let's get deep

[champions]

FORM: crystal
SENDER: Marisol Candelas Ximena Odalys Esmeralda Hierro Asturias de la Nieve Vivas
RECIPIENT: Everyone
WHAT: a question
WHEN: whenev
WHERE: Kirkwall (Hightown, probably)
NOTES: don't hate her because she's beautiful

You know, I feel it has been too long since I have had a chance to speak with many of you. That is the way when we are all working so much, no? The coming and going makes it so easy to work with people and never truly know them.

( Imagine her, if you will, reclined on a fainting couch, a glass of port lightly held in one hand, a cigarillo balanced between the fingers of the other, and wearing something appropriately luxurious. )

So, I am wondering, what does responsibility mean to you? More what you consider your responsibilities, than the offerings of a dictionary. Understanding one another is key, I hear.

Comments

is there another way to imagine her

[wythersake]

Not 'working too much', then?

wrong ways, probably

[champions]

( A laugh, melodic. It might be a silly way to describe a laugh, but somehow it works for her. Because she's rich, probably. )

We could suppose that is irresponsible, surely. Working to the point where you become ineffective?

[wythersake]

That presupposes effectiveness.

[ it is melodic. the worst. ]

Though it has been too long — I hope you don't overtax yourself for the Inquisition's sake.

[champions]

Touché. Naive of me, perhaps.

( She exhales, a little huff of amusement. )

Maker forbid. I only overtax myself in the name of elegance. ( Entirely wry, that. ) And yourself?

( It's sad, she sometimes thinks. They could be friends, if they didn't despise each other so much. )

public 2 private;

[wythersake]

I spare no effort in the pursuit of moderation.

[ private: ]

How's your dear uncle?

permaprivate;

[champions]

( Hmm. She takes a drag of her cigarillo, and exhales before answering. )

Which one?

( #helper )

[wythersake]

The one plagued by careless bookkeepers.

[ not exactly. ruy asturias probably has an up-to-the-second count of every blood-soaked bit of coin in his possession. but other records — circle records — have a history of being misplaced by marisol's contacts.

he's asking about smugglers. he's also readying himself to suffer through twenty solid minutes of marisol ignoring the question. ]

[champions]

My family is very careful with their accounts. It happens when you're a greedy, money-grabbing child of fortune.

( Alas, woe, etc. )

But I do have relatives who are very good at finding things when they are misplaced, that is true.

[wythersake]

Forgive me — a peasant's mistake.

[ rats, shacks, boils, etc ]

Does their knack extend so far as templars? They're known for losing themselves, of late.

[ the red kind at least ]

[champions]

No forgiveness is necessary, dear Isaac. ( what a peasant.

Her pause is thoughtful, and there is a note of curiosity in her voice. )

That would either be very easy or very difficult to locate, I feel. Perhaps their hobbies in finding and seeking are something to discuss over wine?

( Because she does not know who could be on the other side of his crystal with him. )

[wythersake]

I'd be delighted. [ in a manner of speaking ] Your place or mine?

[champions]

Mine.

( Where she was in control. )

You remember the address?

[wythersake]

[ he doesn't, she's kept it from him. but — ]

I'll be there.

[ he can find it. she isn't exactly low-key. ]

[champions]

Good. An hour? We can have dinner.

[wythersake]

[ that might be cutting the snooping schedule a little tight. so of course he can't admit to that. ]

Of course. You're too kind.

[ and when he shows up, an hour later, it'll be with his slightly better jacket and the faint wheeze of someone who ran part of the way there and certainly isn't about to admit to that either. ]

[champions]

Always.

( She is, undoubtedly, an angel.

Marisol is sitting in the gardens, at a marble table. Although the weather is turning cooler, she is enjoying the fresh air, and she stands when the servant leads Isaac from the gates to her. )

Isaac. Thank you so much for coming to see me.

[wythersake]

My lady. The gratitude's all mine,

[ the glance he spares the corners is less for fear of passing flamingos than lingering habit. a pleasant urban mansion isn't the war, it isn't val revin. and yet —

the gardens are irritatingly pleasant, and no one steps from the shadows to bury in a knife in him. he smiles broad and bland, brushes thank-yous to the servants, and leads with the brightly-wrapped bundle of flowers. a bouquet shed from its stems, of the sort one might intend a bath or dramatic bit of confetti.

an orlesian of the proper rank and breeding (or anyone pompous enough to bother) might read a message between the species of blooms: to new beginnings. ]

You've settled well. An investment?

[ why else anyone would buy an enormous house in kirkwall, she can't want to stay ]

[champions]

One my father has owned some time. It needed to be renovated when first I arrived here, so I was in the Gallows a brief while.

( It's useful, sometimes. From time to time.

The flowers are accepted graciously, and she brings them up to inhale their fragrance. )

These are beautiful. Thank you.

( To new beginnings.
Orlesians, the pompous (so, Orlesians) and those who make it their business to be able to discover meanings and hidden messages. Fans were a whole different ball game.

What is his game, she wonders? ) Are the gardens too cold? We can move inside, if you wish.