Arc 1-1: Sittin' on the dock of the bay?

[Sierra]

<El-Cideon> Tuesday, June 9th, evening. Jennie's intel indicates that Culathein's latest endeavor in the field of smuggling imported luxury goods past Customs and import duties will be delivered late at night to a run-down tavern right on waterfront. It's unlikely they'll remain in the same place for long and one of Dane's lieutenants will most likely be seeing to their dispersal.(more)
<El-Cideon> The tavern itself, a decrepit establishment once called The Sailor's Wager, is a ramshackle one-story structure. Stopping a couple streets away to observe it from a safe distance, Pilfer, Derrick and Nemesio can see a pair of typical Dockside toughs loitering around out front, and a couple more have been seen to enter the building.
* Derrick takes a look over the toughs and shakes his head while quickly cutting his palm with his thumbnail and smearing a bit of blood on the back of his arm (which, as before, sinks into his arm and vanishes in a matter of seconds), "I'd like to avoid trouble, but better safe then sore, hmm?"
* Nemesio shrugs. "It doesn't hurt to be prepared, yes."
<Pilfer> "Well, we really just need to find out who's in there, where they are, and then get Nemesio close enough, right?" Pilfer said, rather too brightly.
<Pilfer> "I can go scout and then just Jump us both in close enough. What's, uh, what's the range on your, uh, your *thing*," he asks Nemesio, stumbling a bit over terminology.
<Derrick> "Will you need me to distract the bullyboys or something while you do this?"
* Nemesio snorts at Pilfer's phrasing. "If you can get me in the same room, that should be enough."
<Pilfer> "Right." Pilfer looks nervous. "Shouldn't," he told Derrick. "I'll be heading in where they can't see me anyway, and if there's guards on the inside, too, well... not much you could do about that from out here, right?"
<Pilfer> "Back in a flash," he assures them both, before disappearing.
* Derrick nods, "I suppose not."
* Pilfer reappears briefly.
<Pilfer> "If I scream really loudly, that's the signal to come help," he says.
* Pilfer evaporates again.
<Nemesio> "If the scream gets cut off midway, I think we should do quite the opposite," Nemesio suggests as Pifler disappears anew.
<Derrick> "That would more likely mean that he went poof on his attackers then he was brought down, considering him."
<El-Cideon> It's a hot night, and a light fog drifting in from the sea promises to aid the smugglers' attempts at stealth. Most of the buildings around the old tavern are similarly squat structures, but the darkness and the mist should help Pilfer evade detection nicely. Popping in atop the roof of an abandoned boathouse down the walk from the tavern, Pilfer can get enough of a glimpse inside the tavern to discern at least two individuals within.(more)
<El-Cideon> The interior light is too dim to make out much in the way of details, though. Still, that's a known quantity of four flunkies present, though steps echoing on the wooden walkway of the waterfront drift through the mist, suggesting the arrival of a handful more.
* Pilfer peers around for another, closer vantage point, willing to accept some risks if it means finding a spot that he can drop Nemesio in.
<El-Cideon> A collection of rotting barrels and crates on a street corner just across from the tavern would be suitable for overhearing any conversations taking place just outside it, though one would have to keep his own voice down to avoid being noticed there.
* Pilfer apparates appropriately.
<El-Cideon> Peering through cracks in the pile of debris, Pilfer can see the two lackeys posted out front are armed with stout cudgels. They snap to attention at the approach of the newcomers and Pilfer can hear a woman's voice--sharp and commanding--ask the louts if any strangers have been seen in the area. The woman isn't visible to Pilfer yet, but two more thugs pass by his hiding place.
<Pilfer>  (That's six,) Pilfer thinks to himself. (Holy crap.)
* Pilfer continues to listen, hoping to spot an opportunity to bring in the Secret Weapon.
<El-Cideon> The woman interrogates the guards at length for any signs of suspicious activity, no matter how small, but the two men report that all is clear. She grunts her satisfaction with this state of affairs and finally enters Pilfer's sight: she's slim and short, but Pilfer can tell she possesses a wiry sort of strength. Two long knives are buckled to her belt, one at each hip.(more)
<El-Cideon> She's attractive, but in a distinctly cold fashion, sharp-featured and forbidding. Judging from Jennie's intel, this is probably one of Dane's bodyguards, Violet in particular. In defiance of her name, her hair is a deep forest green which gleams cleanly in the moonlight, straight and cut off at her shoulders.
* Pilfer tenses, lest Violet possess some unknown magical talent which lets her detect him. Unlikely, given how closely she queried the guard, but it never hurt to be careful...
<El-Cideon> Violet glances Pilfer's way once or twice, but seems not to notice him behind the debris--she's scanning *everywhere*. She does scold the men for leaving it out ("Someone could hide there!") but seems satisfied when they attest that they looked earlier and have seen no one approach it from the street.
<El-Cideon> Eventually the woman nods and makes her way inside the establishment with the two men that accompanied her. The door creaks loudly behind her.
* Pilfer grumbles silently and gauges the distance, Jumping to a point below one of the grime-coated windows. Pilfer raises his head as much as he dares, trying to find a good vantage point. Does Nemesio need eye contact? he wonders.
<El-Cideon> The view isn't the best, but Pilfer can at least make out everyone inside. The tavern looks like a simple, one-room structure on the inside, nothing more or less than a drinking hole from all appearances. The furniture inside is decrepit and mostly broken; Violet scolds the men waiting inside for lounging and they stand to attention. At least one looks to have a crossbow handy.(more)
<El-Cideon> There are several dim shapes in the back of the room that *could* be boxes, which *could* be filled with contraband...but it's hard to tell from here. They could be abandoned and empty. The interior is lit only by a simple lamp, mostly dimmed.
<Pilfer> roll 2d8
<El-Cideon>  roll 2d8
<El-Cideon> * Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8 and gets 14." [2d8=8, 6]
* Pilfer ducks down. Those boxes! If they could find out what was inside them...
* Pilfer concentrates, trying to build a picture of the room in his mind. There should be enough space behind the boxes to appear, if he stood just so...
<Pilfer> There was a painful creaking sound, and a strangled gasp. The top box teetered dangerously before toppling over with a loud crash, revealing Pilfer, crouched on one leg, his errant elbow still sticking into the space where a box of soft furs had been sitting.
<Pilfer> "Uh, hi," Pilfer said.
<El-Cideon> The box cracks open on the floor with a sound that's simply ear-shattering in the quiet night. Colorful furs from creatures obviously foreign to Avon shores slip out a little from the break. Then there's one of those long, horrible silences, as of a rabbit and a wolf staring at each other just before flight commences. Violet's the first to react, pulling a throwing knife from within her jacket and yelling, "Shoot him already, you idiots!"
<Pilfer> "Whoop!"
* Pilfer blips out of existence.
<El-Cideon> Pilfer can almost feel the sensation of a knife zipping through the air he'd just vacated as he reappears out in the street (presumably!) There's shouting inside the old tavern and the thugs spill out the front door. Violet is swearing as she storms out front. "Dala's name, whichever of you overlooked a spy in the same fucking room gets a night on the rack. Find him!"
* Pilfer appears behind his friends.
<Pilfer> "I found the lieutenant!" he announces cheerfully.
<Nemesio> "Did she find you?" Nemesio asks him curiously.
<Pilfer> "Maybe a little," Pilfer admits.
<Pilfer> "Time for Plan B."
* Derrick looks over in the direction a ruckus is currently coming from, "From the sounds of it, I would say yes."
<Nemesio> "Is it the one where we make a strategic retreat?"
<Pilfer> "Or a full on frontal assault!"
<Pilfer> "We can take her."
<El-Cideon> The thugs are fanning out in front of the old tavern, checking the most obvious hiding places or peering in the front doors of nearby buildings. Being a couple streets down, they're not likely to spot the students yet.
* Nemesio doesn't look particularly convinced, and glances at Derrick.
* Derrick sighs, "What part of 'I can't fight without killing people' did you not get before?"
<Pilfer> "We just nab her and skedaddle! Anyway, we found out what they're shipping. Or I think I did anyway. That's good enough to spy with, right?"
<Nemesio> "How do you propose to grab her?" Nemesio asks, still sounding curious.
<El-Cideon> Violet's voice can be heard: "He's a mage. Don't take chances, don't ask questions. If you spot him, hit him before he sees you."
<Pilfer> "See, they don't see you if you come from behind. That's the beauty of sneaking up on people."
<Pilfer> "Either we grab her and give her the same treatment we gave Cronin, or we run away and find her confederate and try to be subtle at her."
<Pilfer> "I'm not banking on us and subtle right now, honestly."
* Nemesio snorts upon overhearing that. "You made quite an impression, it seems," he says, keeping his voice suitably low. "The former is better, all things considered. Anything you'd like us to do?"
<Pilfer> "Um. Keep me from getting shot? I can't do a whole lot else if I'm trying to take someone with me through wherever it is I go."
<Derrick> "I suppose I can draw fire. Anyone armed with anything bigger then a knife or a cudgel?"
<Pilfer> "You can take a couple of hits from a crossbow, right?" Pilfer asks innocently.
<Nemesio> "Yes, there are more ways to fight than with offensive magic," Nemesio agrees, his words are directed to Derrick. "We can provide the distraction, and support you."
* Derrick doesn't blink, "Probably can. Unless they're a really good shot."
<Pilfer> "I'll head east, at least a few blocks to throw off pursuit. Meet you at [a random inn which will have an empty room to "acquire"]?"
<El-Cideon> The gang of lackeys is still mostly near the tavern, two blocks north. Violet is advancing down the street, though, one of the crossbowmen and a cudgel-wielder by her side. Two of the men can no longer be seen, maybe checking sidestreets.
* Derrick nods, "I think I know where that is."
<El-Cideon> If there are any inhabitants in this part of town that have been woken by the noise, they're apparently not interested in coming outside to see what the fuss is about, and this isn't exactly the kind of neighborhood where the Watch can come running in seconds.
<Pilfer> "Let's do it, then."
* Pilfer stands up and eyeballs the distance to Violet as best he can, preparatory to a Jump and a quick Ride.
* Derrick nods to Pilfer and Nem, and begins to slowly move towards the thugs...
* Nemesio steps back into the shadows, ready to assist if needed.
