Date   

Re: Dance Magic, Dance #Theo #Bert #Brandy #Bridgette

Vincent Gonzales <alchemicalnonsense2578@...>
 

Who: Tristan
With: Bert, Brandy
Where: Silver Tankard Wagon, Riverside Avenue, Artisan's Quarter, King's City
When: Thursday, February 28th, 872 RoK (Reign of Kings)

Tristan glanced up at the barmaid and let out a short, polite laugh. "I didn't know the Silver Tankard was in the habit of hiring psychics to poor drinks," Tristan said, taking the drink and leaving a few copper for a tip. "Truth be told, I haven't registered just yet, but I was considering it. You want to come cheer me on?"

When the apparent Sheriff (if his badge was any indication) offered out his staff to the barmaid, Tristan stepped in. "Pretty sure she's gotta keep pouring drinks, let me get that for you," he said, slipping a gloved hand around the staff to keep it upright while the noble fixed his shoe. Did people often get shoes stuck in their boots, he wondered? He supposed if the shoes were loose enough...

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Re: Jump Magic, Jump! #Bridgette #Theo

Vincent Gonzales <alchemicalnonsense2578@...>
 

Who: Red
With: Theo
Where: Silver Tankard Wagon, Riverside Avenue, Artisan's Quarter, King's City
When: Thursday, February 28th, 872 RoK (Reign of Kings)

"The Little Folk are very talented tricksters and, should you ever find yourself on the losing end of a prank war with them, you best give them the prize you wagered for," she noted, smiling down at the pixie as she drained the last of the lager in record time. "This is Asteria." 

Asteria stood on the rim of the glass, looking distinctly regal and proud of herself despite the amber liquid dripping from her wings and mopping her hair to the side of her face. "I promised to take her to the festival and show her the sights." The pixie nodded emphatically, shaking the beer off her wings and splattering the pair. "You said you're from the city, right? Can you show us around? I haven't been here in..." she glanced around evasively, "a very long time."

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Re: Puppy Dog Tails #Marcus #Kyky

Vincent Gonzales <alchemicalnonsense2578@...>
 

As the realization of Marcus' line of questioning fully dawned on Kyky, the bandit's smile went from charming and genteel to mischievous as he let rolled a shrug off his shoulders. "I mean, I wouldn't want to impose on your ladyship, if you wouldn't be so inclined as to help a working soldier such as myself," he said with a bow of his head, a note of humility in his voice. "I just thought with a beautiful woman on my arm, the guards would be much slower to stop me to ask questions." 

He let his eyes linger on Kyky's for a moment before shaking his head. "But that was presumptuous of me. My apologies. I can find my own way. Enjoy the party, miss." Marcus turned to go, slowly, and began a mental count in his head...

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Re: The Babe With the Power #James #Sanya #Malia

Rachel
 

Sanya: "Two generations after King Belmont built this castle, the Duchess Nimr of the time commissioned this. She was, among other things, a falconer," "When any man looked upon her with anything less than the proper respect for her station or dismissed her words, she had merely to wave her hand, and one of her falcons would dive down as if from nowhere and pluck out their eyes." "This was her… reminder to those in her presence to be mindful of their actions. It was a favorite of my grandmother's." "I enjoy the story of it as much as the design. True craftsmanship, to endure over five centuries and still gleam the way it does."


Malia wondered if the girl delved into her family's history because she supposed they didn't know, but the first thing Malia had done upon her arrival was read every book she could get her hands on about Eventyr's history. So of course, she knew the significance of the Nimr family... but this was a story she hadn't read before, which meant that either Sanya was lying - unlikely, given the obvious quality of the necklace and her ease of demeanor - or there was a trove of literature, written or oral, in the south that Malia felt a pang of longing to delve into.


Sanya: "Did you buy your necklace just for this festival? It's lovely, too."


The compliment stung like an insult - as if the younger woman were accusing her of being vain, frivolous, or, perhaps, just trying too hard. Offense showed in the subtle raise of her eyebrows, but before Malia could answer, James interjected...


James: "A fascinating story, my lady. We use eagles for hunting in the East.... We prefer larger prey than mice" "Forgive my unmannerly disposition, ladies. My demeanor is not for festivities of birthright or social graces, but marauders in the enchanted woods. And the soon to come execution of one of their werewolves in these very dungeons....  Will surely bring more tolerable, genteel behavior in polite society"


There was a corner of Malia's mind that just cringed when James spoke. He seemed to totally lack the social graces that his station afforded. Once upon a time, she wondered if he was autistic… but concluded not. He could pick up on the social cues, he just didn't care to meet their expectations of him.


The prick of offense Malia felt toward Sanya simmered, fanned by a flame in her heart she didn't quite understand. Sanya wasn't a threat to her position, so why did she feel as if she were? Malia had to make a conscious choice to put that feeling up on a shelf in her mind. I don't need to make enemies, she told herself. Not today.


