Prelude 3: Diversions

[Sierra]

Pilfer's weekend:

<El-Cideon> Saturday, May 30th. It is a hot morning amidst the bustle of Bazaar district on the busiest market day of the week. Patrons of all ranks stride back and forth across the steaming cobbles, variously responding to or ignoring the cries of eager vendors according to personal inclination.(more)
<El-Cideon> Any common item can be found in the center of the district, a wide public gathering place that also serves as the largest de facto open-air eatery in the city. Outside of that the market becomes more specialized, shops and stalls tending to clump together by trade: pottery here, textiles and footwear elsewhere. Jewelers tend to cluster at the east end of the District, near the artisans' haunt of Chalcedony.(more)
<El-Cideon> The vibrant, ever-shifting mass of customers and merchandise provide ample opportunity for sightseeing or more--of course, Watch officers sidle through the throng as well, watchful of both customers and merchants.
* Pilfer wandered along the narrow aisle between clamoring merchants, who thrust their goods out, desperately trying to attract the thick-waisted matrons sailing through the crowds with their bags and baskets. A well-dressed couple briefly caught Pilfer's eye, but he noticed the brand of a mafioso's sigil of protection on the man's leather wristguard, and passed them by, just another face in the crowd. He slid past a Watchman, barely repressing
<Pilfer> a twitch of apprehension. It had been a long time since he'd needed to duck and run at their coming, but an equally long time since he'd had proper run of the streets. His old skills were getting rusty; fooling college porters and dodging rickety professors was hardly a good way to keep in practice.
* Pilfer meandered along, hands in his pockets, and waited for a decent mark to pass by. He'd start small today, sort of a celebration of his sort of graduation.
<El-Cideon> The Watch officer gives Pilfer no more attention than any other passerby. Amidst the chaotic Brownian motion of the market, there are more than enough more obvious lowlifes to keep track of. The crowd in sight presents numerous opportunities for an idle hand looking for a distraction: a pair of young people, perhaps in their twenties somewhere, passes by on their way towards the east.(more)
<El-Cideon> They walk close enough for one to assume they are a couple, though refrain from going arm in arm if such is the case. The man is a tall fellow with brown hair, dressed like someone's particularly valued personal secretary--not flashy clothes, but obviously sturdy and well-tailored. The young woman is a striking, statuesque redhead wearing a dazzling blue dress that bluntly declares the owner to be among the well-to-do.
* Pilfer eyes them, looking for money pouches. Often the cannier shoppers used decoys, or tucked their money in some hard-to-reach place; whether these two were experienced at the marketplace or merely young fools was the question.
<El-Cideon> The woman seems to carry no obvious coinpurse; whether she has anything hidden in the folds of her dress is another matter, but upon inspection it looks like the man carries the duo's coinage in his pockets. He carries their purchases, as well, in a sack in his right hand. From the looks of things, someone's getting a pair of new boots. A shortsword also dangles from his belt at his right hip.
<Pilfer> (New boots, eh?) Pilfer thinks. (Coulda used some of those, once upon a time.) (Young nitwits), he decides, (We'll try the old bump'n'fumble. Coinpurse'd be a little TOO easy, even for a rusty pickpocket.)
* Pilfer moves, casually, to intercept the pair. Bumping into the mark by "accident" was the simplest secret of the trade; the contact of the stumble distracted the mind from the light touch of fingers in one's pockets.
<Pilfer> roll 2d8
* Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8 and gets 13." [2d8=5, 8]
<El-Cideon> The young man doesn't seem to notice the theft--he notices the contact, surely enough, turning towards Pilfer slightly, blinking, almost reaching for his sword reflexively--but he seems more glad to see Pilfer moving away from the young woman than considering anything else. The woman just presents a blank facade at the "accident," and mutters. "Oaf." (more)
<Pilfer> "Sorry, m'lord, sorry," Pilfer grovels.
<Pilfer> "Terribly sorry," he tugs at his forelock, bowing and, incidentally, keeping the pair from catching an unobstructed look at his face.
* Pilfer backs away and attempts to disappear into the crowd once more.
<El-Cideon> The man almost looks amused. "I'm nobody's lord," he says with something close to a grin. The woman seems less and less interested in the entire incident. She crosses her arms and addresses her companion. "Let's go, Damon. We're late already." She moves on without giving a second glance; Damon lingers for only a moment longer.(more)
<El-Cideon> Evaporating into the crowd like mist, Pilfer finds himself the proud new owner a couple dozen senkas--surely enough to keep him fed for some time--and a stiff scrap of paper.
* Pilfer grins triumphantly to himself, but keeps his hands in his pockets until he is several blocks away.
<Pilfer> Once safely out of sight (and hopefully out of mind) Pilfer ducks into a doorway, to all appearances a youth catching his breath from the crowds, and after counting the money (by touch inside his pocket) he pulls out the scrap of paper and peers at it curiously.
<El-Cideon> The slip of paper looks to be a bill of credit: written out by one Susanne Maddox, with the recipient named as Delon Halifax. The wording on the document states that the money is to be transferred upon receipt of a certain piece of jewelry. It may be surmised that the couple is now about to attempt making a very expensive purchase without obviously having the appropriate funds.
<Pilfer> roll 2d8
* Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8 and gets 5." [2d8=2, 3]
<El-Cideon> After a moment, an identity to match the name makes its presence known in Pilfer's memory. Gossip in regards to city politics has one Elden Maddox, an independantly wealthy banker, being a known agitator against Registry influence and a constant irritant to East Riding in general. He is reported to have a beautiful daughter.
* Pilfer considered for a time. The letter as such was useless to him; all he could get was some girl's jewelry, and then only if he found someone who could convincingly pretend to be her, which was unlikely.
<Pilfer> On the other hand, there promised to be a considerable degree of entertaining rich-girl-hysterics when the loss of the letter was discovered, following which would be the enjoyably difficult task of slipping the letter back to the girl unnoticed. Perhaps in such a way as to cause even more hilarity? Time would tell.
* Pilfer got as far out of sight as he could down an alley and scampered nimbly up to the rooftops, the brick and stone flexing like fifth-dimensional rubber as he climbed, a neat trick he had mastered early in his space-warping career.
<Pilfer> Once atop the buildings, he made his way cautiously back towards the marketplace, running and climbing where he could, making short 'jumps' where he couldn't, and tried to spot the bright blue dress amid the press.
<El-Cideon> Susanne isn't hard to spot. The blue shimmer of her dress as well as the deep red of her hair make her stand out vividly in the crowd. They keep on heading east, towards the limits of Bazaar district and the western edge of Chalcedony, where more prestigious artisans cater to the city's more esteemed residents. Every now and then Pilfer can catch a word or two from the pair.(more)
<El-Cideon> Not enough solid phrases make it up to the rooftops to get a sense of context, though.
* Pilfer keeps an eye on them for signs of agitation, but so long as they seem content to walk along in blissful ignorance, he is content to trail along behind.
<El-Cideon> Susanne sounds basically at ease, though with an occasional edge in her tone that makes it sounds as though she's annoyed at someone not present. "...feel bloody useless....time..." Her companion (Damon, apparently) says something indiscernable from Pilfer's height. Susanne continues: "...like he's...a favor..."(more)
<El-Cideon> She doesn't feel particularly ladylike at the moment, it seems. "...may as well just...a son, if...he wants. I've made...known, it doesn't...matter."
<El-Cideon> The two have entered a street lined with quaint townhouses by this point, homes for wealthy goldsmiths and the like with in-house workshops.
* Pilfer smirks. (Prissy little rich girl has a sur-priiiiise coming), he thinks gleefully. (All they ever do is complain. You'd think that being rich would be enough...)
<El-Cideon> The crowd has thinned by now, and it's easier to hear the two, though they seem to have just about reached their destination. Damon raises and drops the knocker on the door of a white house while speaking to Susanne. "He's a busy man, miss" he says; it sounds like the verbal equivalent of a shrug. He addresses her as though he were an employee, but somehow he doesn't quite act like one.(more)
<El-Cideon> After a moment a servant opens the door. The conversation ends on the appearance of another human being and the two youths enter.
* Pilfer cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of his destination, and then 'ports over to the roof of the house. Easing his way cautiously down the side, he makes for a window and attempts to catch up to his quarry, at least aurally.
<El-Cideon> Pilfer's quarry is apparently keeping to the ground floor of the house. There are numerous bland pleasantries dispensed with; Damon stays mostly silent and Susanne comports herself in an appropriately dignified and respectful manner now.(more)
<El-Cideon> A new male voice can be heard;  the artisan in question, apparently. He makes numerous flattering remarks about Susanne's appearance, and inquiries about her father's health, before skirting the topic at hand and then directly addressing the matter of the commission for which Pilfer has stolen the payment.
* Pilfer grins and risks a peep over the edge of the windowsill to catch a glimpse of the inevitable response.