<Pilfer> roll 2d8
* Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8 and gets 6." [2d8=5, 1]
<El-Cideon> Violet and her companions spot Derrick rather quickly, and the woman shouts. "You there! Halt! Go get him," she says to the man with the club. The thug advances on Derrick, while the crossbowman covers him.
* Derrick raises an eyebrow, but doesn't cower from the thugs, "Yes? Can I help you miss...?"
<El-Cideon> Violet is about to interrogate Derrick before Pilfer reappears right next to her. She has enough time to mutter a "What the...?" before trying to slip away from his grasp!
<El-Cideon> roll 2d8 for evade.
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8 for evade. and gets 8." [2d8=4, 4]
<El-Cideon> Violet is successful! She wrenches herself away from the thief's clutches just in time and whirls around to fact him, knife in hand. "Over here! This is the one!" she shouts to the thugs.
<El-Cideon> 2d8+5 for Violet speeed
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8+5 for Violet speeed and gets 18." [2d8=6, 7]
<Derrick> roll 2d8+6 for Init
* Hatbot --> "Derrick rolls 2d8+6 for Init and gets 12." [2d8=1, 5]
<El-Cideon> 2d8+10+5 for CORRECt Violet speed
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8+10+5 for CORRECt Violet speed and gets 26." [2d8=5, 6]
<Pilfer> 2d8+7]
* Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8+7] and gets Error: Numeric values only." [2d8=6, 6]
<Pilfer> roll 2d8+7
* Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8+7 and gets 14." [2d8=2, 5]
<El-Cideon> roll 2d8+7 for Crossbow Goon
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8+7 for Crossbow Goon and gets 12." [2d8=2, 3]
<El-Cideon> roll 2d8 for Cudgel Goon
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8 for Cudgel Goon and gets 9." [2d8=1, 8]
<El-Cideon> Violet draws one of those long knives at her belt and leaps forward, slashing at the wiry thief!
<El-Cideon> roll 2d8 for Slash!
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8 for Slash! and gets 4." [2d8=1, 3]
<Pilfer> 2d8
* Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8 and gets 7." [2d8=3, 4]
* Pilfer yelps and ducks, throwing himself backwards in a somersault.
* Pilfer bares his teeth in a feral snarl and launches himself at Violet's shins, anxious to get her out of the fight before things turn really sour.
<Pilfer> 2d8
* Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8 and gets 7." [2d8=5, 2]
<El-Cideon> roll 2d8 for great escape?
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8 for great escape? and gets 11." [2d8=7, 4]
<El-Cideon> roll 2d8 for resist stun?
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8 for resist stun? and gets 10." [2d8=8, 2]
<Pilfer> Panting heavily from the exertion of ripping so many holes in spacetime, Pilfer catches Violet as she falls in a faint. "Going!" he manages, before disappearing from the scene of the battle...
<El-Cideon> The thug with the crossbow turns towards Pilfer instead of covering his friend near Derrick, trying to focus on saving his boss for the moment!
<El-Cideon> roll 2d8 for Fire away!
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8 for Fire away! and gets 11." [2d8=5, 6]
* Derrick, in an attempt to distract attention from Pilfer charges in and tries to shoulder the crossbow goon to the ground.
<El-Cideon> But the shot goes wide in his haste, the bolt skittering and clattering to the ground! The bowman falls to the ground in a heap beneath Derrick's weight.
<El-Cideon> The second thug brandishes his club, closing in on Derrick while he's busy wrestling with the crossbowman.
<El-Cideon> rolld 2d7 for Thud!
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d7 for Thud! and gets 10." [2d7=4, 6]
<El-Cideon> But the duo inconveniently rolls out of the way just as he swings, and the blow goes wide.
<El-Cideon> Violet remains dazed and quiescent in the thief's arms still, leaving him free to retreat with her if so desired.
<Derrick> 2d8 body check to hold the crossbow thug
* Hatbot --> "Derrick rolls 2d8 body check to hold the crossbow thug and gets 10." [2d8=8, 2]
<El-Cideon> roll 2d8 for escapery?
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8 for escapery? and gets 10." [2d8=6, 4]
<El-Cideon> The goon squirms away and climbs to his feet, hastily reloading his crossbow for another shot and backing away from Derrick. Meanwhile, his friend with the cudgel takes another swing!
<El-Cideon> roll 2d8 for The Clubbening?
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8 for The Clubbening? and gets 10." [2d8=8, 2]
<El-Cideon> And misses!
* Derrick just stands up fully, brushes himself off and nods to the goons, "Well, my compatriat has what he came for, so if you gentlemen are done making fools of yourselves...?"
<El-Cideon> The crossbowman signifies that he is not, in fact, done making a fool of himself by firing again!
<El-Cideon> 2d8+3 this time because Derrick's *just standing there* for Dala's sake!
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8+3 this time because Derrick's *just standing there* for Dala's sake! and gets 10." [2d8=1, 6]
<El-Cideon> 2d8 for damage
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d8 for damage and gets 2." [2d8=1,1]
* Derrick looks down at the crossbow bolt in his side and blinks, "Ow. Well, if you're not done yet I suppose I can wait. By all means, take your time."
<El-Cideon> The crossbow bolt strikes home, but some isn't as effective as one might suspect! There's a *twang* as just it vibrates there for a moment. The bowman goggles. "Um."
<Derrick> "Something bothering you, sir?"
* Derrick pulls the bolt back out of his side and holds it out to the man, "Here, I believe you misplaced this. Can't go leaving these things around just anywhere you know, someone could get hurt."
<El-Cideon> The cudgel-wielder backs away a little. He turns to his friend. "Uh, Georg, screw this. We're not fighting mages!" He turns and runs back towards the tavern, hollering for his compatriots who had been searching elsewhere. The crossbowman soon follows.
<Nemesio> "Doesn't that hurt?" Nemesio asks, stepping out towards Derrick once the thugs have fled.
<Derrick> "Yes, it does."
<Derrick> "Understand, my own magic requires me to cut myself to cast, and the pain of a crossbow bolt is pleasant compared to how healing myself feels. I'm rather used to pain."
* Nemesio nods. "It looks like it would. Want me to remove the bolt? We can't really walk across town like that."
* Derrick holds the bolt up, "Oh, I already did that."
* Derrick discards the bolt in the first trash heap/wherever people throw things away around here they come to as he heads towards the Inn Pilfer mentioned.
<El-Cideon> There are shouts from down the street; the mooks are gathering back at the inn, probably to haul away as much of the merchandise as they can.
<El-Cideon> ---
<El-Cideon> Violet is still practically comatose by the time Derrick and Nemesio meet up with Pilfer at the inn, though she stirs and shudders now and again. Half a dozen throwing knives and two long daggers liberated from her by the thief litter a table in the opposite corner. The room is rather cramped and otherwise unfurnished.
* Pilfer examines the throwing knives with undisguised admiration.
* Derrick uses a bit of the blood that's oddly just pooling up in the wound and not leaking out to recast his armoring charm on himself before meeting with the hostile chick.
* Pilfer surreptitiously tries a few throws, fancying himself looking dangerous and debonair.
<El-Cideon> Violet's eyelids flutter a little at the sound of footsteps, the noise rousing her towards consciousness a little bit, but it doesn't seem she's awake just yet.
<Nemesio> "Ah, the chaos of a comatose mind," Nemesio murmurs quietly, before asking Pilfer, "I assume you have a good idea for not having her return the favor to us at her leisure later on?"
<Pilfer> "Um. Run away?" Pilfer suggests.
* Nemesio nods to that. "Yes, clearly she cannot recognize you again after seeing you, and there are far too many mages in your age group for a criminal organization to even hope of checking."
<Pilfer> "Maybe she won't think of it?" Pilfer says hopefully.
<Nemesio> "Yes, there is no merit in personal vendettas or correcting breaches of security," Nemesio agrees. "Well, let's wake her up and make sure she's not going anywhere?"
<Pilfer> "Won't she recognize all of us, then?" Pilfer quavers
<Nemesio> "She and her thugs have already seen you two, there's no merit in hiding my features. She'll easily deduce it, after all." Nemesio shrugs. "But feel free to place a sack over her head if you'd like."
<Derrick> "I think you give the criminal element too much credit here. But yes, covering her eyes is probably a good idea.'
<Pilfer> "Er..."
<Nemesio> "And you might as well do it before she decides to stop faking it," Nemesio adds as an afterthought.
* Pilfer reaches in his pockets for a sack...
<Pilfer> roll 2d8
* Hatbot --> "Pilfer rolls 2d8 and gets 11." [2d8=8, 3]
* Pilfer pulls out a mug of ale, which sloshes slightly.
* Pilfer blinks.
<El-Cideon> The body on the bed actually lets out a bitter chuckle. "Shit," she mumbles, still groggy but clearly awake. "You've got good eyes, whoever you are."
* Pilfer shrugs and takes a sip.
<Nemesio> "You weren't abducted for anything indecent, if that's what troubles you," Nemesio comments, leaning against the wall as he observes Violet.
<El-Cideon> "Mm, that's good. You'd have to pay for it, one way or another." She opens her eyes and looks around the room, but doesn't move yet.
* Derrick sighs and just moves over to stand in front of any window that might be in the room in case she decides to take a leap of faith or something.
<Nemesio> "So it seems," Nemesio agrees, letting Pilfer proceed with the questioning, while monitoring the woman's responses.
<Pilfer> "Er, er, er, right."
* Pilfer shoots a panicky glance at Nemesio.
<Pilfer> "So yeah. You, uh. Furs."
<Pilfer> "You're totally muscling in. Uh, on territory," Pilfer continues.
<El-Cideon> "You noticed," she says, her voice thick with sarcasm. She sits up, casually, as though she were just waking up in the morning as normal and nothing was amiss. "So," she says, looking over each of the students in turn, "Which one of you's in charge here, and who are you working for?"
* Pilfer hates being in the spotlight.
<El-Cideon> If there's anything odd about a captive asking the questions first, Violet seems either unaware or too confident to care.
<Pilfer> "We're not the ones who've been captured," Pilfer feels obligated to point out.
<El-Cideon> "Not yet," she says, eyes narrowing. "That can always change."