"Oh yes, the werewolf." She jumped on the new topic James raised and asked the southern girl, " "Will you be staying in town for the execution?"


Then, she asked James, "The werewolf came from your duchy - why did you decide have him executed here, instead of doing the deed yourself?" With a small smirk she hid behind a sip of her wine, she added, "Or, do you plan to?"


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Re: Make Him Free #hawkins #alessandra

Ben
 

Hawkins gaped a bit at the description of this fantastical place called ‘New York’. Never in his wildest dreams did he think such a place could exist. Towers a thousand feet tall? Giant iron birds? Being able to talk to anyone from anywhere? It sounded like nonsense. But, here she was, telling him such a place existed.


And then the tears started. Hawkins wasn’t very good with emotions like these. He had worked a long time to suppress them or let them out in different ways. In the harbor or on the open sea, tears were a weakness. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t sympathize with her. He knew what it meant to be away from home, or to never be able to go back. His home had long disappeared with his family. Now his only home was the sea and that had been taken from him too.


Hawkins looked up, expression mixed with anger and grief. “Ye must miss ‘im. Ye can’t have seen ‘im in a long time if it hurts ye this much. Why can’t ye see ‘im? Did someone take that chance from ye?”


This woman had offered him something no one else had. A chance to set things right. Now if he had any say in that matter, he’d offer the same to her. She was obviously more human than anyone had ever given her credit for. She missed her home and she missed her son. And if someone had done that to her, they were more a monster than she could ever be.


“If I can do anything to help ye, lass, name it now. I give me word as a sailor, I’ll see it done.”


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On Fri, Aug 24, 2018 at 9:23 PM, Rachel Balla <rachelballa@...> wrote:

Hawkins: “I appreciate the thought, lass. Me only request be that I come with ye and see him thrown in this very cell. Though I’d be hard pushed to not run him through with me own blade when we found him. Or at least give ‘im a good sock in the nose.”


Wasn't that a fun image? Alessandra allowed the makeshift movie to play out in her mind. She'd stare the offender down, teeth bared, and he would act defiant at first and then shrink away in submission when the gravity of her disease and its communicable nature dawned on him. And then her cellmate here would burst in with a snappy one-liner and punch him across the face. Alessandra might have been pacing in the background, but now his attention was all on his old crew mate. The guilt of the betrayal dueled with his pride…. until ultimately, it isn't the threat that compels his apology, but an authentic realization that he was sorry, and he wanted forgiveness.


The mental movie might have been cheesy, but it beat staring at the grooves between bricks.


Hawkins: “Aye, home would be good. Yer son must be very smart te get into a college. I’d never make it meself. Can barely read as it is, but I get by.”


Alessandra smirked - Jeremy wasn't the smartest, had never earned the best grades, but he had a certain charm to him. His teachers loved him, and they so often accepted mediocre or late work. She supposed that was a life skill. Maybe he'd be a salesman, someday. The uncomfortable wonderings wandered back into her mind - who was looking after him, now that she was gone? Was he able to keep going in school, after realizing his only real parent was likely dead in a ditch somewhere?


Hawkins: “Nay lass. I cannot say I’ve heard of ‘New York’. What makes it new? And the only queen I’ve know was our late queen, may she rest in peace. What other queens are there? I’m sorry if that troubles ye. But if this ‘New York’ is a new place, I’d surely love to go some day. How do you get there? What is it like?”


The disappointment that followed that sliver of hope was crushing. The excited tension in her body deflated, like a the air let out of a balloon. But her fellow prisoner's inquisitive nature left behind some glimmer of hope. Her musings might have been carelessly extravagant, but she let them out.


"In New York, there are towers that stretch a thousand feet into the sky. Giant iron birds can carry you hundreds or thousands of miles in a few hours." Planes weren't as efficient as fairy circles, though, so that wasn't a bragging point. "You can light a torch with the flick of a finger. And call… talk to anyone, anywhere, anytime." God, withdrawing from her phone had been a year-long struggle! "Money…. coins, you don't have to carry. They exist in the cloud. Clouds," she corrected, and gestured upwards. "Never lost. If stolen, replenished." Fraud protection was awesome. None of that here, with pickpockets.."It's home… where my son lives."


Alessandra broke into tears. Sobs echoed throughout the dungeon.


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--
Benjamin Warner


Re: Make Him Free #hawkins #alessandra

Rachel
 

Hawkins: “I appreciate the thought, lass. Me only request be that I come with ye and see him thrown in this very cell. Though I’d be hard pushed to not run him through with me own blade when we found him. Or at least give ‘im a good sock in the nose.”