<El-Cideon> The three of them are in a reasonably well-appointed sitting room. Not utterly lavish, as one would find in an East Riding household, but nice enough by most standards. Damon stands behind Susanne; the other two sit.(more)
<El-Cideon> Delon brings out a polished wooden box, the sort which exists solely to declare that Herein Lies Ostentatiousness. "It truly is a fabulous piece of work," he says, regarding his own handiwork. "I've no doubt it will look perfect on you, particularly complimenting your eyes, if I may say so."(more)
<El-Cideon> Susanne lets the blandishments wash past her until the jeweler actually opens the box. Inside is a glorious silver necklace inlaid with sizable emeralds; the thing must weigh several pounds. Susanne is not visibly impressed, but makes the appropriate noises until, of course, the artisan broaches the matter of money.
<El-Cideon> "Of course," Susanne says. She has a stately air about her now that it's down to business. "We've prepared a bill of credit for you. The money may be retrieved at any time. All it requires is your signature. Damon?" Her companion reaches inside his pocket, and frowns. Susanne turns to look up at him curiously. "Damon?"
* Pilfer stifles a giggle.
<El-Cideon> Damon appears honestly aggrieved to relate the truth. "I'm afraid the check has been...misplaced, miss." He looks behind him, as if on the off chance that it was dropped in the entryway. Susanne seems simply speechless for a long moment, before her host breaks the silence.
<El-Cideon> "Is there a problem?" he says, with the air of any shopkeeper preparing to eject chronic windowshoppers.
<El-Cideon> "Look outside," Susanne says to Damon. He obliges and exits via the front door, then the redhead turns back to her host. She seems surprisingly composed, but almost visibly seems to be suppressing a sigh. "We do not have the money. My apologies."(more)
<El-Cideon> "You know my father's name. I am sure you can realize this is a simple mistake; we would not swindle an honest tradesman. If we can take the item now, I can assure you the payment will be sent posthaste."(more)
<El-Cideon> The jeweler shakes his head. "I know his reputation well enough. I thought to take a chance and trust in it. But you are not your father. If he had come in person, I might consent. In truth, I am not sure what to make of this affair, though I am inclined to continue restricting my business to patrons with...longer standing in the community?"
* Pilfer drops down and, keeping one eye towards the front of the house, begins backing away silently, prepared to run for it if Friend Damon shows any signs of checking around the sides for lurkers.
<El-Cideon> Damon appears to have got his employer's actual message and is simply waiting outside, standing straight as a bar with his arms across his chest. Susanne, inside, is somewhat less calm. There's a loud *clack* as she snaps the box's lid shut, almost on the man's fingers.(more)
<El-Cideon> "Then sell it to the Aedes woman. She'll wear anything. I have quite sufficient of baubles and trophies already. If my father cares enough, he will take care of this himself. I myself have had enough insinuations for one afternoon." She turns and stalks towards the door without another word; the jeweler just gapes for a moment as she slams it behind her.
* Pilfer 's mouth forms a silent "o" of appreciation. (She's got a temper, this one,) he thinks.
* Pilfer risks a second peep in the window, on general principles.
<El-Cideon> Halifax frowns and gestures in irritation at his reentering servant. "What was that, I ask you? These new rich, they want everyone to bow before them." The servant mutters the requisite "Of course, sir," and then both disappear upstairs.(more)
<El-Cideon> There's some assorted statuary about the room that could be worth reselling, but probably nothing small enough that Pilfer could conceal it. Learning more would require popping in and making a search.
* Pilfer sniffs in disappointment, and sneaks to the front, the better to continue following his friend with the red hair and the nasty temperament.
<El-Cideon> Susanne raps her fingers on her arm, apparently trying to work out how to word something. "Well..." she starts, and then just sighs. Damon speaks up now. "The lad in the marketplace. I'm sure of it. I could not identify him if required, though. Decidedly nondescript fellow."(more)
<El-Cideon> Susanne shakes her head. "I don't care where it is. We're going home. Father cares enough about appearances, he can sort it out himself. He'll be glad for the chance, I'm sure. 'Back to the party circuit, Susanne,' or some such remark. Damn. Let's go."
* Pilfer follows along in his inimitable style.
<El-Cideon> The trail leads back towards the west, through Bazaar district once again, and here the larger crowds make it a little harder to track one's quarry. Susanne and her companion make no stops this time, heading straight through into Westborough.(more)
<El-Cideon> Westborough itself is a bustle of common craftsmen, none of whom seem to interest the pair. After some minutes more of walking (Susanne being silent now), they cross into Calia District on the western edge of the city proper. The dwellings grow larger around them, and Pilfer more out of place should he be spotted.
<El-Cideon> The house the two eventually stop in front of looks to be one of the largest in the district, a two-story manse approaching the scale of the palatial, ancestral dwellings of the Registry families in East Riding (though certainly not on a par with such). (more)
* Pilfer takes a moment to retreat to the rooftops, relying more heavily on his abilities to keep him out of line of sight.
<El-Cideon> This particular residence--presumably the house of Elden Maddox, if this is his daughter--sports a high stone perimeter and an elaborate wrought-iron gate at the front which is now opened from the inside by a servant. Damon nods in thanks; Susanne continues up the broad, cobbled courtyard to the front door and enters.
* Pilfer wonders if someone can teach him how to turn invisible. So useful!
<El-Cideon> From Pilfer's point of view he can make a good survey of the house and its grounds. The mansion is on a rectagular plot of land whose only entrance (unless one is hidden in back) is the aforementioned gate, now closed (and whose elaborate wrought-iron tangles look to culminate in Fyrdaella's Sangmyrle). (more)
<El-Cideon> A row of windows on the second floor provide enough of a glimpse of the interior to allow for the possibility ot 'porting inside, but there's not enough light to be sure of whether or not anyone is inside these rooms. Gardens off to the right and left of the house itself seem empty and probably a safe entrance point--hedges and statuary would block the view of someone on ground level at the front gate.
* Pilfer weighs his options, but his curiosity spurs him onwards.
* Pilfer makes a jump to the statuary.
* Pilfer peers around cautiously.
<El-Cideon> With a small rushing of air, Pilfer *pops* into the garden. No one's around right now. The area is somewhat modestly kept: a small gazebo shields a stone bench from the elements, a lifesize marble statue of Fyrdaella overlooking the area (with the usual, characteristically long and wild locks cascading down her back). Flagstone paths wind through low gardens around the rear of the house. (more)
<El-Cideon> There's a ground-floor window into the house to Pilfer's left. It seems to look into a sitting room presently devoid of life; Pilfer can make out a well-lit entryway beyond it through an open door, though.
* Pilfer sneaks around, careful to avoid showing himself to the line-of-sight of the windows, and circles around, trying to locate the undoubtedly illuminating conversation between Red and her poppa.
<El-Cideon> In back of the house, the cultivated garden and statuary gives way to a simple but well-kept field of green grass--possibly used for any games at social events hosted by the landowner. There are no windows on the ground floor here, only on the second floor (Pilfer can catch a glimpse of what looks to be a canopy bed in one of these rooms). There is one door, quite plain and probably some form of service entrance, by the corner of the house.
<Pilfer> (Ooh, canopy bed. That's a girly thing, right?) Pilfer gauges the angle, listens briefly for any moving people, and Jumps into the bedroom.
<El-Cideon> The room (presumably Susanne's?) is lavishly decorated, certainly nicer than any place Pilfer's ever stayed. It is quite spacious, decorated in placid earth tones and shades of gold. The bed is raised high off the ground and looks to be almost unbearably soft. The expected accoutrements of upper-class heiresses crowd the walls: dressers and cabinets, no doubt quite full, bits of jewelry left out on tabletops.(more)
<El-Cideon> A small stack of books sits on a short table by the bed. Pilfer can hear voices somewhere in the house, but they are too far away and muffled for him to make out words or speakers from here.
* Pilfer creeps forward. He considers the strewn jewelry - actually pockets a few pieces absent-mindedly before remembering his ongoing "tests." A few coppers can be excused, but dozens of senka worth of jewels will be harder to justify.
<Pilfer> After a moment, he eases open the door and cocks his ear, trying to place the rough location of the voices.
<El-Cideon> The door leads into an empty hallway wallpapered with elaborate red and gold scrollwork, that much is easy to see just from a glance. The voices are reaching Pilfer from somewhere outside the hallway, with a bit of an echo, as though they were travelling up a floor.
* Pilfer opens the door further and, after habitually memorizing the room and layout for later reference, padded down the corridor on cat's feet.
<El-Cideon> There are several more doors on both sides of down the corridor, on Pilfer's left, but the voices are clearly emanating from beyond a door directly across from him. Getting close enough, it's possible to distinguish three: one Pilfer does not recognize, a woman's voice, and a smooth baritone that sounds very much like Damon's apologizing for something. (more)
<El-Cideon> Though there are windows on either end of the hallway Pilfer is in, light coming from beneath this door suggests the room beyond is much more open.