<Derrick> "No, but so far you haven't actually bothered asking her anything that she can actually respond to. Like where they got these furs from, and how they how they got them past customs? Or how much you plan to make on this little venture."
* Derrick isn't expecting her to answer, just trying to make her think of things.
<Derrick> "As for who's holding our leash...really now, do you expect us to talk about that?"
<Pilfer> "Yeah. We're not stupid!" Pilfer announces, in blatant defiance of the facts.
* Derrick sighs again, "Do shut up, Sneak." Then he gives Violet a somewhat long suffering 'see what I have to work with here' look.
<El-Cideon> The woman grins at Pilfer, tossing back that gleaming green hair. "No, I'm sure you're not."
<Derrick> "Now what we're most interested in is that last question. How much are you planning on pulling in from this? I'm sure you know, unless you're just a peon like those bumblers you had with you in the street?"
<El-Cideon> Violet folds her legs up in front of her, clasping her hands in front of her knees like some twisted picture of youthful innocence. "More than you three were paid, I'm sure of that," she says with a chuckle.
<Derrick> "Oh, I'm sure. We're rather bargain basement thugs you see. Though your boss might want to rethink that salary of yours considering that you got caught by the biggest screwup amoung us."
* Pilfer nods threateningly before his ears have fully reported what Derrick was saying.
* Derrick is bandying words without his tone ever really changing. Using that same 'semi amused despite the circumstances' tone he used on the thugs outside.
<El-Cideon> "Did I?" she says with an arched eyebrow. She turns back to Pilfer, tilting her head to one side all childlike. "I wonder, is this how you always meet girls?"
* Pilfer sips his ale with narrowed eyes.
<Nemesio> "I wouldn't know." Nemesio glances at Pilfer with interest. "Is it?"
<Pilfer> "You're not helping the interrogation," he points out, with ill-concealed venom.
<Nemesio> "How is being defensive an interrogation?" Nemesio asks with a snort. "Go ahead and field your questions to the peon woman. It bothers me to waste time like this."
<El-Cideon> Violet laughs again and leans back on her elbows, letting her legs swing off the bed. "I also wonder if you three have any idea what you've got yourselves into. Did Jennie put you up to this? I don't think she has the stomach for an all-out fight."
* Derrick snorts, "Exactly what have we gotten ourselves into then? Besides earning the ire of a rather petty crime boss and his flunkies?"
<Pilfer> "We've already established that we're not talking about our employer, whoever it is. Jennie doesn't have the cash for this anyway, as you ought to know," Pilfer points out.
<Pilfer> "Cash flow is what's important here."
<Pilfer> "Money into the city. Goods into the city."
<Derrick> "You're making money that isn't on the books, and we want to know how much."
<El-Cideon> She sighs, but there's an undercurrent of irritation. "I guess you're not locals. If you are 'budget thugs,' I'm sure she has the cash for at least three of you. At any rate, the specific amount isn't relevant beyond being A Lot. Enough to afford several times what you're getting now, I'm sure." she leans forward and grins at Pilfer. "Along with other benefits."
* Derrick snorts, "Ye gods, the woman can catch Sneak poking around, but can't pick up on sarcasm. You sure you're as important as you say? I'd hate to think we grabbed the wrong person."
<Pilfer> "The green hair's kind of a giveaway," Pilfer pointed out. "Ostentatious."
<Derrick> "True enough. I'd ask if it was naturally green, but that'd just invite another sad attempt at flirtation with you, I'm sure."
<El-Cideon> Violet spares Derrick a withering glare, then turns back to Pilfer. "Your friend here's trying to goad me into saying something stupid." Another sigh. "I can tell you're new at this. *I* am not. I haven't been given much incentive to cooperate, you know."
<Nemesio> "How about not dying? Let's go with that," Nemesio comments casually.
* Pilfer blinks, but covers it quickly.
<El-Cideon> The woman actually *smiles*. "That's a start! Bravo. One of you at least gets the idea."
* Derrick gives her a dead even stare, "I suppose I could refrain from making your skin peel itself off of your body. I can do that you know. And this subtle approach is really not my style, as you've just noted. I prefer the brute force route, to be honest."
<Nemesio> "Yes, yes, that's the spirit!" Nemesio cheers Derrick on, clapping.
* Pilfer looks faintly ill.
<El-Cideon> Violet gives Derrick an appraising glance, as if reconsidering her opinion. "Better," she concedes.
<Derrick> roll 2d8 intimidate
* Hatbot --> "Derrick rolls 2d8 intimidate and gets 10." [2d8=2, 8]
<El-Cideon> "I wonder," she says, "if any of you are familiar with the concept of loyalty. You really must not be locals, or you'd know better...I know a lot about interrogation myself. Whatever you intend, I'm prepared."
<Nemesio> "And speaking of that," Nemesio says, as if just spotting something, and nods at Derrick. "I think I see a little bruise. We can't have that, so why don't you take care of that?"
* Derrick eyes Nemesio and raises an eyebrow, then thinks at him and hopes Nem can pick up his thoughts...
<El-Cideon> Violet just watches this exchange curiously, not really knowing what to make of it.
<Nemesio> Nemesio sighs, and then steps forward casually. He withdraws his sword, slashing it against Violet's arm to make a shallow cut, and then steps back again. "Well, there's plenty to heal now," he comments to Derrick, before telling Violet, "Ah, yes. Interrogation. You have to go beyond a bluff to get anywhere, correct?"
<El-Cideon> Violet grunts and steps back in surprise. Her legs bump into the edge of the bed and she drops to a sitting position on top of it. She looks up at Nemesio, a grim smile on her face. "Yeah, now you're getting the idea." She seems to be reappraising the students now.
* Derrick closes his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts and his expression. 'She's a crook' he thinks to himself, 'she's hurt plenty of people and will hurt more if we don't pull this out from under her and her employer. But I'm going to smack Pilfer for screwing up and making it come to this.' (more)
<Derrick> Opening his eyes, Derrick nods slightly to Nemesio and moves towards Violet, quickly slashing open that familiar groove in his palm and dripping some of his blood in her wound, healing it right up. With all the pain that comes from his having your flesh forcibly and rapidly stitched back together with no anisthetic.
<Nemesio> "We have a bit of an unfair advantage over you, I'm afraid," Nemesio inform Violet, sounding properly regretful. "We can do this indefinitely, without much worry over you, since you'll still be able to talk in the end. But if you believe us, now, why don't you answer a few simple questions and we'll let you go without further discomfort? Of course, your life would also be guaranteed."
<Derrick> roll 2d8 for Healing check
* Hatbot --> "Derrick rolls 2d8 for Healing check and gets 8." [2d8=4, 4]
<El-Cideon> Violet writhes in place, mouth hanging open in shock and pain as the cut knits itself back together. She never cries out, but it's obvious this *hurts*. She gasps when it's over, and looks up with an expression that's somewhere between loathing and a grudging respect. "...So, what was it you wanted, again?"
<Nemesio> "Let's start with what you do," Nemesio suggests curtly.
* Derrick looks at her with a blank expression, "The reverse? It's worse. Alot worse."
<El-Cideon> She shrugs. "Whatever's necessary." Then, a dark chuckle. "I guess that's not going to be good enough? True enough, though. I do a lot. Guard the bossman, make sure shipments get in undisturbed--like tonight--keep people in line when necessary...sometimes persuade wannabe competitors to take their business elsewhere."
* Nemesio nods at her words. "How far in advance do you know that a shipment is coming?"
<El-Cideon> She looks mildly insulted. "We know what the captains are supposed to be bringing back before they even set sail for Kalbemarle. We're not simple opportunists; Dane's a businessman. Only things that can interfere with the schedule are the seas and the monsters within them."
<Nemesio> And your capture, Nemesio considers, not voicing his thoughts. "Alright. Tell me more about Dane and the way he operates. He's a businessman, you say?"
* Derrick takes a couple of steps backwards, returning to his post in front of the window.
<El-Cideon> "Yes," she says seriously, as if daring Nemesio to disagree. "You think there's something strange about that? We might use different lingo than the traders in Morrister or Calia, but the rules are still the same."
<Nemesio> "It's not that," he says dismissively, "but more a reflection on his political ambitions. Wouldn't going against the government that pretty much supplies him with his business opportunities generally be a bad move?"
<El-Cideon> She shakes her head. "You don't get it. The East Riders don't buy anything from us. They buy from the legit...well, more regulated sources. They pay more, but they don't have to worry about people asking who their supplier is, either. Most of the government workers could disappear and we wouldn't lose money from it."
<Nemesio> "So Dane thinks he can become legit, to use your term, if the other side takes over?" Nemesio asks curiously.
<El-Cideon> A grimace. "Bad wording. Legitimacy's a point of view, you know? No fault of ours if the ruling party doesn't like the way we work. Not that we could do anything to change who's running the show." She looks at Nemesio suspiciously. "We don't mess with politics."
* Derrick smirks and eyes Nem, waiting to see if he'll bring up what they know about Cronin.
<Nemesio> "I think our treatment has a time limit on it," Nemesio comments to Derrick, ignoring Violet for the time being. "Even though she really wants to, and it's in her best interests, the urge to lie just gets stronger and stronger the farther the mind is distanced from pain."
* Derrick closes his eyes again and shakes his head as he adresses Violet, "Do you really need to feel that again? The bigger the wound the more it hurts coming back together you know..."
<El-Cideon> Violet bristles at this, seemingly as offended as she is worried. "You've gotta realize there are some things you won't get me to say. Stick around down on the docks for a while and you might learn something about loyalty. Aside from that...you can't keep me forever. Someone'll come looking."
<Nemesio> "They'll find a corpse, sadly, which is where this loyalty would get you. I'm sure Dane would be touched by your devotion."
<El-Cideon> "He might be," she says seriously. "You haven't met him, so you wouldn't know." She frowns, and leans back against the wall with her arms crossed. "Keep asking your questions, while you've got time."
* Nemesio makes a pair of shallow slashes against each of her crossed arms. "Some more incentive it is, then," he comments. "Though would it work better if I made them on your face and left them to scar instead?"
* Derrick flicks another few droplets of blood into the wounds to heal them up, though his emotionless facade was getting harder to hold. This was a form of torture, no ifs ands or buts.
