news post (crystal)

[bouchonne]

FORM: Crystalllll
SENDER: Byerly Rutyer
RECIPIENT: every....one.....
WHAT: Byerly demanded the right to read the news, and I am sorry
WHEN: The moment this smacks your eyes
WHERE: Everywhere
NOTES: Smutty talk and cursing

Hear ye, hear ye. Bend your ear, fair maids and lads, and all you dissolute dung-heaps who have forsaken your virtue, shame on all of you, for most of you aren't even wed. Don't you know that humping should be only in the service of procreation? Blush, dear slatterns.

[ Oh, Maker, it's this guy. And he sounds happy. Indeed, he's cheerily clearing his throat, and saying - ]

It is I, Byerly Rutyer, here to read you the news of the world. Anyone who tunes me out is, therefore, going to be ill-informed and a disgrace. Your civic duty is to heed me.

First, the news from Nevarra! Oh, this is marvelous. It seems that the King is truly like a piece of cheese left out in cold weather - you know what I'm talking about - you come back after two months and somehow when you cut away the rind it's still edible. What I mean to say is that he's still alive. Rumor on the street is that he died months ago and has been puppeted by those horrifying Nevarran necromancers. What do they call them? Moriteasers? Anyway.

Now, the fair land of Orlais. I have good news and bad news there. First, the bad news: still full of Orlesians. Second, the good - ah, no, sorry, this is actually also bad news. Welcome to the Inquisition, newcomers, it is always thus. It turns out the peasants are revolting - [ A pause, and then - ] Oh, really, someone was supposed to say "what else is new." You're all useless. So - the peasants are revolting - lightly revolting - because as it turns out someone has gotten in their heads and made them forget that their duty is to die on behalf of their betters. Hideous. Was it one of you? You're all bloody halfway to being social revolutionaries yourselves. In any case. In Montsimmard and Verchiel, there have been riots, because the peasants are displeased with the way that they're being arrested when they refuse to fight. They're not being hanged. So touchy. They're also displeased because they're being compensated less when their possessions are seized for the war efforts. Honestly, what value material wealth? Why can't people like that let it go? Why do things matter so much to them?

And now Tevinter. Good news and bad news. Good news, the Tevinters have their own country, and none of us are ever obligated to go there, praise the Maker. Bad news - oh, no, actually this is rather good news. Don't get used to it, newcomers; the Inquisition is rarely thus. The anti-Venatori sorts are refusing to engage with the Venatori, since they suspect the Venatori may have murdered one of their cohort...which is such base slander, honestly, could you imagine a Venatori ever doing something like that? Such sweet, honest folks. The Venatori cry - [ In a bad Tevinter accent mixed with a generic stage-play villain voice: ] "You wretches! You merely wish to delay us in our path to executing our dastardly plan!" To which the others cry - [ Again a Tevinter accent, though this time resonant and heroic - ] "Get fucked!" Vote will happen in Firstfall. We all hold our breath in antici...

[ Loooooong pause. ]

Antiva! Oh, finally, some news that actually matters. Fashion, my dears, we're talking fashion. The look of the season, this season, is black ribbons and teardrop-shaped pearls. Why? Oh, my darlings, in tribute to us. They're weeping symbolically. Not, of course, sending any assistance or resources, but oh, they weep! And also spend. And also turn glorious profit. Turns out certain merchant princes with pearl interests and black-silk interests have been particularly vociferous in reminding their citizens that they should express their sympathies. So if you want to line your pockets, dear ones, ship your black ribbons off to Antiva before Satinalia's end. And be comforted, knowing that they care just enough for it to set a fashion trend.

[ A clap of his hands. ]

Have you news to share? Information for the rank gossip-mongers? We're hungry for it. Oh, feed us. Feed us, please.

Comments

[elegiaque]

If it would have enraged anyone, then it would have been a benefit.

[bouchonne]

What sort of terrible tutor did you have, that you couldn't even enrage them?

[elegiaque]

Well, I could, but I didn't dislike my tutors enough to want them sent packing without references.

[bouchonne]

Weakness.

[elegiaque]

To not do something because it doesn't benefit me in any way?

[bouchonne]

To be so soppy over your tutors.

[elegiaque]

All right.

[bouchonne]

Ooh, why's she going quiet?

[elegiaque]

If you think it's dreadful of me to have not maliciously and for no purpose ruined someone's livelihood, you are welcome to go on thinking so.

[bouchonne]

I didn't say dreadful. I said "weak." Is weakness dreadful in your eyes?

[elegiaque]

( amending, easily, )

If you think it's weak.

[bouchonne]

Ah, but my opinions are rubbish, as am I. You can't dodge behind an "if you think so."

[elegiaque]

In my opinion, debating your rubbish opinions has no value or merit. You don't actually need me to participate to have amusement at my expense, so go ahead. Think whatever you like.

[bouchonne]

My dear mademoiselle. I had thought we had parted on good enough terms, and indeed this conversation began charmingly, but it seems you've gone icy. Have I offended? Is weak the sort of word that puts chill in your heart? We all have those, I fancy.

[elegiaque]

( a huff of air. no, byerly, that's not it. )

No. You're boring me.

[bouchonne]

Well spotted, mademoiselle. That's the word that puts a chill in my heart. "Boring." I would sooner be anything at all than I would be boring.

[elegiaque]

Every time we do this little dance where you like to circle conversations around on examining other people and picking holes in things to see what falls out, it gets less and less irritating. And just dull.

What was so terrible about your tutors?

[bouchonne]

Tutor, singular. Just the one. And was it necessary for something to be terrible? Perhaps I'm simply cruel.

[elegiaque]

Are you?

( well, that's not a dealbreaker for friendship. )

[bouchonne]

Can any man know himself?

[elegiaque]

Most men seem interested in knowing little else.

[bouchonne]

That doesn't mean they can ever succeed. They can chase knowledge without catching it. I have no such ambitions. I am content to remain always a mystery to myself. - My tutor was an unpleasant man who deserved all torments.

[elegiaque]

Mine was very sweet, and we operated on an extremely careful balance of his patience, my interest in more topics than he'd been planning to teach, and my lord's willingness to dismiss anyone who said 'no' to me too many times.

[bouchonne]

And your spikiness comes - what, out of your lingering affection for the man?

[elegiaque]

I think if I had that much lingering affection, I'd remember his name, so we'll have to assume that can't be the case.