* Pilfer resolves once again to look up the possibility of an invisibility cloak, or perhaps a potion.
* Pilfer crouches and listens at the door.
<El-Cideon> A few footsteps echo whenever one of the speakers moves, making it harder to pick out whole phrases. None of the speakers sound angry, from where Pilfer is; Susanne (Pilfer can definitely identify her now) somehow sounds most calm, and even somewhat cowed. Damon again insists that something was his fault.(more)
<El-Cideon> The new voice--a man's, probably someone getting on in his years, as he doesn't project well--eventually dismisses the both of them. Brusquely; he sounds impatient, irritated at least now. Footsteps as the speakers apparently disperse, and then someone's walking up steps, towards Pilfer's door.
* Pilfer checks the doors to either side of the hallway.
<El-Cideon> None of the doors closest to Pilfer are locked: the one directly in front of him is that which footsteps approach; behind him is the bedroom he recently exited. Down the hall, two more doors are on the side of the hallway with the bedroom, and one more across from them at the end of the hall.
* Pilfer ducks backwards into the bedroom and waits cautiously.
<El-Cideon> Pilfer can hear someone enter the hallway from the other side--and then make the short couple of steps to the bedroom to which Pilfer has retreated! The handle of the door starts to turn.
<Pilfer> Pilfer looks around frantically; the window is too far, and directly across from the door; he'd be spotted in an instant. Instead, he quickly exerts a bit of focus and clambers up the wall and clings to the ceiling, hoping to slip out the door once the intruder's back is turned.
<El-Cideon> The door opens--it's Susanne, so apparently this is her room. She closes the door without really walking far into the room. Instead she leans against it for a long moment and heaves a sigh, with her arms folded across her chest.
* Pilfer tries to keep his coat from slipping down.
* Pilfer holds his breath. (If I just Jump to the statues), he thinks, (I can get out before she sees anything. But she'll hear the sound...)
<Pilfer> roll 2d8
* Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8 and gets 9." [2d8=5, 4]
<El-Cideon> Pilfer maintains his hold on the ceiling, and avoids the inconvenience of dropping anything on the redhead for the time being. After a long, uncomfortable moment, Susanne composes herself again and walks near the bed. She takes a book from the stack on the small table, sits down at a desk the color of ivory, and begins to read without a pause. No apparent recrimination or compalints to herself, she just goes to work.
<El-Cideon> Note: The desk is facing the wall, one perpendicular to the wall with the door, if that affects your next move at all.
* Pilfer carefully withdraws the folded paper and, timing his actions precisely, focuses on the statuary garden at which he entered the grounds. He drops the paper and Jumps away almost simultaneously.

[Sierra]

Nemesio's weekend, part A:

<El-Cideon> It is noon on the Saturday after the initial stage of Nemesio's somewhat unorthodox final evaluations as he waits for Sherise amidst the pedestrian traffic of Senate Plaza in Morrister district. (more)
<El-Cideon> It's a hot day even for late spring, and the haze of morning has long since been burnt off by the sun. Around Nemesio couples walk arm in arm, a few peddlers ply their wares, street performers gambole and bluster--all manner of that social business characteristic of large cities transpires in one of Avontyne's largest gathering places.(more)
<El-Cideon> The reconstructed clock tower atop the nearby landmark of Merrigan's Tower rings out the hour and a voice speaks up behind him--Sherise, dot on time as usual. "Didn't keep you waiting too long, did I?" she says teasingly.
<Corwin> "I was about to give up and go home," Nemesio responds evenly. "But don't mind me." He turns around, and smiles wryly. "So, what kept you?"
<El-Cideon> Sherise grins back. "Well, there was the pickpocket I apprehended, the stray kitten--oh, and the shrine fire." She brushes at her shoulder, as if displacing imaginary ash. "I do apologize. But with that out of the way, shall we be going? I know how much you look forward to these outings." Her tone is playful; she wears a plain brown dress on this particular day. Utilitarian, to match the work.
<Corwin> Nemesio himself is dressed impeccably, as always. "If we must," he responds, giving a long-suffering sigh.
<El-Cideon> Sherise heads out of plaza, westward across the red and white flagstones. "I know, I am SUCH a taskmistress." She looks over at Nemesio as she walks. More seriously: "You had evaluations yesterday, didn't you? What was that all about?"
<Corwin> "The examiner wanted us to steal something," Nemesio says bluntly, rolling his eyes. "We are now apparently supposed to trust her because we managed the task without breaking any rules after all. Oh, and the dean wanted to blackmail me. A charming establishment, I must say."
<El-Cideon> Sherise shakes her head. "You magic-users...I just need to take written exams, but you all really get put under the millstone." She brushes away an errant lock of brown hair and continues. "Lad I knew a few years ago says it's all psychological, that they just want to know how far they can trust you to behave. 'Do whatever they tell you and you're golden.'" She adds a 'tsk' to show how much she approves of any test that only cares about blind obedience.  
<Corwin> "It could be," Nemesio agrees. "The dean was fishing, wanting me to incriminate myself. And, at least, we don't have to wake up with first light for the next phase of the exam."
<El-Cideon> Sherise nods. "Well, keep at it. They can't make you do anything TOO illegal. I think." It's not that long a walk to Honre Nathaline's from the center of the city. The pair crosses over Plasterer's Bridge--one of the main river crossings--into Westborough as Sherise asks, "So who's your instructor again?"
<Corwin> "Ferryman. Heard of her?" Nemesio sees no reason to keep this one a secret, and is mildly curious to hear of her reputation within the non-magical division.
<El-Cideon> Sherise frowns. "Sounds vaguely familiar. I couldn't put a name to a face, so I imagine she doesn't teach anything outside the magic building. What's she like?"
<Corwin> "Strange. You might get along well with her, being a kindred spirit."
<El-Cideon> Sherise gives Nemesio an odd look. "What do you mean, exactly?"
<Corwin> He snorts, looking incredibly smug. "Just the truth. How else would you describe yourself?"
<El-Cideon> "Well, 'strange' isn't the word most people would use to describe themselves. Unless they want to convince themselves that that's what they are for some reason." She raises her hands, as if fed up with something. "You know, some people just have to be 'different.' No, *I* am eccentric at worst."
<Corwin> Nemesio raises an eyebrow at her antics. "I can live with eccentric," he tells her, sounding amused. "In fact, it fits you quite well, now that I think about it."
<El-Cideon> Sherise peers at Nemesio from the corner of her eye. "Well, I'm going to take that as the closest thing you can get to a compliment for today and leave it at that, then." The rest of the journey is uneventful, the streets of Westborough ring with the sounds of craftsmen at work or hawking wares, and the shouting of the occasional stray child too young to be schooled or apprenticed.(more)
<El-Cideon> Honre Nathaline's itself is in the center of the district. Converted from a pre-war shrine to Haenglin, one of the "dead" gods of Imperial Maelle, it stands out from its surroundings. A long L-shaped structure with the large Devotional Hall making up the longer leg.
<Corwin> "Where to now?" Nemesio asks Sherise once they arrive. "Do we have a plan this time, or we'll just move around and disturb the patients like usually?"
<El-Cideon> "What do you mean, 'Do we have a plan?' There's always a plan. We'll see Burton first and see where we're needed," she says, referring to Burton Galway, administrator of the facility. The front entryway of the building is a wide circular hall with a grand spiral staircase leading up one floor and down another. The patients's dwellings are to the right; Sherise heads to the left, where the staff's offices reside.
<Corwin> "That's not a plan. That's the beginning of an idea for a concept that might, one day, with careful effort breed a plan," Nemesio grumbles, nevertheless matching Sherise's pace.
<El-Cideon> Sherise throws her hands again. "It's *part* of a plan, then. A grand design to rehabilitate Avontyne from the soil up, right? You just have to see the big picture. Now quit complaining and come on."(more)
<Corwin> "Quit complaining? And give up my only ray of sunshine in this encroaching darkness?" he asks theatrically.
<El-Cideon> "'Only,'" Sherise says dramatically. "What about me?" She heads for Galway's office while feigning heartbreak. The staff offices were installed in the dwelling space of what had been the temple's leadership before the Faith shut Haenglin's organization down. Though the sisters of the moon favored simple living space, these rooms are sizable enough.
<Corwin> "True enough," Nemesio agrees with this. "Whoever knew deviousness came in such a pretty, harmless-seeming package?"
<El-Cideon> "I am not devious," Sherise says. "I am calculating. It denotes a similar level of craftiness without quite as many negative connotations. You must learn to keep your adjectives straight, Nemesio." She knocks on the administrator's door, and a welcoming voice rings out from inside.
<Corwin> "I stand by devious," he says firmly, before opening the door and holding it for her. "After you?"
<El-Cideon> Sherise just responds with a smirk as she enters and greets the administrator. Burton Galway is an elderly man with gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache (this being somewhat out of fashion these days). "Ah, Sherise, Nemesio. Welcome back." His voice is cracked somewhat by age, but he's friendly enough. "And the both of you, no doubt, are as glad to be here as ever."