<Derrick> roll 2d8 healing check
* Hatbot --> "Derrick rolls 2d8 healing check  and gets 2." [2d8=1, 1]
<El-Cideon> Violet grunts; again, she doesn't quite cry out, though she does eye the blood that escaped from her wounds with obvious distaste. "No need," she says to Nemesio. "Ask away."
<Nemesio> "I already did, and an honest answer might be appreciated," he reminds her.
<El-Cideon> "I don't know everything he's up to," she says bitterly. "You want specific answers, ask a more specific question."
<Nemesio> "Dane and politics. What do you know?"
<El-Cideon> She sighs. "I know he's been making overtures to both sides for years--strictly under the table, of course. Cristatus and the Registry bunch won't talk to him. Any deals we do with the reformists are a matter of necessity, see?"
* Nemesio nods. "It does make sense. But from what I heard, they were refusing to associate with Dane, either. Does this mean he has made inroads after all?"
<El-Cideon> Violet eyes Derrick for a moment before continuing. "Said I don't know everything, right? I know Maddox doesn't want anything to do with us, but we sell to a lot of his friends. Enough of them in our debt and we could manage to have a voice. But I couldn't tell you who, specifically. That's Ipsidra's side, the keeping track of buyers."
<Derrick> "So you're in charge of Supply and she handles Demand, so to speak?"
<El-Cideon> A nod to Derrick. "You could sum it up that way, yeah."
<Nemesio> "Of course, placed as highly as you are, you would have a few ideas. Why don't you humor us and share them?"
<El-Cideon> She sighs. "There was some noise about working with Gaukler a while back. This was a few years ago and I wasn't so high up then. Haven't heard anything new about it since, and the newspaperman doesn't really sound the type to me."
<Nemesio> Nemesio recognizes the name, and nods. "Alright. We're both in luck, then. As someone in charge of Supply, can you tell us when the next shipment from Kalbemarle is due to arrive?"
<El-Cideon> Violet looks miserable. "Saturday night," she says vaguely.
<Nemesio> "This saturday?" he clarifies. "If a few ambitious people were interested in taking it for themselves, where and when should they make use of this opportunity?"
* Derrick places his thumb back in the groove of his palm as if making ready to pull out the blood droplets again...
<El-Cideon> "Not that easy," she says. "It doesn't pay to be predictable. We use lots of different drop points. Don't decide which one until the day of the shipment. We signal the boat holding the cargo and they row in under cover of darkness to the specified drop point." She looks vaguely proud. "Unless you've got the men to tackle the ship in the bay, it'd be tough."
<Nemesio> "And the one who gets to decide is you, naturally?"
<El-Cideon> A grim nod is all the answer that's needed.
<Nemesio> "Well, here's the thing. How about we agree on a drop point, and you get to go free? Tell Dane you escaped, or some other fable, and all that he loses is a single shipment. I doubt it would be the first or the last time that unhappy event happens."
<El-Cideon> Violet sighs miserably. "Right...any complaints with that shit tavern we used tonight? You already know where it is."
<Nemesio> "Not particularly. Dane doesn't have any mages working for him or anything like that, right?" Nemesio asks, sounding carefree.
<El-Cideon> "A couple. Mostly small-timers hired for muscle, local louts with the spark and no discipline. Nothing like you'd get coming out of the University." She snorts. "If you've really got the gift, you use it to get the hell out of old Landry district, usually."
<Nemesio> "Then I don't suppose there will be any trouble. Alright. If my friend here," he says, nodding at Derrick, "weren't standing where he is, what would you have done?"
<El-Cideon> A glance between the two students. "Out the window in a flash," she says simply. "Give me some credit."
<Nemesio> "I am," Nemesio responds. "It is about time we get careless with guarding you, too, I suppose. Would you require an actual bruise or two to make things look more authentic?"
<El-Cideon> She frowns. "Probably for the best, much as I hate to say it."
* Derrick tosses Nemesio the small cudgel he carries, "this'll do better then the flat of a blade."
<Nemesio> "It probably pains you more than it does me," Nemesio tells her, approaching Violet with Derrick's cudgel once more with the intent to knock her out with a blow across the temple.
<El-Cideon> Violet nods, and waits with her eyes open, unflinching. "Woulda liked to have avoided the face, but at least it's obvious," she says with a sigh before submitting to the blow.
* Nemesio knocks her out, and as he lays her out on the bed, makes sure to reinforce Violet's own idea of using Saturday's shipment as a trap for them at the expenditure of any other ideas she might've otherwise had for tracking them down.
* Derrick looks over at Nem and as Violet goes unconscious he finally lets go of the hold on his expression and starts to tremble slightly, "Clear?'
<Nemesio> "We should leave," Nemesio agrees, finally standing up, and looking somewhat pale. "The rest will have to wait."
<Derrick> "Right. Let's just clear out of here and make ourselves scarce."

[Sierra]

Diversion: Nemesio

<El-Cideon> Wednesday morning dawns rather late for Nemesio. He was quite busy the night before, after all, and sleeping in is a luxury he won't have once he's become a productive member of society, right? It's around nine o'clock when the maid Katherine wakes him and says a late breakfast is waiting in the dining room--along with several pieces of correspondence just received that morning.
<Nemesio> He thanks her politely, making haste as he dresses. Until Saturday, and perhaps, beyond that, it is prudent to address any and all correspondence sent to him as quickly as possible.
<El-Cideon> Breakfast is a savory collection of meats, eggs and cheese, as is common. The room smells strongly of bacon as Nemesio sits down to eat. There are four letters beside his plate: one bearing the official seal of the University, two ornate envelopes delivered from the houses of Aedes and Sandstrom, and one plain envelope sent by one Imelda Rivers.
<Nemesio> Imelda gets priority, and it is her letter he reads first, while making certain no one happens to come up behind him to glance at his private correspondence.
<El-Cideon> Imelda's letter is laconic, businesslike and right to the point, as should come as no surprise given who wrote it. She states that her classes have now ended for the term, leaving her with a surfeit of free time in which to explore the recently discussed partnership further. As well, she states that, barring other commitments, her family will expect her to become acquainted with the family business by working for it until classes resume--(more)
<El-Cideon> --unless, of course, she finds other employment for the time span between now and the fall. She makes it quite plain that she does not much care for her family and does not relish working with them, so she would consider any opportunity Nemesio hears of regarding summer work for students. Aside from that, she has until next Monday entirely free--if Nemesio wishes to meet, he can write back setting a time.
<Nemesio> He will, but after reading the other letters. Perhaps, one of them would even resolve the matter of a summer job. Setting Imelda's letter aside, Nemesio observes that sent by the Aedes family.
<El-Cideon> Penned by Marnie Borestal Aedes, she of the flamboyant wigs, this appears to be a simple invitation to a gathering Saturday afternoon. Marnie offers congratulations on Nemesio's upcoming graduation before getting to the point: "It will be a much more enjoyable occasion than the last, I assure you. A small collection of friends, intellectuals and aesthetes in stark contrast to last weekend's ball." (more)
<El-Cideon> "If you enjoyed the ball approximately as much as you appeared to, then you will no doubt be in need of spiritual refreshment after the similar festivities following Friday's graduation ceremony. There will be music, stimulating talk, and all manner of attractively arranged snack dishes, I don't know where the chefs get all their ideas. Dear Ataraxis is also invited should she be interested in attending."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Please respond whether or not you wish to attend, so we know how many to prepare for. Regards, Madam Aedes."
<Nemesio> Of course he will take Madame Aedes up on her invitation, Nemesio muses, already penning an answer in his mind. Aside from the obvious benefits, it would provide him with an alibi the authorities would be hard-pressed to challenge. And so would, perhaps, the less-savory elements of Avontyne. Regardless, the next letter of interest is that bearing the Sandstrom crest.
<El-Cideon> This letter is from Bennett Sandstrom. His script is inelegant and plain, but the actual writing is articulate enough. He states that Nemesio's offer of tutorship is accepted. If he has the day free, he is welcome to stop by the estate for an informal first meeting--lunch, tour of the grounds, that sort of thing.
<Nemesio> Once he has written a letter back to Madame Aedes, thanking her for her kind invistation, Nemesio intends to follow up on this offer. Imelda's answer would have to be delayed; however, wasn't it said that good things come to those who wait? And, of course, though it is a mere formality... Nemesio opens the letter delivered from the University.
<El-Cideon> This letter is indeed nothing very surprising: a formal invitation to graduation ceremonies and following festivities in the east wing of the University's administrative building, commencing at two o'clock PM and proceeding until early evening. The letter is signed by chancellor Bigod and the institution's bursar, Katherine Velan. Joran's signature is much embellished, in an old-fashioned way. Velan's is static and rigid.
* Nemesio places the letter away, deciding to keep it near for the time being. And then, there is breakfast to be enjoyed, and a visit to plan.
<El-Cideon> Indeed! A maid ferries out a tray of pastries and confections for Nemesio to select from while he contemplates this.
<Nemesio> Ten thirty would be a good time to make an appearance at the Sandstrom estate, not to mention allow him enough time to enjoy a cheesecake in peace.
<El-Cideon> The walk to the Sandstrom estate is not a taxing one, and Nemesio already knows the way anyhow. The front gate is wide open for visitors at this time of day, and curiously enough it's Lily Sandstrom who answers the door rather than a servant, as one might expect. She seems happy to see Nemesio as she greets him.
* Nemesio is happy enough as well, or maintains the appearence of such, in any case. "How do you do?" he asks her pleasantly.
<El-Cideon> "Oh, fine, thanks," she says pleasantly, holding the door open for him. Apparently formality is left outside the front gate. "Come in!" A black-clad butler lurks not far behind, shooting her dirty looks as though piqued at his role being usurped, but says nothing.
* Nemesio offers him a polite if curt nod, though his smile is reserved for Lily alone. "I trust this is a good time?" he asks, following her. "I was quite pleased to hear back from Mister Sandstrom, and so soon, at that."
<El-Cideon> "Oh, it was nothing. He brought work home with him today--one of those luxuries senior managers can get away with once in a while--and we thought we may as well take advantage of the day, you know?"
* Nemesio nods. "Taking advantage of the day is something I can understand, since I have a few free days myself until the graduation ceremony."