Wasn't that a fun image? Alessandra allowed the makeshift movie to play out in her mind. She'd stare the offender down, teeth bared, and he would act defiant at first and then shrink away in submission when the gravity of her disease and its communicable nature dawned on him. And then her cellmate here would burst in with a snappy one-liner and punch him across the face. Alessandra might have been pacing in the background, but now his attention was all on his old crew mate. The guilt of the betrayal dueled with his pride…. until ultimately, it isn't the threat that compels his apology, but an authentic realization that he was sorry, and he wanted forgiveness.


The mental movie might have been cheesy, but it beat staring at the grooves between bricks.


Hawkins: “Aye, home would be good. Yer son must be very smart te get into a college. I’d never make it meself. Can barely read as it is, but I get by.”


Alessandra smirked - Jeremy wasn't the smartest, had never earned the best grades, but he had a certain charm to him. His teachers loved him, and they so often accepted mediocre or late work. She supposed that was a life skill. Maybe he'd be a salesman, someday. The uncomfortable wonderings wandered back into her mind - who was looking after him, now that she was gone? Was he able to keep going in school, after realizing his only real parent was likely dead in a ditch somewhere?


Hawkins: “Nay lass. I cannot say I’ve heard of ‘New York’. What makes it new? And the only queen I’ve know was our late queen, may she rest in peace. What other queens are there? I’m sorry if that troubles ye. But if this ‘New York’ is a new place, I’d surely love to go some day. How do you get there? What is it like?”


The disappointment that followed that sliver of hope was crushing. The excited tension in her body deflated, like a the air let out of a balloon. But her fellow prisoner's inquisitive nature left behind some glimmer of hope. Her musings might have been carelessly extravagant, but she let them out.


"In New York, there are towers that stretch a thousand feet into the sky. Giant iron birds can carry you hundreds or thousands of miles in a few hours." Planes weren't as efficient as fairy circles, though, so that wasn't a bragging point. "You can light a torch with the flick of a finger. And call… talk to anyone, anywhere, anytime." God, withdrawing from her phone had been a year-long struggle! "Money…. coins, you don't have to carry. They exist in the cloud. Clouds," she corrected, and gestured upwards. "Never lost. If stolen, replenished." Fraud protection was awesome. None of that here, with pickpockets.."It's home… where my son lives."


Alessandra broke into tears. Sobs echoed throughout the dungeon.


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Re: The Babe With the Power #James #Sanya #Malia

turksgirl
 

Who: James Castille
With: Malia Campbell, Sanya Nimr other royal party guests
Where: Castle courtyard, King's City
When: February 28th, evening
>>>>
"Send your parents our best wishes, if you would," Malia said, daring to presume including James' wishes in there. "Their situations must be severe," to risk their standing in court by sending their young daughter to such a monumental event! Didn't the Southern Dutchy already pay less in tax than the others?
 
"How does it suit you?" Malia asked, gesturing at the necklace around Sanya's throat. It was a loaded question if ever there was one: How ready are you to usurp your parents? "I think it couldn't be lovelier."
>>>>
 
"Two generations after King Belmont built this castle, the Duchess Nimr of the time commissioned this. She was, among other things, a falconer," Sanya said smoothly. Malia had not asked for a story, but her question merited one. What little intelligence her family had of this duchess indicated that she was new blood, unfamiliar to the nobility. She may not have understood that the Nimrs had ruled the South for hundreds of years before the War of the Undead, before Paxton had taken the throne. Her ancestors had appointed the ancestors of each of the dukes. Hers was not the royal blood, but it was the oldest.
 
"When any man looked upon her with anything less than the proper respect for her station or dismissed her words, she had merely to wave her hand, and one of her falcons would dive down as if from nowhere and pluck out their eyes." She touched the falcon gently as she gave Duke Castile a look that was perhaps a little more pointed than it should have been to maintain civility. "This was her… reminder to those in her presence to be mindful of their actions. It was a favorite of my grandmother's." Another polite smile, carefully formed from a lifetime of practice and preparation. "I enjoy the story of it as much as the design. True craftsmanship, to endure over five centuries and still gleam the way it does."
 
She glanced down from Malia's face to the necklace around her throat--a modern-looking piece that paralleled designs that were popular in jeweler's shops lately. She looked back to the new Duchess's eyes, and the question that followed was maybe one drip too sweet in tone to be truly sincere. "Did you buy your necklace just for this festival? It's lovely, too."
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The Duke had been watching the other nobles around them, how they prattled on like children. Talking gossip and stories best left in the taverns that birthed them. He turned his head toward the two women in his close proximity, and took in the younger one with a dark gaze. For a moment the image of his large hands tearing that elegant necklace away, and surrounding the long column of the daughter of the Southern Duchy's neck filled his mind....Do it! Do it, the little bitch!

The snide little catty backhanded compliment toward the Duchess of the North. Who had tried, although it was unasked for, to play diplomat between them.