<Corwin> "Yes, my excitement remains at its peak," Nemesio agrees with a straight face, actually sounding believable to those who don't know him well.
<El-Cideon> Sherise gives Nemesio's foot a nudge of her own--this will have to stand in for a kick for now, in front of the administrator at least. "Well, it's your lucky day, in a manner of speaking," he says. "We've actually got a pair of volunteers from the Faith looking after some of the more troublesome cases today. You two can take the second floor lot, I think."(more)
<El-Cideon> Most of the voluntarily-admitted--and better behaved--residents, deposited by rich families in many cases, reside on the second floor.
<Corwin> Nemesio glances sideways at Sherise. "Do we take a look at what's behind door number two, or are you fine with this?"
<El-Cideon> Sherise flashes Nemesio a "later" look, and nods to Galway. "That will be fine, certainly." Galway leans over his desk and hands Sherise the key to the second floor wing. "Then I thank you for this, as always. I do like to rely on volunteers for help whenever possible, rather than hiring goons from Dockside to keep the residents in line."(more)
<El-Cideon> This is Galway's usual shpiel, but he seems determined to finish as the pair edge towards the door. "Brute force was the rule before I came here, at least with the lower floor folks. Can't say I approve. Of course, if it were up to some people in this city, these poor souls wouldn't have a place to stay at all. Well, to work with you, now."
<Corwin> Nemesio holds the door open for Sherise once again, letting her pass before following her outside.
<El-Cideon> Sherise exits, and waits for Nemesio to shut the door and follow her back into the entryway before saying anything. "Well...there was an unfortunate groping incident last time I worked the first floor, so this is something of a nice surprise. I owe you a good kicking when we leave, though. You remind me of that when we're outside," she says as she starts up the staircase.
<Corwin> "We could go kick the groper, instead," Nemesio offers, his tone of voice level. "I would even help, no guilt trip necessary."
<El-Cideon> Sherise frowns, but continues upwards. "Well, negative reinforcement has its attractions on occasion, I have to admit." She turns and points a finger at Nemesio. "But make sure no one's looking. And it doesn't get you off the hook, either."
<Corwin> "Just point my foot in the right direction, will you?"
<El-Cideon> "This presents some difficulties for your own kicking, you realize," Sherise says. An attendant is removing plates of food from a dumbwaiter as Sherise and Nemesio reach the second floor (presumably it comes from a first-floor kitchen). The man nods in recognition to the duo, apparently having seen them volunteer before, and leaves two plates for each of them as he heads down the hallway to the right.
<Corwin> Merely smiling in response, Nemesio is content to let Sherise lead the both of them towards the needy. Or those needier than others, as he would be damned if he understood how her mind worked.
<El-Cideon> Down the hall are a series of bare cells--used to house rank and file acolytes back when the building was a temple. At the end of the hall is an open room with several battered wooden tables, presumably once a meeting area for the sisters but now a makeshift dining room for the inmates. The more docile inhabitants are sitting and waiting; less cooperative individuals (some muttering or yelling in their cells) are still behind closed doors.(more)
<El-Cideon> The attendant nods, setting down his own burden on a table. "This is most of them, I think. I gather you two have been here before, but you mostly just need to make sure they don't make too much a mess of themselves. Galway's pretty clear about that. We can't give anyone cutlery, so just try and make sure they don't go away with their hands too filthy."
<Corwin> "Or too wandering," Nemesio adds under his breath.
<El-Cideon> Sherise waits until Nemesio's set his plates down, and then she *does* kick him on the heel. "I can't tell you anything, can I?" she says under her breath. The attendant speaks up again: "Anyone left in their cells we have to deal with individually. These folks out here are usually pretty good if you want to get a head start on the rest."
<Corwin> "I object!" he responds to her, sounding hurt. "I have but the best intentions at heart, always!" He takes the time to nod at the attendant, as this is indeed something he had heard quite a few times before.
<El-Cideon> Sherise makes an exaggerated scowl. "Sure, you're always looking out for my poor, battered ego, in search of another way to wound it. I know how that -devious- mind of yours works." The inmates start to eat, and Sherise strolls around a table, watching them and making sure no one has any dastardly plans relating to the starting of food fights. The actual meals are plain, but nourishing enough.
<Corwin> Nemesio splits his time and attention between doing likewise, and watching out for Sherise. "If your ego is in any way poor, battered, wounded or fragile, I am the Queen of Avontyne," he murmurs as he passes her by with a plate.
<El-Cideon> Sherise halts a shrunken old woman from drawing Fyrdaella's Sangmyrle on the table in gravy, and shoos her back to her meal. On the next pass by Nemesio, she mutters, "In which case, I have a -fabulous- dress I think you should try on next time you stop by my parents' place. I'm at least as prone to light-to-moderate ego-bruising as anyone, you know."
<Corwin> "Oh?" The eyebrow raises, delicately, as if prompted by a higher force. "An invitation to meet your parents, is it?" A plate is effortlessly moved aside before a mumbling, balding man tries to drown himself in it, merely succeeding in smacking his forehead against the table.
<El-Cideon> Sherise actually blushes, and shuffles away. "You're horrible, you know," she says in parting. It's hard to tell how serious she is. A fellow on the table next to Nemesio tugs his sleeve before he can ask though. The old man peers up at Nemesio--almost through him, it seems--and mumbles. "Jus' want you to know, we appreciate this," before turning back to deep introspection of the whorls on the table.
<Corwin> Nemesio gives Sherise a speculating gaze. "She'll be happy to hear that," he chooses to respond to the old man, whether he's listening or not.
<El-Cideon> The old man doesn't respond, and instead traces patterns known only to himself on the weathered table. The attendant addresses Nemesio next: "Could you bring this one to the fellow at the end of the hall, on the right? He's no trouble, just...doesn't seem to get the idea of feeding himself these days." He produces a spoon and hands it to Nemesio for this purpose.
<Corwin> Nemesio briefly glances at the proffered spoon as if it were a poisonous snake, but the moment passes before the attendant could even spot it. He inclines his head in the affirmative, and proceeds to head towards the indicated man.
<El-Cideon> The resident's cell door is already open. Presumably no one's worried about him going anywhere. He's only in his early forties, it looks like, younger than most here, though his hair is all gray as though indicative that something inside him aged prematurely. He is lying on his back on the cell's plain cot staring up at the ceiling very intently at something which apparently only he sees.
<Corwin> "Looking at anything in particular?" Nemesio questions, not stepping closer for now.
<El-Cideon> The man shakes his head, but it's not clear whether this is in response to Nemesio or some figment. "'supside down, 'supside down," he mumbles, and then subsides, though his eyes remain wide as though in mortal terror of some unseen threat.
<Corwin> "Would you like to eat something?" Nemesio asks him next, approaching now.
<Corwin> As he does so, he lets his mind brush against the supine man's, curious about his true state of mind.
<El-Cideon> Further into the cell, it becomes apparent that someone apparently thought the man harmless enough to put up a few keepsakes on the walls. (more)
<El-Cideon> Assuming these are his, the man's name is Corran Parrescu. One framed document is a proof of University certification. Corran's mind is in a state of turmoil not wholly apparent from the surface. Nemesio gets an impression of tremendous imbalance, as though someone wrenched the man's mind into a state of catatonic fear and left it that way. There's also a feeling of vertigo which starts to creep over the longer Nemesio maintains contact.(more)
<El-Cideon> There's no feeling of violent intent in him to the intrusion. In any event, the patient gives no response to Nemesio's question. His mouth hangs open long enough between mumbles that it wouldn't be hard to just feed him, though.
*Nemesio tries to do just that, and as the spoon lands in his mouth, Nemesio locks eyes with the patient, fully seizing control over the older man's mind.
<El-Cideon> ooc: Mind Control roll = 2d8 with a result of nine. Success!
<El-Cideon> ooc Mind Control defense roll = 2d8 with a result of ten. Massive failure.
<Corwin> Nemesio takes hold of the man's mind, coaxing him to accept the food calmly, even as he digs deeper for any reason the patient is in this state, driven by nothing more than idle curiousity and a chance to practice his powers.
<El-Cideon> The patient starts eating--or at least swallowing, as the meal is apparently all mush for a reason--without resistance. Digging deep enough into the man's memory makes one event stand out. Prior to this his memories are of normal, daily University business. Afterwards...it starts with a simple tap on his shoulder in the memory, and then there's a moment of confusion as a storm of wild emotions barrages him.(more)
<El-Cideon> The Corran Parrescu of memory seesaws wildly between absolute despair and adrenaline-boosted terror for a horribly long moment before everything goes black. There's an impression of looking...up? At the ground, and the rest it seems is blocked. It'll take more time to recover whatever else is there.
<Corwin> Nemesio does not intend to get caught here, and as he keeps on feeding the man, he decides to look further back. A look into the successful University graduate's life, and any projects he was working on, any research he was carrying out.
