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

[bouchonne]

Ah, dear man! I'm glad to hear you finally express a bit of self-confidence.

[assistente]

That is-- [no] --not what I meant to--I mean, it is entirely beside the point.

[heirring]

It is not beside the point! Really, Mister Rutyer, Messere Pizzicagnolo hardly deserves to be terrorized this way.

[bouchonne]

By the Maker. Did you actually manage to pronounce his last name in one go?

[heirring]

Must you be so relentless?

[Wysteria, stop talking over Salvio.]

[bouchonne]

Alas, I must. It was a curse laid upon me when I offended a Dalish witch.

[heirring]

Ha!

[What does she sound like, a complete imbecile? Only--]

That's not how that works.

[She sounds entirely, completely, vindictively certain. Which is as good an indication as any that she's doubting herself.]

[bouchonne]

[ Oh, yes. ]

How many Dalish witches have you met, Miss Poppell?

[heirring]

[Imagine, if you please, an annoyed foot stamp.]

I hate that you do this.

[bouchonne]

[ Innocently: ] Do what?

[heirring]

[A scoffing noise. That.]

[bouchonne]

Ask questions of you?

[heirring]

Take advantage of the fact that I don't have an encyclopedic knowledge of whatever on the Gods' green earth you're talking about at any given moment. Which, for the record, changes every other moment. It's exhausting.

[bouchonne]

Ah. But, dear Miss Poppell, I simply cannot help myself. It's just too tempting. If one sees an apple low on the branch, one must pluck it.

[assistente]

[Oh Maker, no--]

This is, I-- Thank you, Poppell, for your intentions, but there is no need, to--no need, for, that is--any of this.

[heirring]

You're very welcome, Messr. Though I'm afraid it may do very little to discourage him.

[Clearly she heard the 'Thank you' and not much else.]

[assistente]

Yes. Well. That is... ultimately unimportant. I suppose. The discouragement. That is, I take no-- personal offense, to it. Any of it.

[heirring]

Well you ought to! If not for yourself - as I'm sure you have no reason at all to be hurt by anything such a ridiculous person might say about you -, then for the good of everyone about you. Byerly Rutyer simply can't be allowed to treat people so poorly. And if he thinks he's allowed to do it to the Inquisition's own Seneschal, then what's to stop him from being such a menace to anyone without the benefit of your position? It really is for a greater common good, Messr Pizzicagnolo.

[bouchonne]

I think she's telling you to scold me. Please scold me, Seneschal.

[heirring]

Exactly so!

[assistente]

[In the voice of a man who has been knocked off his feet by a strong wave, and is laying in the shallows with the force of new waves rolling over him, too strong for him to regain his feet--]

Please, this-- This is all very, very unnecessary.

[heirring]

Well I hope you at least intend to give him a stern talking to before you allow him to read out anything like this again.

[assistente]

[An uncomfortable pause precedes Salvio's uncertain:] Some... guidelines, perhaps. Um, stern--guidelines.

[heirring]

Really Mr Pizzicagnolo, at least partner him with someone who will hold him accountable as he reads it.

[assistente]

Well--perhaps. It is not the usual way, to-- I mean to say, that is not quite discipline, and, you know, lacks some of the... opportunity, for correction. Immediate correction. Next time.

Although-- [There is a quiet rustling of paper, as Salvio, struck by sudden thought, begins leafing through some records.] --there is precedence, perhaps, a few instances of, active corr-- uh, active retraining, a safety net, of a sort, but-- I would need a suitable candidate.