Prelude 5: Loose Ends

[Sierra]

Nemesio's diversions before Ferryman's last request

With Imelda:

<El-Cideon> It's well into the afternoon by the time Nemesio makes it away from his fellows and trails Imelda back to her apartment. The door opens to Nemesio's knock without Imelda even asking who was outside, as though she'd expected him. "Was kind of hoping you'd show up," she states.
<Nemesio> "You wanted to talk, and it's rude to keep a lady waiting," Nemesio tells her, entering the apartment and closing the door behind him. "I'm afraid I lack fresh fruit, today."
<El-Cideon> Imelda feigns disappointment, and walks over to sit on the bed. She has casual clothes on, a loose and airy set of shirt and pants patterned in various shades of blue. "Glad you figured that out," she says. "Easier talking to you than the others, for some reason."
<Nemesio> "I think they're just shy, which causes them to close up around strangers," Nemesio suggests, bringing a chair over to the bed and placing it in front of Imelda, before taking a seat. "What's bothering you?" he asks, observing Imelda without being obtrusive.
<El-Cideon> "Bothering isn't the word." She leans back against the headboard, legs folded up, hands clasped over her knees. "You can sit on the bed if you like. I don't mind. Anyway, seems to me you're more likely the one with something to say. You really tell that prof everything you knew?"
<Nemesio> "No," Nemesio says honestly, taking Imelda up on her suggestion and relocating. "She only knows enough to stop looking into you guys, and to prevent others from doing the same. They have a far juicier target to concentrate on, after all. What I said about keeping to the story is just precaution, and I don't expect it to come up."
<El-Cideon> A nod. "Alright. Next question, then...how much did you get from Cronin, really?"
* Nemesio shifts slightly, before looking straight at Imelda. "Everything he knew."
<El-Cideon> There's a long pause. Imelda's jaw works silently for a moment. Eventually she lets out a small sigh. "Well..." she starts, and leaves it at that. Another long pause as she stares at the window for a moment. "Hrm."
<Nemesio> "I was very persuasive, and he was in quite a lot of agony. Not many would've stayed silent," Nemesio says to fill in the void.
<El-Cideon> Imelda shrugs. "He deserved it." Then, that uncomfortable look again. "Guess there's not much point in me trying to keep any secrets, then."
<Nemesio> "I could pretend to be clueless if you would prefer that," he offers with a shrug. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I didn't happen upon your group earlier."
<El-Cideon> "Not much point in that," she says to the first comment. "Makes it easier than me telling you, actually."
<Nemesio> "You were planning on doing that today?" Nemesio asks, sounding surprised.
<El-Cideon> "Well, not necessarily today. But you could've had questions, and then I would've had to explain it all. Just better if I don't have to." She seems more relaxed now. "You tell your two friends everything you know? Speaking generally here, really."
<Nemesio> "I've shared nothing personal," Nemesio tells her, before snorting. "In retrospect, I believe the circumstances of my offer to you were quite unfair. If you'd like more time to consider it, I don't mind the wait."
<El-Cideon> "It's not a problem," she says with a shake of her head. "The group, back when it was just fun and games? That's why it started--people wanted to learn on their own, or try things the profs wouldn't necessarily approve of. That's pretty much what this offer is, right?" A bitter laugh: "Except not run by idiot kids this time. Just you and me, or what?"
<Nemesio> "You acquired a lot of experience the hard way, and I specialize in organization and teaching, so we would make a pretty decent team," Nemesio proposes. "We could start it with just us two, and see how it goes."
<El-Cideon> Imelda looks at Nemesio's face for a long moment, as if scanning for signs of duplicity, but seems to be satisfied. "Sure. I guess you'll want to wait until you've graduated to start? I could use a little break from that sort of thing myself, for the obvious reasons."
* Nemesio nods. "It would be a chore to juggle both things, and that would go against the spirit of things, wouldn't you say?"
<El-Cideon> "Mm-hm," she says. Then, more seriously: "What are you planning to do with yourself afterwards, anyway? Got a cushy offer from the government yet?"
<Nemesio> Nemesio's expression sours. "I'm doing my best to avoid one. There is a strong sense of them trying to entrap me and my friends, to force us into a governmental position we would prefer to avoid. That's actually what we're trying to work on, now, as discreetly as possible."
<El-Cideon> This provokes raised eyebrows from Imelda. "Had to ask you about that next, or something similar. Know you're from East Riding, and I don't like a lot of what I hear from across the river these days. My parents are good, solid reformists--I might not be on the best of terms with them, but I agree with most of what they have to say about the government. So I had to wonder where you stood."
<Nemesio> "If I had to pick sides," Nemesio muses, a thoughtful expression settling over him, "I would go with the opposition, if only because we haven't tried their way, yet, and it does offer some reform. But if this takeover is to be bloody, instead of political, that would change a lot for me. I'm not sure what I'd do, then."
<El-Cideon> Imelda looks satisfied with this explanation. "Not convinced yet that anyone's trying to start a fight. But obviously we've both seen recently that some people expect there to be one. There *is* something to be said for being prepared...just so long as you don't start the fight in the process."
* Nemesio has his own suspicions about that, but now is not the time to share them. "So. Literature?" he asks, referring to a subject she named as one she didn't hate outright. "Anyone in particular you prefer to read?"
<El-Cideon> Imelda actually blushes a little. "Oh. Well. Old stories, mostly." She looks embarassed. "It's carryover from when I was a kid, really. Stuff about the old empire, and the bad times just after the war. History gets...interesting, when people are desperate. Well, interesting to read about, wouldn't want to live through it. Authors, though? I dunno. I tried reading Irena's book, but it was trash."
<Nemesio> "Ah, history." Nemesio nods at that, smiling faintly. "Desperate times, when people are at their worst, and they are at their best. Rarely is a subject both entertaining and educational at the same time."
<El-Cideon> "Yeah, that's one way of putting it." She shrugs. "Doesn't help me a lot making a living afterwards, I guess. Always the family business if all else fails. Can't say that sounds too appealing, but it's better than poverty."
<Nemesio> "There's plenty of time to choose, and new opportunities are certain to appear," Nemesio muses. "Somehow, I have trouble doubting your future, or envisioning you in poverty."
<El-Cideon> "Well..." she smirks. "That makes one person." At this time, Nemesio's recent and extensive power usage finally catches up to him. Cold shivers run through his body, and a wave of nausea strikes.
* Nemesio slumps forward, before catching a hand on a bedpost and using it to keep himself in a semblance of uprightness.
<El-Cideon> "Hey, you alright?" Imelda asks. She stands up, circling around Nemesio. "Need, uh, something to drink?" Dizziness afflicts Nemesio too, now.
<Nemesio> "Mind if I... take a nap?" he asks haltingly, swaying. His eyes cloud over, and Nemesio closes them, to better deal with the vertigo. "Don't call anyone...."
<El-Cideon> Imelda takes a moment to respond. "No, it's fine. Lay down here." She motions him back to the bed. "I won't be needing it for a while."
* Nemesio collapses, Imelda's voice coming through distorted, the words slowed down and barely recognizable.
<El-Cideon> Imelda makes sure Nemesio's lying flat on the bed, and then backs off a little, as if unsure of what to do with him after that. She peers around the room for a moment. "Well, I'll get you some water, at least." And she does so, filling a mug in her usual fashion and placing it by the bed.
* Nemesio rests with his eyes closed, knowing better than to fight against the process, and merely waiting it out.
<El-Cideon> "This happen a lot?" Imelda asks, at least as much out of curiosity as of concern (clearly she's the very soul of hopsitality!)
<Nemesio> "First time it's so bad," Nemesio returns slowly, taking his time. "Backlash. Didn't expect it so soon."
<El-Cideon> Imelda paces a little, apparently unsure of what to do with a sick houseguest beyond waiting it out. "Backlash...from the lightning, right?"
<Nemesio> "Something like that." Nemesio gives a small laugh, paying for it in raw pain. "I went past my limits. Way past. Haven't been incapacitated before."
<El-Cideon> The nausea begins to ebb somewhat, stillness seeming to agree with his condition. "Well...anything I can do?" Imelda asks, sounding a little awkward in the role of anyone's helper.
<Nemesio> "It's nice... having someone around at times like this." Nemesio sounds quite genuine, and a touch surprised. "I should be good in a few minutes. It won't kill me, it can't."
<El-Cideon> "You know that for sure?" Imelda asks.
<Nemesio> "That's the way the contract works," Nemesio affirms, his attention wavering.
<El-Cideon> "...contract?" Imelda sounds a little confused by this.
* Nemesio lies silently, trying to recover enough to be able to move. "Where does your power come from?" he asks at last.
<El-Cideon> "Well..." she starts, and seems to have difficulty knowing how to continue. "That's the big question, isn't it? Can't really explain why I can do this, any more than most people can. Plenty of people have explanations, sure, but I don't believe most of them. I just think...and there it is." She generates a globe of water and has it wobble around above her palm, by way of demonstration.(more)
<El-Cideon> "There's got to be some reason for it. I mean, what I can do seems to follow rules of a sort...but I couldn't tell you why I can do it any more than I could say what it's like living on the moon. Why do you ask, exactly?"
<Nemesio> "Heh. I'm a bit... special, in that regard." Nemesio lies perfectly still, using the recess in dizziness to formulate his thoughts better. "I got an offer of power, one day. Incredible power. It came with a price, but I needed it to protect others. I couldn't do that with a healing touch, so was there really a choice?" He suppresses the urge to shake his head. "And as a result, those normal rules governing our magic? I can break them, for a brief instant."
<El-Cideon> "This offer," Imelda says, "where exactly did it come from?"
<Nemesio> "Upstairs, for all I know," Nemesio tells her. "Wouldn't be rushing to pray to Fyrdaella just yet, though."
<El-Cideon> The girl just nods slowly, apparently not sure how to respond to this. The  disorienting effects of the backlash are starting to wear off now, though there's still some dizziness if Nemesio moves too fast.
* Nemesio glances sideways at Imelda, risking this slight motion for now. "Does this change anything?" he asks neutrally.
<El-Cideon> A long moment's contemplation, and then: "Not yet. Can't say it doesn't worry me, though." Nemesio can mostly move steadily by now, though there are some odd rippling effects to be seen in the walls, at the edge of his vision, though things stabilize if examined closely.
* Nemesio decides to take a drink from the glass she had filled earlier. "That makes two of us, but recently, keeping this ability in reserve is getting harder and harder."
<El-Cideon> She nods. "Need some extra firepower around to lessen the load on you, I guess."
<Nemesio> "And to stay one step ahead of the Registry." Nemesio sighs. "I thought I was careful, but they must have suspicions. If it were outright proof, we wouldn't be talking here, right now."
<El-Cideon> "Guess you'll have to be careful," Imelda says. "You planning on getting into a lot more situations that call for lightning bolts, then?"
<Nemesio> "There's more to it than the lightning," Nemesio responds, shaking his head, partly to test his body's reaction to that. "But that would be a subject for another time, I think."
<El-Cideon> "...Sure," Imelda says eventually. The fit of disorientation has mostly passed by now, and Nemesio should be able to get up and move around again as he wishes, albeit carefully.
<Nemesio> "My apologies, Imelda," Nemesio says, sitting up carefully. "Like I said, I didn't expect this to catch up with me so soon. If I abuse my powers, the reckoning usually happens around the evening."
<El-Cideon> She nods. "Guess one thing to learn is how much you can push yourself."
<Nemesio> "And whom you can rely on when you have to."
<El-Cideon> Another slow nod. "Yeah, well...I owe you, that's plain enough." She folds her arms over her stomach, and steps forward. "But past that, you strike me as a decent enough sort that I don't mind helping out when it's needed. You know where to find me."
<Nemesio> "And it shouldn't be too difficult to find me," he returns. "If you need anything and it is within my power, I'll try to help."
<El-Cideon> "Sure." She extends a hand to help Nemesio up (whether he needs it or not). "So, we've got ourselves an arrangement, then."
* Nemesio nods, accepting the hand and shaking it once he's up on his feet.

---

With Vadin, a friend knowledgeable in regards to ancient and unusual texts:

<El-Cideon> Nemesio's dreams that night are merciless and brutal, the afternoon's attack of disorientation clearly a harbinger of this. Most of the images are hazy on waking, but what follows Nemesio back to consciousness is very personal and very elaborate suffering. There's a flash of being suspended in air by thousdands of needles, then the dream fades.(more)
<El-Cideon> The morning is bright and sunny, in stark contrast. It is still fairly early in the morning, perhaps 7:30 or 8:00. Birds chirp happily out in the rising summer heat beyond his window.
* Nemesio puts the fragments of dreams away into a corner of his mind reserved for such horrors, and takes his time to get up and prepare for the day. He has ample time before the next exam, and nothing to do on the Cronin front but wait on the results of Pilfer's scouting mission. However, that doesn't mean he can't attack from another direction. The heretical passages in their examiner's prized book interest him, and he knows just the person to ask for more, while counting on his cooperation and discretion.
<El-Cideon> Vadin lives a good ways south, with his family in Brangwin district (natural enough given his familiarity with those in the Faith). Given the walk, it would be wise to have at least the semblance of a meal before leaving. Heading to the kitchen, he finds Ataraxis (apparently having the same goal in mind), snagging toast from the servants preparing a more formal meal.
<Nemesio> "Morning," Nemesio greets her, his mood already improving. "A bit late in the day for you to just start on breakfast, isn't it?"
<El-Cideon> "Oh, I've been up for some time," she says. "They're only now getting around to making breakfast." She takes a mug of coffee from one of the servants and nods. "What about you? You look worse than ever, Nemesio. Did you sleep at all last night?"
<Nemesio> "That's why I seem the way I do, probably," Nemesio responds, asking curiously, "though can't you praise my good looks instead?"
<El-Cideon> "I can," she says dubiously. "But don't you get tired of that?" She heads for the door that leads to the hallway, apparently meaning to eat in the greenhouse as usual. "Now grab something to eat before those good looks waste away. We can go gossip where there are fewer ears."
* Nemesio perks up, grabbing some toast himself before following. "But how can one tire of hearing this, especially from an established expert on all things aesthetic and beautiful?"
<El-Cideon> "Flattery will get you everywhere," she says with a grin as she steps into the greenhouse. "Now. Your lady friend from several days ago? I gather she did show up yesterday as suggested and was accepted as part of the cooking staff. She'll mostly be washing dishes and the like, I suspect, but it's a start."
<Nemesio> "It is a start," Nemesio agrees, repeating Ataraxis's words. "I'll check up on her eventually, but I wouldn't want to smother her. She has to make a fresh start on her own, with us merely as a catalyst, or it is all meaningless."
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis nods. "Agreed. A very mature and responsible outlook, I must say. So, what has you up and about bright and early on a Saturday morning, I have to wonder?"
<Nemesio> "Sleep was a factor better left forgotten, I would bet," Nemesio comments, biting on his piece of toast.
<El-Cideon> This prompts a raised eyebrow, but no further inquiry. Ataraxis lets it pass with an "If you say so." Then, "I have unpleasant business to deal with myself today. I'll let you know if it works out, but if there are reports in tomorrow's papers of a savage maiming out at Exeter, you will take my side, won't you?"
<Nemesio> "I will do more than that if my lady commands me," he offers graciously. "Is this a solo mission of sorts, or would you like some company?"
<El-Cideon> She frowns. "Some involved may look at it askance if I bring along an uninvited guest, much as I would like to have backup. These are University people I'm meeting. As I may be working with them in the future, I really must sink or swim on my own."
<Nemesio> "Here's to swimming." Nemesio raises an imaginary goblet to Ataraxis, saluting her with it. "Remember, that running away to fight another day and wreak horrible vengeance against your foes from the safety of your home is as perfectly an acceptable strategy as a brave last stand."
<El-Cideon> "The trouble is, I won't be working from my home," she says. "Ah well." Then, she seems to remember something. "Ah yes, we've been invited to some sort of soiree Monday night, all of us, at the house of Marnie Aedes. You might've seen her around on occasion. Tall lady, likes extravagant wigs?"
* Nemesio shrugs noncommitally. "We, meaning...?"
<El-Cideon> "Mother, father, you and I. Is this objectionable? I'm sure there will be a veritable array of young ladies to charm."
<Nemesio> "That is fine. In fact, I would be honored to escort you, if you don't have a better offer by now," Nemesio offers.
<El-Cideon> "I do not, as luck would have it."
<Nemesio> "Luck is indeed on my side," he confirms, smirking. "Is there more to this but a simple 'soiree'?"
<El-Cideon> "Not that I know of. I gather Miss Aedes throws parties such as this on a fairly regular basis." An amused look, then: "Nemesio, what has happened lately that makes you suspect every simple invitation?"
<Nemesio> "We can swap stories monday, if the ball goes slowly," Nemesio says with a shrug, avoiding the question.
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis nods, finishing her coffee. "Fair enough. Now, I need to get ready to leave, myself. I won't keep you further from whatever unspeakable business you've got planned today." She smiles.
<Nemesio> "The business is quite legitimate, and would take me to Brangwin today," Nemesio informs her. "I might be gone for the day, however, depending on how things go."
<El-Cideon> She nods and heads back towards the kitchen to hand the empty mug to the servants. "Well, perhaps I'll see you later. For now, try not to get into too much trouble?"
<Nemesio> "I make no promises," Nemesio responds, sounding playful.
<El-Cideon> "Ever the gentleman," she says, disappearing from sight.
* Nemesio finishes his toast, before setting off on his way as well.
<El-Cideon> The walk south to Brangwin is largely uneventful. It's the usual Saturday crowds, mostly, citizens and shopkeepers bartering, Watchmen strolling through the crowd here and there. Vadin's family's house is at the western edge of the district, several streets from the river. It's a modest but respectable two-story structure, suggesting educated middle-class owners. Vadin himself answers the door, apparently having been in the front sitting room reading even at this time of day. "Well," the thin blond student says, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise visit?"
<Nemesio> "To knowledge, what else?" Nemesio responds, stepping inside. "Not terribly busy, I hope, on this slow-moving saturday?"
<El-Cideon> The sitting room is furnished with a plethora of cozy chairs and sofas, being the site of many a late night discussion on matters of literature, philosophy, government and the very occasional drunken singalong. Vadin closes the book he was reading--a traveler's account of Corentin, it seems. "Knowledge we have in abundance, as you know. What's piqued your interest this time?"
<Nemesio> "A curious text passed through my hands not long ago," Nemesio starts with, sure to catch the inquisitive man's attention with that. "One some might call borderline heretical, perhaps, but certainly important enough to the Faith to be kept around."
<El-Cideon> Vadin does look interested. "And how exactly did it 'pass through your hands,' if you don't mind my asking?" He sounds more curious than worried about the nature of the text in question.
<Nemesio> "A magician never reveals his tricks," Nemesio says with a wide smile. "But there are no rules about sharing other information...." And with those words, he summarizes the text in question for his friend, using the notes he took at the time on its key points to refresh his memory as needed.
<El-Cideon> Vadin nods along, eventually sitting down with his hands clasped under his chin as he listens intently, asking occasional questions meant to determine the approximate age of the book, quality of its preservation, and so forth. When Nemesio's finished, he starts to go on at length: "Such things are still around, I gather."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Most texts relating directly to the stories of the other old gods, or made by their followers, were largely destroyed after the Faith got together in the post-war days. But there are exceptions. Things deemed...unorthodox, but not necessarily 'insidious' in their content and tendency to mislead the faithful. Mostly they're things like what you've described here."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Texts describing stories that are no longer canonical, or detailing practices abandoned after the war and the history of those who started them back in imperial days. Books someone with a good eye for history would recognize as an important part of Fyrdaella's history, but not necessarily for mass consumption? Any of them turn up now, they're usually confiscated for safekeeping."
* Nemesio nods thoughtfully, lounging on a comfortable sofa. "And the text I mentioned, specifically? Are there any other stories related to it you would know of, or further context you could provide?"
<El-Cideon> Vadin chuckles. He's obviously enjoying this chat, and speaks with the air of someone interested in the topic out of a fascination with history and culture rather than the devout. "Well, Fyrdaella has a lot of children--that fact's never changed. In imperial days it was said she gave birth once a year, at the start of spring. A lot of the major holidays are based around this cycle, and it's something the Faith hasn't changed."(more)
<El-Cideon> "As for this Monarae, in the story you're describing? Don't know too much about it, beyond the story you saw. Paragon of virtue slain mostly out of sadism by some other demigod. Inuga, I think you said?" He shakes his head. "I do know *that* one was a nasty piece of work."
<Nemesio> "So here's the question you've been waiting for," Nemesio fields. "How can this text be relevant to a scientific work taking place in this day and age?"
<El-Cideon> Vadin blinks. "I'm sorry? That's really your field, Nemesio. Why do you ask?"
<Nemesio> "Because I think it is being treated as relevant to a scientific work taking place in this day and age," Nemesio deadpans, before shrugging. "The holy place the story describes, with the holly bush? Do you think it could reference a real region, somewhere in our parts?"
<El-Cideon> Vadin shakes his head. "Now, that I doubt very much. The body of mythology built around Fyrdaella and the other old deities was fully formed well before our grand city was founded. If this story ever referred to a real place--say maybe some holy site in the old empire--it'd be well away from here. Doubtless you'd have to cross the wastes or brave the open sea to even go looking."
<Nemesio> "So that's out." Curious, Nemesio asks suddenly, "So what happened to Inuga? There was talk of punishment."
<El-Cideon> "From what I can recall, they slung her out into the wild, where she belonged. Exiled to live with the animals. She took to running with wolves, and some of the later stories claim she ate people. She was related to some of the other gods, which is the only reason I can see for her not being killed."
<El-Cideon> "Then again, who could claim to know the thoughts of the gods?"
<Nemesio> "Perhaps," Nemesio allows, "though a great number tries, often for the furtherance of their goals. How about the snake venom? Were there other accounts of it being used, before or after?"
<El-Cideon> Vadin chuckles at this first statement, and leans back in his chair. "I can't think of another instance, no. But I don't know everything." A grin. "Yet. I could do some research if you like."
<Nemesio> "It would be nice. Any other stories about the battle with death or a slow-going body-tearing affliction would also be quite useful." Nemesio frowns, then. "I don't get one thing, though. Didn't the story claim that the gods could not cure Monarae? How would the Faith explain this?"
<El-Cideon> Another grin, and something like a knowing chuckle. "They wouldn't. There's more than one reason this is out of circulation. The Mallen gods, they weren't really perfect like the Faith makes Fyrdaella out to be these days. Powerful and nigh-immortal, for sure, but subject to some very human failings and the occasional weakness. I've always found this interesting."
<Nemesio> "It is," Nemesio agrees. "And I know another who would. If you have a few of the safer texts about our glorious history, rife with all too human failings and the occasional weakness, I would be more than happy to borrow them."
<El-Cideon> "That too will take a little time, just so you understand that. For obvious reasons, I don't keep them around here. I just know the right people to get to them. I can probably arrange something, if you can wait a few days."
* Nemesio waves any of Vadin's concerns off. "It won't be a problem. I probably won't see her for another week, in any case."
<El-Cideon> Vadin nods. "Alright." A sidelong look. "Again, I've got to ask for my own curiosity where all this came from. At the very least, you could elaborate on why someone might think to link mythology to scientific research?"
<Nemesio> "I could, if you don't go looking for trouble in that direction." Nemesio's voice carries a faint note of warning. "Have you heard of Professor Rivers of the chemistry department?"
<El-Cideon> "Heard of her, yes. Doesn't get out much...isn't she crippled or something along those lines? Can't say I've met her, myself. Science hall's not one I venture into much. Why do you ask, Nemesio? Got someone on the staff trying to hunt you down?"
<Nemesio> "More of a matter of a really focused, crippled professor considering a mildly heretical text as important to her as her precious textbooks even I get lost in," he responds with a moderate degree of casual arrogance.
<El-Cideon> Vadin nods slowly. "Hmm. Could be she actually *is* a heretic? Every now and then someone gets found actively worshipping one of the old gods."
<Nemesio> "She's being unreasonably open about it, then," Nemesio muses, frowning. "It is possible, I suppose, but she seemed to have a more professional interest in it. Maybe her situation has parallels to Monarae's, at least in her eyes, and she's using it to boost her hopes?"
<El-Cideon> "It's not impossible," Vadin concurs. "Even scientists can be sentimental, can't they?"
<Nemesio> "No reason why not," Nemesio agrees.
<El-Cideon> "Hmm. Well, either way, how far you want to pursue that angle is your decision, really. I don't imagine I need to tell you that circumspection is advisable, of course."
<Nemesio> "It's nice to hear the obvious spelled out, sometimes. But yes, cautious is the way to go, here, if at all."
<El-Cideon> Vadin nods. "Well, I will back you up with research as much as I can, of course. It's as much fun for me as it is helpful, so I don't mind at all."
<Nemesio> "And I will return your own advice to you, now," Nemesio says, smirking.
<El-Cideon> A grin. "Oh, you don't need to tell me that. I've been doing this a few years now."

---

With Sherise, a school friend, at an art exhibition:

<El-Cideon> As much as a quiet evening at home would be welcome after the previous week's events, fate seems to have other plans for Nemesio this Saturday night. Well, assuming fate is a pleasant, brown-haired student familiar to Nemesio: Sherise arrives unannounced in the midst of dinner (which Nemesio takes alone this evening; his foster parents being out for some social occasion and Ataraxis still busy with whatever business occupied her in the morning).
<Nemesio> "My, isn't this a pleasant surprise," Nemesio greets Sherise with, needlessly wiping his mouth on a napkin. "Have you already eaten, or would you like to join me?"
<El-Cideon> Sherise gives the table a peremptory scan and snatches a chunk of bread from Nemesio's own plate. "This'll have to do. We don't have a great deal of time." Then, in the most serious, authoritarian tone she can manage: "You're being commandeered."
<Nemesio> "I am?" he asks in surprise, which is not altogether faked. "And which great deed, what impossible task am I being commandeered for, if I might ask?"
<El-Cideon> "I've been stood up," she says, with deathly seriousness. "Vadin was supposed to go with me an art exhibit tonight, but now he says he's too busy with research. On a Saturday night, even! It's too much even for him. But now I must insist that *you* accompany me, otherwise there will be no one to appreciate my clever remarks. So, shall we go?"
<Nemesio> And it probably is Nemesio's fault, too. "So are you two dating, or is this just a casual fling?" he asks, diverting the topic from research of any kind.
<El-Cideon> Sherise raises an eyebrow. "The two of us do lead lives when we're away from you, you know," she says, slightly huffy. "But no, I simply needed an accomplice and thought he could use some culture. You know, the sort that hasn't been dead for two hundred years? Of course, so can you, so here I am."
<Nemesio> "Of course you have lives," Nemesio responds, matching Sherise's huffy voice perfectly. "And due to my considerable interest in them, you and Vadin being the rare exception to people I would prefer to keep at arm's length, I pride myself in staying informed." As he speaks, Nemesio observes Sherise's clothing with a critical eye, trying to decide on a matching outfit in his possession. "Just a bit of healthy interest. So, how long do I have before being commandeered in earnest?"
<El-Cideon> Sherise is wearing a rather glitzy dark green dress that leaves her shoulders bare. It can be surmised that this exhibition is somewhere at least moderately swanky. "How long would it take you to finish eating?" she says. "I had to pass by the place just to get here."
<Nemesio> "I'm not in danger of dying from starvation," Nemesio tells her. "In fact, I merely don't want to embarrass you by having to show up with someone in, well--" He points towards his clothes which, while respectable, don't quite measure up to the glitzy dress. "It shouldn't take long, so do have something while you wait," Nemesio continues, heading towards his room for a quick change of clothing.
<El-Cideon> Sherise takes this bit of advice, sawing at an untouched hunk of lamb while waiting (impatiently) for her comrade.
<Nemesio> Nemesio doesn't take long to find a formal black suit with a cut to compliment a dark green strapless dress. He finally enters the dining room once more, an errant corsage in his hand which he hands out to Sherise. "For the lady," Nemesio intones with a bow.
<El-Cideon> "Very gracious of you," Sherise says, accepting it demurely. Then: "Now let's get moving, I'm late already!" This said, she tugs Nemesio towards the direction of the front door.
* Nemesio barely straightens up in time, managing to follow in a dignified manner instead of falling flat on his face. "Of course," he responds, taking her arm in his. "Lead the way."
<El-Cideon> Sherise does so, with obvious haste. "I am sorry for the lack of advance warning," Sherise concedes on the street outside. "Cad didn't bother to send word he wasn't going, had to tell me when I showed up, and what am I supposed to do, then? It's not too far, at least. A gallery in Morrister."
<Nemesio> "It is times like these that I lament not having the handy power of instant transportation," Nemesio muses, somewhat melancholically. "But, well, we don't pick the gifts we have." He shrugs, then. "Advance warning? You should know me well enough by now that you don't have to worry about that."
<El-Cideon> "Well, that's reassuring, at least," she says. She sets a brisk pace, talking all the while. "And anyway, you might actually be interested in this. The exhibit's all work by this sculptor, Louisa Darby--the one who did the statue at the front of Margranth's? She arranged a public showing of a number of pieces just before they go to private owners, only tonight."
<Nemesio> "They're all presold to these private owners, then?" Nemesio asks, content to make conversation as they walk, unbothered by the briskness of the pace.
<El-Cideon> "I think so. That's pretty common, really. A lot of them are probably commissions. It probably wasn't easy getting those for the show, I'd guess. Some people would want to keep something like that for themselves, you know? Show it off for guests at home and the like, I guess."
<Nemesio> "Their loss is our gain, then."
<El-Cideon> "That's the idea," Sherise says. "But only if we get there in time!" The gallery turns out to be nearly in the exact center of Morrister, amidst a prosperous residential district. "Apparently a local merchant loaned out a floor of his second house for this. An aficianando, I hear, does this a lot."
* Nemesio nods at Sherise, engaging in small talk and nodding in all the right places. It just might prove a nice diversion, as she promised.
<El-Cideon> The building proves to be nearly a work of art itself, an elaborate two-floor structure constructed in part with beautifully gleaming marble. A liveried servant nods politely and opens the front door for the young couple. The crowd in the entryway is dressed in much the same fashion as Nemesio and Sherise, suggesting that "Free and public" doesn't necessarily mean it's open to everyone.
<Nemesio> Life isn't fair, Nemesio muses, leading Sherise inside.
<El-Cideon> The exhibit appears to have consumed the entirety of the building's first floor. Upon entering, visitors are immediately greeted by a likeness of Fyrdaella herself. Life-sized, the sculpture is crafted with a staggering level of detail in regards to texture. Folds in fabric, minor imperfections in the subject's flesh, individual hairs--the majestic figure could easily be taken for an actual human were it not composed of gleaming, stainless metal.
<El-Cideon> A glance either way down the long hallway that extends to the left and right suggests that one could expect this level of perfectionism to be found througout the collection. Sherise mumbles a quiet "Wow," and marches up to get a closer look at the Goddess.
* Nemesio nods his assent silently, and follows her, admiring the metal goddess.
<El-Cideon> After a moment, an usher motions the couple to move along to avoid causing a backlog in the entryway. Sherise arbitrarily goes right. The first thing the couple passes next is the figure of a swan taking flight, carved from pure white marble with the same level of detail as before. "What's more," Sherise says, sounding honestly impressed, "supposedly she does all this with just her hands."
* Nemesio tries to discreetly find out who the artist is as he tags along, observing the artwork, for he is almost certain he missed the name somehow.
<El-Cideon> The various works are not marred by plagues or labels of any sort; apparently the work is supposed to speak for itself. Idle listening to the chatter of those elsewhere in the hall makes it easy to notice frequent repetition of the name "Darby," and occasionally "Fitzroy." The next figure to come into view is a more whimsical one: a great, shaggy boarhound curled up into a contented little ball, the creature made of some deep red wood.
<Nemesio> "Darby seems to have very talented hands," Nemesio comments quietly next to Sherise's ear, testing the name.
<El-Cideon> Sherise nods. "I think she went to the University. Probably talented in more ways than one."
<Nemesio> "How much do her works sell for?" he asks curiously. "Any idea?"
<El-Cideon> Sherise laughs quietly--and, perhaps, a little bitterly. "More than I could ever afford. The materials alone are so expensive, for most of these."
<Nemesio> "You sound like quite the fan," Nemesio says, nudging Sherise onwards to the next piece, even as he tries to quietly estimate its value with his not inconsiderable knowledge of the arts, and their going prices.
<El-Cideon> The level of detail evident in the works surely exceeds that of anything else Nemesio has seen--some figures look ready to get up and walk away--and it's not hard to reach the conclusion that typical rates for a commission exceed the yearly income of many Avon families. Sherise shrugs. "It's just...impressive, that's all."
<Nemesio> "It's hard to argue with that," he admits. "How did you find out about this public showing, if you don't mind me asking?"
<El-Cideon> "One of my teachers mentioned it, actually. We were discussing some matter of history, the two of us, after class ended, and we wandered off-track somehow and started talking about the University itself. Whether it still made sense to teach magic *and* the more ordinary disciplines at the same place? And he mentioned Darby as an example of what can happen when those two schools come together. Now I see what he meant."
<Nemesio> "An interesting approach towards magical education," Nemesio muses out loud, continuing to leads Sherise down the exhibit.
<El-Cideon> The next figure is something rather different: a naked female form, crafted from black iron, kneeling with hands clasped as if pleading with some unseen stranger. "Oh my," Sherise says quietly. And the, behind the two, a feminine voice: "I do hope you don't hold that one against me. I'm not entirely accountable for the taste of my clients, unfortunately. Still, I do like how the eyes turned out."
<Nemesio> "It's hardly tasteless," Nemesio returns, turning smoothly towards the feminine voice to, hopefully, glance at Louisa. "I beg forgiveness, for the eyes were not the first thing I noticed about that particular sculpture." He takes another look, before returning his attention to the woman. "The eyes deliver her plea quite well, yes."
<El-Cideon> "That's quite understandable," the woman says, chuckling softly at Nemesio's confession. Louisa is a thin woman, and somewhat on the tall side; she's fairly attractive apart from being a bit snub-nosed. Shining auburn hair falls to just past her shoulders. Like Sherise, Louisa is wearing a fine strapless dress. (more)
<El-Cideon> The inescapable difference between the two, though--indeed, the difference between Louisa and everyone else in the hall--is the woman's hands. The sculptor's hands are composed of some stainless silver metal rather than flesh and bone; they make quiet clicking sounds when the fingers move.
<Nemesio> Nemesio had no idea so many people existed who had substituted machines for parts of their body but, in retrospect, he shouldn't be that surprised. Showing no sign of befuddlement, however brief, he offers the woman a bow. "Nemesio Lamperouge," he says, before sweeping his right arm to gesture towards his companion. "And my friend--" Nemesio pauses there, allowing Sherise to introduce herself to the person that seems to be her idol.
<El-Cideon> "Sherise Bluestone," Nemesio's companion says, clearly needing to make a little more effort not to be surprised at Louisa's quirks. Louisa herself seems not the least bit self-conscious or awkward about it. "Louisa Fitzroy Darby," she says, as though she were just another stranger in the crowd. "Do you two have a favorite so far?"
<Nemesio> "Fyrdaella," Nemesio says without a second thought, before his lips quirk. "Though I would gladly take this one off your hands if the unlucky client reneged on the deal."
<El-Cideon> Louisa smirks. "I admire an honest man." Her tone is light, though her face is the sort that makes its owner look solemn and serious even when they are not so. "The owner is quite attached to this piece. I wouldn't hold out hope on her letting it go, were I you."
<Nemesio> "'She'?" Nemesio repeats, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps I misunderstood the intent of your client." Curiousity getting the better of him, he asks, "And would the masterful creator of these works of art happen to have a favorite as well?"
<El-Cideon> "Yes," Louisa concedes. "But it's elsewhere. Of those displayed here?" She gestures back towards the contentedly sleeping hound. "I approve of the sentiment." She glances over the young couple for a moment. "You two are students, I take it?"
<Nemesio> "Nearing graduation," Nemesio responds, "and almost ready to menace society in earnest." He pauses, glancing at Sherise, before adding, "Please allow me to thank you for the chance of viewing this literally priceless art."
<El-Cideon> Louisa nods modestly. "Of course. And thank you for allowing me to bask for a moment in youthful enthusiasm." Then, quietly, "You should know you've shown more gratitude than a few of my patrons, but don't let that get around." A resigned smile. "I should go. I'm not done making my rounds just yet, and I must find my husband before he causes too much trouble for himself. Farewell, Sherise and Nemesio."
<Nemesio> "Farewell," Nemesio repeats, but as he smiles in turn, the expression is amused and a bit teasing. "And if you ever feel like a change and consider taking on a commission from a humble student, you would surely find your biggest fan in the girl right here beside me, Miss Darby."
<El-Cideon> "It could happen. I am not greatly in need of more money, after all." Another smile, and she's back into the crowd, soon accosted by flatterers and well-wishers alike. After a moment, Sherise says, "I didn't know what to say." Then, as if correcting herself, "I mean, you just kept talking!"
* Nemesio raises an eyebrow, turning to face Sherise fully. "It is what people do. I dare say it differentiates us from the mammals and the plantlife."
<El-Cideon> "Well, next time I go dormant on you, give me a nudge once in a while? I think it would have helped."
<Nemesio> "Perhaps you merely need to develop some sort of mental defenses in the presence of naked female flesh," he muses in response, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Though I'm at a loss of how to help you with that one. Still, if you manage, the next time we visit an art exhibit you might actually get to tell the artist that you like their work!"
<El-Cideon> "Oh?" Sherise says archly, though she doesn't really sound angry. "And is this a realm in which you yourself have a great deal of experience?"
<Nemesio> "Not as much as I would have liked, sadly," Nemesio says, truly sounding sad, before clasping Sherise's hands. "Would you like to help me with my research, Madame? For art! For science!"
<El-Cideon> "For art? For science? The day you demonstrate any capacity for the former, I promise I will give all due consideration to thinking about being your model. I confess, I see little relation between this matter and science. Is there a science now to charming girls out of their clothes?"
<Nemesio> "My dear, there is a whole branch dedicated solely for it," Nemesio tells her, leading Sherise onwards towards, hopefully, an exhibit less offensive to her. "Theories abound, warring with one another. Books upon books, written by masters, to the benefit of future generations. Why, there is even the errant diagram or two."
<El-Cideon> "Mm-hm," Sherise says dubiously in regards to this last remark. "I'll bet there is."
<Nemesio> "Since it is for a good cause, I could make an exception and share this surely divine lore with you some time," Nemesio offers with a smirk.