<El-Cideon> Parrescu's career apparently involved a considerable amount of work at the University itself--although Nemesio himself may have had no cause in his life to see the inside of the meeting room of the University's board of directors, the "Star Chamber" is obvious as such in Corran's memory just by reputation. He may actually have been a member of the board. (more)
<El-Cideon> A younger Joran Bigod is recognizable in some memories, though he did not seem to be the Chancellor then. A man in blue--possibly current Registry chief Cyril Rulea, notorious for his monochromatic wardrobe. Professor Melish is even visible in some of the Board meetings. Other memories involve Parrescu training students on the practice field reserved for magical instruction.
<Corwin> Interesting, definitely interesting enough to warrant a second, deeper glance at whatever is frightening the man so. Nemesio keeps at his mundane, monotonous task of feeding, going slower and keeping an eye on the entrance to the cell, so he could abort his plans should someone enter.
<El-Cideon> Whatever truly happened to disturb him so is something the man struggles not to recall. Feebly, but it would take longer to really figure out what happened. In the time he has, Nemesio can glean that whatever it was happened on the lush green commons at the center of the University grounds, with a large crowd observing. Soon Nemesio can hear footsteps approaching from the common room.
<Corwin> This is enough, for now. He has been here before, and he could return if the more mundane methods of investigation proved fruitless. He gives Corran a nudge towards reliving a nice, calm scene from his life, one of those Nemesio had witnessed earlier, hoping that it would calm him down, and collects the dish. "Are we done with our food?" he asks him, more for the benefit of whomever approaches than out
<Corwin>  of an expectation for an answer.
<El-Cideon> "He cooperating?" the attendant asks. "It's good to talk to him, I think. Damned if I can tell whether he hears it or not, but it seems to calm him down. Nights sometimes, he'll wake up screaming, but he's usually pretty good during the day." Out in the dining room, Sherise can be heard instructing a woman that she is not, in fact, flying over the ruins of Ausra Remei at present and please eat your peas.
<Corwin> "He said something about upside down," Nemesio tells the attendant. "I'm not sure whether it was a response to my inquiries, however. He screams, you said? About what I just mentioned?"
<El-Cideon> The attendant shrugs. "Well, he never seems to know where he is. On the occasions he does talk. I figure it's just nightmares when he wakes up at night, you know? He's not screaming words, just like he's scared of everything." He shakes his head. "Beats me how this happened to him. An old-timer who used to work here, he said the guy used to be some big mage at the University ran afoul of the lich."
<Corwin> "On the off chance that this is true, it might be best to not talk about him that much," Nemesio says, eyeing the patient.
<El-Cideon> He shrugs again. "Well, I don't know. He gets visitors once in a while, you can tell they're Registry people. Think if she wants to get at him again, she's got other people to worry about than me." He shakes his head. "But you're right, it's rude to talk about someone like he's not there. Even if he can't hear you. Let's go check on how your friend's doing, if Corran's done eating."
<Corwin> "I'm pretty certain that he is," Nemesio agrees, walking back to the common area.
<El-Cideon> Sherise seems to have escaped without any serious food-related mishaps, though some moist footprints on the stone floor suggest someone thought their water would be happier at a lower elevation. Sherise looks up as Nemesio enters. "Took you long enough. Did you tell him your life story?"
<Corwin> "I tried, but he was not particularly receptive," he responds without batting an eye. "My feelings were hurt. Comfort me, will you?"
<El-Cideon> Sherise laughs. "You need to have feelings before they can be hurt, Nemesio." She waves at the patients. "I think they're all done for now, if you want to help herd them back in their rooms for naptime."
<Corwin> Nemesio does just that, showing the patients to their rooms with flourish -- exaggerated, whenever Sherise looks at him.
<El-Cideon> Most of them are cooperative enough, and soon the elderly bunch is sitting placidly in bed again. The attendant closes up the hallway as the three of them exit and leaves Sherise and Nemesio with a parting thanks. "It's nice to have young people around them once in a while--even if they think you're their kids sometimes. Enjoy the rest of your day, folks." He exits in the direction of the second floor offices.
<Corwin> "And we have the rest of the day to enjoy," Nemesio picks up after him. "Yet another of those pesky feelings I am not supposed to have?"
<El-Cideon> Sherise sighs as the two of them start down the broad spiral stairway. "It'd be less of a bother if you didn't acknowledge them so selectively, is all."
<Corwin> "I don't know," he muses thoughtfully. "I think my way leads to much satisfaction."
<El-Cideon> "That's precisely my point, Nemesio. If you live all your life looking after nothing but your own satisfaction, eventually, well...I'm sure -something- unpleasant will happen, is all. Want to find someplace to eat before we part ways for the day?" As she speaks, though, Nemesio has a flash of vertigo, the odd sensation that the walls are shifting orientation around him.
<Corwin> He gives a nod of his head that might be taken as consent, if one is generous, and briefly closes his eyes. Despite his vertigo, Nemesio tries to keep on walking ahead in an attempt to shake it off.
<El-Cideon> The sensation doesn't last long, but it's long enough for Sherise to notice something's up. "Hey, should we have fed you too while we were up there?" she asks, part playful, part concerned. There's a mild ache as the vertigo leaves, but the proper sense of direction reasserts itself soon enough.
<Corwin> "I think I hit upon some of that unpleasantness of life," Nemesio tells her dryly, writing it off as nothing. "Would you now be properly shamed for jinxing me?"
<El-Cideon> Sherise smirks, noting that his joking manner has returned, and apparently presumes he's back to normal. Well, for Nemesio. "When I see you capable of that, I'll consider it. Now, shall we go?"
<Corwin> "I'll even pay, generous being that I am," Nemesio offers grandly. "Pick a place."

[Sierra]

Nemesio's weekend, part B:

Lost the first line of this somehow. It was basic scene-setting: dreary Sunday morning, Nemesio oversleeps and is woken by one the Kleosterrs' servants.

<Corwin> "Yes," Nemesio responds, holding a hand to his forehead. He massages the latter gently, trying to recall the servant's name by the sound of their voice.
<El-Cideon> The Kleosterrs seem to make an effort to hire interchangeable and unremarkable individuals for their service positions; this one is recognizable as a new girl named Katherine (last name unknown to Nemesio,) a shy young woman with short brown hair. She opens the door a crack to speak more clearly but hangs back without peeking in as if to avoid any danger of catching the young man partially dressed.(more)
<El-Cideon> "Miss Myrah says you need to wake up because it's nearly noon and she has company coming and you're expected to be presentable," she says, as if reciting from a script. "She said to 'roust his laziness through any means necessary.' Um."
<Corwin> "And how would you 'rouse my laziness', Katherine?" Nemesio asks, sounding equal measures amused and curious.
<El-Cideon> Katherine pauses a moment. "I wouldn't have any idea, sir. 's why I was hoping you'd just get up," she says, slipping into a rough Dockside accent for a moment before catching herself.
<Corwin> Nemesio snorts, before sitting on the bed and buttoning up his shirt. "You may come in, if you wish," he tells her. "I'm reasonably decent."
<El-Cideon> Again, a pause. The service industry must still be in the process of rehabilitating this one; sometimes she still gawks at the house's furnishing as though wondering how she could possibly be in such a place. "Bennett Sandstrom of the Bureau is coming for lunch, Myrah says, and she'd like you to put in an appearance if that's, um, within your means."
<Corwin> "I'll be there with due haste," he assures her, gathering up a proper suit of clothing. Though he is only home, it always helps to look at one's best.
<El-Cideon> Katherine nods, looking grateful. "Thank you, sir. She and the master are having tea in the east sitting room downstairs, whene'er you're ready." She then pauses for a moment to see if anything else is required of her and, if it seems apparent that nothing is, makes for the door as unobtrusively as possible.
<Corwin> Nemesio is as good as his word, and finishes dressing with promptness, before making his way towards the sitting room in question.
<El-Cideon> Nemesio's room is on the second floor; as is the customary arrangement in large Avon homes, bedrooms are on the second floor or above, with dining rooms, kitchens, and similar areas on the ground floor.(more)
<El-Cideon> The Kleosterrs' home is a bright and airy place, with high ceilings, large windows open when the weather permits, and largely decorated in light colors or white. Myrah and Zarin Kleosterr are, as reported in the east sitting room when Nemesio arrives.(more)
<El-Cideon> Myrah is a thin matron with fading blond hair put up in a bun; Zarin is a tall, balding man who seems too interested in reading a book to offer Nemesio more than a nod in greeting. Myrah gets up, bustles over, and appraises Nemesio's state of dress with all thoroughness, however. "It's about time," she says, brushes off a speck of lint. "Almost noon, you know!"
<Corwin> "Volunteering for the poor and disenfrenchized really takes a toll on one's mind and body," Nemesio says by way of excuse.