<El-Cideon> Lily nods back. "Yes, I know. We'll be there. Well, Bennett, Greta and I. Dala is probably best left with the nanny." She looks embarassed about this. "Little thing would just fidget the whole time." The foyer is a small room with exits straight ahead as well as to the left and the right. Lily heads forward, deeper into the house. (more)
<El-Cideon> Moving straight ahead leads into a wide hall that seems half lounge, half central meeting place. There are comfy, stuffed armchairs scattered about liberally next to low wooden tables. A fine panelled floor is occasionally visible under heavy rugs that mute footfalls and seem to absorb ambient sound in the room. The overall color scheme is geared towards dark earth tones, and there is a somber air about the place.
<Nemesio> "She's still young," Nemesio reasons as they head further inside. "And with her sister setting up an example, she'll learn to bear with the certain unpleasantness of status soon enough."
<El-Cideon> Lily nods seriously. This last remark seems to have struck a chord somewhere within her. "I hope so. Greta is ever concerned over the rehabilitation of her sister. It's charming sometimes." She takes a seat in a leather armchair (an open book and a steaming mug of tea sit on the adjacent table), motioning for Nemesio to sit opposite her, and addresses the butler. "Tell Bennett that our guest is here, will you?" The man nods and leaves.
* Nemesio gracefully accepts the invitation, partaking of the tea. "It's nice to have others who support you," he agrees, making small talk until Bennett arrives.
<El-Cideon> Again, a phrase which apparently prompts serious contemplation. "It is," she agrees. "So how has your family been?"
<Nemesio> "Much the same," he responds. "Ataraxis has been battling bureaucracy recently, but that is as exciting as it got for us."
<El-Cideon> Lily smiles. "Well, you should probably enjoy the boredom while it lasts. The job offers will be coming in soon, I'm sure."
<Nemesio> "Ah, but I fully intend to seek out employment that challenges and interests me," Nemesio counters. "If there will be more than one offer, such would be an easy task, wouldn't you say?"
<El-Cideon> "Good for you," she says, sounding sincere. "It's better to find an occupation you enjoy rather than wait to let one find you, I think." A door can be heard opening up above--the hall is high as well as wide, and ringed by a bannister on the second floor. Soon Bennett can be seen descending one of several narrow flights of stairs in the hall, with Greta in tow.
* Nemesio stands up at their appearance, bowing in greeting. "Mister Sandstrom, Greta, a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for having me."
<El-Cideon> Bennett waves away the show of gratitude. "Think nothing of it. Anyone Greta approves of is welcome any time." There's something a little different about him today; he seems very serious. Greta does not react visibly to her father's words. She curtsies most properly and says, "Welcome."
* Nemesio straightens up, offering her a smile.
<El-Cideon> Smiling doesn't seem to be in Greta's repertoire, but the girl's behavior should be familiar by now. If her father says she likes Nemesio, he's probably right, no? "Well, shall we walk and talk and perhaps determine in which subject you are best suited to educate our daughter?" Bennett says, again seeming in rather low humor.(more)
<El-Cideon> "We'll head for the garden in back, I think. This cool hall is often a welcome respite from the summer's heat, but some of us could use the sun's warmth."
* Nemesio has no objections to this, naturally. "Is there any particular subject you are interested in, yourself?" he asks Greta. "Or should I merely make my pitch and have you decide then?"
<El-Cideon> "Do you know anything about designing machinery?" the blond girl says, as always sounding as though the fate of a multitude depended on the answer. Bennett actually cracks a smile at this despite his mood as he and the others continue on through the hall towards the back of the house.
<Nemesio> "I'm nowhere near proficiency, but I do hold certain competence in the area," Nemesio responds. "And I happen to be a quick study."
<El-Cideon> The group passes into a glass-fronted sitting area and then outside to a tiled patio. Nemesio walks over a bright mosaic, mostly white with a stylized sunburst in the center. "Well," Bennett says, "I thought perhaps Greta could use some assistance improving the quality of her writing, myself."
<Nemesio> "That is one area I am more confident of," Nemesio says agreeably. "Of course, one does not preclude the other."
<El-Cideon> The group eventually makes its way to a raised gazebo out on the lawn, whereupon waits a table and a set of wrought-iron chairs; a servant soon brings a tray with coffee and cookies. Greta examines these for seemingly an age before selecting one (not obviously different from the others) and taking a small bite. "Well, I am told it is among your talents," Bennett says.
<Nemesio> "You are too kind," Nemesio responds, taking a cookie without dawdling, but staying away from the coffee. After his breakfast and the tea, he is not in the mood for yet more hot beverage. "Greta, if I may," he begins, "how are you at gaming theory, especially running through simulations? I believe it helps greatly with achieving better focus and clarity of mind."
<El-Cideon> "Gaming theory? Is there such a school of learning?" Greta asks, head tilted. Bennett grins again, though thinly. "She is not familiar with this, as such, though she is quite analytical when it comes to games. I am curious, Nemesio: what do you have in mind? This sounds a novel approach." There's nothing disapproving in his tone--indeed, he sounds interested--but he still has that oddly dour air about him.
<Nemesio> "There are several approaches to this," Nemesio elaborates. "One is to treat everything as a game, and learn through those games, much like savants master their abilities. There is also the analytical approach, of breaking down complex situations into their components and thinking ahead, of defining the framework of the situation itself to better understand it and become its master rather than a mere p
<Nemesio> awn. Finally, there is the science of prediction and permutation. How would a rational person behave, when facing two choices that both have their appeal? Such is a mystery that has baffled many over the years, just waiting for someone to solve the riddle once and for all." He spreads his arms, then. "Of course, even from mere studies can one better oneself. There is no requirement to master the scienc
<Nemesio> e itself to gain better understanding into the things it governs and teaches."
<El-Cideon> Greta takes a moment to digest all this, then nods. "I believe I understand. You can tell a lot about someone  by the way they play, as well. Dala throws the board when she loses, for example." A pause. "She loses a lot."
<Nemesio> "The two could be related," Nemesio suggests. "A bit of positive encouragement can't hurt, especially if it allows her to appreciate the game more and strive to improve herself to keep on winning."
<El-Cideon> Bennett and Lily seem content to let their daughter do the talking for the moment. Greta nods. "I shall consider a suitable reward should she behave properly next time, win or lose. Do you enjoy playing chess, Nemesio?" she says, still rather skimming over the topic at surface level.
<Nemesio> That's alright. There will be plenty of time to educate her on this in depth, should she decide it worth her time. "Rather depends on the opponent," he responds. "It is no fun to crush someone when you haven't put much effort into it, I find. The victory is made hollow."
<El-Cideon> Another nod. "This is true. I enjoy the game much more since I demanded that father stop letting me win, even though it did not happen again for a very long time after that."
<Nemesio> "It's difficult to grow without a proper challenge, or learning by going up against strategies made to win," he agrees. "Like with training wheels, where there comes a time when they must come off."
<El-Cideon> "I agree," she says. Then, changing the subject a little: "Father says you are good at writing. Could I see some of your school papers sometime? I would like to see for myself. And it would be good to see an example of what will be expected of me in the future, of course."
<Nemesio> "Certainly, though I'm not in the habit of carrying them along with me," Nemesio informs her. "You are more than welcome to visit and go through my collection -- I keep an archive, since one never knows what obscure bit of knowledge might be useful."
<El-Cideon> Greta nibbles a bit at her cookie, carefully avoiding the dab of jelly in the center as though saving it for last. "How are you with mathematics? Most children I've met find them dull, but I enjoy finding the patterns."
<Nemesio> "I find myself quite at home with the numbers, though Physics is my true passion, you could say," Nemesio muses, finally trying the cookie as well. Again, unlike Greta, he simply bites straight through, tasting the jelly. Once he had consumed it, Nemesio dabs at his lips with a handkerchief, continuing, "I find that science more practical in our daily lives and towards our growth as a society, even if
<Nemesio> it is often based on observations and not clear, black numbers on a white sheet, framed within the perfect system of mathematic rules."
<El-Cideon> "Physics," Bennett says curiously. Then, to his wife, though obviously meant for all to hear: "We should introduce him to Marnie." Then, standing: "Well, I think it fairly clear you're qualified in most any area in which Greta could use assistance." And Greta nods in agreement. "Shall we show you around the grounds and leave the matter of scheduling for later?"
<Nemesio> "Certainly," Nemesio agrees, and finishes the rest of the cookie as he stands up.
<El-Cideon> The group takes a tour of the gardens first. A lush and colorful flower bed rings the interior of the estate's wall. There are a few secluded areas behind hedges in the corners where one could sit and read in peace if so desired, one graced with a marble statue of Fyrdaella, the other some city founder who presumably figures somewhere in the Sandstroms' ancestry. "So how is Ataraxis finding affairs at the University?" Bennett asks.
<Nemesio> "Tiresome," Nemesio responds honestly. "It seems certain people hold her age against her, instead of welcoming the innovation that comes with it. How unfortunate."
<El-Cideon> Bennett frowns. "Not wholly surprising," he says, sounding frustrated with something himself. "None are more as fond of a pecking order as those who've suffered it enough to reach the top. They'll warm up to her in time, hopefully. Or retire, worst comes to worst." The group heads back inside, making their way up the stairs in the central hall to the second floor.
<Nemesio> "I hope for the former, myself," Nemesio voices. He is curious over what it is that troubles Bennett, but not enough to cross that invisible line and spy on his thoughts. Besides, that takes the challenge out of things. "After all, if she is to succeed in her plans of changing society, it would make for a good start."
<El-Cideon> A nod, as the group stops by Bennett's study. There are papers strewn across the heavy wooden desk, presumably work-related. The room also possesses an extensive library and the window commands a nice view of the gardens and the houses beyond. Greta spends her time examining a map of Avontyne and the surrounding towns which is mounted on the wall. Notes are tacked to various areas, and sometimes scribbled on. (more)
<El-Cideon> "Indeed," Bennett says. "As you noted earlier, nothing that is not struggled for can be truly rewarding, can it?"
<Nemesio> "And winning by default, or due to a technicality, leaves a bad taste in one's mouth," he adds with a grin.
