test drive 02

[thestewards]

I know dust grows even when there is a breeze
Can't move, can't grow When you've fallen on your knees

► All TDM threads may be considered canon provided both parties agree and are accepted into the game.

► Canon threads may be redeemed for influence and reputation depending on how you solve the issue at hand or how you engage with the prompt. They also count toward AC.

► Feel free to switch up your character's Jewel from thread to thread. Get a feel for how a Birthright Jewel may limit or enhance your character's abilities.

HOT UNDER THE COLLARD GREENS
The relationship between the Blood and the landens has never been easy anywhere, least of all Draega, and even less so now that the Strangers have arrived. Between Blood and landen, opinions on the Strangers vary wildly. Some Blood believe the Strangers were landen in their original worlds and thus cannot possibly have anything to offer, but some landens think this means that the Strangers will be more sympathetic to them—or that landens could gain the power of the Blood one day, too. Then there are the landens who think the Strangers have sold their souls to Queen Fayura to gain the Jewels and the Blood who think the Strangers have embraced what it truly means to be Blood. Whatever that means.

Tensions are high, and they're highest on the main street of the Old Town Bazaar, where two restaurants have an on-going feud. The Last Meal is owned by a Blood family, none of whom wear a Jewel darker than Yellow. Across the street from them stands the mockingly named Blood and Breakfast, owned by a landen family.

To say these two hate each other would be something of an understatement.

On this particular morning, Lord Harle, the Yellow Jeweled owner and chef at The Last Meal, comes storming out of his front door. "You've done it now, Laney Cook! Soured all my milk!"

Simultaneously, Laney Cook, who is the owner and chef at Blood and Breakfast, comes stomping out the front door of her establishment, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. "Aye, and you've replaced all my sugar with salt, you ripe old bastard!"

Without missing a beat, both turn to you and the Stranger at your side. Wrong place, wrong time, friend. The two chefs decide the two of you can be trusted to help them prove the other party guilty of sabotage because neither of you has a stake in this. And, well, if the Queen brought you here, you should be an independent party. Both Harle and Cook seem to think the Queen is pretty okay.

Truthfully, they're both equally guilty. Lord Harle and Ms Cook have been trying to ruin each other for years, but who knows what you'll find when you go searching for evidence. And even if you find evidence that decides one way or the other, perhaps you'll simply lie and manufacture a solution that suits you—or the Queen who brought you here.


TERRIBLE TWO(HUNDRED)S
You're not entirely sure how this happened, but you're starting to understand why Blood females constantly grumble about the caste of males they call Warlord Princes. Prince Loren has, somehow, managed to maneuver you to the place you're at now: the head of a classroom full of Blood children who all look like they're somewhere between the ages of eight and ten. It's hard to tell, and you're pretty sure one bossy little boy declared he was 203-years-old, so everyone else has to listen to him, thanks.

Regardless of how Loren managed to get you there, there you stand. Fifteen energetic elementary school children all wearing Jewels shriek and shout, using Craft to amplify already shrill voices. One girl floats near the ceiling, her face screwed up in concentration as she clutches a Rose Jewel. Two little boys are taking turns passing their hands through their desks, which strikes you as distinctly unsafe for eight-year-olds to be doing. (You're not wrong.)

At least there are two of you, and you only need to babysit these children for the morning. "They're here for Craft lessons. Surely, you can manage until Lady Sheera arrives," Loren had said before abandoning you to a battlefield full of powerful, pint-sized children.

There's a lesson plan on the teacher's desk, but maybe you should lead with the snacks.


REVENGE, SERVED STINKY
The air is crisp and cool; it's still winter, but it's not as chilly as it has been, and so you're out for a walk. You've made your way north through Old Town and now find yourself meandering down the roads in front of the landen Guild Halls. Even though they're all made of red brick, each building is entirely unique. The Hunter and Crafter Hall, the largest of all the buildings, has more in common with a hunting lodge than the university building it once was. The Elektriline Hall might be the smallest building, but it's covered in neon lights and impossible to ignore.

Equally impossible to ignore is Master Tinker Mari and her collection of landen young adults. They're clustered around a storm drain. When Mari sees you, she detaches herself from the group of landen students and bounds over to you. "Ahhah! Stranger! You have been brought here against your will and are surely sympathetic to our cause!" she exclaims.

