agentleooc | test drive 02

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test drive 02

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

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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.

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[Jonathan wasn't so certain that they wouldn't be listened to with Fayura's approval potentially backing them, but he doesn't say as much just yet. Truthfully, he's curious what the other man has in mind.]

If you've any suggestions I'm open to hearing them. Otherwise if they don't accept what we find, then we may have to get the Lady or her court involved.

[Guts gives back a simple grunt of acknowledgment. For all of Sansa's uncertainty, she had still managed to transform a room of chaotic children into a somewhat focused magic lesson. All he had to do was stay out of the way and not talk about killing people. He could do that. ]

You never know. Just keep layin' down the groundwork every day, right?

[If any lessons from swordplay could be applicable, it was that. Though there is one cheeky little girl floating past him that adds: 'Wouldn't you be laying it up?']

I'm an archaeologist. My investigations are usually a little-- different.

( even her straight up alien mysteries have never been so ridiculous as this and that's even with her husband around. but ridiculous or not here they are and maybe some of their skills can be put to use.

so she starts following his direction and-- a kitchen! )

What did they say it was?

[It's not a word terribly close to "antiquarian." Happily, it doesn't seem entirely necessary for Horatio to do a bit more than nod faintly--as he's been nodding at inarticulate orders and general delusional banter for years.

It's hardly Horatio's job to understand this sort of thing. It's almost certainly going to be his job to reach something high up or twist into an uncomfortable space.]

Salt for sugar, ma'am.

( and she will look appreciatively as he does such things. gotta admire a man for his talents.

but salt for sugar. well, that's absolutely ridiculous )

You'd think people would be more creative.

( though how they were supposed to figure out who had done it was absurd. not unless it was labelled )

I suppose we should find these supposed containers.

Suppose they're classics for a reason.

[Both rounds of sabotage did, after all, feel not unlike the sort of pranks the boys back at school might have attempted. It speaks, in a small way, of the comfortable lives allowed to be live in the relative safety of this place.

Time to start peering into cabinets and delicately prodding at spices.]

Are they?

( she's far more curious that he's saying this than the pranks themselves. so, he's knowledgable in pranks then )

You'll have to tell me more about it.

[It's likely just a social nicety. It's hopefully just a social nicety. Horatio hadn't known anything properly hellacious before the Navy, true, but the idea of drifting back to contemplate the cruelty of his school years is hardly something to look forward to.

Hopefully a soft sound like a clearing of his throat will serve as an answer. More likely the container of salt he's pulled down to offer River will be a proper distraction from sharing even the tiniest piece of himself beyond his name.]

In the eyes of half the city, they've already made a good start of it.

[Perhaps more than half the city. Tyrion hasn't yet had the chance to track down an accurate census of Blood and landen numbers, though it's certainly on his list of priorities. Much higher on his list of priorities now, in the wake of that public declaration of kinship.]

They don't like us enough to call us naive to our faces. But that little piece of political theatre we just listened to is the work of a man who expects his targets to be dazzled by favour without looking very hard at the person who's offering it.

You belong in the North. If you aren’t king in the north, no one will listen to me. Why would you do something foolish like not come back?

( Sansa has a pair of earrings, albeit small, that match her Purple Dusk jewel. She vanishes them and then as she tries to call them back, it doesn’t quite work. After a few moments, they clatter at Horatio’s feet instead of returning to her own hand. )

Progress but not perfect, it seems.

[It's not what he was hoping for in coming here and only further complicates things for them. Between the help they would be giving the Queen, now they had to contend with a hostile populace.]

Do you think it's worth the attempt to try and convince them we're not as he says?

[It might be like pushing a boulder up a steep hill. Which was wiser, trying to change minds or focusing on their mission.]

You were managing the North in my absence. You're a Stark of Winterfell, they will listen to you. With Arya and Bran, you can keep the lords in line.

The North is my home, it will always be my home. Wherever I go, it doesn't change that.

[Well, that is worth the edge of a smile. The earrings are scooped up with an almost boyish eagerness, and offered quickly back to Sansa.]

Again.

[This is good for the children to see, at least. Horatio is utterly certain neither of them are remotely qualified to teach the actual skill involved here, but watching others do well with a struggle wasn't nothing.]

Bran is no longer himself. I held the north in trust for you, not as Queen, and if you think you can keep me safe from marriage from 1000 leagues away you’re both a fool and cruel. You would abandon your family so easily? You would leave me unprotected? You’re as big a fool as Robb.

( oh, sweetie, she'll work her way on you eventually. besides, she has far more scandalous stories in that head of hers.

so river lets it seem like the container has distracted her, turning it over in her hands, giving it a sniff )

This one's still salt. Are there others?

