therookery | news post (crystal)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

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.

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

Exactly so!

[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.

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.

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

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

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.

[Somewhere, Wysteria is no doubt nodding along in encouragement.]

They can't be someone too serious - I expect he'd only take that as encouragement to be more aggravating. But also someone with an air of determination who might go above him should he be distracted from the point. Is there not some lady knight or clever Inquisition spy who might be equal to the task?

Um. Might-- Uh, perhaps, if 'determination', is a-- You?

[He is hopeful. Too hopeful, usually; he should be more prepared to be turned down, never to ask--]

A stupid suggestion. Forgive me. I will, uh-- I would not volunteer, or-- I will look at the records, is what I mean to say, the records of who might fit that--profile. As described. A clever... knight. Lady.

No! I'll do it!

[Snapped out as quick as a bullet flies when one makes no consideration for where it might land. Nevermind Byerly (who is a consequence which simply must be suffered through); the prospect of looking at a thing and being trusted to be responsible for it is dear enough to mitigate the grief of the regrettable company. She finds herself briefly, momentarily, brightly overwhelmed with the joy of it.]

If you think it's appropriate. [A swifft amendment, though she's loathe to say it.] And if you have no other more likely prospect.

Oh.

[Like a knife, Poppell enthusiasm cuts off the end of Salvio's mumbling. He has to work backwards to pick up the thread, combing through his own surprise at how easy he acceptance was.]

Oh, uh-- well, no. I mean, yes. Yes, of-- of course you are a natural... selection, for the. The task. Which is, um, both personal opinion, and--well, you are amendable to the task, certainly, which counts for rather a lot. A great deal. So--yes. The task is yours. And Rutyer's.

[Trust that if they were in the same room, she would now be grasping one of his hand in hers with such devout pride and dedication--!]

I won't let you down, Messr Pizzicagnolo. You may put your faith in me entirely.

Um--

[good but y i k e s]

--Good. Ver-- very good. I look forward to your success.

[What joy, to be supported by people in positions of technical authority!]

And I of course would welcome any advice you might have. Should any point occur to you between now and then.

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