James blinked and the predatory glare was gone, and he politely nodded his head. "A fascinating story, my lady. We use eagles for hunting in the East.... We prefer larger prey than mice" a stony, tight smile curled his mouth, but there was no amusement in his eyes. He had been through far more trials, at a far younger age, her little threats meant nothing to him. Her parentage meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him.

And if she was as intelligent as she thought she was, she would stay clear of him. Still.... this was his brother's festival. He should not spoil it... not yet, at least with churlish behavior.

"Forgive my unmannerly disposition, ladies. My demeanor is not for festivities of birthright or social graces, but marauders in the enchanted woods. And the soon to come execution of one of their werewolves in these very dungeons....  Will surely bring more tolerable, genteel behavior in polite society". Well, it was honest although rather blunt, and gruesome.

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Re: Make Him Free #hawkins #alessandra

Ben
 

“Aye lass, it was not a good situation.” Hawkins shook his head slowly. More and more he was seeing the human side of this werewolf, and it almost made him forget exactly who he was dealing with. If these creatures truly were monsters, he had yet to see it.


He sighed with relief as she shrugged off his poor choice of words. That too, showed more humanity than he had expected. “I appreciate the thought, lass. Me only request be that I come with ye and see him thrown in this very cell. Though I’d be hard pushed to not run him through with me own blade when we found him. Or at least give ‘im a good sock in the nose.”


Hawkins could just barely make out a smile on the woman’s face in the dim light. She seemed to be recalling fond memories of days long past. He loved those types of memories. You could get lost in them and let yourself fade out of reality. They were a break from the harsh world he’d come to know and it meant peace, at least for a time.


Her answer nearly brought tears to his eyes. Home was always the place he could never go. Home didn’t feel the same anymore. “Aye, home would be good. Yer son must be very smart te get into a college. I’d never make it meself. Can barely read as it is, but I get by.”


The sudden urgency in her next questions startled him a bit. “Nay lass. I cannot say I’ve heard of ‘New York’. What makes it new? And the only queen I’ve know was our late queen, may she rest in peace. What other queens are there? I’m sorry if that troubles ye. But if this ‘New York’ is a new place, I’d surely love to go some day. How do you get there? What is it like?”


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On Sun, Aug 19, 2018 at 4:16 PM, Rachel Balla <rachelballa@...> wrote:

Hawkins: “Nay, not a pirate, though I’ve been put here because I looked like one. Ye could say I’m a pirate hunter, though. At least I was until recently.”


"That fucking sucks," Alessandra said, her face curling unpleasantly, as if she'd tasted spoiled milk. He'd been framed as the very thing he fought against. That was another level of messed up. It made her miss New York - at least there was more data to ensure a level of objectivity. It wasn't perfect, of course, but such an obvious mistake wouldn't have happened. Here in Eventyr, it was more he-said-she-said. Unless someone important had wanted him here… which wasn't an impossibility.


Hawkins: “Ah, yes. That would be me former captain. He had me thrown to the wolves and ran with his tail between his legs.” “Beggin yer pardon, I forgot who I was talkin’ to.”


Alessandra let out a dry, humorless laugh as she excused the faux pas. "No worries," she assured, and doubled down on it with a certain indulgent amusement. "We ever get out of here, and I'll hunt him down like the dog he is and get him to show throat. I promise."


Hawkins: “What would ye do if ye could get out of here? Where would you go?”

Alessandra let a grateful smile spread across her face, although she doubted her new friend would see it in this darkness. His question was so kind. He knew she wouldn't get out, and if she did, she wouldn't escape. But the fantasies had been rattling around in her brain, and he offered her the opportunity to voice them to, hopefully!, someone who would outlive her. She loved this not-pirate for that, and her eyes fought the darkness to make out the edges of his face as best she could.

"Home," Alessandra said. "And see my son again. He'll probably be in college by now." With time moving differently between worlds, it was hard to tell. The words sparked a tiny bit of hope in her heart, and, with sudden urgency, she asked, "Do you know New York? Queens?" It was a longshot, but if he did, and he could take a message back…!

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--
Benjamin Warner


Re: Jump Magic, Jump! #Bridgette #Theo

Steph
 

Who: Theo
With: Red, others
Where: Silver Tankard Wagon, Riverside Avenue, Artisan's Quarter, King's City
When: Thursday, February 28th, 872 RoK (Reign of Kings)

>>>>
“You don't owe me, you owe the Woods,” Red said with a playful smile, nodding her head in greeting to Theo. “I…normally wouldn't go to something like this but I keep my promises.”
>>>>

"Your promises?" Theo asked as he followed Red with a curious quirk of one eyebrow.