Part 2:

<Sierra_Mikain> "I suppose I should be flattered that you know me well enough to make the correct assumption that I haven't delved into the matter on my own," Sherise huffs.
<Nemesio> "You never know." Nemesio seems to give his friend a long, calculating glance. "There appears to be much about you I'm in the dark about. Care to educate me?"
<Sierra_Mikain> "Well, I could *try*, but I begin to suspect that several remedial courses might be in order before you could follow me." She moves on to the next piece after this, turning the corner to the left (the exhibit seems to be set up in a large rectangular hallway that encircles the building). The next sculpture the two come across is of a sailing ship, carved from a single massive piece of driftwood.(more)
<Sierra_Mikain> The sails sweep full forward, and tiny sailors can be seen among the rigging. "I wonder who this one is for," Sherise says. "Some shipping magnate, probably?"
<Nemesio> "I could find out," Nemesio offers on a whim. "If you're really curious."
<Sierra_Mikain> "Not curious enough to make you go to the trouble," she says, examining the ship and moving on. "Although, I am curious about how you could do it. Do you have connections you haven't told us about?"
<Nemesio> "I'm not the only one requiring remedial courses, it seems," he teases, returning those words to her before cutting in front of Sherise and walking backwards to match her pace. "With graduation literally around the corner, the topic of future employment began to occupy me in earnest. Do you have any concrete plans, there?"
<Sierra_Mikain> "Oh, well...there's always something in the Bureau if I relent and let my parents have their way, but that's hardly my first choice." Her tone is markedly more serious now. "I would prefer to feel at least a little more useful than the standard desk jockey. There are other social institutions in need of help, quite frankly. Not that there aren't a few positions there that sound wholly uninteresting."
<Nemesio> "So you're waiting on a good offer?" Nemesio presses on curiously. "Or actively looking for a position?"
<Sierra_Mikain> "A little of both. It's hardly everything mother and father mention that sounds interesting, but some of the more off-the-wall jobs they mention at least have the virtue of being different. There's one division of administrators, for example, who specialize in coordinating expansion out into the wastes. Sort of a go-between tying together the city, the border towns, and the outlanders scouting new areas.(more)
<Sierra_Mikain> "A lot of them go so far as to live out there. I can't say this is something I'd be likely to do myself for an extended period of time, but it would be an interesting experience. Of course, this one wasn't mentioned to me as a recommendation. My parents wouldn't want me leaving the city."
<Nemesio> "Attempts at control do get harder the farther you get away, yes," Nemesio agrees with a smile.
<Sierra_Mikain> Sherise nods. "Of course, that's just an example, but an intriguing one. Now, mother and father for example? They've worked the same positions their entire lives. This is what I don't understand. How can you really know what Avontyne's about if you never leave the same building? I think there's something to be said for, oh, giving a variety of jobs a test run before settling.(more)
<Sierra_Mikain> "Of course, there are other social institutions that need extra hands. Look at Burton Galway, running Honre Nathaline's? The place was practically a rubbish heap before he took it over." She looks behind Nemesio for a moment. "Oh, Nem, you may wish to stop walking backwards soon..."
<Nemesio> "I couldn't agree more," Nemesio says, moving to walk beside Sherise once more at her warning. He takes her hand, leading the young woman over to the next exhibit. "In fact, my own plans might include a job with the government in some capacity, before I make an attempt at a university position."
<Sierra_Mikain> The next exhibit is a great winged beast, likely some monster from the old myths. It's carved from a hunk of a lovely sea-blue rock riddled with veins of some light-green stone. Nemesio had nearly walked into a wing before turning around. "Oh?" Sherise says. "Where, exactly?
<Nemesio> "The office of the Registry, of all things," he responds. "It seems they are recruiting, and I would gain valuable experience, and add to my resume right out of school. Practically an offer one can't refuse, wouldn't you say?"
<Sierra_Mikain> "Well, possibly." She sounds unsure. "What exactly would you be doing there?"
<Nemesio> "Aiding the city, putting my talents to good use...." Nemesio trails off, shrugging his shoulders lightly.
<Sierra_Mikain> "That's terribly vague, Nemesio. They aren't planning to involve you in any cloak and dagger activities, are they? Rounding up unregistered mages in Dockside, or something?"
<Nemesio> "I and what army?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "What would I do, throw a book at them?"
<Sierra_Mikain> Sherise seems reassured by this. "Well, that is a good point, I suppose. As well, I imagine you could go anywhere you wanted after a couple years of working there."
<Nemesio> "Sooner, if I did not find it to my liking, I suppose," Nemesio agrees. "Recently, I began to give thought to things I took for granted before," he tells her then, looking pensive. "Money, a place for myself... how about you? Did any of this cross your mind?"
<Sierra_Mikain> "Oh, on occasion." She laughs. "Honestly, the more mother and father offer to put me for another year, the more I want to get out, you know?"
<Nemesio> "I can somewhat relate," Nemesio allows, before laughing himself. "If you find a good deal on an apartment, do let me know."
<Sierra_Mikain> "Oh, Westborough's the place for that lately, I hear. Lots of young, disgruntled professionals looking for someplace respectable, but without Morrister's price tag, you know? And we *do* fit two out of three of those criteria."
<Nemesio> "Basing decisions affecting our entire future on groupthink? Curious," Nemesio muses teasingly, while his eyes leave Sherise and observe the room, as he is mildly curious at this point just who goes to these events, and whether a familiar face pops up somewhere.
<Sierra_Mikain> "No, no," Sherise corrects, "I just mean it's a reasonable place to look. We can't all afford a mansion in East Riding or Calia right out of school." The crowd here is a mixed bunch, that's for sure, but, old or young, everyone's dressed for a respectable social occasion. Granted, "respectable" means something different to everyone: attire ranges from the elaborate gowns worn at high society balls to the relatively conservative suits often favored by merchants siding with the reformists.
* Nemesio does have to wonder if they're the youngest pair in the crowd. "Unfortunately," he agrees. Having had enough of this somewhat troubling topic, Nemesio asks, "Did you get your grades for the finals, yet?"
<Sierra_Mikain> "Not yet," she says, with a shake of her head. "Hopefully this week." There are others in the crowd that seem to be around the same age as Sherise and Nemesio, but certainly no one obviously younger outside of a few children accompanying parents.(more)
<Sierra_Mikain> The two can catch another glimpse of the artist as they round the next corner. Louisa is at the far end of the hall before them, talking to a much older man who looks,...not fat, exactly, just solidly built. Certainly taller than the artist, though he leans somewhat on a cane. He has a well-trimmed, graying beard and is mostly bald.
<Nemesio> "Ah," Nemesio says, before directing Sherise's attention towards the man. "A client, you suppose? I wonder which of these he ordered."
<Sierra_Mikain> "I don't know," Sherise says. "I don't recognize him. But then, I don't recognize most people here." She gives Nemesio a mischievous look. "You could be very bold and go ask. You certainly fared better than I did last time."
<Nemesio> The look is returned, the glove picked up, the challenge accepted! "Don't mind if I do," Nemesio tells Sherise, and boldly leads her towards the artist across the room.
<Sierra_Mikain> Sherise looks a little surprised to see her friend stand up to the challenge, but is quick to follow him, being curious herself. Louisa notices him approaching and nods. "Ah, Nemesio and Sherise, wasn't it?" Her demeanor is somewhat more serious this time than before. Perhaps she was talking business? At any rate, the older man doesn't seem bothered by the intrusion.
<Nemesio> "Yes," Nemesio agrees with a smile. "My friend has adjusted some, and seeing as she is no longer quite as overwhelmed, wished to compliment your skill in person this time around." The smile turning on Sherise, he nudges her lightly with an elbow, the gesture literally imperceptible due to their close proximity.
<Sierra_Mikain> Sherise nods, obviously doing her best not to seem overeager. "Yes, we're...greatly impressed, Miss Darby. I haven't seen the like of these works anywhere else in the city."(more)
<Sierra_Mikain> "Nor could you," rumbles the man, sounding amused. His voice is deep and gruff. Up close, it can be observed that the cane is topped with a stylized wolf's head carved in some dark wood. "Oh yes," Louisa says. "This is Arthur Gaukler. He publishes the Reveille." And Arthur offers Nemesio one large, meaty hand to shake.
* Nemesio shakes it politely. "Another client?" he asks the man, before turning his head slightly to observe Louise, the very image of casual curiousity. "I do find myself wondering which of these masterpieces was ordered by Mister Gaukler."
<Sierra_Mikain> Louisa shrugs, and turns to Arthur. "A friend as well. And...normally one's order is a private matter, but I doubt Arthur minds?" And the big man shakes his head. "The boarhound, done in heartwood," Louisa says. "It wasn't far from the front door, I believe."
* Nemesio nods thoughtfully, recalling the statue. "A fine choice," he says, "if somewhat unexpected. I would have thought a wolf more likely."
<Sierra_Mikain> Arthur chuckles. "A wolf? Well. The rest of the pack wouldn't know what to make of it if I brought home one of those," he says. Sherise shakes her head. "I liked it," she says. "It was very..." She searches a moment for the proper word and settles for: "Darling. Winsome."
<Nemesio> "You're stumbling over your words again," Nemesio informs Sherise, a brilliant smile accompanying his words, meant just for her. "Is this the time I'm supposed to nudge you to snap you out of it?"
<Sierra_Mikain> "Please do," Sherise says sarcastically. Arthur at least notices the girl's dazed look. "Ah, she says nothing that's not true," he says. And then, to Louisa: "If you'll excuse me, my dear, I need to be going. I feel adopting a more horizontal alignment in the near future would do me a world of good." Louisa nods and Gaukler heads towards the front entrance. There's a slight but noticeable limp in his walk.(more)
<Sierra_Mikain> Louisa calls out to him as he leaves. "If you encounter my husband, do let him know I'd like to see him before the end of the century?" To which Arthur calls back "No promises," and leaves.
<Nemesio> "I'm sorry if we got in the way," Nemesio apologises to Louisa as the man leaves.
<Sierra_Mikain> "Don't worry about it," she says. "He'll find me tomorrow if he neglected to say anything important." She continues walking in a circuit, in the direction Sherise and Nemesio had been going. "So, you two are...final-year students? I can't recall if it came up before."
<Nemesio> "We can see the finish line," Nemesio confirms. "Some of us better than others, right, Sherise?"
<Sierra_Mikain> "Well, true enough," Sherise concedes. "You're the one with the silly tests. I'm merely waiting for the professors to rip my final papers to shreds and decide whether or not I'm fit to work an actual administrative job somewhere."
<Nemesio> "You're being too modest, clearly," he states categorically. "Aren't you slated for valedictorian?"
<Sierra_Mikain> "Am I?" Sherise says innocently. Louisa looks thoughtful. "Well. I was prepared to ask the two of you what you planned on doing afterwards, because that is the natural next question, isn't it? But I wager you've heard it enough already?"
<Nemesio> "A job seems pretty unavoidable," Nemesio says with suitable dejection, shrugging at Sherise. "If you aren't, I'll nominate you myself. It will be quite exciting, me marching into the Chancellor's office. In fact, the more I think about this, the more this idea appeals."
<Sierra_Mikain> "Hm. You could always head for the wastes, live day by day with the outlanders? Wouldn't advise that, though." She looks at Nemesio. "You're a braver sort than I, if you want to talk to the Chancellor. Joran Bigod, is it? I've rarely talked to the man, but he did not impress me as the friendliest sort."
<Nemesio> "The lengths one goes to, the sacrifices one makes, all to make a lasting impression on a girl," Nemesio laments.
<Sierra_Mikain> Louisa grins, first at Nemesio and then at Sherise. "Hang on to this one," she says to the girl. "He's a keeper. Now...I'm afraid I need to go back to being professional for a bit." She gestures to a group of businessmen looking impatient down the hall. "It was nice speaking to you," she says in parting.
* Nemesio nudges Sherise, returning Louisa's grin. "You've tried your best, dear, but her presence really did overwhelm you near the end, didn't it?" He smirks. "Unless you were impressed by yours truly. In fact, let it be so. My ego thrives on such."
<Sierra_Mikain> "I'll indulge you for now," Sherise says ruefully. "Just keep in mind that I may need you to return the favor once the verdict on my papers is in."
<Nemesio> "I should be good for it," he confirms. "Miss Darby is quite approachable, don't you think? Not to mention nice."
<Sierra_Mikain> "Yes," Sherise says. "She looked disappointed when she had to leave, though. Art and business don't make for the most enjoyable combination, I suppose? Sort of a shame the latter is necessary for the former to thrive."
* Nemesio nods. "Perhaps we could visit another time, without the burdens of business."
<Sierra_Mikain> "What, just drop in?" Sherise says. Then she shrugs. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Anyway, I hear she lives in Lotus district somewhere. Shouldn't be too hard to find her, if I'm feeling as brave as you some day."
<Nemesio> "Feel free to draw upon my suicidal bravery as needed," Nemesio offers with exaggerated flair.
<Sierra_Mikain> "Ah, that would be a useful talent, wouldn't it? Being able to transfer your personality traits to other students? Think about it." She clenches a fist in front of in exaggerated excitement. "I could be unstoppably brave before any debate. Nemesio, this is clearly the next thing you need to learn."
<Nemesio> "I aim to please, I live to serve," Nemesio responds, bowing before Sherise. "Our studies don't really end with graduation, so you never know," he continues a bit more seriously, leading her away towards the remaining exhibits.
<Sierra_Mikain> There's not much left between the two students and the door by this point. The main eyecatcher before the two circle back to Fyrdaella is a lifesize rendition of soldier in the Peerless, the small band of guards who serve only to protect the Governor. It is sculpted of some deep red stone, obviously meant to mimic the elite guards' characteristic red and gold armor.(more)
<Sierra_Mikain> It's not clear whether the figure was supposed to be a specific individual since, as with all the other pieces, there's no kind of label. The figure within the plate-mail is female, though, tall and imposing, a long spear held straight up by her side. "Hmm," Sherise muses, looking at it.
<Nemesio> "With all due respect, I don't think this career choice is for you," Nemesio comments, likewise admiring the spear-holding woman.
<Sierra_Mikain> Sherise kicks Nemesio in the side of his foot, though lightly. "Not that," she says. "I was just thinking, isn't she a little plain?" She points to the figure's face, that which isn't covered by a helmet. And, truly, the guardswoman's face is one which would be easily forgotten in a crowd. She could be anyone selling cowshell necklaces down in Bazaar.(more)
<Sierra_Mikain> "She's certainly not beautiful. That's odd for sculpture, isn't it?"
<Nemesio> "This merely means she's not an idealization of The Soldier in the Peerless, but a representation of an individual serving with them," Nemesio respond, drawing upon his knowledge of the arts. "There could be other reasons, of course, but as the designs for the statues were ordered and not a true creative decision by Miss Darby, that outcome seems the most likely."
<Sierra_Mikain> Sherise nods. "I suppose you could be right. I do wonder how long each of these takes her. It's quite a lot of work for one woman, isn't it? I should've asked her." She takes another few steps and glances around. "Well, we're back where we started, aren't we?"
* Nemesio admires the statue a bit longer, committing what is seen of the figure and its the face to memory on a whim. "I suppose so," he agrees. "I'll walk you home, unless you're hungry? That piece of toast you helped yourself to earlier couldn't have been all that filling."
<Sierra_Mikain> "I have food at home. I wouldn't want to trouble you too much. You do have my honest thanks for going with me. You probably know that, but I think it should be said just to spite all the evening's nettling." The doorman nods politely to the two of them as they file back out into the street.
<Nemesio> "It was no trouble, and I did enjoy myself," he says as he returns the nod politely, adding immediately, "But since you so clearly consider yourself in my debt over the occasion, I would not dream of persuading you otherwise."
<Sierra_Mikain> "Ach," Sherise moans, rolling her eyes. "The next time I think to treat you with anything resembling magnaminity, please persuade me otherwise?" Half a beat, and then: "On second thought, no. I'd best rely on someone else to do that."
<Nemesio> "You're quite adorable when you try to act annoyed," Nemesio mentions casually.