That doesn't make you feel too great since, you know, you're aware that the Hunter Guild tried to kill all the Strangers maybe two or three weeks ago. They may have mellowed out, or they may just be biding their time. Thankfully, none of Mari's students bear the markings of a Hunter.

She pulls you to the group. Already, canisters have been lowered into the sewers. A handful of students have clambered down after the canisters. "The Blood wouldn't help us repair the damage in Old Town," she says, rubbing her hands together. "Our people's homes were unlivable. So we're going to make their workplace unbearable." She points at the canisters. "Stink bombs."

There's another Stranger in the group, and you make eye contact over the top of the storm drain. Are you of the same mind as each other? As Mari? The choice is yours: agree to Mari's plan and fill the buildings of the Ebon Council with untenable stench or try to convince them there's a better way.


AIR TIME
Whether you catch the news on a Far-caster in the city or you're spinning the dial on your own device, you'll hear…

etiquette with evandra and aren
[Evandra's voice is a little bit rough and a little bit husky, the kind of voice that gives bad ideas to young men and headaches to fathers.] Today we're talking about everyone's favorite subject.

[Aren's voice is chipper and bright. He sounds more like an eager boy than the full-grown man he is.] Food?

[A laugh from Evandra.] No, Lord Aren. Sex and flirting. Culturally, the Blood don't consider it rude to flirt quite blatantly with each other, even when one or both of the parties is married. Isn't that right?

[Aren:] That's exactly it, Evandra. Older males allow young witches to flirt because it's understood that the male isn't interested or available. He becomes a safe partner for her to practice on, and his approval lets her know what is and isn't acceptable.

[Evandra:] What does it mean if a married male or witch flirts with you?

[Aren:] Casual flirting means that witch or male thinks you're safe. It's their way of telling you they feel comfortable around you. Of course, it's always acceptable to ask them to step back! [He laughs.] As we all know, just because you can flirt with a Warlord Prince's lady doesn't mean you should!

[Evandra:] Let's take a look at casual flirtation between different Blood castes…

the weather
[A soft-spoken man's voice rumbles out of the Far-caster. He's pleasant to listen to, with a soothing cadence to his voice.] Warmer temperatures will see melting snow over the next week. Be careful around the Heartsblood River, as the heavy snows will result in flooding along the banks. Need flood insurance? The Transport Guild is looking to expand into…

the news
…amusing to hear that Grand Master Niall blames the Blood for the fires in Old Town. It is my understanding that members of the Blood, these so-called Strangers, went out of their way to rescue both Blood and landen during the fires set by the Grand Master's Hunter Guild. [The man speaking has a slow, clipped cadence to his voice. It's very posh and polished.]

[Another voice, presumably an interviewer:] The Council counts the Strangers as Blood, Lord Grejor?

[Grejor:] What else can they be? They wear the Jewels, therefore they are among our number. [He laughs, and the sound is cold.] The Council is pleased to welcome our new brothers and sisters.

Comments

[thequitecontrary]

It isn't our job to punish them for their crimes. If there is a court-- [ She cuts herself off mid-sentence. ] What?

[ Mary thinks she might have misheard. Or perhaps she misunderstood. Maybe Damon simply means that he'd rather get this over with so that he can go and eat.

Surely she misunderstood. ]

What... does that have to do with anything?

[withbite]

[He sent a picture of the empty room he was in.]

Just me and my lonesome and some bottles to drink from.

Can do

[withbite]

[Without a question. She had to be more upfront than that, or more persistent. Damon liked to tease and play, and leaving someone frustrated about an answer was just his style.

For now, he was going to let out a sigh and look up at the room to show a pout. Tea wasn't what he'd been looking for. Sensitive ears heard the click clack of heels on the floor, and he shut the drawer and leaned against the desk, arms folded and a smile in place for the late Lady Sheera.]

About time. I thought we were going to be here all day. Be careful of that one over there; he has rabies.

[That, of course, set off his rat-companion who then jumped on the nearest student to nip at his arm. "Rabies!"]

[theladyofwinterfell]

Quite lonely, I see. I suppose it would be cruel not to extend an offer of company, then.

[midship]

Sorry-- [The apology is rushed, but utterly honest. This absolute calamity is, after all, utterly Horatio's fault, and it's never to early to start taking the blame. And really, truly, this?

