "And yes, most things can," she says.
* Nemesio adjusts the pace once he can see Greta adapting. "Have you ever encountered something that refused your attempts to classify it mathematically?" he asks, curiousity clear in his voice.
<El-Cideon> "I have," she says, following along as best she can, though it seems this train of thought has her distracted for a moment. "Dala makes little sense to me, but she is a child. I did not act as she does when I was her age, but observation suggests that most children do. Can I tell you something?"
<Nemesio> "Of course. You don't need to ask."
<El-Cideon> Greta continues, as sedate and nonchalant in her manner as ever. "I want to make a companion for Porciela, so she has company when I am away, but it hasn't worked. I had a wind-up toy once, a drumming soldier, and I wanted to know how he worked so I took him apart and put him back together. Machines work on simple principles. But I can't make something..." She searches for a word for a moment. (more)
<El-Cideon> "...live like Porciela does. I don't understand how Mister Brunell made her. And I don't want to take her apart because..." She trails off, failing to find the right words.
<Nemesio> "Because you can't replicate the breath of life, and it would be folly to break something you can't fix, yet," Nemesio completes for her.
<El-Cideon> "Yes," she says with a nod. "But I wouldn't have said it that way." As usual, it's a simple correction, not any kind of rebuke.
<Nemesio> "The words don't matter, merely the intent they convey," Nemesio counters. "In any case, why not just ask Mister Brunell directly? If this is something he can replicate, and not a one-time event, perhaps the result of an accident, then he should be able to demonstrate the process."
<El-Cideon> She gives this idea its due consideration and eventually nods. "I will ask father if I can speak to him."
<Nemesio> "You've never met him?"
<El-Cideon> Greta shakes her head. "He visited once when father commissioned Porciela, but I would not say that I know him."
<Nemesio> "This secret is likely something that requires magic to truly accomplish," Nemesio comments, shifting tracks slightly. "Do you have any acknowledged skills in that area?"
<El-Cideon> Another shake of her head. "It hasn't interested me. Father has talked about magical training in a general sense, how almost everyone approaches it differently. It's so...disorderly."
<Nemesio> "There is a method in the madness," Nemesio tells Greta, leading her through a sudden twirl, "but that is likely better left for another time. In the end, magic is a powerful tool, and lacking knowledge of how to use it puts one at quite a disadvantage. More so than with dancing, I would wager."
<El-Cideon> "Knowing magic is prestigious and makes people think better of you, and definitely moreso than dancing," she concedes. "This is what I hear. It doesn't really concern me what other people think of me, though."
<Nemesio> "The part about the prestige is right, though I meant what I said quite literally," Nemesio tries to explain. "It is a tool in daily life, as well as for the exceptional things you might want to try. Trying to animate a construct would fall under its purview."
<El-Cideon> "I don't understand how yet," she says. "I will ask Mister Brunell and then consider the matter again."
<Nemesio> Something seems to be missing in the way she understands him, but Nemesio is content with using small steps. It wouldn't really matter unless Greta could talk to Bernard Brunell, after all. "How did Madame Aedes respond to your insight into her wig?" he asks instead, fluidly moving into the next song's steps.
<El-Cideon> "She was surprised, and asked if I knew how many she had. I said I could not. I could count them quite easily if I looked in her wardrobe, but until then I could only count how many I'd seen her wear."
<Nemesio> "It would not surprise me if she offered to let you count them, the next time you visit," Nemesio tells Greta. "As matter of fact, did she?"
<El-Cideon> "No, but I will ask the next time I see her."
<Nemesio> Good girl! Nemesio smiles. "I believe she appreciates honesty and directness," he says. "This approach is likely to work, yes."
<Nemesio> And with the matter resolved to his satisfaction, Nemesio returns his attention to the dancing steps. "Your progress is quite good," he tells Greta. "But are you having fun?"
<El-Cideon> She gives this the long moment's contemplation reserved for basic human interaction and eventually nods. "This is agreeable."