<El-Cideon> Myrah laughs sharply. "Hah, you don't need to tell me that," she says, with a tone that suggests she could be referring to one or more people within the household. She steps back after a moment. "Well, passing inspection, I think. Or enough for today, at least. So, Sherise is still dragging you along for her errands?"
<Corwin> "Such is the price of friendship," he says, sighing dramatically and laying a hand across his forehead.
<El-Cideon> "Mm," Myrah says dubiously, sitting down again on an overstuffed chair and reclaiming her tea. "As a friend, maybe you should persuade her her time would be better spent working through official channels. The Bureau or the Registry always want more talented people. I'm sure Mr. Sandstrom could find positions for anyone wanting one." She sounds not entirely pleased about the prospect of asking, though.
<Corwin> "I'll try my best," Nemesio says dutifully, bowing.
<El-Cideon> "Well--you haven't eaten I take it? Lunch should be ready as soon as he's arrived. Bringing that scullery girl wife of his with him too, or so I gather." Zarin raises his head to respond to this, but Myrah cuts him off: "Well, obviously that's not how HE put it, but that's what she is."
<Corwin> Nemesio makes a noise that could be taken as agreement, not choosing to comment on this, and waits lazily for the arrival of their guest.
<El-Cideon> Their guest takes his time, one of those luxuries reserved for people in positions of power, and lunchtime smells start to waft through the door of the adjacent dining room, some of the meals apparently laid out in preparation. Zarin responds to his wife without looking up from his book. "I rather think there's something romantic about it, myself," he says, just before the noise of a couple speaking can be heard just outside the house.(more)
<El-Cideon> "No doubt that's him," Myrah says. "Go greet the man before one of the servants do it, won't you?"
<Corwin> "Certainly," Nemesio demurs, and heads off as requested.
<El-Cideon> The entryway is some ways down the hall from the sitting room. BLM administrator Bennett Sandstrom, a surprisingly plain black-haired woman that must be his wife, and two children which presumably are his step inside with respectful nods as Nemesio holds the door aside.(more)
<El-Cideon> Bennett is a tall man with flowing locks of brown hair down to his shoulders and a mustache and beard which seem somewhat in need of a trim--all of this is a tad out of fashion for young men in Avontyne, but his wardrobe, minimalist and tasteful, balances the picture out. "You are...Nemesio, I assume?" he says. "Unless the Kleosterrs have begun giving their servants *substantial* clothing allowances."
<Corwin> "You would be correct, Sir," Nemesio responds courteously, bowing before the man before taking his wife's hand gently and bringing it to his lips. "Nemesio Lamperouge, at your service."
<El-Cideon> "Lily," the woman says. "Honored to meet you, I'm sure. The Kleosterrs have always had a good name in this city. These are our daughters, Greta and Dala," she says by way of introduction to the young girls standing to her right: the elder is a very serious-looking adolescent with white-blond hair who bears no resemblance to Lily; the other is a raven-haired five-year-old who stares and rubs her nose.
<Corwin> Nemesio greets them the same as he did their mother, smiling pleasantly at the girls.
<El-Cideon> The lot of them head inwards to where the Kleosterrs wait, greetings and pleasantries are exchanged (it can be gathered that Nemesio's foster parents are familiar with the man from some years past, but have not met his wife before today), and then the whole group sidles into the dining room. Nemesio is sat some ways from the head of the long table, near the children, but Bennett seems to make it a point to address the youth on occasion.(more)
<El-Cideon> Talk eventually turns to Nemesio's impending certification, and the BLM representative wonders aloud how the tests are treating Nemesio himself.
<Corwin> Nemesio is content to make small talk, even as he directs the conversation towards past examples of tests, sounding curious about the more interesting cases.
<El-Cideon> Lily chimes in in agreement, claiming ignorance and curiosity of the subject herself (apparently this is not a subject of frequent conversation at home). Bennett spears a slice of beef, chews, and swallows before speaking. "Well, the instructor at my evaluation was Joran himself. Of course he wasn't Chancellor then, but you can imagine what he put us through." He says this with an expression between grimace and grin.
<Corwin> "A series of tests to measure one's wit, reflexes and control?" Nemesio asks, raising a glass to his lips.
<El-Cideon> Again, that rueful expression. "Well, have you met the man yourself?"
<Corwin> "Only once, briefly. He seemed most self-assured," Nemesio responds curtly.
<El-Cideon> "Hm. That is one of many apt expressions, yes. I've since come to the conclusion that the Chancellor taking a personal interest in a student's progress is some manner of compliment, but in practice it is such a hassle."
<El-Cideon> "Hm. That is one of many apt expressions, yes. I've since come to the conclusion that the Chancellor taking a personal interest in a student's progress is some manner of compliment, but in practice it is indeed a hassle."
<Corwin> "It could be," Nemesio agrees, seemingly unaware of how his words might sound. "But a hurdle one will pass if one is worthy, I hope."
<El-Cid> Bennett nods. "That seems to be Joran's basic philosophy on the matter, yes. I must admit that it was sometime before I could appreciate it. Well, if he took the time to speak with you personally--he did, didn't he? You weren't sent to him for being a miscreant or anything?--then I have not much doubt that you are. Say what you like about the man, he is a discerning individual."
<Corwin> "He was very firm about offering me a job, actually," Nemesio comments. "I have asked for time to consider all my options, and was granted that. While the offer is most tempting, one must always explore all venues before signing up, correct?"
<El-Cid> Bennett looks over Nemesio as he chews another mouthful. Then: "A sound policy, in general. I'd just bear in mind that this sort offer is made to few of your age. I wouldn't dawdle too long." Then he looks around the table. "But, I think we may be boring our comrades with talk of such dry matters."
<Corwin> "Ah, but of course," Nemesio agrees, picking up a slice of pie and offering it to Bennett's youngest daughter. "I got carried away in my excitement, it seems."
<El-Cideon> "Why shouldn't you?" Myrah says. "Being a productive member of society rather than loafing here would be a proud thing, wouldn't it?" The younger child promptly lifts up the pie crust, picks out a cherry with her fingers and eats it. Her elder slaps her hand and points to the silverware. "No, Dala. Fork."
<Corwin> "Now, now," Nemesio says, smiling at them disarmingly even as he dabbles at the girl's dirty arm with a handkerchief.  
<El-Cid> Lily looks embarassed on her daughter's behalf. "I'm sorry," she says, waving her hands before getting up to take care of the matter herself. "She doesn't have any manners, I know. I'm trying to teach her..." She trails off and just smiles. "Thanks, anyway."
<Corwin> "It always takes time and patience," Nemesio agrees, nodding and relenting as he leaves the girl to her mother's ministrations.
<El-Cid> Myrah watches all of this with a frown that suggests she'd have several cutting remarks to employ about Lily and her capacity for child-rearing if she didn't have the decency to refrain from doing so in Bennett's presence. "I think she's had enough," Lily says. "I'll take the girls for a walk-round so you lot can talk." She still sounds self-conscious and awakward addressing the Kleosterrs.
<Corwin> Nemesio waves the girls goodbye as they leave.
<El-Cideon> "Acutally, Nemesio," Bennett says. " I was wondering if you could accompany them for now. There are private matters I need to discuss with Myrah and Zarin. I'm sure you understand."
<Corwin> Nemesio shrugs, and stands up, delivering a nod to both Zarin and Myrah. "In that case, I believe I will show our guests around the premises," he announces in a pleasant tone of voice, following after them.
<El-Cideon> Lily, the girls and Nemesio wind up in the wide open area at the center of the Kleosterrs' mansion, an expanse of tiled floor used for a variety of social occasions and family functions in many upper-class Avon homes. Doors lead east and west to the house's two dining rooms, north back to the entryway, and south to a greenhouse/solarium.(more)
<El-Cid> The older girl, Greta, peers around at the walls for a moment, and then says "Our ballroom is bigger," in a voice that's more simple statement of fact than brag.
<Corwin> There are many responses Nemesio could have to that, but none seem quite appropriate here, so he settles for a curious noise. "And what else might I learn of your fascinating abode?" he asks Greta.
<El-Cideon> Lily guides the younger child over to one of the paintings lining the walls (some portraits, some landscapes) and leaves Great to Nemesio for now. The blond girl blinks up at him with no discernible expression. "My room has two beds," she says. "Most only have one."
<Corwin> "Do you often have friends sleep over, then?" he asks curiously. "Otherwise, it seems like a waste of perfectly-good space."
<El-Cid> Greta shakes her head. "Porciela uses it. She doesn't sleep, but I'd feel bad if she didn't have one." The blond girl looks around for a moment. "You have a greenhouse, don't you? I think I was here when I was very young and you had one." She turns and walks south.
<Corwin> "As a matter of fact, yes. It's this way," Nemesio says, guiding Greta over in the proper direction. "Porciela, you said?" he makes conversation as he walks. "Who would that be?"
