therookery | guess who's going to gay baby jail.

FORM: Written, in the fancy books
SENDER: Galatea Lourdes
RECIPIENT: Everyone with a book
WHAT: Definitely not Commander Coupe's stolen personal correspondence
WHEN: Immediately before the Mont-de-Marc debacle
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Related to this calm discussion between two adults. There will be no written responses (from Galatea; please feel free to talk amongst yourselves), but if someone wants to have seen Galatea rifling around for writing implements and wonder what an illiterate baby needed those for, feel free to wild card crystal/action up in this bitch.

( the text is written in orlesian, and painstakingly, unsteadily reproduced in a shaky, uncertain hand—as if it had been copied as one might a picture, rather than fully understood. where words in the original piece of text were written close together, they run together undifferentiated; letters are ill-formed and punctuation missing. still, it is sufficiently legible to those who read orlesian to make out the following: )

A,

If not now, when?

Need the Anders come knocking, else the Divine? You are like to fare as well for either. Already new lines are drawn: Phylacteries. Agitators, even the bloody Rifters. Obscurity is a thin shield when we must rattle every line for aid.

If you speak truth, then matters cannot hold; you've lost any safeguard. To hide is a losing proposition: A war of attrition, for all you think yourself free. You place yourself in danger. You place them in it.

I miss you as an absent limb. I recall my promises; I wish to help. But the North has gone from tenuous to trash fire, and I've too many guests to act freely. I cannot lift a hand if it is tied behind my back.

Remember your duty.

L

( your move, coupe. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ amusedly: ] I would never. You know quite well that too much exposure to the truth makes me itch.

Wars are won and lost on secrets, cherie, whether or not you agree with that state of affairs. Think you if we had no secrets kept within the Inquisition ranks that we would not have one or two intrepid Venatori agents swearing their oaths to us, and then within our walls cheerfully copying all of our battle plans, our lists of personnel, our trade routes, the names of our clandestine operatives?

[ A huff. ]

I know. I've dealt with spies before.

[ Honestly...she's dealt with spies before. ]

And what think you of the merits of guarding against them weighed against the merits of freely shared information?

Depends on the information, doesn't it. And the spy.

Information we do not know the value of and a spy whose skill and presence we are unaware of, of cour—ah!

[ a chuckle, as the message is meticulously obscured ]

My dilemma has been solved for me. Would that such a thing would occur in all instances of my ambivalent indecision.

[ A little sigh. ]

I guess so. So I guess now the question is who's unlettered and has a grudge against this "L."

Or "A", if it were received correspondence.

It might have been easier to see if we could attempt to match the handwriting, as it was copied as a picture rather than simply copied words, but that ship has sailed now.

It is someone with light fingers, that is to be sure. I imagine the Scoutmaster already has wind of it. Since it became a public matter, and one that rouses curiosity and worry, I rather think we shall be hearing more about it.

[ drolly: ] And if we do not and wish to I think I can muster a loud fit of pique.

[ A short laugh. ]

Suppose you can. And I expect you'd do it better than I would.

Do not underestimate yourself, cherie, forget not that I have been on the receiving end of your ardent displeasure before, and it ended in your receiving a fairytale promise of truth from the lips of one quite unaccustomed to it.

But I do, I think, enjoy the advantage of Being Orlesian.

[ brightly: ]

Oh! I punched someone. You were entirely correct, it is liberating, if rather painful.

I meant more that - you know. Your sort of displeasure's a bit better suited to that sort of thing. But anyway -

[ Pleased - ]

Tell me more about it. Who'd you punch? If you're going to do it again, I can show you the proper way to do it.

An erstwhile lover of mine who was making truly awful allegations regarding my current one. [ dryly: ] I imagine you should have been less inclined to hit him in recompense for that than I.

While I do not plan on a repeat performance... I did not plan on the initial one either, so I suppose it would not be a poor course of action to learn to do it properly.

I imagine one facet is to not be holding the neck of a wine bottle whilst doing it, but circumstances did not allow me much in the way of preparatory time.

The neck of a wine bottle - did you cut him?

[ girl that's hardcore ]

Andrasté misérecordieuse, non! I was simply holding the bottle at the time, it was not broken.

[ at that point ]

I'd have been really impressed if you gave him a scar or something. Fought him like you were some guttersnipe out for revenge.

[ She laughs ]

Not this time, although I do regret not being as impressive.

Well, you ought to. Carry a little switchblade around with you like the girls back home.

[ innocently: ] I know not what a switchblade might be, but do inform me as to whether or not a well-weighted throwing knife might count similarly in your estimation.

Oh, yeah, I guess it'd work. Except you can keep a switchblade up your sleeve. It's a little stick that, when you flip it the right way, becomes a knife. So you can get a bit more surprise.

That sounds delightful. I do not suppose you could explain their workings to a smith here?

I -

[ Huh. ]

Yeah, I expect I could. Pretty easily. Would you want one?

Oh, absolutely.

[ Guess what Loki's getting for Satinalia~ ♪ ]

guess who's going to gay baby jail.

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