[Sierra]

Pilfer, down on the docks:

<El-Cideon> The streets of Landry district--Dockside, to most--are bustling by the time Pilfer makes his way across the city, taking his time to make sure he's not being followed. The thief's destination is a well-known establishment, if one he's unlikely to have visited before given how young he was when he haunted these streets regularly.(more)
<El-Cideon> Narrow and winding, the avenues and alleyways of Dockside are thronged with the sort of revelers and nocturnal predators one would expect for a Friday night in one of the city's poorer districts: dockhands and menial laborers swaggering drunk through the streets, bums and ne'erdowells begging for change, whores looking for partners, and pickpockets preying on the lot of them.
* Pilfer saunters through the streets like a man released from bondage, slipping with practiced ease through the shadows, a flitting specter in the background of the scene.
* Pilfer heads for the Headsman, grimacing as so many tempting opportunities leave him behind. But tonight is no night to risk a game of catch-me with the graycloaks.
<El-Cideon> Pilfer is easily ignored by most of the district's more common hazards--he doesn't look rich or drunk, which means he may as well not exist for those looking to snag some extra senka. There is some kind of social disturbance several blocks away from the tavern, though: a crowd has gathered around a wild-eyed orator standing atop an overturned wheelbarrow in the midst of one of the main intersections in this neighborhood.(more)
<El-Cideon> Sooner or later the Watch will probably show up to disperse this disruption, but for now the speaker is taking advantage of his curious audience (some of whom seem to listen in genuine interest, while others jeer and mock--and of course, juvenile cutpurses prowl the crowd all the while). Tall, scarecrow thin with a wild shock of blond hair, the man hurls invective at the crowd for accepting their lot in life, haranguing the onlookers for tolerating the corruption of East Riding and the Registry's tyranny.
* Pilfer gives the scene a wide berth. *Don't get caught* No sense in risking attention, especially with the crowd looking for sport. Besides, Pilfer had practically been offered a job as a Registry assassin; hardly a good way to greet the grumbling mob tonight.
<El-Cideon> The sounds of manic oratory fade behind Pilfer as he walks past the crowd, the speaker's conviction (or sheer volume) unflagging despite the occasional projectile tossed his way. After a couple minutes, though, Pilfer's left the noise behind and made his way to the Headsman's street. The tavern is a large structure, three stories tall, and in good repair for the area.(more)
<El-Cideon> A streetwalker lounging against the outside wall catcalls in Pilfer's direction, and a pair of burly men out front give him a careful appraisal as he approaches, but no one tries to stop him from entering.
* Pilfer tugs his coat higher, affecting a casual air of detachment. Never mind that he hadn't yet been old enough to fast talk his way into most taverns when he was taken by the Registry.
* Pilfer surveys the interior, stepping to one side of the door to give his eyes time to adjust to the new light level.
<El-Cideon> The interior of the establishment is hot, crowded, and boisterous. There is an overwhelming smell of spilled liquor and a smoky haze about the place. The immediate crowd pays little attention to anything but their own affairs, so Pilfer has a moment to size up the place: the main room is wide and goes up two floors. A lone stairway leads up to the second floor, where less crowded tables can overlook the floor.(more)
<El-Cideon> At the far wall is a small stage, presently inhabited by a comely blond singer who can barely be heard over the crowd at this distance.
* Pilfer makes his way to the bar.
<Pilfer> "Oi! Lemme have a-" Pilfer's mind tries to think of the least alchoholic beverage he can, "A Pale Andrew," he says, naming a light and nearly flavorless drink.
<El-Cideon> The bartender, another tall, beefy fellow (the owner seems to favor keeping a lot of these around) with a deep scar across the bridge of his nose, nods silently and soon *clonks* Pilfer's request down the bar in a heavy clay mug. The patron on Pilfer's left laughs at something unclear (possibly the thief's choice of booze, it's hard to say); on Pilfer's right is a tall woman with ragged black hair and a patch over her left eye.
* Pilfer takes a cautious sip, finding the brew unpalatable at best.
<Pilfer> "Bit of a fuss out there tonight," he comments, apropos of nothing, "Crazies wandering the streets shouting about Lady knows what all. Still, sometimes it makes good listening."
* Pilfer turns to the bartender again.
<Pilfer> "You know a place where a little bird could find a quiet seat, maybe a bit of company?" he asks ingenuously.
<El-Cideon> The bartender looks profoundly disinterested, as though he gets questions like this a lot, but does answer after giving the one-eyed lass a refill. "Depends on what sort of company he's looking for," he says, his voice deep and gravelly. "Looking for a quick lay, there's plenty of women out in the street to choose from, though Jennie don't mind people renting her rooms for that. You, though..." he gestures to Pilfer's mug.(more)
<El-Cideon> "Most folk who come in and order something like that, they're here for the gossip, not the grog. Do I call it right?"
<Pilfer> "Well, I do like a good story," Pilfer admits, keeping a wary ear on his neighbors.
<El-Cideon> The bartender nods solemly. "So do we." He directs Pilfer with a nod to the railinged area above and behind him, on the second floor. "You got something worth hearing, might be you could talk to the lady herself. Otherwise, you can deal with me." Pilfer's neighbors aren't obviously listening in, at least--the laughing man to his left pays him no heed, and Miss Eyepatch merely scans the crowd and smiles at nothing in particular.
<Pilfer> "I don't know that I want to talk over beer," Pilfer says, disengaging. "I'll have a dry talk upstairs," he says, flipping a small coin to the bar to pay for his largely-untouched drink.
* Pilfer weaves adroitly through the crowd, avoiding even casual bumps, and trots lightly up the stairs.
<El-Cideon> The landing at the top of the stairs is manned by another of the burly roadblocks so apparently common in this establishment. This one's bald and missing an ear. "State your business," he says (despite looking like the sort to have not fully mastered language), his voice like the start of an avalanche.
<Pilfer> "Buying and selling," says Pilfer with a confidence that he does not truly feel. He stands as if he expects the man to move immediately out of his way.
<El-Cideon> "Selling first," the bouncer rumbles. "Don't know you. Gotta pay your way."
<Pilfer> "What, you don't think I'm good for it?" Pilfer waves a hand dismissively. "I've something valuable, which I wish to trade for something of equal value. No offense, but you don't look like you have what I'm after. I'll be sure to call you the first time I need advice on stopping a table with my face, though."
<El-Cideon> The bouncer sputters and turns red, but is interrupted before he can articulate a response. A male voice, a baritone so smooth it might be greased, cuts in: "That's enough, block," (whether this is the bouncer's actual name or a designation is unclear). "I'll deal with him." The new speaker is sharp-featured man with white-blond hair, and almost excessively well-dressed for the area. "You have something of interest to us?"
<Pilfer> "More like someone, but yeah."
* Pilfer gives the suit-clad weasel a beady once-over.
<El-Cideon> The man is not obviously armed, nor is he more than average height, and he doesn't seem exceptionally muscled. There's a tenseness about him that warns against any surprise movement, though. "Could this someone be named?" he asks, sounding interested now.
<Pilfer> "Quite possibly. But not, if you catch my drift, out here in the wide open spaces where little birds tend to gather," Pilfer says, keeping his posture relaxed and open.
<El-Cideon> A moment's appraisal, and then a nod. "This is not unusual. As long as you accept that you may be directed towards the door in a most ungracious fashion if you prove to have wasted our time, you may follow me." He turns and heads towards a table in the corner sitting directly above the bar, leaving the bouncer to look frustrated and useless.
* Pilfer waggles a cheerful wave at the bouncer, and follows.
<El-Cideon> The table is inhabited by only one person, making it quite obvious who Pilfer's meant to speak to--though in truth, her appearance alone should make that plain. "Jennie Gold" is easily picked out by the sizable fall of gleaming blonde curls that frames her face (which, by comparison, is somewhat homely, and her nose looks as though it has been broken once or twice).(more)
<El-Cideon> She's somewhat stocky, with a fighter's build, and noticeably well-endowed in regards to the more obvious female characteristics. She seems deeply engaged in bookkeeping as Pilfer approaches, but she snaps shut the folder before anything can be read. "Yes?" she states flatly, looking the thief over.
<Pilfer> Pilfer flashes a broad grin and, without further preamble, chirps, "Hi, there! How'd you like to take down Dane Culathein?"
<El-Cideon> A moment's pause. Her gaze flits between the man in the suit and Pilfer. "Is that all?" she says, not sounding impressed by the pitch. "I've heard that one before. People perceive it as a quick route to earning my goodwill. Usually they just wind up earning an unpleasant degree of familiarity with Block's fists, so if you have something to say that's worth listening to, please do so fast."
* Pilfer thinks for a moment, and decides that if he's going to impress, he'd better do it well.
* Pilfer disappears, and reappears a moment later on Goldies opposite side with a soft "chuff" of air being displaced.
<Pilfer> "Let's say that I have... an unfair advantage when it comes to procuring information."
<El-Cideon> Jennie shoots up out of her chair and takes a step away, and the suited man pulls a knife from somewhere, but Jennie waves him away when it becomes apparent Pilfer's display was just that. "I can see that," she says. "But facts impress me more than magic. This isn't the time or place to be showing off like that...which you'd know if you lived here. Can only assume you've been out for a while, as much as you look like a local."
<Pilfer> "That and I'd rather not get thrown out on my first try," Pilfer agrees amiably.
<Pilfer> "My... associates need information, and quickly. If we get it, Dane could be ruined in a fortnight. If not, well, the consequences could be... severe."
<Pilfer> (Like failing out of school,) Pilfer thinks to himself. He shoots a glance at the sharp-faced man. Another one with something like Nemesio's powers? He'd have to be careful of that, now that he knew it was a possibility.
<El-Cideon> "Again, I've heard such offers before." She hasn't sat back down yet, and still looks somewhat skeptical, hands on her hips and everything. She does gesture to the chair across the table from her, though. "I'll need more detail than that if we're to get down to business. What do you want, and precisely what do you offer in exchange?"
* Pilfer slings himself into the chair, perching offhandedly, almost lounging, yet without taking his weight off of the balls of his feet, should he need to leave quickly.
<Pilfer> "We need as much information as can be had on Dane, particularly his personal life and financial finagling. It would take months, if not longer, to gather it ourselves, and so we come to a reknowned expert in such collecting."
* Pilfer frowns.
<Pilfer> "I can't say what we're looking for with any precision; based on information we have, we'll know it when we see it."
<Pilfer> "In return, well, we can definitely harm Dane, perhaps enough to take him down a few pegs. If that prospect isn't enough..." Pilfer swallows heavily and sighs. "I'll work for you. Not long-term, but strictly favors given for favors received. I can guarantee you that no one else can find out what I can, as quickly as I can."
<Pilfer> "The specifics will have to be worked out, depending on the market value of an unstoppable infiltrator."
* Pilfer sits back with his best effort at a smug smirk firmly in place.
<El-Cideon> Jennie considers this for a long moment, her expression difficult to read. "I need another kind of information first. I need to know who I'm dealing with. I'm sure you understand that. Intelligence is only as good as it's source, so before we make any kind of deal I want to know who you are and how you came across this information."
* Pilfer looks thoughtful.
<Pilfer> "If anyone were to have access to this sort of knowledge - and I'm not saying anyone does - then it's possible that someone in the Registry could find out certain uncomfortable facts, and that said person might then have a vested interest in preventing... disruption, and might therefore turn to what I'm going to call unorthodox methods. Hypothetically speaking, of course."
<Pilfer> "I'm told I'm pretty unorthodox," Pilfer adds with a grin.
<El-Cideon> "Are you suggesting you yourself have connections to the Registry? Because I'll tell you right out that I haven't much love for that lot, nor them for me...but circumstances lately dictate that we not turn aside any offer of aid. So...I think this is simple enough, for a start: tell me what you know about Dane, and I'll tell you what I know. If we're both satisfied after that, we can talk about something more."
* Pilfer is unhappy, but can't really argue, as he's not the one in the position of power, no matter what face he puts on it.
<Pilfer> "Honestly, if I were a mage, and didn't have ANY connections to the Registry? I'd not be sitting here having a nice chat with you and tableface over there," Pilfer gestures to the bodyguard.
<El-Cideon> "You'd be surprised. All sorts turn up here sooner or later. Nevertheless, perhaps you could start with what your interest is in Culathein?"
<Pilfer> "Well, he's dirty, and I mean that beyond the usual." Pilfer glances from side to side conspiratorially. "We're talking treason, here," he points out. "Hence the, ah, officially unofficial concern.
<El-Cideon> "Well, we've known for years he has ambitions beyond being the local boss of the docks, although that's certainly on his agenda as well. There have been rumors about him trying to buy his way into the reformists' good graces. Maddox and his lot? As near as I can tell, they've been smart enough to rebuff the bastard. He'd be dead weight dragging their cause down if it ever came out. So you're suggesting he's operating on his own here?"
<Pilfer> "Well, not on his own, quite, if you catch my drift. But probably not with the reformers. Like you say, they're too smart to get caught up with something as crude as what he's trying to pull. The problem is that his maneuver is also very hard to fend off, from a, ah, strictly military point of view."
<El-Cideon> Jennie motions to a server wandering amongst the nearby tables and is soon brought some bright red drink in a glass. "Explain," she says simply.
<Pilfer> "Same way you keep people from catching anyone in your employ. Plausible deniability. You set up groups, send out lieutenants to start stuff on their own. Nothing they do is directly connected to you."
<Pilfer> "And since there's no central command..."
<El-Cideon> "So what, precisely, has he set in motion here that's got you chaps worried?"
<Pilfer> "Well, it's not 'us chaps'. I don't care much one way or the other," Pilfer says truthfully.
<El-Cideon> Jennie actually laughs at this. "Well, that admission's refreshing to hear, yeah."
<Pilfer> "But it's what I said. Terrorist cells. His boys go out and start up their own little rebel groups. Start training the kiddies and whipping them into shape. Soon, chaos, death, war, collapse, and someone special gets to be the king of the dunghill that Avontyne turns into."
<El-Cideon> "And I take it from your concern that such groups are already at work out in the city?"
<Pilfer> "My own two eyes," Pilfer assures her.
<El-Cideon> "Of course, I have just your word on that." Jennie raps her fingers on the table for a moment, thinking. "I'll say straight out that I've never been much impressed with your employer's work. Dane's been going about his business for years and the Registry's been curiously unconcerned about it the whole time. Why should they care? The East Riding families built their own docks across the river and let the west side traders go hang.(more)
<El-Cideon> "And now, suddenly, Dane's an issue, but not enough of one for the government to act on its own to take him out? Guess that would make it too obvious that they screwed up in ignoring him in the first place." She sighs. "Be that as it may, I obviously don't dispute that he has to go. But I need to know *everything* you know before I commit to anything."
<Pilfer> "Well, it's not something I can prove, is it? The only proof there was was the confession of the guy who ran it, and that's... really not available anymore. And as for the timing, well, not even you can know everything that goes on, right? Besides, this isn't exactly a mobilization of the troops. It takes time to set up countermeasures to this sort of thing. And even more..." Pilfer leans in close and lowers his voice.
<Pilfer> "It may just be that the entire Registry isn't exactly behind the anti-Dane crowd," he finishes ominously.
<Pilfer> "There's limits on what I know; I'm just a cog, but I've got a... well, a job to do."
<El-Cideon> "I understand, but be that as it may, I'm gonna extract as much as I can get. So, two points here," Jennie says, ticking them off on her fingers. "This confession: who gave it, if you know? And, if the whole agency isn't down with this plan...that leads me to suspect some bureaucrat's playing a lone hand. That doesn't inspire confidence. Again, I need to know more."
* Pilfer winces inwardly. If the group's assumptions and conjectures are wrong, he could be revealing the critical weakness in his story.
<Pilfer> "The one cell we found was run by a guy who called himself Cronin. Mage. Potentially pretty powerful."
<Pilfer> "As for the rest, well... You have to understand, there are some facts that I really can't tell the top information broker in the city," Pilfer says, hoping a little subtle flattery will aid his cause. "There's no way I can afford what it would cost to keep the name of my employers off the streets."
<El-Cideon> "Cronin..." Jennie gestures in the air for a moment, thinking. "Hugh Cronin? Big blond fellow?" She looks to her immaculately dressed bodyguard, who nods. "Slug in human clothing," Jennie says. "Standard thug, worked jobs for Dane on and off for a couple years now. Didn't know he was a mage. Did a good job covering, if that's true."
<Pilfer> "He managed to hold his own against a handful of other mages," Pilfer volunteers. "Pretty hard to do that without backup. If he wasn't a mage, he had a darned good one hidden in his coat pocket."
<El-Cideon> "And I presume he's in the care of your associates now. Huh. Can't say *that* bothers me much. The question remains, though: what do you lot want me to do about it all? I do have allies, friends, hired hands...but I am not a private army. If I could have shut Dane down by now, I would have, but you should know that."
<Pilfer> "Well, we found out about Dane through Cronin. We, obviously, don't know much about him. Not really my field, nor any of my associates'. So if you can give us, say, known lieutenants, businesses, connections, safe houses; the basic stuff, nothing fancy. We're starting from square one on this guy, and for the reasons I mentioned we can't really be seen to dig too deeply into him on our own..."
<El-Cideon> "Square one's the Tree of Pearls. That's where he started, and that's where he'll hunker down if there's trouble. Got two bodyguards, follow him damn near everywhere. Violet and Ipsidra. Graduates from his brothel. We're pretty sure Violet's killed a few local businessmen who didn't want to work with Dane. Likes to play with knives. Ipsidra we don't know much about, save that he brought her over from Kalbemarle. (more)
<El-Cideon> "Pretty sure both of them help him keep the books by this point. Might be worth your while to get one alone, but he'd know something was up if either of them disappeared. Otherwise...I have to tell you that he'd be ruined if you lot stepped up those damned Customs inspections of yours. The lifeblood of his business now is smuggling. Pays captains running cheap goods to sneak in luxury items from abroad to bypass the tariffs.(more)
<El-Cideon> "A lot of this stuff does go Maddox's people, from what I can see, but that's more cause and effect than anything coordinated. Upward-bound merchants trying to look like nobs and doing it the cheapest way possible."
* Pilfer looks thoughtful.
<Pilfer> "Hit him where it hurts, huh? Right in the wallet?"
<El-Cideon> "Absolutely. Make him desperate. He wouldn't have been as much of a problem if you lot had done your jobs in the first place."
<Pilfer> "Any idea where we can get solid proof of smuggling? Physical evidence, I mean. And it's not my lot, damn it. I was a street rat before I was a hireling, and I'll thank you to remember it."
<El-Cideon> "He's careful. Moves his storehouses around a lot. Best thing I can tell you is to lean on the ships' captains until you find one that'll break." She seems amused at this last remark of Pilfer's, though. "So how long have you been out, then?"
<Pilfer> "Long enough that finding information on my own would take so long that throwing myself on your mercy was the better option," Pilfer points out, with no small amount of ruefulness.
<El-Cideon> "So they sent you out here with no more of a lead than that?" She shakes her head. "You still look the part, if that helps. They haven't totally civilized you."
<Pilfer> "That's why I came. You're not on the official list of resources, you know, and I can't imagine anyone but me being happy I came here."
<El-Cideon> She grins. "So what's your report going to say, then?"
<Pilfer> "Pfft. Reports? I told you, this isn't going on the records anywhere. Heck, if you try to find out more about me from the Registry, they'll tell you I don't even work for them."
<El-Cideon> "Hm. I'll remember that. What do you call yourself, again?"
<Pilfer> "Pilfer." His expression dares anyone to make an issue of it.
<El-Cideon> Jennie doesn't make an issue of this. She just nods as though filing this factoid away for future reference.
<Pilfer> "Can you provide more details if some more specific needs come up, in the course of our, aheh, 'investigation'?"
<El-Cideon> "As long as I can see progress is being made, I'll be willing to cooperate. Good enough?"
<Pilfer> "Fine. And when you need to cash in on the payment, leave a message for 'Tellamarl' with the innkeeper over at the Jug and Barrel. I'll check there every few days."
<El-Cideon> "Sure," Jennie says simply, again obviously making a mental note of anything and everything."
<Pilfer> "Well, then. I think the names you gave me will give us a starting point, at least, which is more than we had a day ago. Thanks for your time."
* Pilfer stands up.
<El-Cideon> "Of course. You can see yourself out, I take it," she says, smiling wryly.
<Pilfer> "More or less," Pilfer agrees.
* Pilfer disappears.