<El-Cideon> Bennett nods in agreement again. "Quite so," he says seriously. The group passes by what is apparently a small recital hall for musical performances, though it appears unused for this purpose and may be a relic from a previous generation. It's bright and open, in sharp contrast to the rest of the manor. A stack of paper and several mechanical-looking odds and ends sit on a desk in the corner, but Bennett moves on before Nemesio can look at this.(more)
<El-Cideon> They cross through the central hall again, over a second-floor walkway that spans the room. It looks like the family's bedchambers are in the right wing of the house.
* Nemesio can do without venturing there, quite likely. He brings the urge to ask Bennett about what troubles him under control, realizing intellectually that it is not something he would share with a stranger.
<El-Cideon> There is a small antechamber outside the bedroom areas, and this appears to be their stopping point for the day. "Unless you wish to tour the servants' quarters, of course," Bennett says, making an attempt at a lighter mood. Lily seems almost pointedly expressionless at this remark, but the sudden intrusion of a mad-dashing five-year-old breaks the scene. Dala barrels in and tugs at Greta's wrist. "Greta! Make Porciela dance. She won't listen to me!"
* Nemesio intends to observe how Greta handles things, as it is hardly his place to interfere.
<El-Cideon> Greta is quick to chastise her younger sister, as always. "Dala! You shouldn't be going into my room without my permission!" She actually sounds genuinely upset for once, but is quick to revert to her more familiar, emotionally inert state. She remembers her guest momentarily. "Nemesio, would you like to meet Porciela?"
<Nemesio> "If that's alright with you," he returns, eyeing Bennett as he does so.
<El-Cideon> Bennett nods. "I don't see why not." Then, wryly, "You'd best get used to her if you're to be a regular here."
* Nemesio nods. "It would be a pleasure, then."
<El-Cideon> Greta nods primly and takes the doorway to the left. Her bedroom is much like what one would expect for an upper-class girl: large canopy bed, frills in places they are not strictly called for, sizable storage capacity for clothes...as elsewhere in the house, the color scheme is mostly earth tones.(more)
<El-Cideon> What is not so usual about the room (well, aside from the large collection of books) is its other inhabitant. Porciela could be taken for a mannequin before actually getting up and moving. The girl...doll...whatever...is about four and half feet tall, perhaps a hand taller than her mistress. It could be made from polished wood or porcelain...it's hard to tell, but she's a clean, pure white either way.(more)
<El-Cideon> The automaton's hair, a gleaming white to match her body, is made of something shimmering and silky, and extends down to her chin. She seems to have been designed with a dancer's physique in mind, though at present Porciela is wearing a dress much like the style of Greta's. The final detail of her prim and almost alarmingly detailed features is a pair of strikingly blue eyes--the irises could be gems or just glass, it's hard to say, but they are the shade of a still sea in winter.
<Nemesio> "Hello, Porciela," Nemesio greets the automation politely, observing it for any response, or indeed an indication that she heard him.
<El-Cideon> Porciela does appear to have heard Nemesio--she rises from a chair by the window and sketches an elaborate bow for her visitor. There are some clicks as joints shift, but her movements are quite fluid for the most part. She seems to have to turn her whole head to look at something--the eyes themselves apparently don't move. Greta walks over and hugs the automaton, who returns the gesture. Apparently the girl has no problem thinking of this construction as a living being.
* Nemesio opts for a more restrained approach, walking up to Porciela and offering her his hand. "A pleasure to meet a friend of Greta's," he tells her. "My name is Nemesio. How do you do?"
<El-Cideon> Porciela accepts Nemesio's hand and clasps it for a moment, nodding politely. The automaton's fingers are not particularly dextrous, but there's a suggestion that her grip could be strong enough to injure someone if so desired. "Porciela can't talk," Greta says. "So you shouldn't assume she doesn't like you just because she can't respond."
* Nemesio nods at Greta's words. "Alright. Is the muteness by design?"
<El-Cideon> Greta shakes her head. "I don't think Mister Brunell knew how to make her talk. I'm trying to teach her to write but I'm not sure she understands what it's for." Greta looks disappointed at this. "She can be stubborn sometimes."
<Nemesio> "It could require a different approach, perhaps," he muses.
<El-Cideon> Greta frowns. "She can write, but only what I tell her to. She won't do it on her own. See? Porciela, show Nemesio you can write your name." She leads the automaton over to a desk, where ink and paper wait, and Porciela does as instructed in a looping, elegant script.(more)
<El-Cideon> Dala tugs at her older sister's sleeve and whines. "Greta, make her dance!"
<Nemesio> "So she reacts, rather than interacts?" Nemesio asks Greta, curious.
<El-Cideon> Greta thinks for a moment. "I don't know. I've taught her to play games. At first I had to tell her to take every single move, but now she does it on her own once we've started. She's not very good at it, though."
<Nemesio> "She could be learning from your example," Nemesio suggests, before smiling. "Have you asked her to play chess with your younger sister?"
<El-Cideon> Greta contemplates this. "No. I have such a time convincing Dala to sit down and play with me." She has the air of a researcher considering variables in an experiment for a moment. "I will think about this."
* Nemesio is pleased with this outcome, and nods. "It should be interesting."
<El-Cideon> Bennett intercedes now. "Well, I hate to break up the three of you, but I imagine we've taken up enough of your time today, Nemesio. Some of us need to return to our work, and Greta should be getting back to her studies."
* Nemesio can recognize a dismissal when he hears it, and takes it amiably. "As pleasant as this had been, I wouldn't dream of taking up time better used productively merely to show me around the premises further."
<El-Cideon> Greta nods and waves, "Goodbye, Nemesio." Porciela mimics her mistress unbidden as Bennett and Lily lead Nemesio back downstairs and out to the foyer. "Well, we'll see you again on Friday, no doubt?" Bennett says.
<Nemesio> "It's one appointment I intend to keep, Sir, whatever the circumstance," Nemesio agrees with a crooked smile.
<El-Cideon> A nod, and then a handshake. "Well, we'll discuss the matter of scheduling then, if you don't mind?"
<Nemesio> "It would be quite alright, Mister Sandstrom," Nemesio responds.
<El-Cideon> And with that an the requisite farewells, the Sandstroms see Nemesio off and go back to their business inside, leaving him alone again.

[Sierra]

Pilfer vs. the Chancellor...again:

<El-Cideon> Wednesday, June 10th. Pilfer has two days free between last night's capture of Violet and Friday's certification banquet...time he probably needs to unwind after the manner of Violet's interrogation. The former thief sleeps late in the day, only being woken around eleven o'clock by some functionary summoning him to the chancellor's office at noon.
* Pilfer grumbles his way out of bed.
<Pilfer> "Fine way to start a day."
* Pilfer wonders if he'll still get his monthly calls to the Chancellor's office after graduation. It would almost be lonely without them.
* Pilfer peers in the mirror, hoping for signs of a beard. He meets his reflection's eyes, and turns away.
<Pilfer> "Better be important, is all," he mutters, and heads to see the Chancellor.
<El-Cideon> Pilfer is undisturbed in his brief trip over to the administrative hall--indeed, it would be hard to catch him midway, given his usual mode of travel. The admin building is bustling for a time when there aren't any classes. Probably everyone's getting things in order before graduation on Friday. At any rate, he soon finds himself outside the chancellor's door once again.
<Pilfer> "Knocking is so plebian," Pilfer sighs. He raps lightly on the door.
<El-Cideon> A brusque "Enter" echoes from the other side of the door. Clearly the chancellor is as welcoming as ever.
* Pilfer saunters in.
<Pilfer> "Yo, Biggy. What's up?"
<El-Cideon> Joran simply raises an eyebrow at this unwelcome expression of familiarity. The actual question obviously doesn't warrant a response. He gestures to the chair across from him, though he doesn't seem to expect Pilfer will actually take it. "I was reviewing the roster of this year's graduates--" and he waves to a scattering of paper on his desk, "--and recalled our last meeting. This seemed as good a time as any to formalize the offer made there."
* Pilfer's cheeriness - what had been scraped together on the walk over - evaporated.
<Pilfer> "Oh."
<Pilfer> "So does formalized mean I get a straight answer?"
<El-Cideon> "You look less than pleased," Joran observes. "If you had other plans after your certification, I would be glad to hear them."
* Pilfer glances around, wondering when the walls had started looming so ominously close.
<Pilfer> "Oh, I know people. You know. Ideas," Pilfer says vaguely.
<El-Cideon> Joran shuffles the paper together and locks it away in his desk. "Graduation is in two days, but I think you're close enough to being free from this institution, so...speak your mind, if you like." He clears his throat. "I state plainly that I mean to find you a position with the Registry. You are unlikely to find other employment as secure or rewarding."
<Pilfer> "Yeah, but then you got all smug and leering when I wanted to know what a job at the Registry meant," Pilfer points out.
<El-Cideon> "I consider myself to be a realistic man, Pilfer. I would not expect anything more than that you simply do what you are good at. Guided and more focused, of course."
<Pilfer> "Right, right. Which is *what*, exactly, in your mind?"
<El-Cideon> Joran almost cracks a smile. "Be yourself. Inimitably and unflaggingly as always. Observe, above all. I'll be clear: you are welcome to return to your old life. But we ask that you report everything you see and hear there to us."(more)
<El-Cideon> "It's widely rumored that not all Registry agents are obvious as such. And this is true--we have numerous in plain dress throughout the city. We have not always penetrated each district equally, however. Some of have even been neglected. I have contacts in the Registry who think this should change. We are asking you to be our eyes and ears in Dockside."
* Pilfer mulls this over, his face flat.
<El-Cideon> Joran steeples his fingers and peers over the top of them, his lenses making it appear (as is often the case) that he could bore through marble simply by looking at it. "You have misgivings about reporting on those you feel to be your own," he states.
<Pilfer> "The silverfish aren't exactly the favorite role models around my home field, no," Pilfer admits grudgingly.
<El-Cideon> "No doubt," Joran says, with a trace of amusement. "But we wouldn't ask or expect you to be a role model."
<Pilfer> "No, you'd ask me to be a snitch."
<El-Cideon> "Hmph. A word favored by those who value loyalty to a faction above the health of the body politic as a whole. 'Snitch' is such a loaded word. But so be it. If that bothers you, there will be suitable compensation."
* Pilfer looks skeptical.
<Pilfer> "This I gotta hear."
