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

[coquettish_trees]

Either way you have distinguished yourself, I suppose.

[bouchonne]

That's true. One marvels at mountains, but one also marvels at fathomless pits.

[coquettish_trees]

Fathomless pits are really more exciting, I think. One can look at a mountain and gasp in awe at its majesty well enough, but one may know its relative measure simply by looking. Casting ones gaze into a fathomless pit reveals nothing of its true and mysterious depths and forces one to grapple with their concepts of the infinite.

There is also a greater temptation to throw things at it.

[bouchonne]

So what you're trying to tell me is...you're thinking about chasing women instead of men.

[coquettish_trees]

[ tsk ] Chasing is vulgar, Byerly.

I shall cross my legs at the ankle, sip at a glass of sherry, and make eyes at them over the rim of it until they decide they'd very much like me to explore their unknowable depths.

[bouchonne]

Ah, if only. How charming it would be if you tumbled women instead of men.

[coquettish_trees]

You may consider yourself charmed at least in part, then.

Or is it only charming if I foreswear men all together?

[bouchonne]

The latter. I would be so pleased if you saved yourself from their rottenness.

[coquettish_trees]

Ah, but mon cher, what need for me to court your pleasure if I have withdrawn entirely from the company of men?

What a quandary we have!

[bouchonne]

Is my personality not enough? We could be friends.

[coquettish_trees]

Now you insult me! You know very well I do not have friends.

[bouchonne]

Do you not? Miss Wysteria Poppell claimed to be one of yours.

[coquettish_trees]

Really, Byerly, how unsporting of you. Do you wish me to dredge up all the horrifying times I caught you at telling the truth?

[bouchonne]

So it's true? You're taking a little Rifter under your wing?

[coquettish_trees]

What salacious gossip you have unearthed! My spotless reputation for being heartless is being soiled.

Oh, someone come to my defense against this horrible man!

[bouchonne]

Careful, Lexie. I don't want you getting eaten by an Abomination.

[doneisdone]

will you two kindly get a bloody room

[coquettish_trees]

That sounds barbarous. A regular room should suffice.

[bouchonne]

Oh, dear Lexie! What would you like to do in the room?

[coquettish_trees]

Recite the Chant, of course! You were so very clear on your opinions of slatterns rolling into bed while unwed that I immediately took vows.

[bouchonne]

Perfect. I shall fetch my violin.

[coquettish_trees]

[ delighted gasp! ]

How I have missed the music you so skillfully produce with your deft fingers! How is your next week, shall we see it to completion in entirety?

[bouchonne]

Nothing would please me better than to hear your sweet cries to the Maker and Andraste.

[coquettish_trees]

How pious of you!

[bouchonne]

How pious of you. But in more serious business, Lexie, when shall we see each other again? It feels as though it's been ages.