He decided to be grateful that the nobleman wasn't going to press the issue and simply fade away from him while he was feeling so courteous. Best way to avoid a fight, he figured. This was a chance to catch up with his mysterious forest spirit friend, who was magical enough to be able to locate an empty table at the kingdom's largest party. Pure miracles seemed to happen around her, so he might as well take advantage of that, too.

Then the little pixie came shooting out from her sleeve and dove into the beer with great enthusiasm.

"I bet that's your promise, isn't it?" he guessed. He was still learning the norms, but one thing he'd heard was that little pixies couldn't travel long distances very quickly. They liked to hitch rides. He'd heard it as advice when traveling the roads--always check your bags for stowaway pixies. They're tricksters if they set their mind to it.

"What's the pixie's name?" he added. If he'd learned anything about Red in their last encounter, it was that she cared a lot for the beings that dwelled in the Woods. He'd benefit from showing that same amount of courtesy, if he wanted to stay on Red's good side.

<Tag!>


Re: The Babe With the Power #James #Sanya #Malia

Steph
 

Who: Sanya Nimr
With: James Castille, Malia Campbell, other royal party guests
Where: Castle courtyard, King's City
When: February 28th, evening
 
 >>>>
The Duke tilted his head as she made excuses for her parents. A snort escape the man.
>>>>
"Send your parents our best wishes, if you would," Malia said, daring to presume including James' wishes in there. "Their situations must be severe," to risk their standing in court by sending their young daughter to such a monumental event! Didn't the Southern Dutchy already pay less in tax than the others?
 
"How does it suit you?" Malia asked, gesturing at the necklace around Sanya's throat. It was a loaded question if ever there was one: How ready are you to usurp your parents? "I think it couldn't be lovelier."
>>>>
 
At Duke Castile's snort, an instinct slithered along Sanya's spine, and her eyes--for a moment--focused sharply upon him. The intolerable disrespect did not suit his station, and a deep part of her instincts called for her to respond in kind.
 
May your every word catch in your throat like a thorn until you have worshipped at the feet of a thousand thousand women who are your betters, it whispered.
 
But, she knew this instinct well enough to press her traitorous tongue to the roof of her mouth--also an excellent way to ensure that one did not clench one's jaws while they offered a societally polite smile. Now was not the time or place to let out her sorcerous powers. (No, the reception after the birth of the child, that was far more traditional, wasn't it?)
 
Malia's words gave her the opportunity to shift her attention away from the bastard brother of the king to the rootless, disingenuous woman.
 
"Two generations after King Belmont built this castle, the Duchess Nimr of the time commissioned this. She was, among other things, a falconer," Sanya said smoothly. Malia had not asked for a story, but her question merited one. What little intelligence her family had of this duchess indicated that she was new blood, unfamiliar to the nobility. She may not have understood that the Nimrs had ruled the South for hundreds of years before the War of the Undead, before Paxton had taken the throne. Her ancestors had appointed the ancestors of each of the dukes. Hers was not the royal blood, but it was the oldest.
 
"When any man looked upon her with anything less than the proper respect for her station or dismissed her words, she had merely to wave her hand, and one of her falcons would dive down as if from nowhere and pluck out their eyes." She touched the falcon gently as she gave Duke Castile a look that was perhaps a little more pointed than it should have been to maintain civility. "This was her… reminder to those in her presence to be mindful of their actions. It was a favorite of my grandmother's." Another polite smile, carefully formed from a lifetime of practice and preparation. "I enjoy the story of it as much as the design. True craftsmanship, to endure over five centuries and still gleam the way it does."

She glanced down from Malia's face to the necklace around her throat--a modern-looking piece that paralleled designs that were popular in jeweler's shops lately. She looked back to the new Duchess's eyes, and the question that followed was maybe one drip too sweet in tone to be truly sincere. "Did you buy your necklace just for this festival? It's lovely, too."

<Tag!>


Re: Make Him Free #hawkins #alessandra

Rachel
 

Hawkins: “Nay, not a pirate, though I’ve been put here because I looked like one. Ye could say I’m a pirate hunter, though. At least I was until recently.”


"That fucking sucks," Alessandra said, her face curling unpleasantly, as if she'd tasted spoiled milk. He'd been framed as the very thing he fought against. That was another level of messed up. It made her miss New York - at least there was more data to ensure a level of objectivity. It wasn't perfect, of course, but such an obvious mistake wouldn't have happened. Here in Eventyr, it was more he-said-she-said. Unless someone important had wanted him here… which wasn't an impossibility.


Hawkins: “Ah, yes. That would be me former captain. He had me thrown to the wolves and ran with his tail between his legs.” “Beggin yer pardon, I forgot who I was talkin’ to.”


Alessandra let out a dry, humorless laugh as she excused the faux pas. "No worries," she assured, and doubled down on it with a certain indulgent amusement. "We ever get out of here, and I'll hunt him down like the dog he is and get him to show throat. I promise."