<El-Cideon> Lily and the younger girl follow at a distance as Greta and Nemesio talk. "She's my friend. She's not allowed to leave the house, though." Greta peers up at Nemesio as they reach the door. "She's one of Bernard Brunell's constructs. You know, the man who fixed the clock tower? Father says there are only a few like her in the city, so I should feel special."
<Corwin> "Your father is right, I would say," Nemesio agrees. "Or do you not share his outlook?"
<El-Cideon> Greta considers this for a moment. "Well, he's usually right." A pause. "Usually. When he's not in one of his moods. Would you open the door for me?"
<Corwin> Nemesio does so, with a light nod at the girl. "How is it living with a construct?"
<El-Cideon> More contemplation as she walks into the greenhouse. "Well, it's like having another sister, but she's better behaved." The greenhouse is a large, spacious structure two floors high with stairs connecting it to the second level. The floor is red flagstone, and there are plenty of places to sit in the sun amidst the greenery. "Don't you have a sister or somewhat?" she says curiously. "Where is she today?"
<Corwin> "I would like to know the answer to that myself," Nemesio responds, smiling at Greta's bluntness. "Though if you call Ataraxis my sister she might get upset with you. She fancies herself my savior, it seems."
<El-Cideon> "What is she saving you from?" Greta asks. Again, that tone that suggests that everything is a matter of dire seriousness. Lily and Dala trail in behind the two, the mother keeping an eye an her energetic child and stopping her when she seems likely to tear a flower off some rare imported plant.
<Corwin> "Life itself, it seems at times. Bad choices, horrible mistakes with regard to schooling and employment," he says to her, the tips of his lips quirking in amusement. "Unwanted suitors, too."
<El-Cideon> "She sounds busy," Greta says, still almost without noticeable inflection, as though she were merely making empirical observations. She stops and examines a delicate white flower native to some unknown locale beyond Kalbemarle.
<Corwin>  "Alas, a mortal wound," Nemesio laments. "And delivered so ruthlessly, too."
<El-Cideon> Greta peers up at Nemesio curiously, honest innocence or a very convincing substitute plain on her face. "What?" Lily walks over then and interrupts. "Greta, could you entertain your sister for a bit? I need to sit down." Greta complies with a dutiful "Of course" and leads Dala away by the hand. "I saw some carnivorous plants over there, but you -mustn't- touch them," she says, trailing away. Lily sighs.
<Corwin>  "The life of a mother is fraught with peril?" Nemesio comments, directing her towards a bench.
<Corwin>  "And much hardship, it appears."
<El-Cideon> Lily sits gratefully. "Well...it keeps me busy," she says, fidgeting a little with her hands. "I can't say that's a bad thing." Her manner of speaking is somewhat less cultured than that of most of the Kleosterr household's guests, East Riding manners overlaid on top of something else.
<Corwin> "I could look after your children if you would like to rejoin your husband," Nemesio offers. "After all, they seemed intent on discussing matters of import."
<El-Cideon> Lily shakes her head, looking awkward. "It's nothing that concerns me," she says. She looks around for a moment. "This is a nice place. The Kleosterrs are...your aunt and uncle, yes? How long have you lived here?"
<Corwin> "How long has it been?" he wonders out loud, neatly side-stepping the question. "It seems forever, sometimes."
<El-Cideon> Lily nods, accepting the evasion for what it is. "So you met Joran? He's a guest of ours on occasion." She glances around, as if making sure her husband or the Kleosterrs aren't within hearing range. "I have to admit the man scares me a little."
<Corwin> "He is very forceful and sure of himself." Nemesio chuckles. "I must admit that so am I, on occasion, which lead to somewhat of a clash. I'm certain we could work out our differences, however."
<El-Cideon> Lily nods, her expression uncertain. "Well, it makes for a good living, at least." She then gets up and heads to the children to comfort Dala, who apparently has cut herself on a thorn. It's about this time that the servant Katherine shows up on, nodding ever shyly to Nemesio. "Excuse me, sir. Master Sandstrom has finished his meal with the master and the missus and is preparing to leave."
<Corwin> "It seems our time here is cut short, then," Nemesio says, nodding at Katherine in acknowlegement. "Would you like me to glance at that cut?" he then offers to Lily, approaching her and her children.
<El-Cideon> Lily looks up."It's probably not much. Children get scrapes all the time...What could you do?"
<Corwin> "Apply some medicine to calm down the nerves if it's not serious, and some showy magic if it is." He seems smug at that moment. "I am, after all, pretty much a qualified, worthy member of society, or so I have been told."
<El-Cideon> "Oh, could you do something?" she says, sounding curious at the mention of magic. She motions Dala over to her, putting her hands on the girl's shoulders.
<Corwin> Nemesio tilts his head, observing the cut. "It is quite likely overkill, but...." He shrugs, and covers her hand in his larger one, its palm glowing even as a wind picks up around them of its own accord, thunder rumbling approvingly overhead. The hand becomes warm, not quite uncomfortably so, yet enough to numb the sensation, and Nemesio finally directs his power outwards, having shaped it properly.
<El-Cideon> The child waits until Nemesio is done, seeming more interested in what's happening than worried. She glances at her finger, seeing the cut completely gone, and licks off a leftover spot of blood, prompting a reproachful "Dala!" from her sister, but Lily just shakes her head. "Better that than wiping it on her clothes." She turns to Nemesio as the group walks back through the ballroom and towards the entryway. "Thank you," she says. "Sometimes I wish I could learn something like that."
<Corwin> "I don't know about that," he argues, frowning lightly. "The law would have forced you to spend years upon years learning control and many other things that are probably considered relevant to someone, and there is the annoyance of registration and of one's future employment be dependent on their gifts. Even such a minor one, for that is what it is, seems infinitely more important than any of my grades in a variety of sciences or other achievements accumulated over the years, if I might step beyond the limits of modesty but briefly."
<El-Cideon> Lily frowns herself. "It's not always like that, is it? Bennett says he learned from scratch without really being drawn to it beforehand." She shrugs and continues, sounding a little wistful, "Anyway, I think it would be a fair trade." The group meets up with the Kleosterrs and Bennett again at the small entry hall at the front of the house. "I trust they weren't too much trouble?" Bennett says.
<Corwin> "Not at all," Nemesio assures him. "We had a pleasant stroll through the greenhouse."
<El-Cideon> "They have plants that eat flies," Greta announces to the world. Lily quiets the children and shoos them out the door after farewells are made. Bennett lingers for a moment to say farewell to the Kleosterrs and Nemesio. "It was good to meet you, Nemesio. No doubt I'll see more of you once you enter the working world. Perhaps we can meet at Exeter sometime."
<Corwin> "It would be an honor," Nemesio dutifully tells the man, managing to avoid sounding fake even to his own ears.
<El-Cideon> Bennett exits, leaving Nemesio alone with the Kleosterrs again. "Did you see her table manners?" Myrah exclaims to no one in particular, tsking. "Shameful."
<Corwin> Rather used to such outbursts, Nemesio tries to make himself look sympathetic to Myrah's complaints without overtly joining in the bashing of whomever poor soul offended her sensibilities now.
<El-Cideon> Zarin shrugs. "The older girl behaved herself quite well, I thought. And Lily herself is better domesticated than gossip would lead one to suspect." He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. "Any thoughts, Nemesio?
<Corwin> "I'm afraid I wasn't privy to the discussion between you three, nor did I sneak back to listen in," Nemesio responds, sounding amused.
<El-Cideon> Zarin frowns. "I'm sure you talked enough with the family to have some impressions."
<Corwin> "They seem nice. The father appears strict, yet reasonably loving and fair. The girls are being educated properly, even if they might fall behind the curve."
<El-Cideon> "Hm. You think so? The elder is a rather strange girl, I must admit. The other...well, I would not expect one that young to behave with all circumspection, truly."
<Corwin> Nemesio does have his own concerns, especially in the light of mechanical children -- constructs -- brought up by Greta, but isn't about to just mention them without properly researching the matter first. "Perhaps," he instead allows, shrugging, "though I don't happen to meet too many adolescent girls to be able to tell what is normal with them, and what falls outside the norm. Is there a reason to these questions, however?"
<El-Cideon> Zarin shrugs. "None in particular. But you had better be accustomed to people making these sorts of inquiries if you're going to move in the circles of University Graduates. These people do thrive on gossip."
<Corwin> "Of course." Nemesio nods dutifully. "And speaking of any future employment, would you and Aunt Myrah have any preferences I should take under consideration?"
<El-Cideon> An exchange of glances, then Zarin continues. "Any respectable line of work would be satisfactory. We don't wish to dictate to you the entire course of your life. As long as it accounts to more than loafing off income from rents in the farmlands."
<Corwin> "I might just explore the opportunity the Chancellor has extended, then," he muses thoughtfully. "It might look good on my resume further down the road, if nothing else."