<El-Cideon> "We both know that the Watch stands little chance of apprehending you--they are plodding oafs more often than not. However, as an agent of the Registry, you would be able to revert to your familiar lifestyle with the assurance that we would not trouble ourselves with prosecuting you for your multivarious petty thefts. We would consider such losses a fair trade for having a more accurate read on Landry district's affairs."(more)
<El-Cideon> "You would essentially have free reign within Dockside. Assuming you report to us regularly."
<Pilfer> "So, I get to be a snitch AND not have any fun? Biggy, you have GOT to learn how to make better offers."
<El-Cideon> "'Fun' is a matter of concern for children. As of Friday, you will no longer be among that rowdy contingent. We know you are incorrigible; we know you will eventually break the law again. If you wish to reject the chance to avoid being punished when you are caught once again, this is your decision, though I myself can't fathom how one would enjoy risking falling into worse a situation than when we first found you."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Nevertheless, if you would wish for some other form of compensation, this can be negotiated."
<Pilfer> "What's the going rate for snitching, anyway?" Pilfer asks curiously.
<El-Cideon> "In raw senka? Something comparable to the income of an experienced craftsman. Comfortable enough a living, barring unusual extravagance."
<Pilfer> "And people do this? Man, the world is pretty screwed up."
<El-Cideon> Joran actually chuckles. "You have only begun to appreciate that fact, I assure you. I've visited the outlands. Avontyne is a bastion of order, and long may she stand."
<Pilfer> "Law and order," Pilfer mutters.
<Pilfer> "Well," Pilfer says, standing. "Recent events have shown me about what a good dose of law and order will get for you. Have a nice life, Chancellor."
* Pilfer disappears.

[Sierra]

Question time with priestess Draena:

<El-Cideon> It's the evening of Wednesday, June 10th, when Chartress Stratford meets Derrick at the gates of the university. Given Derrick's desire for company and confession both, tagging along with his friend to Honre Brangwin's is the plan for the evening. "So," Chartress starts when they're on the road, "the ordeal's finally over with?"
* Derrick nods, looking rather bleary eyed due to the lost sleep over the his recent actions in Dockside. "That it is. I'm honestly somewhat surprised I managed to make it through all this."
<Derrick> "Graduation is the next step, and after that...I'm sorely tempted to avoid this place for awhile. There are some good memories, of course. But this last batch of trials was...unpleasant to say the least."
<El-Cideon> Chartress nods. "You look like you barely did. You could've just pulled double-shifts in a coal mine and no one would be able to tell the difference. Well, at least you can sleep all day tomorrow," she says sympathetically. "Ready to talk things over with me yet, or is that what you're going to the temple for?"
* Derrick chuckles, "Yes and yes, if that makes any sense. Now that it's all over, and we were not instructed not to speak or anything of the sort, not that I'd have agreed to any test which required swearing to secrecy in the first place, I can talk about the exams. But there are things I need...to get off my chest, I suppose. And that will require a confession." (more)
<Derrick> In the time she's known him, Derrick has always gone to confessions and such on a semi-regular basis because it's simply part of the religion and it was a good thing to do. Never before has he sounded like he *needed* to go. After all, he's Derrick, he never does anything interesting enough to be confession worthy...
<El-Cideon> "Alright," the brunette says slowly, paying close attention to her friend and recognizing something unusual in his tone.
<Derrick> "You know the one I mentioned earlier, that I was asking about Imelda over? Well, I'll trust you not to go spouting this around, as it could get her and a few others, a couple of whom I actually like, in trouble, but here's what that was about. Bascially, one of our tests, was to infiltrate and bring down an illegal and unsupervised student duelling orginization. We were given no information other than 'girl with green hair' and 'oh yes, you have less then a week'." (more)
<Derrick> He gives her a rather dry half-smile, "You can see how I was so enthusiastic about this one. And while I can agree that stopping such a thing would be a good idea, mainly for the students' own saftey, I don't belive that's why we were sent to break things up."
<El-Cideon> Chartress frowns. "I don't think I get it, myself. Why didn't the staff break it up? Why you?"
<Derrick> "You see, this little club had originally started out as just a student duelling club, but before long, it was taken over by a man who worked for members of the new money class and were being trained as potential soldiers for a future conflict. And I'm sure you know where the Chairman and board's political leanings lay."
<Derrick> "Now that, I don't know."
* Derrick shakes his head, "I have my theories, but they're all unsubstantiated conspiracy longshots at the moment, and I hesitate to comment on them."
<El-Cideon> A nod. "He's pretty famous for sticking by the old guard in every dispute. I guess he pretty much IS the old guard, isn't he?" She looks genuinely disturbed. "You weren't kidding when you mentioned how bad it was last time. I hope they don't do this next year. Though I guess they'd've run out of duelling circles to break up by then..."
<Derrick> "Oh, it wasn't everyone graduating getting these exams. Just us three."
<Derrick> "We were...I think we were supposed to be the 'dry run' to see if running all exams like this would be feasible or something."
* Derrick shrugs.
<El-Cideon> She shakes her head. "That doesn't really make it any better. Derrick, isn't there anyone you could take this whole thing to in order to protest it? I haven't heard anything like this happening before."
<Derrick> "I never said it did. And that's one of the things I'll be bringing up at church. Just because the Faithful stay out of political struggles, doesn't mean they don't know how to navigate them."
<Derrick> "And...apparently in the olden days, there were actual duels and such used in the examinations. You should have seen the Chairman's eyes light up when he mentioned those..."
<El-Cideon> Another nod. "Honre Kryla knows how well enough, from all I've heard. Some of the priestesses actually complain that she does so much to keep the Faith out of things, if you can believe that."
<Derrick> "You know my personal oppinions of resorting to violence, Char. You can imagine my surprise at seeming someone I was supposed to respect and look up to talking like that."
* Derrick snorts, "And what would they have us do? Back one side or the other? They're both well dressed sharks waiting to devour anything that opposes them. Or become a full third faction? As if splitting the city in two wasn't bad enough."
<El-Cideon> Chartress shrugs. "Some of them suggest a specific allegiance. Some of them just don't like the idea of looking aside when this intrigue is causing such unrest. They feel like we should do something, you know? Not that I'm among them, but I see the point."
<Derrick> "Do something, yes. I'll agree with that. But what we need to do is make sure that the common men and women of the city don't get trampled by the wealthy and privileged in this struggle."
* Derrick snorts and adds in his sarcastic tone, "At least no more trampled then they do already."
<El-Cideon> "Well, maybe if it helped you find your calling, the tests weren't wholly useless after all?" she says with a grin. "Derrick Oaks: social activist?"
* Derrick stops for a moment, "Hmm. You know, I hadn't actually thought that far ahead. That's not a bad idea, though. I'm also very seriously considering becoming a full Brother of the Faith, the more I think on it."
<Derrick> "But those two are not mutually exclusive. In fact, they're rather complimentary."
<Derrick> Looking over, he segues onto a different topic, mainly as he's been rather aware the the conversation so far had been all about him, "Given any thought to what you'll do? Try to find a job that will let you just up and move into the library?"
<El-Cideon> She nods. The two of them have crossed the river over to Brangwin District by now. "I suppose. You know most of the high priestesses look within the Faith for their husbands, don't you? This could find you a wife too, in time," she says cheerfully.
<El-Cideon> "Oh, I'm not too sure yet. Something where I have an excuse to research and experiment for a living would be lovely."
* Derrick rolls his eyes, "Women and thier matchmaking. It could, yes. But if I'm going to have a family, I'd like to be able to devote myself to it. And I think right now I need to devote myself to the city."
<El-Cideon> Another nod, and a wordless murmur of approval. There are a few other people around the courtyard of the great temple when the two arrive. Mostly the usual lot--some peddlers, a few stray members of the clergy wandering in for the evening--but the two mail-clad soldiers standing some ways away from the grand front doors are certainly not among the usual crowd. They wear red and gold, the distinctive mark of the Governor's personal guard.
* Derrick raises an eyebrow at the soldiers, "It would seem the temple is being graced by the presence of someone rather important."
* Derrick doesn't exactly like the fact there there are armed soldiers this close to the church, but they are outside of it, so he has no reason to really object to them.
<Derrick> "Shall we approach, or wait for the governor's buisiness to be concluded?"
* Derrick looks at the doors to see if people are still going in and out, or if the guards are blocking entry.
<El-Cideon> Chartress stops to look. "I haven't really seen them this close before. Do you think the Governor's actually here? I don't think they could stop us going in. I don't think they're allowed in themselves, actually." And indeed, the guards don't seem to be interacting with the comings and goings of parishioners, though they do look over everyone quite closely.
<Derrick> "I can think of no reason for his personal guard to be here without him. Well, let's go take a look. If the Governor's presance is disrupting the usual flow of things there, we can just wait inside until he's gone, hmm?"
* Derrick proceeds forward towards the door. As he moves closer to where the guards are, his thumb unconsciously presses against the groove in his hand, but as soon as he notices that, he forces it away. Derrick will not allow paranoia to rule him. Not here.
<El-Cideon> A shrug. "I don't see why not." She accompanies her friend inside, into the grand, wide-open interior of Honre Brangwin's main building. The Peerless soldiers make no attempt to stop the two, though they do subject them to the same scrutiny as everyone else. One of the guards is male, the other a tall woman with red hair, but paying too close attention to them might be unwise.
* Derrick gives them a polite nod in passing and pays no more attention to them than that, simply moving past.
<El-Cideon> The central place of worship is mostly empty at this time; there are just a few others passing through, like them. Though one seems to know Chartress--a tall, brown-haired man in the plain dress of any common laborer, with angular features and piercing blue eyes, slows down to nod at her. "Chartress? Shouldn't you be out enjoying yourself, with classes over?" His tone is friendly.
<El-Cideon> Chartress grins at this stranger. "I -am- enjoying myself," she says. Then she starts, as if remembering that an introduction might be in order. "Derrick, this is Arliss Cordwainer. And old friend. He grew up in my neighbrhood, now he's on the Watch. Arliss, this is Derrick, a friend from school. He's just graduated."
* Derrick chuckles, "Because I pulled her out of the library to walk with me here, of course." Extending his hand to the man, Derrick smiles, "Derrick Oaks, a friend of Chartress's."