<Nemesio> "Good enough for me!"

Sierra

Nemesio again: remainder of the graduation ball, and a smaller party the next afternoon.

<El-Cideon> Leaving Greta back in the care of her mother, Nemesio is alone again in the crowd. For the moment, at least--a distinctive flash of auburn hair (and, soon, after, the glint of light off of metal hands) at a table by the window catches his attention. The sculptor Louisa Darby is here, apparently, dining with a man Nemesio does not recognize while looking out the window over the University grounds.
<Nemesio> He's here to mingle, so it's an opportunity Nemesio doesn't intend to let go. However, it would not do to interrupt the sculptor as she dines, so he would have to make it casual. And with another glass in his hand, something non-alcoholic this time, he passes by their table, pausing briefly to glance outside himself.
<El-Cideon> Nemesio can overhear a fragment of a conversation as he passes by: "--did try to talk her into coming, for what it's worth. But I suppose it's just as well that she didn't. You know I can't talk her into dressing up for any occasion," Louisa is saying to the man, a handsome fellow with stylishly unkempt brown hair and an apparent penchant for fine yet understated dress.
<Nemesio> As he pauses, glancing outside, Nemesio silently wonders what the couple might have been looking at.
<El-Cideon> There is a rather remarkable sunset in progress outside the window, but little of note on the actual grounds of the University at the moment. At any rate, Louisa soon speaks up to address the new graduate: "I met you at my last exhibit, didn't I? Nemesio, I believe?"
<Nemesio> "Hmm?" he asks, half turning towards Louisa, before allowing recognition to shine in his eyes. "Madame Darby, I am honored that you remembered a fan like myself," he tells her, bowing. Nemesio half-expected her to be staring at one of her statues, though perhaps he had been overthinking things.
<El-Cideon> Louisa smiles openly. "In this city, honest admiration is something to cherish."
<Nemesio> "I suppose it is," Nemesio agrees. "Are you here in your function as an alumni, if I might be so rude as to ask?"
<El-Cideon> "I am," she says. "Both of us, actually. This is my husband, Gresham." The man nods, stands and offers a hand for Nemesio to shake. There is a disarming orange tint to his eyes, but he seems friendly enough. "Always a pleasure to meet an admirer of my wife." He chuckles. "Well, it's a sentiment I can understand, at least. I suppose I owe the new graduate the requisite 'Welcome to the rest of your life'? Has anyone here sunk their claws into you yet?"
* Nemesio shakes Gresham's hand, smiling at his greeting. "I suppose the answer would be thank you and yes, Sir."
<El-Cideon> Gresham sits down again, next to his wife, and gestures to a seat across the table from them. "Sit down if you like. We'd not been discussing anything of significance." He fiddles absent-mindedly with a fork while speaking, making patterns in a half-finished plate of mashed potatoes. "So, who was it that entranced you, if you don't begrudge me a little curiosity?"
<Nemesio> "The Registry, if you're asking about the job offers," Nemesio responds, taking the offered seat. "The pay seems decent enough, but it is foolish to agree without considering any other option for a while."
<El-Cideon> Raised eyebrows, and an obvious glance between husband and wife. "It's always good to keep one's options open," Gresham says. "What other offers have you? And, in what capacity does the Registry mean to employ you? If you're allowed to share that information, of course. I know how they are about security."
<Nemesio> "As a scholar, it seems," Nemesio responds, a light frown creasing his forehead. "I never expected that casually expressing my desires for academic pursuits to the Chancelor would develop into something like this." He spreads his arms out, then, having set his glass safely on the table. "I haven't gotten any other offers yet, though I have confidence they will come, given time."
<El-Cideon> A chuckle. "It's always a good idea to watch one's words around the Chancellor. But with luck, you won't have to worry about dealing with him again." Louisa idly runs her fingers around the rim of a wineglass as she listens. The glass deforms at her touch as if moist clay, but it does not break. "Is there something else you'd like to do?" she asks.
