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

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

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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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[He does want to be supportive. As a general rule, after all, Horatio Hornblower is a supportive person, particularly to his betters--and, in all honesty, most people are his betters.

More than that, he wants to be supportive here and now to this young woman who clearly seems to know what she's about, with a voice that cuts well through the hubbub of shrieking chaos and a gentle manner the little ones seem at least moderately inclined to respond to. Surely that deserves his bolstering.

It's just this is genuinely something he cannot help with.

Not directly, anyway. Perhaps it will be sufficient to simply underline her thought.] Will-- you start them off, perhaps, ma'am?

( Sansa is still terribly uncertain about wrangling this many children who wield Craft but it seems children are still children no matter the realm and they do perk up a bit at the idea of singing a song. There's some clamoring over which song to sing and finally one boy pipes up and makes a request. )

Sing one together, Lady Sansa! You and Horatio should sing one together!

( Sansa glances over at her partner and gives the children a smile. )

Oh, but dear ones, he and I are from different places. He won't know the same ones as I do. We shouldn't put him on the spot now - that's a bit petrifying. Wouldn't you agree, sir?

[The actual magic, of course, is magic, but there's still something quite magic-adjacent about the children settling into themselves. It even sounds, from the chattering, as if there might be a surfeit of tunes to distract the room with until a more properly qualified adult came to take command.

Unless this whole 'singing together' thing is a critical portion of the plan. Then, well, they're certainly on the cusp of defeat.

Horatio's features are fairly well trained into stillness, but it's very possible Sansa will notice the slight shift back of his weight at the suggestion. Hopefully there's nothing much wrong with regrouping in the face of simple requests from actual children.]

--hm. [Clearing his throat, as always, jumpstarts half an actual response.] I'm certain the children know it's-- quite important to face one's fears.

[That feels like the right thing to say. It isn't doing much to actually extract him from the situation, but it's probably what children ought to hear.

But also, clearly, already a regrettable thing to have said.]

Well, we'll do something a bit simple then, all right? I'll sing and we won't trouble Horatio unless he wants to join in of his own accord, all right?

( Sansa is quite comfortable singing, after all, and anything to take the focus off her companion seems a good idea at the moment. She starts singing a song she'd sung as a child at Winterfell, a silly little song about a tailor and a mouse. She has a high, clear soprano voice; she's always been a bit proud of it. It's easy to join in and after a while, some of the children start singing the chorus along with her. Once she's finished, she claps her hands a bit. )

Now, that was quite wonderful. I won't be able to instruct you in Craft quite like Lady Sheera but do all of you know how to vanish and call forth objects? I always have a bit of trouble with my shoes, you see, and if you'd help me learn it, I would certainly appreciate it.

( She looks to Horatio, gently inquisitive. )

Have you any insights about the finer points of basic Craft? I really do need all the help I can get. I'm quite hopeless.

[The singing is almost certainly lovely. There's certainly an easy rhythm to the tune, and an identifiable clarity in her voice. The children seem to take to it well enough, which is far more important than Horatio abruptly growing the capacity to actually appreciate music or identify pitch.

Much more happily, the captivation of the children makes the room begin to feel faintly more familiar. Now that they're quiet and somewhat attentive, a number of their faces resemble far more the eager brightness of the ship's boys Horatio is far more used to wrangling. It's a natural thing to flit quietly down the rows, embellishing the chorus with the odd tuneless whistle and--more importantly--gently nudging the odd shoulder when a young attention span began to drift.

This is good. This is manageable. Craft is-- infinitely less so, but this is hardly the time to risk letting the calm that's settled over the room deteriorate again.]

Bit like everything else, ma'am. Matter of practice. [Another boy's attention seems to be wandering, but it's easily corrected by a light nudge.] Miss was nice enough to show us a song. Shall we thank her by showing her a bit of vanishing?

[Children have an oddly stringent sense of fairness, after all--more than quite a number of adults he'd known over the years.]

( Horatio actually has a gentle manner with the children and Sansa feels comfortable in his presence. Perhaps he's not a singer but he seems to have some aptitude for teaching even if neither of them are taking over as instructors any time soon. She watches in delight as the children all start vanishing and reappearing their pens, their paper, their shoes and any manner of things.

She turns to Horatio with a bright smile. )

Well, my lord, I'm afraid I have been shown up. Shall I try to vanish something for you?

[The number of smiles that have not just cropped up but continued along uninterrupted in this room is truly uncanny. It sends a fluttering through briefly through his mind that other people might simply always be somewhat happy in their lives.

It's a fascinating possibility. Not one worth fully smiling himself over, but certainly something to mull once they're released from their temporary duties.]

So please you, ma'am.

[The pair of them likely need more practice than any of these children seem to, at the end of the day.]

( 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.

[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.]

( 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.

--ah.

[This isn't an actual crisis. Horatio has seen plenty of actual crises over the years, and even the distraction from keeping an eye on the children isn't entirely likely to lead to another complete breakdown. Thank goodness for the quick thought of a bit of singing to get the little one's settled.

But this isn't exactly something that a man trains to elegantly extract himself from.

Earrings, after all, are delicate things with strange joints and hooks Horatio is not remotely acquainted with. One of the earrings shakes out easily enough, but the other is immediately stuck into the tangle of his curls.]

Sorry, might--?

[He ducks his head slightly, hopefully enough to give the young woman a chance of fishing the little bit of jewelry free.]

( Sansa draws a bit closer, carefully tugging the earring this way and that to loosen it from the curls of his hair. He has nice hair, soft against her fingers, and she cannot help but smile a bit. She hasn't touched anyone like this in a long time - or ever, really, and even as an acquaintance it's nice to share the contact. )

There you are. I'm very sorry. I'll get better at this eventually and not try to destroy your hair in the process. Would you like to try vanishing, then?