[Sierra]

Back on track--meeting Professor Ferryman one last time:

<El-Cideon> The morning of Monday, June 8th is breezy and overcast but warm. Professor Ferryman is sitting on the low stone bench at the rim of the practice field as the three students arrive, peering at a chip of some blue-green material. She pockets it as Nemesio, Derrick and Pilfer arrive, standing and letting out an obvious sigh. "Well, here we are again." She looks obviously tired.
<Nemesio> "Busy weekend, Ma'am?" Nemesio asks her.
* Derrick nods his greetings to the others and to the professor, "Morning."
<El-Cideon> "Something like that," she responds vaguely. "I trust you all, at least, rested well after last week's ordeal?"
<Derrick> "As well as could be expected, anyway."
* Pilfer shrugs.
<El-Cideon> "Well...this is not precisely part of the prescribed itinerary, but I hoped I could have your honest thoughts on the test thus far before we proceed further." She manages a sour grin. "What you say will not incriminate you in any way, I assure you."
<Nemesio> "To be honest, Professor, I'm not certain this actually tests us on what we have learned all these years," Nemesio responds respectfully.
* Pilfer's expression clearly indicates his skepticism.
<Derrick> "I have to agree. These...examinations haven't seemed to require any of the skills that we've been learning in any class."
* Derrick has more then a few things he would like to add...but honestly isn't assured by anything the professor says about these oppinions not haveing an impact on anything.
<El-Cideon> Justine nods. "Duly noted." She pauses for a moment, thinking something over. "You should be aware that I myself do not agree with the arrangement, which is why I regret having to summon you all here again. I think it only fair to take a moment to satisfy your curiosity and answer any questions it is within my power to answer. About me personally also, if this actually is a subject of curiosity."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Again, I have asked enough of you all that some sort of gesture is necessary, however feeble."
<Pilfer> "Well, if it wasn't you that came up with this cockamamie plan, then who did?"
<El-Cideon> Justine looks at Pilfer. "Some among the board of directors, of which I am not a part."
<Nemesio> "And also..." Nemesio adds to Pilfer's words. "The last time we met, Professor, you said that our tasks seemed to have a pattern to your eyes. Might we ask what that pattern would be?"
<El-Cideon> She shakes her head to Nemesio's query. "That would be...contradictory to their purpose. I'm afraid I can't speculate about it here."
<Nemesio> "So you can't tell us who and you can't tell us what," Nemesio states, being uncharacteristically blunt. "I don't believe there is much else I wish to know, Ma'am."
<Pilfer> "Well, we stole a book and broke up a dueling-league-slash-terrorist-cell. Sounds like they're trying to see if we're Black Ops material," Pilfer opines, pulling a small pinwheel from his pocket and blowing on it idly.
<Nemesio> "Why us would be an interesting question, but another I don't believe we'll get an answer to," Nemesio agrees.
* Derrick doesn't even bother asking anything. The other two have already covered anything he would really like to know, and she doesn't seem at liberty to talk about the important things.
<Pilfer> "'Cause they're stupid?" Pilfer suggests.
<Nemesio> "Since you mentioned satisfying our curiousity, Professor, and agreed to answer certain questions of a personal nature..." Nemesio muses, pausing to contemplate his next words. "Why would someone focused on empirical, scientific research place a heavy emphasis on a religious text?"
<Pilfer> "Praying to the goddess to fix her weird skin condition?"
<El-Cideon> Justine nods to Nemesio previous statement. "Unfortunate, but an understandable response." And, then, in regards to the second query, "Well...you saw Professor Rivers herself, I gather, and have some inkling of her condition?"
<Nemesio> "It is rather hard to miss, yes."
<Derrick> "It seemed to be similar to one that was mentioned in the text, though I'd hestitate to draw any conclusions from such a short assosiation with her and such a breif scan of the text."
<El-Cideon> To Pilfer: "Alethia's skin is not precisely the problem. She doesn't like to discuss the matter herself, but since before even being a student here she's suffered from an extremely rare and progressively worsening syndrome causing the atrophy and death of the nerves throughout her body."
<Pilfer> "Hunh. Well ain't that a thing?" Pilfer says, his innate empathy and thirst for academic knowledge utterly failing to shine through.
<El-Cideon> "There are several names for it. "The Wasting" or "Withering" in some old texts. The more scientific term is simply Nervous Atrophy. Regardless, we believe it is an inherited defect, and not one any being can cure. This condition will probably continue to worsen until she is unable even to breathe."
<Pilfer> "Heck, if I were her, I'd be grasping at straws, too."
<El-Cideon> "If you glanced at the book, it should not be difficult to note a parallel between her and the first story therein. My suspicion is that this is what made her attachment to the text so strong, though she initially borrowed it out of simple curiosity."
<Pilfer> "All righty then." Pilfer glances around. "Why is the sky blue?"
* Derrick sighs, "I'm not really wondering about anything that you are able to talk about, so if the others are done, we can move on to the next task."
<Pilfer> "No, no; I really want to know."
<El-Cideon> "Hmm. Someone didn't pay attention in physics, I see," she says, managing something resembling humor. "Very well, onward to today's task? The first thing I asked you all to do brought you into conflict with another member of the staff, as I'm sure you all remember. I'm afraid today will likely cause more of the same."
<Pilfer> "Oh, goody. More black marks on our records."
<Nemesio> "Don't look so down, we're graduating, after all. Hopefully."
<Pilfer> "Assuming the terrorists don't kill us first," Pilfer mutters.
* Derrick sighs again, "Of course it will. Why shouldn't it? After all, it's not a real examination unless we're stepping on someone's toes."
<El-Cideon> A glance at Nemesio. "You will." She pauses for a long moment, so much so that one could wonder if she's lost her train of thought. "Before I explain any further, I must note that I will, if necessary, resign my post here before forcing you to undertake anything more that you are not comfortable doing. I say this in all seriousness."
<Nemesio> "What exactly is to be our task, that it makes you so uncomfortable, Ma'am?"
<El-Cideon> She frowns. "It's more a matter of principle than anything else. I'd just like you to consider it as an option. Under this situation, they cannot hold any of you responsible for not completing the program." She sighs. "In any event...First off, I should note that there was recently an...intrusion into the Chancellor's office. Nothing of importance was taken, but we believe we know who was responsible."
* Pilfer looks mildly interested.
<Nemesio> "How intriguing," Nemesio voices. "Clearly, the Chancellor has issues with his security system. Would he like us to inspect it and suggest better ways to protect his office?"
<Pilfer> "I've got a bunch of ideas," Pilfer pipes in.
<Derrick> "In this establishment, with a bunch of teenage mages running around, it's a wonder ANYTHING is actually secure."
<El-Cideon> Justine actually chuckles. "You are free to suggest this to him the next time you see him. However--" And then an image flashes into existence next to her. A young man with long blond hair, wearing antiquated robes patterned with elaborate sigils around the shoulders. "You have, perhaps, seen this man around the grounds?"
* Pilfer shrugs.
<Pilfer> "I see a lot of people, myself."
<Pilfer> "Are we supposed to track this dork down?"
<Derrick> "He looks somehwat familiar, yes."
* Nemesio calmly waits for the professor to continue.
<El-Cideon> "Simon Garderov. A research assistant to someone else on the staff here. There are some questions about the morality of his independant work as of late. We have, of course, searched though his notes and found nothing unusual, but his mentor remains concerned. We were hoping you could find something we did not. The lad is boastful; he will probably say more than he intends to admiring students."
<Nemesio> "This is a request from Professor Adamsen, then?" Nemesio inquires.
<El-Cideon> "It is a request from the board," she says.
<Nemesio> "What exactly is the board concerned about?" Nemesio asks. "After all, it is easier to prove or disprove something concrete, rather than hunt for something abstract and vague like 'loyalty' or 'morality'."
<Pilfer> "Plus, checking a student's 'morality' just sounds too jackbooted for me."
<El-Cideon> "The young man has...troublesome obsessions, reportedly. I'm sure it will become clearer if you talk to him. And I do remind you that you have another option if you do not wish to continue."
<Pilfer> "Well, that was very nebulous of you."
<Nemesio> "I have talked to him, in a sense, once before," Nemesio comments. "I know of him and of his field of expertise. I'm afraid to report that our goal did not become clear to me, even upon recollection of that meeting."
<El-Cideon> "Oh?" Justine says, sounding curious. "When did you meet him?"
<Nemesio> "Around the time of our second task."
<El-Cideon> "Hm. What, exactly, did the two of you discuss?"
<Nemesio> "He expressed interest in... documenting magical powers, I believe, in the interest of science." Nemesio shrugs lightly. "It was not a deep philosophical discussion."
<Nemesio> "Ah, yes!" he exclaims a moment later. "He mentioned working closely with the board."
<Pilfer> "Hunh. Well, that's weird."
<Nemesio> "There could be more than one faction within the board, and if they're settling scores, it's hardly strange."
<El-Cideon> Justine frowns. "I did say he was boastful. He himself does not sit on the board. Professor Adamsen does, but...I suspect the lad was merely being arrogant."
* Derrick considers, "Hmm, he did see us at the location of the second test. And now they're disbanded. If we start asking him questions, he's bound to get suspisious."
* Nemesio shrugs again. "Alright. I have just one final question, then. If we do return with an answer, how exactly are you going to verify it?"
<El-Cideon> "If he has some private place of conducting research, on-campus or off, we could search that. If he mentions using, in his research, materials which are proscribed or at least frowned upon, this too we can verfiy by investigating known sources. Any names of dubious reputation which he may drop during conversation will also be an avenue to explore."
<Nemesio> "Alright, then." Nemesio smiles at his companions. "Let's go stalk Mister Garderov?"
* Pilfer frowns unhappily.
<Derrick> "Joy, more detective work. My enthusiasm is boundless."
<El-Cideon> "You should find him in the science hall at this time of day. I don't believe he should be assisting Adamsen at this time of the day. Well...farewell for now. Please let me know your results--positive or otherwise--tomorrow morning."
<Pilfer> "Based on suspicion, instead of an actual duelling league? And for someone who already works with the board?"
<El-Cideon> "Speaking personally, Pilfer, I was not aware he had ever attended meetings of the duelling circle. As for being associated with a board member...well, I hesitate to test your practiced cynicism and point out that this shouldn't preclude him from being reprimanded if he IS doing something untoward."
<Pilfer> "What I mean is that this sounds more like politics than actual, y'know, dangerous wrongdoing."
<El-Cideon> Justine nods. "We academics are not, admittedly, above such wrangling. However, speaking personally, I find the fact that he, a staff member, was attending these duelling meets and not notifying any of the authorities about it to be...worrisome."
<Derrick> "That thought had occured to me as well."
<Pilfer> "Eh, I wouldn't have said anything."
<Derrick> "They also wouldn't let you on the staff."
<El-Cideon> "I don't doubt that, Pilfer. But would you have gone in the first place?"
<Pilfer> "Not to fight in it, but he wasn't doing that either."
<El-Cideon> "Well, Pilfer...I don't take it askance that you object to what you've been asked to d. But the task stands."
<Pilfer> "Well... so then what? I fail for not narcing on Blondie?"
<Derrick> "This one seems considerbly less objectionable then the last test, to me. Still irritating, mind you, but beyond that I'm not seeing what your problem is here."
<Pilfer> "You probably think it's a GOOD thing to be a narc."
<El-Cideon> "I've already stated what I myself intend to do in the event of your refusal to do as required. You did not choose to partake in this program, and you should not have to suffer for it. Still, if your partners are willing to play along..."
<Derrick> "Not partiularly, no. But it's not the horror you're making it out to be. Besides, it's only 'narcing' if he's a student. Which he's not."
<Nemesio> "I hardly see the harm in checking," Nemesio speaks at last. "Your entire objection hangs upon believing in the man's guilt, yet refusing to confirm it. Well, perhaps he is innocent after all, and too little credit has been granted him?"
<Derrick> "This isn't a 'students vs the oppresive faculty' thing, this is members of the faculty not trusting one of their own."
* Derrick shrugs, "There is also that, yes."
<Pilfer> "I don't see where they get off making our graduation require us to be their little spies."
<Pilfer> "I mean, the only 'skill' this is even testing is 'looking like a student and being willing to work for dirty old bastards'."
<Derrick> "That's basically what Nemesio and myself said at the beginning of all this, yes. It's nonsense and a complete sham of an examination. However, we are almost done with it."
<Pilfer> "Fine. Whatever." Pilfer folds his arms crossly. "If they think they can keep yanking me around like this after I get out of here..."
* Derrick snorts, "Then I'll be happy to help you tell them to stuff it somewhere unpleasant, because I'll be doing much the same."
<El-Cideon> Justine shakes her head. "As I've stated, I share your misgivings about this. However, this is my job. At any rate...you should find Garderov in the science building at this time of day, most likely in one of the basement labs."
* Pilfer hunches his shoulders as the three depart.
<Pilfer> "I ran into Garderov in the Chancellor's office. Couldn't figure out what he'd been after in there, but he said he was looking for stuff on Cronin," Pilfer informs the other two.
<Derrick> "Hmm, do you think he was level with you on that?"
<Pilfer> "Hell no."
<Pilfer> "I mean, goodness knows I've gone in there and read my file from time to time."
<Derrick> "Out of idle curiosity, just how many file cabinet drawers do you have dedicated to your exploits?"
<Pilfer> "Eh, I think he keeps the really juicy stuff in his office at home, or maybe over in [area i can't recall]. I've still got to go check on them."
<El-Cideon> The walk over to the science hall is uneventful. The building is largely unpopulated at this time of day (not to mention this time of year--many students have finished their tests already).
<Pilfer> "Let's find him fast and get this over with. Hoot like an owl when you spot him."
<El-Cideon> Finding the lab area isn't hard--the students have been there before, after all, to find Alethia (whom one can only hope is not present today). A bit of chatter in one lab (two voices, one male and one female) seems like the only noise in the place.
* Pilfer storms up, uncharacteristically grumpy, and rudely sticks his head through the doorway, not even knocking.
<El-Cideon> Garderov is indeed one of the speakers, sitting at a table with a large collection of books scattered before him and a notepad. The other speaker is a woman, standing some ways away. She's attractive in a tomboyish way (despite wearing a long dress), with short black hair. Both stop talking when Pilfer barges in. "...Yes?" Simon says eventually.
* Pilfer realizes he doesn't have a plan.
* Pilfer glances back at Nemesio.
<Pilfer> "We need to talk to you," he says.
<El-Cideon> Simon quirks an eyebrow, but nods. "I'll find you later," he says to the woman, who is about to exit before getting a glimpse at Nemesio. "I know you, don't I?" she says. "Nemesio, right?"
* Nemesio inclines his head. "That's right, Professor Cuesniet," he responds. "I apologize for my friend's intrusion."
<El-Cideon> Meredith eyes Pilfer with mock severity. "Well. He really should have knocked first...but if he's with you, I'll let him live."
* Nemesio sketches a bow. "My eternal gratitude, Ma'am."
* Derrick nods politely to the professor, but doesn't say anything
<El-Cideon> She nods. "Of course. Well, I'll leave Simon to his admiring fans now..." She spots Derrick on the way out. "Oh, Derrick. Watch yourself, I think Alethia's around today." She grins and leaves. Simon waits until her footsteps have gone. "Well?" he says, sounding curious.
<Nemesio> "Any ideas why the board might want to get rid of you, Mister Garderov? Nemesio asks him directly. And looks into his mind for the answer.
* Derrick raises an eyebrow at the directness, but keeps an eye on Simon to gauge his reaction.
<El-Cideon> Simon's answer is a long time coming. "Do close the door," he says eventually. "I imagine I'll have questions for you as well. First among them being, of course, what gives you the idea I'm on the outs with the board?"
* Derrick eases the door shut.
* Nemesio smirks. "The board hiring us to rat on you, naturally. What else? You still haven't answered the question, mind."
<Pilfer> "They're forcing us to investigate you. It follows that your buddy in the bigwigs isn't anymore."
<El-Cideon> Simon closes his notebook, stands up, and leans against the nearest desk. He looks smug. "If I had done anything they had to worry about, and if they had proof I had done it, they would not have sent students to interrogate me. Try again?"
* Pilfer blinks.
<Pilfer> "I should try that more often."
<Nemesio> "Allow me to try, then," Nemesio voices. "You believe in Professor Adamsen's unwavering support, correct?"
<Pilfer> "I mean, usually I try to do plausible excuses. Maybe I should just tell the truth and watch people completely not believe it..."
<El-Cideon> "I'm sorry, is that one step behind 'No court in the land would convict me' in regards to inadverdant obvious confessions?" he says to Pilfer. "Regardless, it's true."
<Nemesio> "I don't recall mentioning that he was the one who sent us. In fact, while I gave the impression the board was united in this, perhaps such is not the truth, hmm?"
<El-Cideon> He looks at Nemesio now. "Who, specifically, did send you?"
<Nemesio> "I've answered enough, so it is your turn." Nemesio returns his gaze flatly. "Of course, I could always leave. I'm certain nothing bad would happen to you and your sponsor. We are just students, after all, and no one would really send us. Consider it all a prank if you wish."
<El-Cideon> "Professor Adamsen and I pursue the same truth in our studies. Is that plain enough? It would be counter to his purposes to turn against me. He's smarter than that. I don't accept that this is the board's decision."
<Pilfer> "Oh, for pity's sake," moans Pilfer.
<Nemesio> "Alright. If you're not interested in an exchange of information, clearly we all are wasting out time. My apologies for taking you away from your no doubt fascinating discussion with the professor," Nemesio says, and heads for the door, taking hold of the handle.
<El-Cideon> Simon smirks, and sits down again to his books. "Indeed, this seems to have been a pointless diversion on all our parts. *Good day*."
<Pilfer> "You people all suck," Pilfer points out. "They're sending you against each other like roosters in a ring, and all you can do is look smug back and forth."
<Pilfer> "I hate this place."
<Nemesio> "Let's go talk to Professor Cuesniet instead," Nemesio suggests to Pilfer and Derrick, opening the door. "There's no need to bother anymore, here."
<Derrick> "I really have no better ideas on how to proceed with this, so that's as good of one as any."
<Pilfer> "I'll take your word for it, Cap'n." Pilfer mopes. "I hate this place," he says again.
<Nemesio> "Any idea where we can find her at this time?" Nemesio asks, once they are alone.
<Pilfer> "Hell if I know. Who's Professor Cuesniet?"
<Nemesio> "You two don't know her, then?" Nemesio asks.
<Derrick> "Linguistics professor. I haven't had any of her classes though."
<Nemesio> "I did. She's nice enough." Nemesio's voice drops. "And also makes our friend very worried. I do wonder why...."
<Pilfer> "I don't."
* Pilfer pouts.
* Nemesio raises his eyebrow as Pilfer pouts. "Well. Since I don't want Simon to consider that I bluffed, I'll go and ask her a few questions. We should be able to report in no time."
* Derrick rolls his eyes, but just ignores Pilfer, "Sounds like a plan."
* Nemesio heads towards her hall.
<El-Cideon> It's not a considerable walk to the hall, near the north end of the grounds. Professor Cuesniet's office is on the second floor, just by the main stairwell.
* Nemesio makes sure they knock, this time, before waiting on an answer.
<El-Cideon> There's the sound of a chair creaking, and a "Hm?" Then, "It's open."
* Nemesio opens the door, stepping inside. "It seems we are fated to meet again, Professor," he says.
<El-Cideon> "You make it sound like a chore," Meredith says. Her office is not the tidiest around; books scatter the floor, and there's even a set of cast-off spare clothes draped over one spare chair. "What's with the crowd?"
<Nemesio> "I am easily intimidated in the presence of staff," Nemesio responds with a smile. "I hope it's not a problem?"
* Pilfer attempts to look menacing, and manages dyspeptic.
* Derrick half chuckles, and doesn't need to try to look rather unasumming.
<El-Cideon> "No, come in," she says, seeming curious about the hangers-on but not objecting. "Is this related to some class of yours, or...?"
<Nemesio> "I'm afraid not," Nemesio says, shaking his head. Once they are inside the office, its door closed, he continues, "Before I proceed, I would like you to believe me that I only wish to help."
<El-Cideon> "Well..." she chuckles. "That sounds almost ominous."
<Nemesio> "I would like you to take this more seriously, please, Professor," Nemesio says firmly. "Certain elements of the board don't like what you and Mister Garderov have been up to. When we approached him to warn him, he was smug and dismissive. It is my hope that you, at least, would show more foresight."
<Pilfer> "Like teacher, like student?" muses Pilfer.
<El-Cideon> "I am *not* Simon's teacher," she says, with some distaste. She leans forward in her seat, frowning but still calm and collected. "Out of curiosity, how is that you know what the board's up to?"
* Nemesio considers. "What if I were to say, hypothetically speaking, that the Chancellor is pulling our strings?"
<Pilfer> "I would have just said a little bird told me."
<El-Cideon> A sigh. "I'd say I long for a chancellor who's willing to do his own dirty work. How do you feel, taking orders like that?"
<Pilfer> "It sucks. You know, we're being awfully forthcoming today. Is this your fault?" Pilfer turns to Derrick questioningly.
<Nemesio> "Yes, but I'm hoping a bit of openness would give us actual results," Nemesio tells Pilfer. "And not too well, as you can probably see, Professor. I assure you, our 'assignment' did not include walking up to you and informing you of... anything, really."
<Derrick> "Once I'm certified and done with all this, I'll sincerely hope I never have cause to speak with the man again."
<Nemesio> "On the other hand, it does present us all with an opportunity, don't you think?" Nemesio asks the professor suddenly. "It would be much easier to tailor our report if we knew more about whatever it is he wants us to find out, and keep you out of harm's way."
<El-Cideon>  "What *did* your instructions include, if I may ask? And, I daresay the easiest way to tailor that report of yours is to say you found nothing of consequence. Look at it this way," and she flashes her winningest grin here. "Do you really *want* to help Joran Bigod. Do your instructions necesitate the discovery of specific information, or simply the act of investigation?"
<Nemesio> "I would be inclined to agree," Nemesio responds. "But if we did report this, and the Chancellor did know something? Then, instead of diverting suspicion from you, we would only increase it by our misguided efforts."
<El-Cideon> Meredith sighs. "There's no chance he'll assume you're just a lot of bunglers, I suppose?"
<Derrick> "Not likely. He did his damndest to convince all three of us to go to work for him, excuse me, for the registry, after we graduate. If we're even allowed to graduate, that is."
<Pilfer> "That can be arranged, actually," Pilfer points out. "But that doesn't get us graduated. Besides, he already knows about Rivers. And he knows that we know, and now you know that we know that he knows... er, wait..."
<El-Cideon> "He can't stop you from graduating. The legality of this is questionable in the first place." She drums her fingers on the desk for a moment, idly swiveling her chair. "What he knows about Alethia is irrelevant. He should be bringing her to the Registry himself if he thinks she's a threat. I ask again, does this task of yours involve the discovery of specific information, or just the motions of an investigation?"
<Pilfer> "No one will tell us."
<Pilfer> "It kind of limits our ability to investigate."
<Derrick> "We're being given tasks with next to no information about what exactly it is we're doing. Just a general 'do this'. Rather vexing, as I'm sure you can guess."
<Nemesio> "The former, though, like I said, I have no inclination to do anything questionable on behalf of our Chancellor, Professor," Nemesio says respectfully. "Of course, we could claim incompetence, but do you expect the next group he sends to be as understanding?"
<El-Cideon> To Derrick: "I can see that, yes. Being a stooge never sounded like much fun to me." Then, to Nemesio, and she seems oddly amused to make this observation: "From your perspective, I'd say the chief benefit of this approach is not being in that next group." She snorts. "Assuming he sends another. If this fails...I doubt he's trying again."
<Nemesio> "Hardly," Nemesio responds. "While it is hard to believe, I genuinely want to help you, Ma'am. You're on a clock, aren't you?" he ventures. "Don't you want to rely on our help? I believe we could buy you some time, at the very least."
<Pilfer> "Besides, if you skip us, you'll have to figure out what he'll do next. Really, it's easier if we just nip this whole 'espionage' thing in the bud."
<El-Cideon> Meredith appraises Nemesio for a long moment. "You're being honest enough, I guess I should return the favor. Yeah, I'm on a clock, and it stops if you go back to the Chancellor with the truth."
<Nemesio> "I need enough of the truth to make a compelling story that fits his facts and does not, in fact, stop this clock of yours," Nemesio responds with a shrug. "Between us all, I'm confident we could come up with something."
<El-Cid> Meredith stands up, all seriousness now. "I'm sorry, Nemesio, but I can't tell you any piece of it without the whole falling apart. I mean...what do your handlers think is going on? Do you have any idea?"
<Nemesio> "In a nutshell, if this isn't about preventing Professor Rivers's untimely demise with some unconventional means, we are far off the mark."
<El-Cid> "Oh, she's dying anyway. Nothing anyone can do about that." She runs a hand through her hair, and manages a sad little laugh. "So, not quite a bullseye, but you hit the target, at least." She shakes her head. "Doesn't change anything, though. If Joran has you lot investigating us, he probably already knows as much as he needs to. You three will be just as well leaving now."
* Nemesio shrugs again. "Alright. Want us to tell him you're just dating Simon, Professor? If nothing else, it should be amusing."
<El-Cid> Meredith makes a disgusted noise deep in her throat. "Now you're just being insulting. Li cha!" With these last words, a faint distortion appears in the air around Meredith's hand, which she makes plain for all to see. "I'd rather it didn't come to this, so I'll give you all one last warning: Back down now if you wish to leave this building alive."
* Pilfer spreads his hand behind him stiffly, preparatory to the sweeping gesture that will summon his deflection field.
<Nemesio> "We respond well to threats," Nemesio assures her. "For what it's worth, I wish you luck in your secretive endeavors. I don't suppose I need to tell you to beware spies and the like?"
* Derrick straigtens up and his hands slowly come together, his right thumb resting on that familiar groove in his left palm, eyeing her cautiously. He may hate fighting, but if she attacked them with magic, he *would* respond in kind...
<El-Cid> "Of course not," she says to Nemesio. "Do mind your own advice as well, lest you regret it." She's not making a move, just eyeing the students until they make for the door.
<Nemesio> She just wished him luck? Excellent. With a nod at the professor, Nemesio leaves.