<Nemesio> "I have a few ideas," Nemesio agrees. "The aforementioned pursuits, with less strings attached. A position to improve the living standard of the less fortunate, or research into assisting the long-term residents of Honre Nathaline." He shrugs. "Perhaps, even something with a more artistic bent further down the lane."
<El-Cideon> She nods, setting aside the wineglass after returning it to its original shape. "A position at the Registry will offer you many opportunities for social advancement if you wish to exploit of it for such. If you have no intention of remaining there for a lengthy career, take advantage of it while you can. Protecting the less fortunate is not exactly the agency's stock in trade, after all." (more)
<El-Cideon> "And I am obviously curious about any artistic goals you may have, of course. What is your medium of choice, if I may ask?"
<Nemesio> "A picture is worth a thousand words," Nemesio responds with a smile, tasting the cocktail he had brought along with him.
<El-Cideon> "A painter, then? Do you happen to have a favored subject, or are you still...finding your voice, so to speak?"
<Nemesio> "The latter, I'm afraid," Nemesio admits. "I haven't been putting much energy into it thus far, as other subjects took up most of my time."
<El-Cideon> She nods. "I can understand that. Most Avon parents would rather have their children pursue more traditional callings, I suppose, though mine were quite supportive in this regard." Gresham breaks in here: "What was it your studiens focused on, then?"
<Nemesio> "Sciences, law... military history." Nemesio shrugs. "I suppose I'm a jack of all trades, in a way. Gaming theory remains my favorite subject till this day, however."
<El-Cideon> A chuckle. "Something tells me you'll do well at the Registry, then. They have uses for all those disciplines. Including the latter. They do like to play their games." Louisa gives her husband a sidelong glance. "Oh, let the lad enjoy his freedom a bit before rambling about politics. This is his night after all, not ours."
<Nemesio> "It is my hope to avoid the hurdle of politics, actually," Nemesio shares with them. "It's not really why I'll be there, if I accept."
<El-Cideon> "Fair enough," Gresham concedes, letting the topic go for now. A glance outside the window; the sun has truly set now, and night is upon you. "I wish you luck in avoiding such unpleasantness," Gresham says, standing. A grimace: "I imagine we'll all need such good fortune soon enough. At any rate, my wife and I have other appointments this night. It was a pleasure meeting you, Nemesio."(more)
<El-Cideon> Louisa stands as well, taking her husband's arm in hers. "I would be curious to see a sampling of your work if you have a day free sometime, Nemesio."
<Nemesio> "I would be honored," he responds, standing as well to greet them properly as the pair leaves.
<El-Cideon> "Our home is always open to artists and other questionable fringe types," Gresham says with a grin, sounding as though he's genuinely proud of this fact or that it keeps things interesting, at the least. "Feel free to drop by any weekend. At the worst, you may find some like-minded contemporaries. Farewell for now." With that, the couple leaves.
<Nemesio> And there's that. He has certainly gotten some interesting leads, Nemesio muses, but following up on any of them would have to wait for another day. He can't afford to split his focus too much, after all, with what awaits the next day.
<El-Cideon> ~~~
<El-Cideon> So, back to the residence of Marnie Aedes the following day, for what the lady of the house insists will absolutely, positively be a more sedate and enjoyable experience than her last soiree. Ataraxis tags along, of course, querying Nemesio incessantly about the previous evening's graduation ball and who he met there as the two of them tread the long walk from Marnie's front gate to her actual house.
<Nemesio> "And if I said I had exchanged pleasantries with one Audra Locrise?" Nemesio asks Ataraxis curiously.
<El-Cideon> "I would ask for your definition of 'pleasantries,'" she says airily. "I don't really doubt that she was there--she is still known to put in an appearance for the more important social events at the University."
<Nemesio> "Depending on whom you ask, I confessed and was coldly rebuffed," he responds with a smirk. "Jealous?"