<El-Cideon> Arliss shakes the proffered hand. His grip is strong, his hand callused. "Well, that's one mark in your favor right from the start then," he says with a grin. "But now I have to ask you the dread question: what's next?" His tone is jesting, as though he suspects Derrick's tired of this line of inquiry, but honestly curious.
* Derrick gives him a perfectly flat look, "Why taking over the world with the power of my almighty diploma, of course." Then grinning, he shrugs, "Thinking I'll go fully into the Faith, or start getting into public service. Of the 'directly aiding the public' kind, not the political kind, of course. Or both."
<El-Cideon> Arliss nods at this. Chartress raises her hand as though she knows what's coming, but Arliss speaks first: "Ever thought of joining the Watch?" he says smoothly. Then, to Chartress: "You know I had to ask, for the Captain's sake. He'll probably do it himself on Friday, so if Derrick wants to turn us down, well, now he's had the rehearsal, no?"
<Derrick> "The watch? Ah, no. I really would rather not. If you ever need to risk having me put you or a compatriot back together, then I am at your service. But I would rather leave the actual duties of a watchman to those who are..." Derrick pauses for a moment, "Not as soft hearted, I think would be the best term."
<El-Cideon> He nods. "I'd contend we need a few of those around, but no matter. Perhaps the Captain fulfills the quota all by himself. And it is your life, after all. Well...I'll leave the two of you to your affairs, with your leave." Chartress nods, and Arliss turns to leave. "The guards work odd hours sometimes," she explains. "If he has business here, he has to stop by whenever he can."
* Derrick nods, "I've no doubt. It's a thankless job, but I respect those who can do it. I just don't think I'm among them."
<El-Cideon> Chartress shrugs. "I can understand that. Some of the work is pretty simple from what I hear, guiding drunks off the street and such. Other times I wish Arliss would spare me the stories. Well, let's be moving on, at any rate." A pair of acolytes await at the back of the room, waiting for Derrick and Chartress to state their business.
* Derrick walks over to the acolytes, "Evening. I'm...I'm here for a confession."
<El-Cideon> The one on the right nods. "Follow me, please," she says quietly. The acolyte is a short girl who might once have been pretty, but a patch of white scar tissue mars the right side of her face and her right eye is clouded and sightless. She must be new, as she'd be easily recognizable otherwise. Her companion and Chartress stay behind to chat amongst themselves as the girl leads Derrick to the behind the scenes side of the temple.(more)
<El-Cideon> Many of the temple's full-time inhabitants are having dinner at this hour; they can be seen scurrying in the direction of the dining hall as Derrick and his guide walk in the opposite direction at an intersection. Confession, such as it is, is an informal affair structured more like a counseling session than anything else. The acolyte leads Derrick to the office of the priestess Draena, who seems to be on call for such events right now.
* Derrick half smiles walking through here, as he recalls the few years he spent living in the temple. But as he approaches the priestess's office, his expression goes neutral again as the reason he's here comes back into the fore of his thoughts.
<El-Cideon> The scarred acolyte raps on the door lightly, announcing the visitor and his intent, then shuffles off once Derrick has entered the office. The office is rather musty, with the smell of old parchment about. Draena herself is a middle-aged woman with her graying blond hair put up in a bun (not exactly the popular style here). She is writing something as Derrick enters, but soon sets it aside. "Ah. Derrick, yes?"
* Derrick nods and steps inside, "Evening, Honre Draena." Moving over to sit down, he hesitates before saying more, not quite for fear of harsh judgement, he knows better then that, but rather from not exactly wishing to confront aloud what he had done. This was perhaps the first time he'd ever been truely nervous at a confession.
<El-Cideon> Draena seems to pick up on Derrick's unease quite readily. "Take your time, Derrick," she says with a smile. "I don't believe the two of us have spoken much before. Would you be more comfortable starting with small talk and working your way up to it?"
* Derrick smiles, "I'm not overly much a fan of small talk. But the idea of starting elsewhere does sound like a good one, thank you. I should probably start off with the events that led up to...what I'm here for, I suppose. That seems to make the most sense, I think. I'm, well, I was in the Academy, and fast appproaching graduation when the Chancellor actually called me into his office, (more)
<Derrick> "which is a rather rare event, or so I hear, and basically informed me, after a bit of somewhat unsettling conversation that set the tone for my next week, that I would be participating in some non-standard examinations..."(more)
<Derrick> And slowly but surely, he began to tell the story of his last week. From getting ambushed at the initial meeting with the professor, to getting to know his erstwhile partners and what he initially thought of them. He spoke about the oddity of being tasked with retrieving a 'permanently borrowed' text (though he does not specify the text) as an exam(more)
<Derrick> and then that looking mundane next to the task of shutting down a duelling club and the danger there. He speaks of Cronin and his plots (such as Derrick knows about them), and how he drove the students to become some kind of weapons. He then talks about being tasked with effectively spying on a staff member;(more)
<Derrick> he tells about their rather lackluster attempt, ending with Meridith being so paranoid about whatever she was into that she basically threatened to kill them if they pressed. He chuckles withou much humor as he talks about how Rivers offered to resign in protest of all of this and how he refused, stubbornly insisting on seeing it through. Having covered the exam itself,(more)
<Derrick> he takes a moment to reflect on his partners again, and how they changed, or didn't change, in his estimation over the course of these trials. He also shares with her his speculations about the nature of the exam, how he thinks the Chancellor might be trying to turn the academy into a resource for the Registry in the coming conflict, pitting its graduates against the New Faction's resources in the name of 'examination' and the like.
<Derrick> Finally finishing his tale, he takes a deep breath and sighs softly, "And that is the kind of stress I was under. I'm not making excuses, as no amount of stress could justify my actions, but I think it needed to be told. It helps me move on to the real incident. See, Pilfer had gotten some information, but as a price, he was told he had to bring down a man named Dane Culathein..."
<Derrick> Then he moved into the real tale of the reason why he was here. He tells her how he and Nemesio offered to help, as Dane wasn't exactly a piller of society and they had just been through some real nastiness together so splitting up now didn't make sense. He goes into a brief version of the original plan, where he and Nem play decoy and distraction, while Pilfer gets into places and finds something we could use as proof. (more)
<Derrick> he then tells how Pilfer botched the plan, causing them to panic and resort to plan B. "This...this is where I should have called a retreat and said we'll try another day. But I didn't." He describes how Pilfer ported off with the woman in charge, and briefly mentions pulling his old 'invulnerable man' routine on the thugs, (more)
<Derrick> "And then we met up with him in the room he went to. And...that's when things really went downhill." It takes him a bit, but he manages to tell what happened in the room. How they, a trio of mere students, were trying to coax information out of a hardened criminal. And the methods they felt they were forced to resort to. Having failed to scare her like he does the common thugs(more)
<Derrick> Derrick was out of ideas. He shamefully recounts how he was more relieved then anything else when Nemesio took over, and how he followed his lead gratefully, even to the point of using his healing gift specifically to cause pain. "But do not blame him, at least no moreso then myself and Pilfer as well. He was just the one who gave voice what we all thought was the only option left."
* Derrick laughs slightly, and without any real mirth, "We succeeded at least. We managed to get enough to set a trap for him to walk into the law's hands, if it works. I suppose that's something, though it does not justify our actions. The ends can never justify such means."
<El-Cideon> Draena takes a long, silent moment to digest this, fiddling absent-mindedly with a quill pen while she collects her thoughts. "Well. That's as much expose as it is confession," she says dryly. Not unkindly, but it sounds as though she's still taking everything in. "You meant to do right. Remind yourself of that before you tear yourself apart too badly over this. Many would've done what you did out of malice, on a whim, or callousness. The important distinction..."(more)
<El-Cideon> "...is that you regret. I don't mean to excuse your actions. I simply do not wish to see you lose yourself in despair on top of it. You have remorse. This is a virtue, and coming here to reveal it rather than letting your guilt consume you speaks well of you as a person."(more)
<El-Cideon> "As for the deed itself, you are only too right. Be glad that you can recognize the dilemma. No one on this world can say with certainty whether the well-being of many is worth the suffering of one. But at least take some consolation in your intention."
* Derrick stays quiet for a moment, then nods slowly, "I understand. I think."
<El-Cideon> Draena chuckles lightly. "You have many complicated feelings after all this, I am sure, and it will take some time before you can think of this event objectively. In the meantime, the best advice I can give is to keep yourself occupied. Don't dwell solely on this mistake. Lose yourself in good works, reconnect with your family--do things that remind you of who you really are."
<Derrick> "That's probably the best advice I've gotten in awhile. I should really go visit my mother. I just felt like I needed to come here first."
<El-Cideon> She nods. "You're from Landry district, no? Do your parents still live there?"
* Derrick nods, "Well, my mother does. My father, well, I've never met him. My mother says he was one of the Faithful, but that's all I know about him."
<El-Cideon> "How do you feel about going back home? You've been at the university for quite a few years now, and I imagine recent events have changed your feelings about that as well?"
<Derrick> "I'm not really sure. I do spend a good amount of my free time in Dockside, but I don't know if it's really home. I did spend half my childhood here, after all. It would seem that I should be at home at a few places, but instead I'm not really at home anywhere. At ease perhaps, but...not really at home. If that makes any sense."
<Derrick> "I know I won't be staying at the university any longer then strictly nessesary. Not after what I've just been though. But I haven't really decided where to go. I think maybe the reason I'm not at home there is that I haven't decided if it's going to be home or not. Or something like that."
* Derrick frowns as he realized that he's been babbling a bit.
<El-Cideon> Draena laughs lightly. "Well, you have some time to ponder this mystery, I think. Graduates are usually allowed some kind of grace period to make their plans. If all else fails, you can always come back to us, but I am sure you know this."
* Derrick nods. "I am considering returning here, and as more then just somewhere to stay. But I don't think I'll make my decision until after I graduate. I need time to think and my head is too muddled to do the thinking I need right now."
<El-Cideon> "Indeed. Nothing good comes of making hasty decisions amidst confusion."
<Derrick> Standing, Derrick smiles a bit, and some actual warmth reaches his face for the first time since coming in the room, "Well, I should be going. Thank you for listening to all this."
<El-Cideon> "That's what we're here for." Another smile. "Providence, Derrick."
<Derrick> "Providence."