[Sierra]

Nemesio, overnight:

<El-Cideon> The weather's still balmy and breezy by the time Nemesio and company head out at last (there being much delay among some members of the household as they agonized over what precisely to wear, a regular occurrence that, as always, caused no end of good-natured grumbling from Zarin). The sky is darkening, and clouds tinted lavender by the dying light race across the sky far above.(more)
<El-Cideon> The Aedes residence is near the edge of East Riding, overlooking the fringes of Morrister, much like the Kleosterr home. Though, Madame Aedes' house is considerably more...palatial. That much is easy to notice as the small company of Nemesio, Ataraxis, Zarin and Myrah approach it.
<Nemesio> Some unpleasantness was to be expected for coming out on the wrong side, politically, all those years ago. Rather, it says a lot about the Kleosterr family that it was able to endure.
<El-Cideon> "Quite a lot of space for one woman, isn't it?" Ataraxis remarks. "It's a wonder she doesn't get lost in the place."
<Nemesio> "I'm certain she has all the servants she needs to guide her in such an unhappy occasion," Nemesio responds.
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis laughs. "No doubt. She's a widow, you know. You may find there's a room in there for you if you play your cards right," she teases.
<Nemesio> "I'll pass," Nemesio says with a roll of his eyes, taking Ataraxis's arm.
<El-Cideon> "As well you should," Myrah says approvingly. "It's unbecoming for a young man to court an older woman. Well, one that much older, at least," she corrects. "I have to say that or Zarin will remind me that I'm a month older than he," she says in a hushed tone just loud enough for everyone to hear.
<Nemesio> "A year's difference is alright, check," Nemesio confirms in a matching, hushed voice, as if marking it off on some notebook in his mind.
<El-Cideon> "Quite. Too much more and people will *talk*, you know? 'He's chasing her family's money, that's all.'" It's hard to tell how much she actually means this, but she adds a Harrumph just for good measure. "Ah, here we are."(more)
<El-Cideon> The Aedes estate is indeed quite sizable--high stone walls stretch into the distance almost beyond sight in either direction from the front gate, which, when open (as it is now), looks wide enough to allow a carriage to pass through in either direction. The long, cobbled walk to the front door is bordered with elaborate gardens and flowerbeds and the house itself is a three-floor monstrosity that could rival one of the major government buildings in size.
<Nemesio> Nemesio is content to follow Ataraxis's parents in, leading her a short distance after them.
<El-Cideon> Equally grand proportions characterize the building on the inside. The wide-open foyer sports two broad staircases arcing up to the second floor; the stairs and above look lushly carpeted, but the main floor is tiled, mostly in soothing earth tones. Expensive-looking decorations abide in alcoves almost wherever there is wall space. (more)
<El-Cideon> The effect is rather ostentatious, but the color scheme is nice. The wallpaper is patterned in varying shades of deep red. And even out here, by the entrance, celebratory noises can be heard from elsewhere in the house. Ataraxis seems moderately awed, though Myrah and Zarin have been here before and keep their impressions unvoiced.
<Nemesio> Nemesio is quite unmoved by the opulence, though upon noticing Ataraxis's reaction, he quietly tries to emulate it.
<El-Cideon> "Don't look too impressed," a woman's voice says. "It was like this when I found it." Marnie Aedes's voice is rich, clear, and full of amusement--like the rest of her, it's aged well. Supposedly in her mid-forties, only a suggestion of crow's feet and laugh lines hint at the onset of middle age.(more)
<El-Cideon> She's a tall woman, made more so in appearance by her tendency to favor a flamboyant array of wigs. Today it's a lavender affair done into a collection of thick braids that arc out behind her and swing when she walks. The rest of her dress is equally elaborate, though less colorful--a white dress delicately embroidered with mostly tasteful flashes of light pastel colors.
<Nemesio> "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madam Aedes," Nemesio tells her, bowing respectfully. "Please allow me to convey our gratitude for inviting us."
<El-Cideon> Marnie waves this away. "Thank you, but formality grows so tiresome, don't you think? I'd be more satisfied to see you all enjoying yourself than flattering me." She starts to walk back the way she came, underneath an archway that heads between the two staircases. "Most of the guests have already arrived, you know," she adds, though she doesn't sound irritated.
<Nemesio> "I guess that makes us fashionably late?" Nemesio comments to Ataraxis. "Well, let's just go and enjoy ourselves, then."
<El-Cideon> Marnie falls into step with the elder Kleosterrs, making small talk of the "How are you, it's been so *long*" nature. "Mm, if you say so," Ataraxis says. "Though there are times during these affairs when I would like to retreat to some backroom with a nice--not to mention silent--book, than dance another round, you know?"
<Nemesio> "I cam understand the value of a good book," he agrees. "And yet, I believe it would be bad form to retire before you've even danced once."
<El-Cideon> "Well, I didn't say I wouldn't dance at *all*. I'm not some silly, teenage mope, after all. It merely wears me out after a time." The group passes through a small hallway before entering what is quite possibly the largest ballroom in the city. Half of it is converted into a dining area, where much of the city's elite (or so it seems) dines and drinks sumptuously. (more)
<El-Cideon> "Well, you needn't spend all your time here if you don't like," Marnie says, apparently having overheard despite being in a conversation with the other Kleosterrs at the time. "There are many who enjoy the company of their fellow men without the noise. I'm sure you can find a few games of cards going in obscure and forgotten sitting rooms if you hunt enough."
<Nemesio> "I don't doubt varied entertainment would be there to be found," Nemesio echoes, with a crooked smile at Ataraxis, mouthing, 'Busted,' to her.
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis flashes Nemesio a sour look as Marnie continues. "Though I do insist you have something to eat first, of course. You did walk *all* the way here. I'm sure you could forage in the pantry if you had to, but we paid the chefs so very much tonight that it seems insulting not to humor them." She leads them towards an empty table before one of her servants shows up and takes her aside.
<Nemesio> "What would you like, Ataraxis?" Nemesio asks. "Something sweet, perhaps, to get that sour taste out of your mouth?"
<El-Cideon> The staff has already set a variety of dishes on the table. Ataraxis eagerly selects a pair of cookies piled with some kind of jelly (in addition to a more healthy collection of meats and vegetables). "I'd considered asking for that silver tongue of yours, but I think this would be better for me."
<Nemesio> "That might be the case. I'm rather attached to it, after all," he agrees, in the mood for some sweets and nothing too heavy himself.
<El-Cideon> Marnie is shaking her head at something. Her instructions to the servant can be heard from the table: "No, no. If he's going to make that kind of display, tell him he'll have to take it outside. And for Dala's sake, keep him away from the wine." She glances back at Nemesio and the Kleosterrs as the servant departs. "The life of a hostess is fraught with peril. Mages and drink, you know? It never works out. I have to deal with this now, but do get settled in."
<Nemesio> Nemesio doesn't really care about drunken mages embarrassing people he only tangentially knows. If it gets too rowdy, he would act, but right now he is content to munch on some sweets while waiting for Ataraxis to be done with her food, so he could ask her for a dance.
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis looks like she's set to have a full meal. She peers at Nemesio for a moment, in case he's eyeing her plate. "Well, there's a reason I skipped meals at home earlier today. You won't eat like this again in the near future, you know." She glances at her parents and looks slightly abashed. "Apologies to mother and father's cook, of course."
<Nemesio> Nemesio laughs at her words. "I promise to have a better taste later, then."
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis nods and goes back to her meal, hungrily (but politely!) devouring a hunk of lamb. Myrah speaks up to break the (relative) silence. "What do you think of the place, Nemesio?"
<Nemesio> "Size isn't everything... is what I want to say, but impressions, especially first ones, are very important. Being a host of such an estate must be quite the useful tool."
<El-Cideon> Myrah nods. "I find it somewhat overdone myself, but aspects of the place are charming. It's been some time since we were here, but it seems she's kept it largely the same."
<Nemesio> "Then it's been quite a while since our hostess 'found' it?"
<El-Cideon> Zarin chuckles. "Oh yes. Some twenty-five years, I'd say?" He looks for confirmation to his wife, who nods. "Somewhere thereabouts."
<Nemesio> Nemesio seems amused. "I see," he says, before taking a look around the extravagant party hall. "I assure you that we will try our best not to embarrass you two, so if you would like to go and mingle, we won't try to stop you."
<El-Cideon> Zarin laughs again. "Is that true, or do you just prefer to associate with someone closer to your age? Well, fair enough, if that's the case. These old bones could use a refresher course. Myrah, shall we go step on some feet?" He takes his wife's hand and heads for the other side of the room.
<Nemesio> "A little bit of both, perhaps," Nemesio muses once they're out of hearing range.
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis looks around. "Don't be *too* rude, Nemesio. Or I shall have to be cross with you, and this disrupts digestion." She puts down her silverware with a *clink*. "Well, shall we go search for some of these fabled young people?" The diners at the tables around the two are mostly filled with people in their thirties or forties.
<Nemesio> "I rely entirely on your recently-acquired skills of navigating such events, you realize," Nemesio comments, sounding amused. "If anyone could do this, it would surely be you."
<El-Cideon> "Hah. My 'skills of navigation' did not see me through the weekend as clearly as I'd've liked. Are you sure you can trust me to lead the way?" She stands up. At the left and right of the ballroom are open double-doors through which people freely come and go, in addition to the way Nemesio entered the room.
<Nemesio> "Oh? You don't have the face of someone who met with resounding failure," he responds, raising an eyebrow as he looks at her.
<El-Cideon> "Hm, well, not resounding failure, precisely. There were disagreements with some of my associates and harmony with others. As well as can be expected, I suppose, though any illusions I might've had left about the University being unfettered by petty politics suffered a blow. Hmm..." She turns back towards the front entrance. "Shall we go exploring?"
<Nemesio> "I could have told you that ages ago," Nemesio says, his amusement growing. "And we shall!"
<El-Cideon> Ataraxia takes Nemesio's hand and leads him back to the foyer, peering up the stairs curiously as she speaks. "There's this woman on the board there, Katherine Velan? She's the head accountant, I believe. Dreadful creature. So obviously dyes her hair, whatever she uses gives it this odd immobile quality, like gelatin."
<Nemesio> "Magic, perhaps?" he suggests. "Boring uses for it exist as well, after all. And what did this dreadful creature do to bring such scorn upon her?"
<El-Cideon> "If I were to be brutally honest, I'd suppose *my* dreadful crime were simply being younger than her, but don't mention that to anyone. There were some disagreements about administrative matters, and whenever I pointed out that one of her propositions could actively work against the future of the students, she'd suggest it simply wasn't my place to criticize her, not being an official member of the faculty yet."
<Nemesio> "Clearly, you must prove her wrong by becoming one as quickly as possible, if only to get back at her. Though I certainly hope you didn't let her visibly get to you. I hear such people thrive on that."
<El-Cideon> "Not possible, unless she has eyes in the back of her head. I made sure to hurl my silent insults only when she was turned away from me. I was the very model of restraint, I assure you." Ataraxis climbs the stairs; the voices of other partygoers can be heard down the long hall before them as they reach the second floor.
<Nemesio> "I'm glad you showed the basic maturity as becomes your age," Nemesio tells her. "Is there anything in particular you set as your goal? I don't know about finding many people our age on the second floor so, perhaps, it is a treasure hunt we're on?"
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis laughs. "I'm disappointed in you, Nemesio. Clearly your treasure's been with you all evening?" She peers down the hallway, which looks to end in an outdoor pavillion overlooking the back of the estate.
<Nemesio> "I stand corrected," Nemesio says smoothly, though he can't avoid being caught in her infectious laughter. "This estate must have quite a few places to get lost in."
<El-Cideon> There are a couple sitting rooms accessible from the hall. The one to the right sounds occupied; a glance inside the half-open door shows it to be dimly-lit and smoky, but host to a small group, some playing cards at a central table, others talking in pairs or reading. The outdoor area at the end of the hall looks to hold a mixed, all-ages crowd, calmly drinking, talking and admiring the night sky.
<Nemesio> Nemesio chooses to stay away from dimly-lit, smoky areas, and just take Ataraxis to admire the sky.
<El-Cideon> The group outside is sedate, but pleasant. Discussion seems to tend towards social, scientific and philosophical matters. There is actually a quite sophisticated telescope perched near the railing, but some wag has chosen to peer into neighboring estates instead. Elsewhere are two faces Nemesio knows: Bennett and Greta Sandstrom stand at the other end of the porch conversing with a black-haired woman Nemesio does not recognize.
<Nemesio> Nemesio nudges Ataraxis, indicating the trio without bringing attention to himself. "Might you recognize the person the Sandstroms are talking to, my dear?" he asks, curiousity clearly seeping into his voice.
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis looks, but silently shakes her head. The woman has seemingly acres of black curls cascading down her back. She has a pleasant, almost motherly face, though it's hard to make out her eye color in the low light. The stranger is also notably well-gifted in feminine curves, a fact made abundantly apparent by her loose and airy clothing.(more)
<El-Cideon> "So that's Bennett and...his elder daughter?" Ataraxis says. "I wasn't around when they visited." Greta seems in her natural place conversing with the adults, oddly.
<Nemesio> "And her mother, perhaps?" Nemesio muses idly. "And you bring up an excellent point, Ataraxis. Wouldn't you like to go and apologize for not meeting Mister Sandstrom at the time? I would be most happy to accompany you, if you did nurse this desire in your heart."
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis flashes Nemesio an accusing glare. "I can't help but feel you're getting me to do your dirty work somehow, but I am curious enough to meet them. *Assuming* you come along and introduce me, of course."
<Nemesio> "I'm guilty of nothing worse than curiousity, and you're the best partner I could hope for on this delicate mission," Nemesio placates Ataraxis with, before walking casually towards the Sandstroms with her.
<El-Cideon> Bennett notices the two of them first, and nods. "Ah, Nemesio. I was wondering if I'd find you here. And your lovely companion would no doubt be the formerly absent Ataraxis?"
<Nemesio> "She is indeed. Unfortunately, she did not get the chance to meet with you before, so when we happened to chance upon you at this party, we felt like rectifying that. I hope it is alright with you?"
<El-Cideon> "Of course," he says. The man seems more warm and open than he'd been at the previous meeting--not that he was actively unpleasant then, but a slight change is noticeable. He nods to Ataraxis. "Miss Ataraxis? A pleasure to meet you. This is my daughter, Greta Sandstrom. My wife has another of them about someplace, but I couldn't tell you where. No doubt she's found some trouble to get into."(more)
<El-Cideon> Greta nods to Nemesio, and makes a slight curtsey for Ataraxis. "Greetings," she says plainly.
<Nemesio> Nemesio returns the greeting with a warm smile. "Hello again, Greta. I trust you've found a way to entertain yourself at this party?"
<El-Cideon> "We were talking about the stars," the girl says, as deadly serious as ever. "Celesta read a book by a northern man which said the stars are probably objects like the moon, only so far away that they only look like tiny points to us. I don't think this makes sense because sometimes the moon is light and sometimes it's dark. The stars are always there."(more)
<El-Cideon> She looks thoughtful for a moment. "And then I wondered how far away the moon actually was. I wish someone would figure that out someday." Bennett grins, and then nods to the black-haired woman. "Ah, where are my manners. This is Celesta Savranola."
<Nemesio> "It's possible," Nemesio allows. "Then again, perhaps someone already had, and all that is left is to uncover the vast information of the past that is buried somewhere."
<El-Cideon> Celesta makes a polite excuse and then slips away. Bennett nods to Nemesio. "Indeed, but reaching it all? That's the trouble. We work with outlanders sometimes, at the Bureau, hiring them out for scouting purposes. Sometimes they'll bring back some artifact of value found during their wanderings, but the truth is that Avontyne really was just a colony when the war broke out. All we have are pieces."(more)
<El-Cideon> "The real mother lode--if there is anything left out there in the wastes--would probably be one of the big empire cities, like Ausra Remei." Greta speaks up now: "There are monsters in the wastelands, though." She says this as though it were a statement of fact, not a child's superstition.
<Nemesio> "Getting there might be possible one day," Nemesio points out. "We do possess certain abilities of instant transportation and flight, for example."
