OPEN.

[degenere]

FORM: sending crystal
SENDER: Val de Foncé
RECIPIENT: everyone, you cannot escape
WHAT: joke time
WHEN: a slightly respectful length of time after the death announcemet. emphasis on slightly.
NOTES: full offense, but you guys smell

Inquisition.

[Very serious, very Orlesian.]

There were three Fereldans walking the streets of Kirkwall and they came upon a large brown pile. As the streets of Kirkwall are so very narrow, the brown pile was quite blocking their way, so that they had but two choices to them: they could either tramp through the pile, or they could turn back.

The first Fereldan approached the pile, leaned down, and looked very hard at it. "By the Lady!" he said. "This looks like shit."

The second Ferelden approached the pile beside him, leaned down, and took a great big sniff. "Maker!" he cried. "This smells of shit!"

The third Ferelden approached the pile beside his companions, leaned down, put his finger into the pile, and the put his finger in his mouth. "By Andraste's sword!" he exclaimed. "This tastes of shit!"

The three Fereldens turned to go back the way that they had come, saying to one another, "It's a good thing we didn't walk in that!"

[GET IT.]

There! Now our mood is lightened. I welcome anyone that would try to outmatch me in jokes.

Comments

[degenere]

Certainly I do. I would posit that there are among us, small cells and sects of a country that we know nothing of. This country has existed all along, but her borders have been hidden in plain sight, so that we were never aware of her countryfolk, who live in our nations, and wreck havoc on our joy.

In conclusion, I would posit that the most dour of the Maker's creations are the Dourfolk. You see them every day, walking among us

[limier]

And how have you uncovered this cabal?

[degenere]

Observation. Assault, from their ways. I have been subjected to their suffocating presence more times than I can say. If you have not, then you are very lucky indeed.

[limier]

Do you think —

No, I cannot voice it. Too dreadful a notion.

[degenere]

But you must. You have given this notion half a birth already. And if it is some dread fate that we could face, we must know of it now, and prepare ourselves.

[limier]

Perhaps. Steel yourself: Might they not live unaware of their very identity? Such that you or I might stand among their number?

[ that's definitely just an i ]

[degenere]

[Steeled, Val still makes a quiet sound of surprise.]

It cannot be.

[Well.]

Not for me, at the least. I would know.

[limier]

Truthfully? By what measure? So often, the mad do not recognize their madness. What exempts the humourless?

[degenere]

The humorless might of course be unaware of their lack of humor. Indeed, they might walk among us, unaware of the ailment that afflicts them. They live without color. Having met so many of this Inquisition, I would have no trouble believing this to be so.

But I know that I, myself, am possessed of a great deal of humor. It has often been remarked upon, as both compliment and criticism. So you see, I cannot be among their shambling unsmiling ranks.

What of yourself?

[limier]

[ gravely: ]

I am templar, Monsieur. It is all a shambles.

[degenere]

No.

[quelle horreur.]

We must change that.

[limier]

What do you propose?

[degenere]

You must learn humor, of course. We will cure you of this shambling.

Are you familiar with the work of Voitture? Famed for his comedic verse and especially for his comedic plays. Simple pun and entendre work, physical comedy--though we would need to find a production for this to have its truest effect upon your humor. Or else we could commission a production. It may be necessary.

[limier]

Are you certain? I've seen a great many plays —

[ specifically: the ones where sack puppets hit each other with sticks or someone dresses up like maferath and they hit him with sticks ]

[degenere]

[--INTERRUPTING to be warm and interested--]

Really! By which playwrights? Dechambeau, perhaps? His works are often mounted as traveling productions--the set pieces are minimal, and can be constructed quickly. The same is true for Pommier. She favors provincial scenes. Easy to reproduce.

Of course, both are inferior to Voitture.

[limier]

Ah — Pascal? Pascal the baker. Hughes, I think, was the one with the fistfight. And Leonard by the fish-market. You have been to Val Royeaux's fishmarket? It is the finest.

[degenere]

[what]

I have not had the-- pleasure? [Would that be the word for it? Sure, why not.] I do not care for fish. Your pardon, madame. These are... playwrights that you are naming?

[limier]

They have written and staged plays. This is the definition, no?

[degenere]

In the technical, yes. But just as there are scholars and scholars, templars and templars, poets and poets... there are playwrights, and then there are playwrights. You see?

[Although--]

How recent was this? I have not been in Val Royeaux in some time. Out of necessity.