<El-Cideon> She frowns, considering this for a moment as the two stand upon the front steps. "Jealous isn't quite the word I would use. I admit to some curiosity regarding the woman, but I can't say I'd be eager to spend a large amount of time in her company. How did she strike you, I wonder?" The door opens, and a servant leads them inside and towards the stairs.
<Nemesio> "I must try harder, then. It was the age, wasn't it?" Nemesio laments. "On a different note, you might be interested in hearing that she carries herself as a powerful individual, and the crowds part before her presence. It's easy to dismiss that as cowardice, but there was something about her that moved people."
<El-Cideon> "Well, there is a certain amount of fear and suspicion to take into account as well. She is an animate cadaver, after all. Or so the story goes. It's hard to get around that little detail. And there are many who disliked her even before. The treasurer at the University, for example? Katherine Velan? She's this horrid shrew I have to work with on occasion, and she despises the woman."
<Nemesio> "I'm not sure she is that," Nemesio objects. "Though I would give quite a lot to gain her notice. Someone that universally feared and suspected must have quite a story behind it all."
<El-Cideon> "Well, let me know if you can wheedle it out of her? I wish you the best of luck in that endeavor, of course, and I suspect you'll need it. She's notoriously secretive." Eventually the servant leads the two of them to a lounge on the second floor. Fine wood floors, comfy upholstered sofas, and a nice view overlooking East Riding and the sea to the north make it a cozy place to relax.
<Nemesio> "I'm notoriously nosy and don't take well to being told to mind my own business," Nemesio responds with a shrug. "Anything shrouded in mystery as much as that is worth knowing, after all."
<El-Cideon> There is indeed only a small crowd present this time, as promised. Perhaps a dozen individuals are scattered about the room, engaged in various conversations. A musician plays a harpsichord in a corner by the window, and the music carries quite well in the high-ceilinged room. Soon enough, the hostess swoops down on the two youths, with her usual manner.(more)
<El-Cideon> Marnie's decked out in a wig of chestnut brown today, knotted into a series of braids that loop together at the back of head. "Ah, you did make it," she says, her voice rich and full of mirth as usual. "You didn't overexert yourself last night, I hope? It can be *quite* a festive occasion, in my experience."
<Nemesio> "I've managed to build a surprising tolerance for such events," Nemesio responds. "It came in handy the other day, I must admit."
<El-Cideon> Marnie gives this remark a hearty chuckle. "It will not be the last time, I imagine. We do so love our pomp and splendor in this city, don't we? I admit there's a time and place for such things, but it does grow tiring on occasion. Well, that's why we're here, after all. I assumed a more relaxing event would suit you well afterwards."
<Nemesio> "I hope so, especially since I didn't have anyone to celebrate with yesterday," he agrees, nudging Ataraxis.
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis gives Nemesio a sour look. "Clearly you're in need of more friends," she says archly. Marnie leads the two of them over to a sofa in the middle of the room. There is a low table next to it, bearing trays of cheese and other snacks. Two woman chat on the opposite sofa, taking no notice of Nemesio and Ataraxis yet.
<Nemesio> "I suppose I am," he agrees. "That's why I'm here, isn't it, besides participating in the festivities?"
<El-Cideon> "Well, better late than never, I suppose. Did those odd tests of yours ever come to anything, out of curiosity?" Ataraxis says. Marnie sweeps away for a moment to respond to another guest's query, an older woman with gray hair done up in a tight bun, and the two youths are a temporarily alone.
<Nemesio> "In a way," he admits. "Though I see no reason to share my findings with someone so hurtful. My sense of worth has taken such a grand beating on our way here...." Nemesio covers his face with his arm, throwing his head back. "I'm not sure I can go on."
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis sniffs. "If that's how you're going to be, then I may as well not include you on the next round of University gossip," she says, though she sounds more amused than actually bothered.