<El-Cideon> Another nod. "We do, but not for that kind of range." He grins. "I hate to bore you with talk of work, but we have done studies on this, and even a well-provisioned expedition has no guarantee of making it there and back. The taint of the waste is too strong, and the time needed to cross it too great. Even the outlanders don't go further than they have to, usually. But I think we're boring your companion."
<Nemesio> "Ataraxis?" Nemesio quirks his lips. "We're boring the woman who has worked hard to get into a position at our esteemed establishment of higher education at her young age?" He glances at her. "Are you bored by all the science, my dear?"
<El-Cideon> "Not at all," Ataraxis says. She seems to have been peering at the younger girl curiously. "And I don't believe what Nemesio suggests is impossible, but I don't imagine we'll see the old cities within our lifetime. I admit I'm no expert on the subject, but our land advances so slowly that it will take centuries more to even approach the old imperial country, won't it?"
<El-Cideon> Bennett nods, admitting the validity of this point.
<Nemesio> Nemesio finds himself temporarily at a loss for words, but seems to recover quickly enough. "Mister Sandstrom, may I have a moment of your time?" he asks the older man.
<El-Cideon> Bennett nods, intrigued. "Certainly. Ataraxis, if you don't mind keeping Greta company? She shouldn't give you too much trouble." Ataraxis nods. Bennett leads Nemesio to an uninhabited corner of the pavillion, snagging an unattended glass of wine as he passes. "Well, what do you need, then?"
<Nemesio> Nemesio abstains from drinking, and nods at Ataraxis with what should be perceived as parting courtesy, though his look conveys the hope she takes advantage of this situation to make her own impression of the strange Greta. (more)
<Nemesio> "Well, Sir," Nemesio starts speaking, addressing the man formally as one would a social superior. "As my graduation approaches, and my finals seem behind me, it is virtually certain I would have to look for a job once the graduation ceremony is behind me. To that goal, I wanted to know whether you knew of any position within the Registry that would happen to be recruiting. Or, perhaps, if you knew more of the opening the Chancellor hinted strongly at. I would ask him, but I'm afraid the man is not really all that approachable."
<El-Cideon> "The Registry's always recruiting," Bennett says with a short laugh before addressing the matter more seriously. "I don't keep up that much on the Registry's internal affairs, but I do see the Chancellor socially on occasion. I could prod him for information, if you like, hopefully without it seeming as such. He is a hard man to know, I'll grant you that."
<Nemesio> "Always be prepared, Sir. It is a nice motto to go by, isn't it? And knowledge is power, to use another cheap idiom." Nemesio cracks a smile, then. "In fact, I believe we are expected to find out about the job being offered to those of us lucky enough to get the invitations before it actually presents to us officially."
<El-Cideon> "Well. It's not often he singles someone out in such a manner. Whatever your opinion of him, I'd say he at least has obvious respect for your academic achievements. In any event, it's customary for finishing students to be approached by interested employers at the graduation ceremonies. I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities to choose from."
<Nemesio> "I appreciate your confidence in my abilities," Nemesio responds, inclining his head. "Speaking of those, Sir... have you, by chance, heard of my proposal to tutor your eldest daughter? I believe it might give me invaluable experience in teaching, which I have set out before me as my long-term goal in life."
<El-Cideon> Bennett seems amused at this. "Lily mentioned it. My only fear is that Greta will pull ahead of you before long. No offense, of course, but the girl's already more advanced academically than anyone would expect for someone her age, and she doesn't seem inclined to reverse this trend. If anyone's going to need tutoring, it's our younger girl, Dala. *She* is a willful child."(more)
<El-Cideon> He grins. "But for now, Dala's more a nanny's job than a tutor's. Don't worry, I have no intention of making you a caretaker for an unruly five-year-old. To be honest, I consider the offer for Greta more because the girl is very much in need of interaction with those outside the household. She does not do well with those her own age."
<Nemesio> "And there is still the matter of a magical education, is there not?" Nemesio asks.
<El-Cideon> "If she chooses it. She's shown little interest thus far." He shakes his head ruefully. "Greta wants to know How Things Work. This is something we're still at something of a loss to explain in regards to human beings and magic. Theories abound, but all are so obviously framed by the perception of individual users that none can be agreed upon. So she says she doesn't have any use for it." He shrugs. "Communicating with Greta is not always easy."
<Nemesio> "Perhaps all she needs is a few cooperating mages to analyze." Nemesio smiles. "Your daughter might just find the missing link."
<El-Cideon> "Others have made the suggestion...but you're welcome to try. The worst that could happen is that she would walk away bored. She's so disciplined, I don't doubt she could master and control it if she took an interest. She just hasn't so far."
<Nemesio> "I thank you for the opportunity," Nemesio says, bowing in gratitude.
<El-Cideon> "The pleasure is mine," he says. "Now...take Ataraxia and find some young people to celebrate with in the fashion befitting a graduating student?" he adds with a grin.
<Nemesio> "Of course, Sir," Nemesio agrees, heading back towards Ataraxis.
<El-Cideon> Ataraxia looks up at Nemesio's return. "Oh, hello again. We were just talking...Greta says she can take a clock apart and reassemble it in working order?" Greta nods. "I can. I can show you sometime. You just have to remember where all the pieces came from. Are you done with my father? I have to tell him something."
<Nemesio> "It seems so," Nemesio agrees. "Did you have a good time?" he asks Ataraxis.
<El-Cideon> Greta steps away to find Bennett. Ataraxis takes a moment to find the right words. "I had an interesting time. That really seems the most appropriate word."
<Nemesio> "I know exactly what you mean," he affirms. "Well, I believe you still owe me a dance?"
<El-Cideon> "I do indeed." She offers her arm for Nemesio's. "Shall we head back down?"
<Nemesio> Nemesio takes Ataraxis's arm, leading her towards the ballroom, where he intends to make a show of leading her through a waltz, when the music is agreeable. It should be fun, to show the older generation how it's really done.
<El-Cideon> The walk back downstairs is uneventful, save for a dismayed yell from the smoky room as some gambler's bluff fails catastrophically. Myrah and Zarin are nowhere to be seen when Nemesio gets back to the ballroom, but there are plenty of places for one to disappear in this house.
<Nemesio> Nemesio waits for that appropriate moment to join the dancing couples, snatching a pair of drinks from a passing waiter for himself and Ataraxis.
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis takes one and sips lightly. "So, what did you need to discuss with Mister Sandstrom, if I'm allowed to ask?"
<Nemesio> "Aside from giving you a chance to form an opinion of the lovely if curious Greta, I asked him about a job."
<El-Cideon> She looks intrigued at this. "Oh? Planning to work for the Bureau?"
<Nemesio> "I received a somewhat vague offer from the Registry and as he is one of the Chancellor's friends, getting more details on it would be quite easy for Mister Sandstrom. And there was the prospect of tutoring Greta, which I find fascinating, and should not interfere with my other duties."
<El-Cideon> "Nemesio the teacher? Now that is interesting. Do we owe this unusually benevolent offer to a brave new Nemesio, or are you simply too curious about the girl not to poke your nose in? Not that I can really fault you for that. She *is* unusual."
<Nemesio> "I'll have you know this is nothing new to me, tutoring others," he responds with a huff. "Nurting a magical talent, now that would be a challenge, since my other option fell through."
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis looks apologetic. "Well, you know I can't get through a day without chiding you for something. Is she talented magically, though? She went on a great deal about machines when I spoke to her, but not at all about magic."
<Nemesio> "Enough people think so." Nemesio shrugs. "At worst, my curiousity is satisfied? I can't call that a bad deal."
<El-Cideon> She nods, then looks like she's forgotten something. "What was this other option of yours?"
<Nemesio> "The thing that could've ended badly for me, but in the end fizzled out harmlessly. Taking away important prospects, perhaps, but I like to think I came out ahead in the aftermath."
<El-Cideon> The response provokes a quizzical expression, but Ataraxis apparently decides to let it go. "Ah, our host has found us again," she says. And, sure enough, Marnie Aedes has just detached herself from a gaggle of elderly women and started towards Nemesio and Ataraxis.
<Nemesio> "A brief raincheck on that dance, then," he responds, putting on a smile as Marnie approaches.
<El-Cideon> Marnie actually adresses Ataraxis first. "My dear, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we've misplaced your parents. Search parties will be formed on the double, I assure you. Follow me please, both of you?" And she heads for one of the side doors with an expectant look on her face. Ataraxis looks confused but follows along into the next room.
<Nemesio> Nemesio gives her a reassuring glance, and likewise follows.
<El-Cideon> Marnie slips into a shady nook in the next room and heaves a deep sigh. She waves away Ataraxis's questions and speaks herself. "I DO apologize for the obvious exploitation, but you were the nearest bystanders and I simply had to get away from those *horrible old vultures*. I took the first opportunity I had. I can only hope you won't hold it against me. Perhaps I could bail you out next time you're likewise cornered?"
<Nemesio> "It is no trouble, please do not concern yourself with such trivialties, Madam," Nemesio tells her. "I suppose there is no need for the aforementioned search parties?"
<El-Cideon> Marnie produces a fan from nowhere obvious, unfolds it and waves it in front of her. "Well, you never can be sure. I haven't seen them for a while, and there are many places to get lost here. Hm. I suspect they'll manage fine." She frowns.(more)
<El-Cideon> "Ugh. The questions those creatures ask. 'How do you keep yourself looking so young at this age?' No woman wants to hear that sort of thing. Which is of course why they ask." She puts a hand on Ataraxis's shoulder. "If I ever behave in such a fashion, dear, you have my permission to do with me as you will. Really, death would be for the better."(more)
<El-Cideon> Up close, she's strikingly picturesque despite her age, with high cheekbones, emerald eyes and an easy smile. "Anyway, the secret is that I bathe once a week in the blood of a virgin." She chuckles, and then adds, in a hushed tone, "But don't tell anyone."
<Nemesio> Oh, the many things he could say in response to that! "Your secret is safe with us, I assure you," Nemesio opts to go with instead, settling on something inoffensive. "Then age is all that people at these parties concern themselves with? It must get dreadfully repetitive."
<El-Cideon> "Oh, no, just that particular batch of harridans." She looks around the corner for a moment. "There are interesting folk around, but I believe most of them are taken. Well, you two I hope are at least having a good time?"
<Nemesio> "Not bad," Nemesio responds, and feeling bold, asks, "If throwing these parties causes the hostess to shut herself away from her guests, might I ask what the point of having them in the first place is?"
<El-Cideon> Marnie laughs richly. "Oh, sometimes I enjoy mingling. It depends on the crowd. One accumulates so many social connections over the course of a lifetime--not all of them wanted, but some of these can't be shed without offending someone more dear, you see? Normally I'm more adept at navigating the crowd, but tonight has been decidedly hit or miss." She shakes her head, and peers at Nemesio for a moment. "I saw you a couple weeks ago, didn't I? At the University?"
<Nemesio> Nemesio inclines his head. "I was there to formalize a few matters before my graduation, yes. By the statue of the founder?"
<El-Cideon> "Yes, that sounds right. The final weeks have treated you well, I hope?"
<Nemesio> "Quite the opposite, though I'm happy to report it's all behind me, now."
<El-Cideon> "Yes. The University can be rough at times, I admit. I found it depends a great deal on one's teachers, myself."
<Nemesio> "Any particular insights into them that you would like to share with us, Miss Aedes, while we are your most captive audience?"
<El-Cideon> Another laugh. "My teachers are all long gone now, sad to say, but I'm sure that's not what you meant to ask. I'm not intimately familiar with most of the current crop, I must admit. I correspond with a few in the science department on technical matters occasionally, but that's about the extent of it."
<Nemesio> "Oh?" he says, sounding casually curious. "I happened to work with a few of them, myself. Professors Rivers and Melish, and that assistant of Professor Adamsen... Simon, wasn't it?"
<El-Cideon> "Oh, I know Adamsen passingly well, at least. Clever man, if a tad full of himself. That's said in the strictest confidence, of course. I can't say I know this assistant of his, or the others. What department are they in? My particular interest is the stars themselves. Did you happen to wander out onto the veranda upstairs?"
<Nemesio> "Let me just say that the assistant was well-chosen for his post, then. In the same strictest of confidences, of course." He smiles. "They are in the science department, of course, the fields ranging from biology to chemistry." As if recalling something just then, Nemesio snaps his fingers.
<Nemesio> "Oh, right. I happened to come across another person affiliated with the University just the other day. Of course, he's not affiliated with much of anything, nowadays, besides his hospital bed. Corran Parrescu, perhaps you've heard the name? A most curious story of a duel gone wrong...." As Nemesio continues to talk, he observes their host for any reactions out of the corner of his eye.
<El-Cideon> Marnie's reaction is merely one of recognition. "Ah, that mess. That was a bit past my time at the University, but you'd have to have been living in a hole not to hear of it. I didn't know Corran--which is perhaps why I can so easily say he brought it on himself. I like Audra no more than anyone else in that group, but I know better than to underestimate her."
<Nemesio> "A duel of that magnitude must've been quite exciting to experience, if only second-hand," Nemesio muses. "And a fitting story to share with young, impressionable youths as we hide here from the masses, perhaps, if I'm not being too imposing on your welcome?"
<El-Cideon> Marnie grins. "Ah, well, as much as I'd like to indulge your curiosity, I don't know the full story myself. Save that the board tried to sling her out and Audra quite naturally objected. There's a line in the school's charter allowing for disputes to be settled by duels. No one's ever bothered to amend it. Most people wouldn't consider falling back on it, but, well, this was Audra."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Where did you come across the poor lad, if I might ask?"
<Nemesio> "He currently leads a lonely existence at Honre Nathaline's, I'm afraid," Nemesio says remorsefully. "A sad ending for someone who was only a substitute, from what I heard."
<El-Cideon> "Mm. Yes, that's accurate." She looks at Nemesio with an appraising eye. "You're remarkably well informed on this matter for one so young. You've done your research?"
<Nemesio> "Is that not natural, when encountering a piece of the puzzle that does not fit?" he returns, raising an eyebrow. "A once-reknowned board member of the university, now forgotten in a place for the abandoned. And for a matter that took place a decade ago, its details are so well-concealed. That only served to raise my interest, I'm afraid, and it has not had a chance to fade away, yet. Perhaps, if I gave it another week... but the interest is too fresh, right now."
<El-Cideon> Another smile. "A certain amount of curiosity, and the willpower to follow it to its conclusion, are admirable traits. But I'm afraid I can't satisfy your curiosity in full. Mm. This little Q&A session makes up somewhat for my appropriating you out of self-interest, I hope? It's been an enjoyable chat, regardless."
<Nemesio> "It served a pleasant alternative to an uncomfortable silence, I hope," Nemesio says, nevertheless relenting.
<El-Cideon> She laughs. "Yes, I'd say so. Could you do me one last favor? Peer around the corner and see if the coast is clear?"
<Nemesio> Nemesio does so, visibly amused by her antics.
<El-Cideon> The gang of nettlesome old women has apparently moved on to torment others.
<Nemesio> Nemesio reports such, before taking hold of Ataraxis's hand again. "I'm afraid that if we don't have that dance now, we'll have to make up for it back home."
<El-Cideon> Marnie nods. The fan disappears again to nowhere in particular. "Thank you. So sorry to take up your time, once again. Enjoy yourselves for me, will you?" Then she wanders off to insinuate herself into another group. Ataraxis takes Nemesio's hand, shaking her eadd. "Well. She is entertaining, though I do wish she hadn't worried me so at the start. She could've just asked for a diversion!"
<Nemesio> "And I think I overplayed my hand. May it teach me to be so pushy with people I've only been introduced to," he adds ruefully. "I suppose there is no avoiding the direct path of asking your parents about that incident that caught my interest."
<El-Cideon> "You think they know?" she asks while walking out into the dance area. "They're even older than Marnie. I'm not sure they would've been there either."
<Nemesio> "I think this story would've made the rounds," he responds, keeping his voice quiet. "It did involve that infamous woman, Audra."
<El-Cideon> Ataraxis nods, starting through the steps of that much-delayed waltz. "I suppose." Then she gives Nemesio a curious look. "So when did you meet this man, anyway? One of Sherise's charity trips?"
<Nemesio> "You got that in one, congratulations!" Nemesio adds a pleased smile on top of that. "You really do know me quite well."
<El-Cideon> "Give me some credit," she says with a heavy touch of irony. "I have lived with you for more than a few years."
<Nemesio> "You're not growing tired of me just yet, are you?" he asks, twirling her as the music obliges him.
<El-Cideon> "Ask me again after this dance?"
<Nemesio> "My entire future being bet on this one dance?" Nemesio asks her. "Interesting. Let's go!"