[Being handled gently, even for a moment, is still a faintly confusing thing. His mother had been gentle with him, Horatio half-remembers, but that had been the lifetime before what felt like a lifetime ago already.

Even this has the tips of his ears beginning to heat slightly. Happily, it feels appropriate to reach up once she's done and attempt to fuss the curls back into place--and, hopefully, a few of the loose ones more haphazardly over his ears.

His reserve ten-pound note had been in his pocket when he fell asleep in the attic of Mrs Mason's, and it had been there still when he woke up here. Horatio pulls it out now, fingering the useless bill for a moment before letting out a breath and vanishing the scrap.

Calling the note back takes a beat, but it does fizzle back after a moment. It doesn't quite come to his hand, floating fretfully in the air before him, but he's quick enough to catch it again.]

--just practice.

Well, you make me look like an oaf. Look how neatly you did that. I don't think you concentrated as much as I did, either.

( Sansa frowns a bit and concentrates on vanishing her earrings from one palm and calling them back into the other. She manages to bring one back properly and the other clatters on the desk behind her. Oh. )

[That's his ears entirely scarlet, then. There's simply no help for it--nor are there sufficient loose curls from his queue to sufficiently hide the flush.

The Justinian is time enough away, but there hasn't been much shaking the odd horror in his gut that comes of doing well at the simplest things.]

Hm. [The note is tucked away again, safe and secure despite its current uselessness.] As I said, ma'am. Just-- practice.

[This was the easiest thing to force himself through over and over again while lying awake until the small hours of the morning, draining his own energy until his mind could be properly switched off. Everything else was still a shambles.]

Steady does.

Ah, well, I still applaud your efforts. You're coming along better than I am, my lord, and I think that's commendable.

( Sansa can see his ears are a bit pink, though, so she tries not to embarrass him further. He seems quite a modest person and it's refreshingl men in Westeros aren't normally this way but he does remind her a bit of Podrick and his persistent shyness. It's comforting to her.

The children seem to be in hand, so much as children can be when constantly vanishing and reappearing things, and Sansa tips her head a bit in invitation.
)

Could I treat you to a cup of tea later? You've been a help today.

Hm. [Turning his attention to flit back over the students doesn't actually help with the continued twisting in his gut. There's nothing quite as discombobulating as brief praise, after all.

Except for social invitations.

It's too soon to clear his throat again. It's too impolite to reply in the most natural way, with the brusque inattention he might have had for a fellow officer. This has to be gentler. This has to be something more like speaking to Mrs Mason's daughter after a particularly trying day.] I'm-- certain I am at your disposal, ma'am.

[There. That's well done, surely?]

Well, that's settled then. I'd be happy to have tea with you. Of course, we're at the mercy of whatever hospitality the Queen sets out for us but the company, at least, will make up for any dearth in quality.

( Sansa softens her expression just a bit, a smile playing at her lips. )

I really do appreciate the help.

[There's no becoming accustomed to being smiled at this much, Horatio is entirely certain. Still, exposure could make anything more bearable--and this, surely, would be somewhat easier to be accustomed to than the last few years had been.]

It's my-- [The thought is interrupted briefly, attention snapping to one of the boys whose attention seems to be wandering from his practice. A sharp noise in the back of his throat seems sufficient to draw the child back to attention for the moment.] --absolute pleasure.

[That sounds quite proper, once he's said it. Perhaps this won't go so terribly after all.]

Good. Then we have set a date. I shall have to see when our schedules are both free so we can have this cup of tea - I believe the Blood intend to keep us busy while we're among them.

( This particular favor included among them. Sansa's never taught before but it seems to have gone all right for a first time. A woman enters the room and introduces herself as Lady Sheera; that's who Prince Loren said the teacher was so Sansa turns to Horatio. )

It seems we have been relieved of our duty, my lord.

[The walls of the classroom were still standing. The children were all still present and accounted for (with, by Horatio's quick count, the right numbers of limbs and eyes). Perhaps nothing much had been learned, but a bit of practice had been achieved.

Certainly close enough to a success, Horatio allows himself, as his fingers lift to automatically knuckle in Lady Sheera's direction.]

So it would seem.

[Which only leaves the slightly inelegant scramble to catch the door open properly for Sansa. Duty, after all, is never truly done.]

( Horatio's manners are impeccable, actually, and Sansa cannot help but smile at him once again as she exits the door and waits for him on the other side. He's sort of quiet, yes, but he seems kind and worthy of friendship. )

Hopefully we won't get conscripted into teaching any time soon. I do not know if I have the mettle to teach children. It's been a long while since I've been around any.

Truly, ma'am?

[Keeping his voice even is natural as breathing, but there's no stopping the brief lift of his brows.]

Then this was a truly commendable performance.

[Perhaps children simply responded instinctively to natural kindness.]

When I was much younger, I used to help with my little brothers. They’re gone now, though, and I have no children of my own. It’s been a long time but I supposed I remembered a few things.

( Sansa tips her head a bit, curious. )

Do you have children, my lord?

[It's a simple question. It's a fact-based question--the sort Horatio tends to do best with, at the end of the day. There's still the briefest stutter of a pause when, briefly, the faces of a few of the ship's boys--and the still faintly childish features of the young Mr. Midshipman Wellard--flicker abruptly through his mind.

None of them were his own, of course. More than that, even the boys hadn't been children for a long while yet.]

...no, ma'am. [It's simple and factual enough. Still, a stubborn piece of him can't help adding:] None of my own.

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theladyofwinterfell - 2019-03-10 21:50 (UTC) - Expand

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test drive 02

Terrible Two(hundred)s

Re: Terrible Two(hundred)s

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