<Nemesio> "As tempting as it might be to ignore...." Nemesio shrugs. "There's something going on with one Alethia Rivers. It wouldn't happen to be what the gossip's about?"
<El-Cideon> "Well, not entirely. She's not well-liked amongst the staff, I can tell that much already, but she's not the main topic of conversation as of late. I do know there's something going on with the Chancellor, though--he's barely been around the last couple days, just popped in for the graduation speeches."
<Nemesio> "When did that start?"
<El-Cideon> "Oh, let's see...Thursday? You'd expect him to be more involved in organizing graduation events, seeing to last minute details, and that sort of thing. What else could he be doing at this time of year?" The musician wraps up a set and there's a polite round of applasue.
<Nemesio> Nemesio joins in the applause. "Maybe he's following up on the information our 'odd tests' had discovered," he suggests. "Cuesniet and Garderov are involved, too, though we're tried to suppress the connection. There's just something in the Chancellor that inspires acts of rebellion both large and small, wouldn't you say?"
<El-Cideon> "Well, he has some loyal subjects--everyone else on the board, to start with--but I can't say I disagree with you. Otherwise? I've not met Simon much, and really, I can't say I mind that. There's something about being in his presence that makes me want to take a good long bath afterwards. It wouldn't surprise me to see him involved in just about anything."
<Nemesio> "He's sleezy, alright, and bad at covering after himself," Nemesio agrees. "I worry for his partners in crime."
<El-Cideon> "Well, Rivers...from what I hear, she does her best to keep everyone at arm's length. I don't know her myself, but it doesn't sound like she's doing much to help her reputation, either. Cuesniet hasn't been on the grounds for a couple days either, and a few have commented on it, but obviously not as much as the Chancellor's absence. Meredith's just a linguistics teacher." She shrugs.
<Nemesio> "And then, there's Professor Melish. Did you know she was a close friend of that woman of mystery that I mentioned earlier?"
<El-Cideon> This provokes a raised eyebrow. "I did not. Where'd you come across this one?" One of the other guests takes a seat at the harpsichord and makes an attempt at playing it; this provokes some mild laughter and mock heckling. A couple others gather around to egg him on.
<Nemesio> "I have my ways," Nemesio says with an insufferable, smug smile. "Weren't you supposed to be the one with the superior gossip, dearest Ataraxis?"
<El-Cideon> She narrows her eyes, and gives Nemesio a penetrating look. "I will be next time you ask me, that I can guarantee you."
<Nemesio> "Aha, there goes that fire! I've been wondering whether the minions of bureaucracy had managed to put it out." He applauds for good measure.
<El-Cideon> She rolls her eyes. "You really have no idea. They provoke it almost as much as you do, you know? They can be quite infuriating." Marnie sits down on a nearby armchair (taking a moment to organize her skirts in the most unobtrusive fashion, of course) and observes for a moment.
<Nemesio> "I'm not certain I like the comparison," Nemesio tells her pointedly. "It is quite unflattering, wouldn't you agree?"
<El-Cideon> "Well...infuriating in different ways. Does that make it any better?" Marnie leans in and interrupts now: "Are you two still bickering? I thought you'd have enough of that at home," she says with a smile.
<Nemesio> "Only when we want to make the best impression, I'm afraid," Nemesio informs her, putting an arm around Ataraxis. "There is no need to keep up such appearances at home."
<El-Cideon> "Dare I ask what manner of relationship you have at home?" Marnie says suggestively, with a mischievous grin. She sips from a cup of tea, and someone on the opposite sofa laughs.
<Nemesio> "You just did, Madame Aedes," Nemesio responds, grinning himself.
<El-Cideon> "Ah, well, I was merely speculating. Testing the waters, so to speak. I wouldn't want to upset the lady by prying too deeply into your affairs, after all," Marnie says, just lightly enough to make it apparent that she's not actually retracting the question, just parrying for the moment.
<Nemesio> And it is a very good question. However, he certainly isn't about to discuss it; here, or at all. "Of course," Nemesio says, before nodding at the harp. "Can anyone try their luck at entertaining the gathering, today?"