Hawkins: “What would ye do if ye could get out of here? Where would you go?”

Alessandra let a grateful smile spread across her face, although she doubted her new friend would see it in this darkness. His question was so kind. He knew she wouldn't get out, and if she did, she wouldn't escape. But the fantasies had been rattling around in her brain, and he offered her the opportunity to voice them to, hopefully!, someone who would outlive her. She loved this not-pirate for that, and her eyes fought the darkness to make out the edges of his face as best she could.

"Home," Alessandra said. "And see my son again. He'll probably be in college by now." With time moving differently between worlds, it was hard to tell. The words sparked a tiny bit of hope in her heart, and, with sudden urgency, she asked, "Do you know New York? Queens?" It was a longshot, but if he did, and he could take a message back…!

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Re: Dance Magic, Dance #Theo #Bert #Brandy #Bridgette

Ben
 

Who: Bert

With: Brandy, Tristan

Where: Silver Tankard Wagon, Riverside Avenue, Artisan's Quarter, King's City

When: Thursday, February 28th, 872 RoK (Reign of Kings)


‘This woman is definitely smarter than most,’ Bert thought to himself. Not only was she evading his questions, she was doing it in a way that would have left most people in the dust. Thankfully, he wasn’t most people.


“Well, I think the company could be better. After all, I don’t even know your name. As for who I’m waiting for, they’re just some people I used to travel with. Nobody of consequence.”


Bert took note of the new man that approached the mobile bar. Tall, well built, and well dressed pointed immediately to a knight, a type he was very familiar with. People like this man tended to be very polite and straightforward, or very pompous and overbearing. Both of which he could handle, but it was better to let the stranger take the lead.


Turning back to the barmaid, a thought crossed his mind. It was becoming very obvious she had something to hide, and at the same time wanted to find out more about him. If she didn’t already recognize him beyond his sheriff’s badge, then it was probably a good idea to keep it that way. But now he was curious, and maybe his drink had actually gotten to him a little bit. So maybe it was time for a small trick.


Bert suddenly winced and lifted his foot up. “I’m sorry milady, but it would seem I have a rock in my boot. Would you hold my staff for a moment, please?”


Tags!



On Sat, Aug 18, 2018 at 1:48 PM, Rachel Balla <rachelballa@...> wrote:

Bert: “Don’t worry yourself. I’ll be heading up there in due course. For now though, I had some friends I was waiting for, though they seem to have been waylaid.” “I bet you could get yourself into that party if you really wanted to. Actually, I think I’m a little surprised you’re not there already. I doubt the guards would be a problem, and it wouldn’t take much to find a spot to fit in with the nobles. So why aren’t you there?”

"Oh of course I could," Brandy said, and accentuated the point with an exaggerated lean against the wagon that emphasized the curve of her hips and waist. It wasn't that the royal party didn't have its appeals. But it just wasn't really Brandy's speed. She would have gotten inside, eaten whatever the Eventyrian equivalent of caviar was, and continued to talk shit… although perhaps with less receptive (aka drunk) conversational partners. "But I'm having fun here! The company can't be beat," she added with a tone every bit as evasive as it was flirtatious.


"What kind of friends are you waiting for?" Brandy asked, with a deceptive sort of lightness to the question, as if it was just a pleasantry. She prompted, "Maybe I've seen them around!"


Tristan: “Cider, when you get a moment, miss."


Brandy's attention split with the new request of a drink, and she turned to regard her customer. He was tall, built, well-dressed. A knight, if she had to guess. Maybe not exactly high nobility but there was a certain elevation to him. The coins he dropped, alongside the politeness in his tone, reinforced her assumption.


"Cider, coming right up," Brandy chirped, going to pour. As she passed the mug over, she smiled. Something about him struck her as interesting, too, and she went ahead to test her assumption. "Will you fight in tomorrow's tourney, Sir?"


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--
Benjamin Warner


Re: Dance Magic, Dance #Theo #Bert #Brandy #Bridgette

Rachel
 

Bert: “Don’t worry yourself. I’ll be heading up there in due course. For now though, I had some friends I was waiting for, though they seem to have been waylaid.” “I bet you could get yourself into that party if you really wanted to. Actually, I think I’m a little surprised you’re not there already. I doubt the guards would be a problem, and it wouldn’t take much to find a spot to fit in with the nobles. So why aren’t you there?”

"Oh of course I could," Brandy said, and accentuated the point with an exaggerated lean against the wagon that emphasized the curve of her hips and waist. It wasn't that the royal party didn't have its appeals. But it just wasn't really Brandy's speed. She would have gotten inside, eaten whatever the Eventyrian equivalent of caviar was, and continued to talk shit… although perhaps with less receptive (aka drunk) conversational partners. "But I'm having fun here! The company can't be beat," she added with a tone every bit as evasive as it was flirtatious.