[Sierra]

Derrick's weekend:

<El-Cideon> It is a hazy morning on the Saturday after the start of Derrick's rather unorthodox test at the University. As mid-day arrives, he finds himself in the center of Honre Brangwin's cavernous interior (the largest enclosed space in the city) after services.(more)
<El-Cideon> The vast shrine to Fyrdaella is an x-shaped building. Rows of low benches (backless, as participants are rarely expected to sit for long) run down the four spokes of the structure, with the altar, a wide, raised platform equally visible from each direction, sitting at the center.(more)
<El-Cideon> It's here that Derrick is drawn as the crowds file out of the building, towards where a group of clergy still bustle about dealing with a few leftover supplicants and close associates in the aftermath of services--and the high priestess herself, whom Derrick has been told wishes to see him.
* Derrick moves forward at an easy walk, not wishing to break the atmosphere of this place with the harsh sound of quickened footsteps. The slower walk also gives him a moment to wonder what on earth the High Priestess herself would want to see HIM for, especially following the day where he had just handled such a...potentially contreversial text. (more)
<Derrick> He is also forced to think over his last specially requested meeting with a figure of authority, though such a comparison between the High Priestess and the rather unpleasant Chancellor is both an unworthy thought and an indication of just how tired and worn Derrick is right now. Shaking his head to clear such thoughts, he stops a respectful distance from the center and waits to be beckoned closer.
<El-Cideon> Honre Kryla is a slim, short woman, and younger than one would expect for one in such a position. She has a pleasant, heart-shaped face, soft brown hair, and eyes the color of an overcast sky. Her hair is bound up in a braid along the back of her head, as is often her practice (the style resembles that a maiden wears just before her marriage--the locks are symbolically untied by the groom during the ceremony. Honre Kryla, though, is unattached).(more)
<El-Cideon> Her dress is similar to the standard outfit of Fyrdaella's priests--robes dominated by green and blue--though more voluminous a garment, especially around the sleeves, and made from a distinctive shimmering fabric.
<El-Cideon> Most of the crowd has dispersed by the time Derrick draws near, though a few attendants still buzz around Honre Kryla like worried mother hens. Kryla is speaking to an unusually-dressed woman with black hair when she notices Derrick waiting--it's Honre Kryla herself who invites Derrick over. "Initiate Derrick, isn't it?" She smiles. "No need to be shy."
* Derrick can't help but grin slightly, then inclines his head and walks forward. "Sorry, I just didn't want to interrupt is all. But, ah, you wanted to see me, Honre Kryla?"
<El-Cideon> Kryla nods, and seems to chuckle a little. "No need to worry, you're not in any trouble." She gestures to her companion--a woman with black curls down to her waist and a voluptuous figure, who dresses to emphasize this fact (and, if not genuinely unaware of the effect this has on people, then a very good actress)--and the woman turns to leave.(more)
<El-Cideon> "Celesta Savranola," Kryla says. "One of our more devoted patrons. We have her to thank for the new floor of dormitories. I've always thought she bears a certain resemblance to the Great Mother, so it's nice to have her around. Now," she turns towards the wing of the shrine that leads to the clergy's living area, "walk with me for a bit?"
<Derrick> As the dark haired woman leaves, Derrick finds it a bit difficult to keep his attention on the High Priestess rather then on her retreating figure. Still, he somehow manages, and smiles at Honre Kryla's invitation to walk. Nodding his head, he falls into step beside her, "Of course."
<El-Cideon> Kryla exits the shrine proper and emerges into the garden that borders the living quarters. Greenery is everywhere around stone paths, and fountains burble. "You should not feel ill at ease," she says. "I've not singled you out for any misdeed. In truth, I wished to know how your studies proceed at the University, and offer our aid in any way possible."
* Derrick shakes his head, "Oh, I am not ill at ease. At least not here. If I seem out of sorts it is due to my last few days at the Academy. I have had little sleep and less peace there of late. But I suppose that is simply the way of examinations time." (more)
<Derrick> Pausing a bit, he sighs and takes a moment to try and breathe in the peace and harmony of this place, in some vain attempt to capture some of it within him and bring it back to the Academy, "My studies...well, I've passed my first examination, though I have no clue what my second will be. I'm sure my group and I will be up to the task though, whatever it is."
<Derrick> Feeling a bit more relaxed after his deep breath, he actually smiles, "Though if I do need help, this will be the first place I think of, of course. The faith is still my home, no matter how long I've been at the Academy."
<El-Cideon> Kryla smiles. "This is a rewarding sentiment to hear, Derrick. I like this place to feel like a home. I wished to speak with you specifically, because...well, you likely know that we have some leeway to train magic-users within our own ranks. Not many of us are actually sent to the academy. I am glad to see you succeed on your own, of course."
<Derrick> Shrugging, Derrick almost chuckles, "Well, my decision to go to the Academy was because there is so much else to learn there besides magic. I'm near the top of my class in my Architecture and Civil Engineering courses, and doing rather well in my other classes too. Magic is only part of what I'm there to learn, really."
<Derrick> Again, he pauses, and closes his eyes for a second, "Also, I'll have to say that dealing with so many people outside of the Faith has given me a new appriciation for those within it."
<El-Cideon> Kryla nods. "Do you intend to remain with us for a time afterwards? Or do you have other plans? You are, of course, welcome to stay, but I would not wish to restrain you should your desires take you elsewhere." She spares a glance for a couple attendants waiting down the pathway, seeming amused at their hesitancy.
<Derrick> At that oft asked question, he can only shrug, "I'm not sure, really. At the moment, I have no plans but to relax a bit after I graduate, and perhaps put a bit more effort into the work I've been doing in Dockside. I think I likely will stay here for awhile though, no matter what comes up afterwards. At least long enough to recharge myself, if that makes any sense."
<El-Cideon> Kryla sits on a stone bench and sighs. "Ah, it's good to sit on cold stone after a long service," she says nonchalantly. "Well, wherever you go, remember that you can turn to us for aid any time you are in need of it." She smiles. "Though you sound as though you're learned that much, at least."
<Derrick> Derrick stays standing, mainly as he had been sitting through most of the service, "The Faith took me in when my mother could no longer support me. If there is one thing I learned growing up here, it's that if we don't support each other in times of need, we really have nothing at all. I know I can count on any of the Faithful if I need them, and I hope they know that I'll do the same for them. At least that's how I see things."
* Derrick then chuckles and shakes his head in amusement, "Listen to me, I'm preaching at the High Preistess herself."
<El-Cideon> Kryla raises an eyebrow. "Well, we all need reminding once in a while." She nods, "Keep that in mind during the remainder of your examinations, then, though..." something seems to catch at her memory, and she looks up. "'Group,' you said. How do you fare with your fellow students, I wonder?"
<Derrick> "I get along well with some, and not so well with others. My particular group for the exams is a rather mixed pair, though. One of them is nice enough, if a bit standoffish. But I often get accused of being the same, so I can't fault him. The other..." Pausing as he tyhinks of how best to describe Pilfer, Derrick just settles on the truth, "Is an admitted thief and quite cheerful about it. I don't get on with him so well."
<Derrick> "The man even calls himself 'Pilfer'. While I've known my share of lawbreakers who weren't actually bad sorts, they did what tehy did because they saw no other choice. He...I can't imagine how he NEEDS to steal to live. He has a talent, after all."
<Derrick> Realizing that he was starting to rant again, Derrick stops and looks somewhat sheepish, "Er, my apologies. I tend to lose track and rant a bit every now and again."
<El-Cideon> The priestess laughs, with a sound like a clear running stream. "Margranth's does gather all sorts together, yes. There are times I think it a boon, and some a hindrance to its stated goal. Compassion, of course, must win out in the end. But, I can tell that at the least you have gained an appreciation of why it's important for us to remain engaged with the community around us."
* Derrick simply nods at that, not trusting himself to speak again so soon after breaking off on no less then two mini-rants with Honre Kryla. Though the mere fact that he felt enough at ease to make that mistake shows just how little she is like the Chancellor, and he is very, very glad of that.
<El-Cideon> Kryla stands again. "It has been pleasant becoming better acquainted with you, Derrick. I hope you remain with us for some time. As for now, I'm afraid I have duties to attend to. And you no doubt wish to prepare for your next ordeal." She glances down the pathway at the two mid-level priestesses waiting on her, one speaking quietly to another.(more)
<El-Cideon> Kryla sighs as she watches them. "Wondering if I intend to make you my consort, no doubt," she says.
<Derrick> That simple comment could not fail to trigger a facepalm reaction from Derrick. "Oh lovely. I hope whoever's tending the rumor mill at the moment is on break." Pulling his face from his hand, he inclines his head respectfully again, and smiles, "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Honre Kryla. I do feel better then I did coming in. And you're right, I really should be trying to prepare myself for whatever's next."
<El-Cideon> Kryla smiles. "Don't worry. They make such speculations about every unattached man in the Faith. You needn't trouble yourself over it. Farewell for now, then, Derrick. I wish you well in the challenges ahead." She nods, and crosses her arms over her chest, palms raised over her shoulders. "Providence."
* Derrick returns the gesture, "Providence."