<El-Cideon> Marnie nods. "Of course. There IS an actual hired professional about somewhere, but it appears he snuck off for a smoke. Do you play, Nemesio?"
<Nemesio> "Not particularly," he responds. "However, I wouldn't mind giving it a try. You'll comfort me if I fail horribly and become the subject of ridicule by our peers, won't you?" Nemesio pleads with Ataraxis.
<El-Cideon> "I'll fetch you a glass of wine to dull the pain, if you like," she offers.
<Nemesio> "Good enough for me!" he announces, rising off the sofa and making his way towards the musicians.
<El-Cideon> The clumsy guest slides off the bench on seeing another interested party. He sketches a bow for the other guests, who mostly jeer good-naturedly. Marnie takes a seat next to Ataraxis in Nemesio's absence.
<Nemesio> Nemesio takes a seat at the harpsichord, testing its attunement idly as he observes the crowd. It's not enough to play well technically. No, to gain attention and approval, one needs to win the crowd over. If there is passion in the playing, in the musician, then a technical mistake would be forgiven, if not forgotten. With those thoughts in mind, he decides to play a trendy melody that is perhaps a bit daring
<Nemesio>  for a gathering of this nature, just to see what reaction it would draw to itself.
<El-Cideon> The instrument is maintained quite well, perfectly in tune and ringing out richly. If its owner is not a fellow musician, she is at the least very serious about taking care of her property. There are a few cheers among the younger guests as they recognize the tune Nemesio's playing.
<Nemesio> There's not much he can do in the way of presentation while sitting next to the enormous, table-sized instrument, so body language would have to be up to the task! Nemesio doesn't stay rigid, opting to move with the music, swaying according to its rhythm. As with most recent creations, it is not a particularly difficult one to remember -- the older classics are the ones that draw upon superb technical expertise.
<El-Cideon> There are a few appreciative laughs from those paying attention in the audience as Nemesio gets into the groove. In particular, his playing seems to attract the attention of a middle-aged woman (she looks to be pushing forty) who sneaks onto the bench next to him and starts up with a lively accompaniment on the bass end.
<Nemesio> Nemesio welcomes the bassist, eventually departing from the routine slightly to test her ability to improvise while keeping up with him.
<El-Cideon> There's some slight fumbling at first, but she catches on quickly. After the initial surprise of Nemesio's departure, she seems to make no mistakes at all.
<Nemesio> All that's left is the grand finale, then! The longer he keeps up at this, the more his chances of losing his audience grow. Nemesio seeks to go out with a bang, perhaps figuratively but nevertheless leaving a lasting impression on his listeners.
<El-Cideon> The last notes ring out across the lounge, and to judge by their response the assembly in general seems to have been impressed. Under the praise and applause, Nemesio's apparent partner in crime speaks for his ears only: "Nicely done. All due respect for the classics, but we needed something a little more...lively."
<Nemesio> "Nice follow up," he returns equally quietly, standing up from the harpsichord. "I'm glad I gained the approval of a real musician."
<El-Cideon> She shrugs. Despite her age, she's dressed like a young and available professional advertising her status for potential male suitors: skirt that leaves her legs visible below the knees, smart button-up blouse, in some dark blue fabric that has a nice sheen to it. It's not flashy, but eyecatching in the minimalist way popular in some areas. "Ah, I'm just a dabbler," she says.
<Nemesio> "This party seems to draw them out," he suggests, offering her a hand. "Nemesio Lamperouge."
<El-Cideon> She smirks. She's not unattractive, but age is clearly starting to take its toll. She has straight black hair down to her shoulders and blue eyes the shade of the sky at dawn. "Madeline Bergen," she says, shaking Nemesio's hand. "Maddy if I like you," she adds with a grin.