"What kind of friends are you waiting for?" Brandy asked, with a deceptive sort of lightness to the question, as if it was just a pleasantry. She prompted, "Maybe I've seen them around!"


Tristan: “Cider, when you get a moment, miss."


Brandy's attention split with the new request of a drink, and she turned to regard her customer. He was tall, built, well-dressed. A knight, if she had to guess. Maybe not exactly high nobility but there was a certain elevation to him. The coins he dropped, alongside the politeness in his tone, reinforced her assumption.


"Cider, coming right up," Brandy chirped, going to pour. As she passed the mug over, she smiled. Something about him struck her as interesting, too, and she went ahead to test her assumption. "Will you fight in tomorrow's tourney, Sir?"


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Re: Puppy Dog Tails #Marcus #Kyky

Rachel
 

Marcus: "Well met, Kyky," "I work for my coin, sadly,"


That should have been a disappointment for Kyky, who had absolutely woken up at dark-thirty to watch Kate Middleton become a princess, but it actually wasn't. Maybe she didn't stop being quintessentially American - a capitalist through and through - when she came through to Eventyr. Where nobles prided themselves on having the lower classes work for them, Kyky respected people who worked for themselves.


Marcus: "I'm actually here looking for a friend," "But I think she may have gotten herself tossed in a cell, knowing her temper. Do you happen to know how we get into the dungeons from here?"


"Oh god, well that sucks," Kyky said - her sentiment was wholly authentic, but more reminiscent of sympathizing with a friend who'd gotten a speeding ticket. The way Marcus framed it, it sounded accidental, temporary, no big deal.


So Kyky shrugged off a nod. She had seen the corridor that guards came climbing up from, carrying torches. One had stopped to help her when she'd dropped an underdress off the top of her basket and was struggling to figure out how to pick it up without dropping the whole thing. He'd blushed when he picked it up, and Kyky had supposed it wasn't all true, what they said about soldiers. "Yes, I saw how to get to the dungeons."


It wasn't until after she said as much that she realized he had said we. "We?" She wanted to go to the party! That was what all of this had been for! But the inkling of an adventure with this dashing stranger had its appeal...


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Re: Dance Magic, Dance #Theo #Bert #Brandy #Bridgette

Vincent Gonzales <alchemicalnonsense2578@...>
 

Who: Tristan

With: Brandy, Bert

Where: Silver Tankard Wagon, Riverside Avenue, Artisan's Quarter, King's City
When: Thursday, February 28th, 872 RoK (Reign of Kings)


Tristan had heard mutterings about the festival the last two times he'd been in Eventyr and just how grand the event would be. He'd seen flyers and heard town criers announcing it for all the world to hear and, after a brief moment’s consideration, he knew he wanted to go. Screw the old renaissance festivals of Earth, this was a real medieval party. He'd never been huge into historical fantasy, but the idea still seemed too interesting to pass up.


So, he'd traveled hit a fairy circle in his nicest suit and came through the other side in what he could only describe as a nobleman's garb. While he missed the familiar weight of armor, his sword was still on his back, something he was all too glad for.


After stabling Bruce (whom he'd initially named Betty until the black stallion had proven himself to certainly be male), Tristan pushed his way through the bustling crowd until he caught a break in the mass of people in the Artisan’s Quarter. Recognizing the sign of a bar as well as any, he made a bee line, noting how some people simply let him ahead of them with a nod or smile. Huh. That was different.


As he got to the front of the line, he put a handful of copper down on the bar, “Cider, when you get a moment, miss,” he said with an air of patience and a kind smile, waiting  for the barmaid to acknowledge his order before eyeing the rest of the crowd.


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Re: Dance Magic, Dance #Theo #Bert #Brandy #Bridgette

Ben
 

Who: Bert

With: Brandy

Where: Silver Tankard Wagon, Riverside Avenue, Artisan's Quarter, King's City

When: Thursday, February 28th, 872 RoK (Reign of Kings)


Bert smirked at the barmaid’s silver tongue. It would seem she knew the business of people a lot more than most. Her dismissal of his ‘troubles’ made it seem as though it was no more than an everyday occurance. And he was quite certain the extra money had helped as well.


Bert also picked up on the woman’s somewhat keen interest in him. She seemed to be looking him over with a more careful eye before moving on. Her questions were good ones too. He had done his best to not stand out, and his badge, while still on display, wasn’t particularly noticeable.


“Don’t worry yourself. I’ll be heading up there in due course. For now though, I had some friends I was waiting for, though they seem to have been waylaid.” Bert took a moment to consider the barmaid as well. She was very beautiful, but unlike many commoners, she seemed to have a deceptive intelligence to her. She seemed like someone who could hold her own in a battle of wits. The question, though, was how did she use her intelligence?