[Sierra]

Part something-or-other: the end of a prelude!

<El-Cideon> Tuesday, June the 9th. It is midmorning when Nemesio arrives at the University grounds...to find an unexpected crowd gathered around the front gates. There's a mixed circle of students and staff alike watching some disagreement--the Chancellor's tall enough for Nem to make him out over the crowd's heads, at least.
<Nemesio> It's not an opportunity Nemesio intends to let go, dodging around the gathered students while careful not to disturb any of the staff. His goal is to end up in the second row of onlookers, close enough to the action to see it all but not immediately visible himself.
<El-Cideon> There are some annoyed grunts as Nemesio shoulders through the crowd, but otherwise no one pays him much attention. He finds himself next to a red-haired woman recognizable as the school librarian and with a decent view of Chancellor Bigod berating...a young woman wearing the uniform of the Watch? Hmm.
<Nemesio> Hmm indeed. Time to watch the show. He can always fill himself in on what transpired before from a nearby student.
<El-Cideon> "A little late," the librarian mumbles to Nemesio. "Missed half the show..." Joran's in full-on rant mode, excoriating the young woman for intruding into matters outside of her jurisdiction and generally not doing her job. For her part, the slim brunette takes all this quite placidly.
<Nemesio> "Is there a particular reason for this public display?" he asks her quietly, watching curiously.
<El-Cideon> "Unauthorized corpse on the grounds," the redhead says dryly. "Someone called the Watch before any Registry louts could cordon the place off, and the Chancellor's not having any of their poking around." Indeed, such can be gathered from Joran's next comments. (more)
<El-Cideon> "Margranth's functions as an extension of the Registry grounds," he says. "The institution was founded for the development of magical talent and retains its position as the only significant organization dedicated to such. Registry law reserves the right to investigate crimes involving the use of magic to its own agents. The Watch is manifestly barred from the grounds. I am sure you know this."
<Nemesio> "So, who died?" Nemesio asks, still keeping his voice low.
<El-Cideon> "One of their grunts, I hear. I showed up too late to verify that, though. They've hauled him off by now." A young student next to Nemesio leans towards him. "I saw him. His chest was all melty and runny!" The youth sounds equal parts aghast and fascinated while relating this.(more)
<El-Cideon> "I am aware," the Watch officer says, again utterly calm and unfazed by the Chancellor's torrent of rebukes. She could be a waitress rattling off a menu by rote. "And I hereby formally hand the case over to you and your lackeys." And now there's a hint of fire in her voice. "I simply wish you to be aware that we also do not look kindly on having others prevent us from doing our duty to maintain public safety."
<Nemesio> The Watch and the dear Chancellor having a little spat. How dreadful! Nemesio stops the smirk from forming in time, but it's a close thing.
<El-Cideon> Joran snorts. "Lieutenant...Carlin, was it? I will speak to your commander when next I see him and remind him that an officer's exhibiting the proper deference is a vital aspect of her 'duty.' For now, do vacate the grounds before I am forced to submit a formal report on your intrusion."
<Nemesio> Despite the entertainment factor, Nemesio loses interest in the spectacle. It seems settled, now, and he's here to meet with the others so they could graduate. That happens to rank over some random guy dying, even if the death seems clearly magical in nature.
<El-Cideon> Lieutenant Carlin turns and exits, the crowd parting before her. It's clear from the stiffness of her walk that she's not happy about this as she meets up with a pair of low-ranking grunts waiting outside the gates. Meanwhile, Joran disperses the crowd (mostly by means of glaring at it) just as Derrick arrives on the scene.
* Derrick eyes the dispersing crowd with a raised eyebrow, and scans for sign of his two partners in exam. Spotting Nem, he moves over towards him, "Morning. What on earth happened here?"
<Nemesio> "A lovers' spat, by the look of it," Nemesio responds, after making sure he won't be overheard. "Nothing for us to worry about, I figure."
<Derrick> "A what?" Shaking his head, Derrick half chuckles, "Remind me to get the details later. Seen Pilfer yet this morning?"
<Nemesio> "Afraid not."
<Pilfer> "I haven't either," Pilfer confides, from behind Nemesio's shoulder.
<Nemesio> "Would you like a mirror?" Nemesio asks, not moving visibly.
<Pilfer> "Can I keep it?" asks Pilfer.
<Nemesio> "Be my guest." A small pocket mirror is handed to Pilfer, as Nemesio finally turns. "Are we ready to see our instructor, now?"
<Derrick> "I suppose so. Here's hoping what we found out, or rather didn't find, is enough."
<Nemesio> "By the strict parameters of our assignment, we have plenty."
<El-Cideon> Professor Ferryman is waiting at the edge of the practice field as usual, sitting on the low stone perimeter. She looks exhausted. "Good morning," she says. "I hope this one proved less strenuous than the others?"
<Nemesio> "Quite," Nemesio agrees.
<Pilfer> "Physically, I guess," sighs Pilfer.
<El-Cideon> Justine nods to Pilfer. "Were there other sorts of problems?" she asks, sounding genuinely curious.
* Pilfer looks surly.
* Derrick chuckles, "Just the same objections he had from the getgo, really."
<Nemesio> "In any case," Nemesio speaks, "Simon is very certain that he has the full backing of Professor Adamsen. He seems almost smitten with the man, I would say. Without a doubt, whatever he did, it happened with the Professor's knowledge and complete approval."
<Derrick> "I'll second that. I know devout men who respect Honre Kryla less then Simon does Adamsen."
<El-Cideon> This provokes an obvious expression of interest. "Well. I would've thought Thomas had better sense than to give his protege total freedom...Nevertheless, this does conclude the task." She pauses for a long moment, seeming to be considering something.
<Nemesio> "So it does," Nemesio agrees.
<Pilfer> "Pretty much."
<El-Cideon> "Well..." Justine nods, appearing to have reached a decision. "I think you should know it was intended that there be one more stage to the test. However, I have no intention of subjecting you to this."
<Derrick> "Oh? What were they going to ask us to do next?"
* Derrick doesn't seem in the least surprised by this revelation.
* Pilfer covers his face with his hand.
<Pilfer> "Why did you have to ask?"
<Derrick> "Oh, if the instructor says she's not subjecting us to it, then I have no intention of doing it. I just want to know what the board here was going to try and force on us."
* Nemesio appears disinterested, letting the scene play out in front of him.
<Pilfer> "She wasn't going to even subject us to the first part, originally," Pilfer points out.
<El-Cideon> "I'm not at liberty to say, because I honestly don't know. I could only speculate." There's an air of grim satisfaction about her now. "In any event, I intend to tell the Chancellor immediately after we part ways that this will not continue. As I'm sure you saw at the front gate--" and an image of the crowd flashes in and out of existence around the group, "--he has other problems to attend to now. I don't believe he's in a position to press this matter."
* Derrick actually didn't see what happened at the front gate, but simply nods as if he did and makes a note that he really needs to ask Nem what happened there.
<Pilfer> "Why, what happened at the front gate?" asks Pilfer.
<Nemesio> "Someone died," Nemesio says curtly. "A pretty severe case of unathorized corpse on campus grounds."
<El-Cideon> Justine actually chuckles, bitterly. "That is one way of putting it."
<Nemesio> "It's the Chancellor Bigod way of putting it, Ma'am," Nemesio dutifully responds. "I take it you know the identity of said corpse?"
<Pilfer> "Wow. The Chancellor killed someone? No wonder the silverfish were looking pissed."
<Derrick> "I seriously doubt the Chancellor did the killing, Pilfer."
<Nemesio> "I seriously doubt he would leave proof cooling down on the lawn, yes," Nemesio comments.
<Pilfer> "Aw."
<El-Cideon> "I'm not aware of the killer's identity, but I would be shocked if it were Joran...at any rate, no one's seen fit to brief me on the list of suspects, so I couldn't really speculate."
<El-Cideon> "The dead man was a Registry agent. However, as I'm not among their ilk, no one's seen fit to tell me his identity or what he was doing stalking around campus early in the morning."
<Nemesio> No one he knows, then. That makes it all the harder to care, somehow. "Well, then, Ma'am... what is our next move?"
<Pilfer> "Trying to pass his exams?" suggests Pilfer
* Derrick can't help but almost quirk a smile as the instructor refers to the registry goons as 'ilk', but smothers it quickly. For all that she was the dispenser of the unpleasant tasks, Derrick was coming to actually think well of Ferryman herself.
<El-Cideon> Justine deadpans. "You relax," she says to Nemesio. "It's my unpleasant duty to take the results of this test to the Chancellor, but I think I can ensure such an experiment is not attempted for some time. Beyond that...graduation ceremonies are Friday. It's common practice for offers of employment to be made to graduates at the following dinner, so rest well to look your best."
<Nemesio> "Then we have a few days to ourselves, it seems," Nemesio comments.
<El-Cideon> "Yes, assuming your normal academic tests are already concluded. They should have, by now."
* Derrick nods, "Mine are all wrapped up. Just waiting for the results to be handed out to us now."
<Pilfer> "Academic tests?"
* Derrick sighs, "Do you even take any classes beyond the ones required for your magical control?"
<Pilfer> "Didn't know there were any," Pilfer says, all innocent wonder.
<El-Cideon> Justine gives Pilfer a skeptical glance, but then addresses the rest of the group. "You have essentially finished then, yes."
* Derrick half laughs, "Oh, well in that case remind me to bring you to the library sometime, Pilfer. I've got just the book you would love, filled to the brim with polysyllabics and even a handful of sesquipedalians. And then we get into the technical terminology! It'll be sure to pack your brain with everything you've missed out on in school here."
<Pilfer> "No, I think I cleaned out the last of the student lockers last week or so," Pilfer muses.
<El-Cideon> Justine nods, and turns south, towards the administrative building. "I'm off to make my report. Again, I apologize for subjecting you to this, but, well, you *did* all survive. So that's something. Farewell for now. Enjoy this week of freedom before people expect you to be responsible members of society!"
<Nemesio> "Stew through this week of pressure as your entire future is being decided, in other words," Nemesio suggests. "Sounds like fun."
<Pilfer> "Wait, who's expecting me to be what now?"
<El-Cideon> Justine departs, leaving the three students to themselves once more.
<Derrick> "A responsible, productive citizen of Avontyne. However I expect no one really expects you to do anything other then what you've been doing all along."
<Pilfer> "Shouldn't think so," says Pilfer smugly.
<Derrick> "Hmm, well, does anyone have any plans for the rest of the week, or are we going our seperate ways here?"
* Pilfer shrugs.
<Pilfer> "I've got, y'know, things to do."
<Pilfer> "Extra-curricular, like."
<Nemesio> "I can always keep myself busy," Nemesio agrees. "But if any of you need my help, I'll do what I can."
* Pilfer frowns thoughtfully.
<Pilfer> "Well, I can't say that being able to, y'know," Pilfer bugs his eyes out and mimes what he thinks telepathy looks like, "Wouldn't be helpful." He sighs. "I've got to learn how to turn invisible."
* Nemesio develops a nervous tick, though he quickly wills it away. "Yes, getting better control over our powers, active and dormant, is a goal we all share, no doubt."
<Derrick> "Indeed. Especially the fine control in my case."
<Derrick> "I don't suppose you'd be willing to let us in on what you're plotting, hmm?"
<Pilfer> "What?"
* Pilfer glances around.
<Pilfer> "Well, I kinda promised, y'know. Taking out Culathein. Otherwise I'll probably wake up dead some morning."
<Pilfer> "You know, no biggie."
* Derrick raises an eyebrow, "Oh dear. Well, bringing low his kind is something I have no aversion to in the least. Anything short of killing people I can do to help, let me know."
<Pilfer> "Can you *threaten* to kill people? Or just, y'know, look menacing?"
<Pilfer> "No one is ever menaced by me," Pilfer adds, indicating his diminuitive size.
* Derrick laughs, "I'm not too imposing myself, but threats are something I have a bit of practice with, yes. You'd be amazed how quickly people will back down and even run when confronted with nothing more then a cold tone and my skin hardening spell."
<Pilfer> "Hopefully it won't come to that. But if I have to go after the Dominatrix Twins, they aren't going to blab easily."
<Nemesio> "They wouldn't have to vocalize the information, of course, if you keeps their minds focused on it."
<Pilfer> "Well, that's the other hard part." Pilfer scratches his head. "Really, it would be easier if people just put their secret plans in big boxes labeled 'Secrets: Do Not Touch.'"