<El-Cideon> <Corwin> roll 2d8
<El-Cideon> * Hatbot --> "Corwin rolls 2d8 and gets 9." [2d8=8, 1]
<Nemesio> "So which is it?" he asks with a smirk. "And I'm afraid I lack a nickname, myself."
<El-Cideon> Bergen? The family name is familiar to Nemesio, if not this particular individual. Mentioned with varying degrees of respect in East riding, most often on the low end of the scale. They're an old, well-established family with both a noted talent for magic and an infamous tendency to die at a young age.
<El-Cideon> She shrugs. "Ah, whichever you like. I'm not one to be fussed about formalities, just as long as I know you're talking to me." She starts to head back for the sofas.
* Nemesio decides to make his way back, himself. "Do I get my glass of wine?" he asks Ataraxis, upon claiming his seat next to her.
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis does have a glass in her hand, but she sips from it herself rather than handing it over. "I believe I was supposed to acquire one in the event of catastrophic failure. You *did* get a healthy ovation, so I'd say that hardly qualifies." Maddy sits down at the sofa across from the table, dropping down with no attempt at grace, crossing her legs and snatching a hunk of cheese from the table.
<Nemesio> "Is that really something to say to someone who was all set on that one, single consolation prize, the shining beacon of light in my eternal darkness, a sign of you caring?" Nemesio laments.
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis frowns and peers into the glass. There's a slim layer of wine still in the bottom of the glass. "I suppose I can be merciful in the face of such a plea," she admits, handing over the glass. Across the table, Maddy laughs. "Does he always talk like that?" she wonders aloud.
* Nemesio observes it, before shrugging and finishing the wine. "Cheese?" he asks, offering a piece to Ataraxis. "It seems quite popular."
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis agrees, and takes a piece. Marnie's the next to speak up: "I didn't know you played, Nemesio. How long have you been at it? That was certainly a...lively performance."
<Nemesio> "I don't, strictly speaking," he responds, taking another piece himself. "But I did have the proper education, and a good memory."
<El-Cideon> She looks impressed. "I'd say so. What was the focus of your studies, then?"
<Nemesio> "Sciences, really," Nemesio says. "It was somewhat of a blow to my supreme confidence when I didn't have an offer from the university waiting for me upon graduation." His voice doesn't make it seem he's all that upset, however.
<El-Cideon> "Really?" It's pretty clear Marnie's acutely interested now. Food and the other guests are suddenly secondary concerns. "Do you have a particular area of interest in this regard?" she asks, leaning forward a bit, chin resting on the palm of her hand.
* Nemesio considers the question seriously. Does he, truly? "Military history and tactics, as viewed from an academical standpoint," he says at last. "Which really comes down to gaming theory, at its core. It would be nice to finally chart down the proper, rational response to the Prisoner's Dilemma."
<El-Cideon> "Ah," Marnie says simply. Maddy, observing, laughs. "She was hoping you'd bring up astronomy," the other woman says, full of mirth. Marnie shushes her into silence and picks up where Nemesio left off. "What is the Prisoner's Dilemma? I've not heard of the concept."
<Nemesio> "Interesting," Nemesio comments. "I suppose I would not be a complete novice in that area, but it's sadly not one I'd want to pursue over the course of my life seriously. As for the Dilemma, it can be simplified to the following situation -- perhaps overmuch, but that is unavoidable. A pair of culprits are placed in isolated rooms, and each is made an offer to confess for a crime they are suspected of
<Nemesio> committing. If one rolls over on the other, he gets a reduced sentence. If both do, it logically follows that they would go to jail for a very long time. However, if they trust in their partner, they have a chance of going free, due to lack of evidence. Can they do it, however? The fear of betrayal is very common, and they are criminals. Is there truly honor among thieves?" Nemesio shrugs. "There are v
<Nemesio> ariations on the situation, where they have more incentive to betray the other. Keeping silent, for example, could still place both in jail for a reduced sentence, while being the only one who confesses would guarantee immunity from prosecution. I suppose the Dilemma is really a generic name for various different ones, all grouped together."