Unmitigated disaster. They've absolutely punctured beyond what can be recovered from. Thus begin their lives as social pariahs, unwelcome by all.

Then again, hitting at the device seems to have made it-- not better, but somehow a little less worse.] --sorry--

[Giving the machine a whack of his own sends it briefly into an odd fuzzy range which... might be better. It's still painfully loud, and they're still absolutely on the verge of being ejected from society.]

[withbite]

[His arms are folded over his chest, his eyes narrowed as he looks at the pair in front of him. Why were people so quick to forgive.]

We could do that. An eye for an eye. Each one loses one. A body part for a body part. Every time they pull this little game with each other, they have to pick a part to lose. Seems fair to me.

[What? It did.]

[withbite]

And yet here we are and here they are and the problem basically solves itself. I don't remember anyone telling me not to munch on people. In fact, I'm pretty sure that it's encouraged.

[withbite]

Could be. And then I'd have to drink all of this by myself.

[inducings]

[ Piper shoots Damon an exasperated look. Thank you for setting them off again, right in front of their teacher. She wonders if this will mean that she'll get into trouble, for letting this happen. That would just make this day perfect.

'Ow, he bit me!'
'Top of the food chain!' Damon's student crowed, turning to look at Damon for approval.

Just... great. ]

It's a good thing there was a cure for rabies in the snack, [ said thoughtfully as she moves to check the arm of the kid - not a real bite, thank goodness, just kids being... weirder than normal. ] otherwise we'd have to be really worried.

[ Meanwhile, Lady Sheera missed nothing. Fortunately, she knew her students and only had to fold her arms with disapproval before the little rat went back to his seat. 'Thank you very much for your help. We'll take care of the rabies issue and you can enjoy the rest of your day.' ]

[withbite]

[Damon pretended to wipe away a fake tear of approval, then gave the erstwhile ratling a thumbs up. A monster in the making. He was so proud.

The teacher glare didn't quite work on him, and he just took a larger bite of his apple, shooting the teacher a lecherous wink before he straightened up.]

I think my work here is done.

[And then Damon walked out of the classroom, making sure to brush by the teacher as he headed out the door, all cocky swagger and undead confidence.]

[assholic]

[This place and everything about it was a little out of her wheelhouse. She felt like she was in some old-time movie and she kept waiting to hear 'cut' from some director's chair. And yet that call never came, and she'd resigned herself to living in a renaissance fair. Yay.

Her arms folded as she looked over at the two, who were ducking their heads a bit and shifting nervously from foot to foot. Apparently the guy had scratched close to that itch.]

I'm staying out here. If anything blows up or bursts into flame, I'm not going to be the collateral damage of the War of the Idiots.

[wyche]

( She's not so surprised to find someone who's ready to compel at the drop of a pin willing to maim just as quickly. She does roll her eyes, folding her own arms and balancing her weight on one hip. )

They've already lost money on their goods. That seems enough for a day.

( She looks pointedly at Damon, ignoring the way the two owners seem to cringe at the implication more danger might come their way. ) Doesn't it, Mr...?

[whettedmind]

[There's a moment's pause as he considers, weighing the mood on the street against the practicality of dividing their efforts and the value of going about the investigation in such a way that neither of the injured parties can complain that the other was unfairly prioritized. Willing though the two chefs may be to consider them a collective neutral party by virtue of standing outside the normal order of things, years of resentment aren't so easily wiped away.]

That sounds like a wise division of labour, Lady Sansa. Shall we meet back here in an hour to go over our initial impressions?

[midship]

It--

[There were times when the slightest knock brought a sail abruptly out of the wind, canvas flapping uselessly against the spars. That sensation comes rushing through Horatio now, his mind flitting back over the last few minutes for what little scraps had lodged themselves unbidden into his mind.

Upon review, they seem nothing short of terribly incriminating.] --hm.

[Time to fumble his way through turning the broadcast off. It had been getting slightly smoother with time and practice, but there's nothing quite like accidentally being caught ought by someone with a terribly posh accent to send all one's sense clean out of one's mind.]

so sorry for the tl; dr

[theladyofwinterfell]

( Sansa gives him a quick nod before going to investigate the Blood and Breakfast. She doesn't know much about restaurants but she does know quite a bit about supplies and how to ration them. Sabotaging supplies is something quite serious in Winterfell where it not only costs gold, it costs lives.