( Sansa vanishes the earrings again and when she calls them back, this time they wind up dropping in Horatio's hair. Oh, no, this is not going well at all. Sansa maintains her composure but only just. )

My sincere apologies, my lord. It seems I need more help than I thought.

( Sansa laughs at the cheeky girl, enjoying the levity. She enjoys watching children play and be happy - it reminds her so much of better times back home and things she thought she might never see again. This place may end up being solace as much as work for the Queen. )

Thank you for helping me. I know we were conscripted, of a sort, but I'm grateful to have someone else here. I would be far too intimidated alone.

[Tyrion considers this for a moment, then grimaces slightly and shakes his head.]

Given that we have been granted magic, as absurd as that feels to say, convincing them that we're not Blood may be a lost cause. But it would be worth the effort to make it clear that we're not under orders of the Council before we're cut off from other options.

I'll be sure to duck. But if you're determined to stay outside, perhaps you could send a message to one of the nearby Healers to stand by to handle the effects this pair's mischief might have on their digestion.

[Judging by the greenish tint to Lord Harle's skin, he would be more than willing to wager that at least one of the pair has almost certainly swapped more than salt for sugar, or sour milk for fresh.]

So I've heard.

[The thread of amusement in his voice suggests he's noticed. But she started it, and so he feels no need not to continue it.]

I'll admit I've never had a taste for mixing pain with pleasure. But I take it you're something of a connoisseur?

[Lord Harle is certainly free with his disparagement of Ms Cook, once the door of the Last Meal is firmly shut on the bustle of the street. To hear him tell it, the woman was created expressly to make his life difficult, and solely responsible for all of its ills. Getting him to stop talking is the difficult part, and it isn't until Tyrion suggests that he might want to be on hand to explain why the restaurant won't be open for the noonday meal rather than leaving it to the young woman he's hired to serve his customers their food that the complaints cease.

The serving girl, though happy enough to show him around the kitchen and the storeroom and be spared a little of her employer's frustration, at first insists she has little light to shed on the situation. She'd only just arrived when the soured milk was discovered, after all, and Lord Harle has discovered it as soon as he brought the day's delivery in from the back step. Well, no, he usually isn't that late bringing it in - she was rather surprised, because most mornings he was deep in the day's preparations by the time she arrived. He must have overslept; the past few weeks have been difficult. The kitchen had been in a bit of disarray, too, half the sugar displaced from the remainder of the dry goods. She'd sorted everything out while he was arguing with Ms Cook, though, so he shouldn't be cross over the mess.

The sour smell from the milk bottles makes Tyrion's stomach churn - all of them have spoiled, and while he's hardly an expert on running a kitchen, he is aware enough to know that an extra hour or two sitting out on a morning cold enough that the ground had still been coated in frost well past sunup couldn't possibly have been the cause. Then, too, are the streaks of spilled milk on several of the closed bottles, one smudged in a shape that very much resembles a handprint. It's possible the farmer who had delivered the dairy might have been unusually careless, both with the age of the milk he brought and the handling of it, but that seems far less likely than tampering.

Nothing else seems to have been tampered with, and though Tyrion heads out the back to look around the alley door where the milk had been delivered, nothing seems to stand out. It's possible that one of the neighbours might have spotted something at either restaurant, and he makes a note to suggest that as a possible method of verifying their theories, but for the moment none are in evidence as he circles back around to the main street to find Sansa.]

Lord Harle certainly seems to be a victim of sabotage - though innocent victim might be a stretch.

It seems that Ms. Cook is well. I cannot imagine how the cooks and serving maids wouldn't have noticed a half open window on a cold morning, unless they weren't in the kitchen when the sabotage occurred. As silly as it sounds, it seems as if it might have been simultaneous.

I thought if they were across the street sabotaging the milk, it would be an opportunity for the others to replace the sugar.

( Sometimes things work out this way though it seems a bit strange that it would be such an elegant solution as both parties being wrong. )

My question is - what shall we do about it? Neither will be happy we've decided to call it a draw.

No - they're both convinced they're the injured party, and the other is to blame.

[He glances between the two shop fronts, both innocuous enough to the eye despite the ridiculous feud between the owners.]

I didn't get the impression that either of them was quite willing to ruin their own fortunes to get one over on their rival. If the Queen is willing to intervene, it's possible the best way to keep them from ruining each other would be to make it clear that any sudden setback suffered by one of them would be suffered by both of them.

Sansa

[He stops himself. After everything she has been through, her fears make sense. She was a pawn and forced into marriage. Being an unmarried woman, she did face a threat.

But, he knew she was well protected now as compared to before.]

What would you have me do? Give up and walk away from the woman I love? Live my life alone as if I'm at the Wall again?

Edited 2019-02-18 23:32 (UTC)

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test drive 02

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