<El-Cideon> Marnie listens intently, and gradually develops a curious grin throughout the explanation. "Interesting," she says. "Making a science of human behavior, then?"
<Nemesio> "So there was an even simpler way of saying it, after all, without losing the important parts," Nemesio comments with a rueful grin.
<El-Cideon> "Nevertheless, I understand your interest. I share it in some regard. As much as my studies dwell on more unearthly concerns, it is always intriguing to discern what makes the mind of one function so differently from that another. And those who spend so much of their time dissecting such matters always prove to be...curious individuals, in my experience."
<Nemesio> "In a good way, of course."
<El-Cideon> She chuckles. "Of course. Do I seem as though I would've invited someone boring to this party? So, how is it that you intend to develop this school of thought in your future pursuits, I wonder?"
<Nemesio> "As with all hard sciences, by careful observation, followed by crafting theories based on the gathered data, resulting in further observation to either confirm or disprove those theories."
<El-Cideon> She nods. "Sound methodology. Sometimes difficult to strictly employ with unpredictable human subjects, of course. I understand this dilemma, to some extent. My laboratory is no less than the sky above, and I can hardly force the heavens to do my bidding. One cloudy night will spoil any chance at fruitful research."(more)
<El-Cideon> Maddy's paying more attention to Nemesio than Marnie's words. "Huh. Maybe we should introduce him to Irena," she mutters to Marnie, who responds with a snort. "Poor lad hasn't done anything to deserve that."
<Nemesio> "A fellow traveler?" he asks curiously, pilfering another bit of cheese. Glancing at Ataraxis, Nemesio adds, "My interest in her, unless it is a most unfortunate man going by that name, is purely academic, of course."
<El-Cideon> "Fancies herself a 'Social Theorist,'" Marnie says. "I believe that's her self-invented title. Publishes works on human behavior, the roots of such, and all that. As I've said, it's not precisely my area, and I do not agree with some of the conclusions she draws, but her work is...provocative, at the least. Worth looking into for one such as you, I imagine."(more)
<El-Cideon> "I see her socially on occasion, if you are adequately impressed by her writing to desire a meeting."
<Nemesio> "I'll pick her works up over the week," Nemesio asserts, nodding to himself. "It might even be better if I disagree with some of the conclusions, myself. Nothing stagnates debate and progress more than groupthink."
<El-Cideon> Marnie nods. "Fair enough," she says. "I wouldn't suggest disapproving of something without being familiar with it, of course."
<Nemesio> "Of course," he agrees.
<El-Cideon> Maddy rises at this point, snatching one last hunk of cheese and pocketing it for later. For one reputed to be from an old and venerable family, she has a decidedly casual air about her. "I have other places to be tonight," she says to Marnie. "But, Nemesio? It was a pleasure meeting you."
<Nemesio> "Likewise," Nemesio responds, picking up a bit of fruit and tossing it up to her. "No idea how well they'll go together, but you seem like an adventurous enough person to find out."
<El-Cideon> She catches it and laughs. Before leaving, she steps forward as if to shake hands again, but instead leans in and kisses Nemesio playfully on the forehead. She bounces away without another word, leaving confusion in her wake. Ataraxis is nonplussed. "I can't help but feel she made a point of ignoring me," she mutters.
<Nemesio> "You wanted a kiss on the forehead as well?" Nemesio asks, nodding in sympathy.
<El-Cideon> She considers this for a moment. "I'd see no cause for complaint were I to receive one," she says plainly.
* Nemesio leans over to kiss Ataraxis on the cheek. "That's the best I can do under the circumstances. The sofa is too comfortable to get up from, after all. I'm sure you understand."
<El-Cideon> She sighs. "Well, I'll be sure to relay this to mother and father when I come home without you. I can't be held responsible for what they'll think of you, though."
* Nemesio snorts. "A most compelling argument. Alas, as always, I simply cannot win against you."