She starts here, both literally and figuratively beneath the salt, and sifts a bit through her fingers. It's a coarse grain, much different than the fineness of sugar. Based on the trails of sugar and salt entwined upon the floor of the storeroom, it seems someone must have dragged the salt over and poured it quite hastily into the vacated sugar bags. Two people, perhaps, and not just one. The sugar seems gone entirely - will it perhaps be found in The Last Meal? Sansa wonders. Once she's satisfied with the evidence, she decides to talk to the people involved. She begins with Laney. The landen woman explains she'd only noticed the difference after sending one of her employees down to haul sugar into the kitchens; only in bright light was the swap sussed out. Querying the boy who'd fetched the sugar yielded nothing but some mumbling about how the latch to the storeroom was undone but that this wasn't uncommon.

Sansa looks about and finds a window pushed up a bit in the rear of the kitchens. She asks who might have done that and no one seems to know. Hmm. How could they not know, with the window in plain sight of all who would be cooking? Unless they weren't in the kitchen cooking when the swap happened. If they were, perhaps, sabotaging across the street - well, she'll have to discuss it with Tyrion. She thanks everyone for their time and goes back out into the street to await Tyrion and his judgment. )

[withbite]

Salvatore. I disagree. People learn better with pain. Ever seen a baby with fire? We coddle our youth. It makes for a bunch of weak idiots.

[wyche]

( Someone doesn't believe in coincidences. She tenses slightly, tilts her head as she watches Damon more carefully. )

Let them go. Their public admission of their petty acts is shame enough.

[withbite]

Oh, this is hardly public. We'd have to get them on a podium for that...

[Damon hasn't met this Mikaelson yet. Or even heard of her. He'd be prejudiced anyway. Someone holds grudges.]

[wyche]

We're on a street in the open. I think I call that public enough. ( Even if most who pass them continue about their daily rituals.

Which makes Freya sigh and roll her eyes. )

You don't really have nothing better to do than get more entrenched in whatever petty war they seem to be having, do you?

[unwieldy]

[ What's wrong with being hated by a couple of strangers? Haein can attest that it's not actually all that bad. He's hated by a lot of people! And look at how well he's turned out.

But oh great... Kind of sucks that the universe didn't set him up with a more agreeable partner. Haein's starting to feel a real irritation. At least he's trying? Even if his attempts at coming up with a solution are shitty... ]

I don't hear any ideas from you.

[ He lets his annoyance bleed into his voice, because this might be getting personal now. ]

air time

[song_of_ice]

They speak well about us now, but when they need a monster, they'll find ways to make us into one.

[He might not be as adept with political games as Tyrion is, but he understands reputation better than most and how easily it can be twisted and turned to suit whatever use the populas has.

He had seen it with Sansa, with Tyrion and with Daenerys as well.]

They're calling us naive now?

[withbite]

You're not big into retribution and punishment, are you? Because I am, and if they're going to be petty little jackasses and interrupt my day, then maybe they deserve to be shown why that's a bad idea...

[Welcome to Damon logic.]

[song_of_ice]

[He could at least agree with the idea that this was nothing more than a childish prank. It was the repercussions that concerned him most and even a laugh wasn't worth it when it came at the expense of another's safety. The Bloods had the upper hand and it was too great a risk to anger them.

At least without better cause and means.]

If we're here to help, there might be some among us who can help improve the dwellings?

[song_of_ice]

[He gave her a grateful look, nodding in agreement. He doubted it would be that simple and sounded like the sort of riddle that Maester Luwin might have given Robb as a boy, preparing him to be lord.

But at least it was somewhere to start.]

The Last Meal first?

[song_of_ice]

[For all of his thoughts about what being king or lord entailed, it didn't involve these sorts of squabbles. Perhaps he should have anticipated it, but with the dead coming, he had other matters on his mind. While they were expected to help and fight here, it seemed there was time for something like this.

Though gods, he wished Davos were here. The smuggler always had the right words for these situations and would likely see to it himself, only further showing what an asset he was to the young king.

He nodded, grateful to Jonathan for stepping in with the suggestion.]

Whatever we choose, they're not going to accept the results. We might need another way to appease them.