“I bet you could get yourself into that party if you really wanted to. Actually, I think I’m a little surprised you’re not there already. I doubt the guards would be a problem, and it wouldn’t take much to find a spot to fit in with the nobles. So why aren’t you there?”


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On Fri, Aug 10, 2018 at 2:12 PM, Rachel Balla <rachelballa@...> wrote:

Bridgette: “Theo,"...


Theo: "I'll pay for that, of course, to make some recompense,"


Bert: “That won’t be necessary, sir. It just seems my drink got the better of me. Enjoy your night.”


Ooh recompense. The casual drop of a complex word was a nice, subtle way of asserting status of his own, and in one more tense breath, the confrontation seemed to have passed. Thank god - a fight would be terrible for business, and these guys all seemed to have money.


Halfway through a sip, a hooded girl caught Brandy's attention with an order, and Brandy flashed her a cheerful smile in return. The hood was sort of suspicious - it gave her a Robin Hoodsy look. Like she had a secret, or didn't want to be seen.


Bridgette: “Okay!” “Um...one ale please.”


Theo: "Red," "I never expected to see you here. I'll get your ale, too. I still owe you, after all." "If it's no trouble, of course. Thank you."


Well, if the girl hadn't wanted to be seen, she would be disappointed, because the shove-r in the now-averted crisis recognized her and greeted her as a friend.


Bert: “Thank you for your help. I’m still not sure what came over me there.” “I hope that will compensate you for your troubles.”


By this point, Brandy was very sure she had been overpaid. Not a terrible problem to have! She passed the hooded girl her ale, adding, "Enjoy, Red!" and invited the small group to "Stick around, and I'll keep 'em coming!" because they were only going to get looser with their cash as they kept drinking.


Then, she focused in on the sheriff as he gave her another couple of coins. Closing her hand around them, she leaned in with a smirk and a conspiratorial, "What ever troubles do you mean?"


Something about him piqued her interest beside the money. She could easily have turned her attention to roping in more customers, but the truth was that she would be going home to a paycheck and didn't particularly need the money - it was more a way to meet interesting people, and her gut told her she might finally have found one.


So conversationally, she went on, "Why aren't you up in the castle with the other nobles? Don't get me wrong - I'm glad you're here," especially if he planned to keep compensating her, "but I'd be up at the royal party if I had one of these." Stepping in, Brandy tapped his chest right beside his crested badge.


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--
Benjamin Warner


Re: Make Him Free #hawkins #alessandra

Ben
 

Hawkins could barely make out the shrug in response to his questions. Seems other people could have a life just as hard as his. If she was to be executed, maybe this conversation would mean more to her than he thought. That thought was confirmed with the sob he heard from the other cell. Maybe she was more human than she seemed. His thoughts were interrupted by her next question.


“Nay, not a pirate, though I’ve been put here because I looked like one. Ye could say I’m a pirate hunter, though. At least I was until recently.” Hawkins let his head sink a little lower. To be imprisoned as a pirate, when his life’s goal was to rid the world of them was a fact he had yet to get over. If he ever got out of his cell, he’d make sure his former captain found himself in one.


“Ah, yes. That would be me former captain. He had me thrown to the wolves and ran with his tail between his legs.” Hawkins paused with a significant start. “Beggin yer pardon, I forgot who I was talkin’ to.” He hoped his slip of the tongue hadn’t upset her. That was the last thing he needed on a night like tonight. With the full moon just around the corner, it would certainly pay to be more cautious.


Following his fellow prisoner’s lead, he moved closer to the bars, if only to catch a glimpse of the person he was talking to. “What would ye do if ye could get out of here? Where would you go?”


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On Wed, Aug 15, 2018 at 9:51 PM, Rachel Balla <rachelballa@...> wrote:

Hawkins: “Has your life been that terrible? Have you done good for anyone? Made someone smile, even once?”


Alessandra offered a weak shrug instead of a verbal response. Sure, she'd made people smile. Her husband had given up his farm - and thus his entire sense of normalcy - to be with her. Her conversation with Marcus that last night was the most recent and thus the most potent in her memory. He'd laughed and joked, telling her - essentially - to go live. If she had gone to dance and drink the night away and fallen asleep in her mate's arms, maybe she wouldn't be here. But she'd never know for sure.


Hawkins: “Possibly. Me trial has been out off on account of the festival. I’ll be here for a long time to say the least.” … “It would seem though that I’m here instead of others. I don’t regret me life, but it would have been nice to sail the seas again with me friends, just one last time.”


A sob caught in Alessandra's throat at his final words. "One last time," she echoed. One more raid. One more romp with Evan. One more… phone call with her son. That's all she wanted, now. "Just one last time."


She wouldn't get one last anything, though, except this final conversation. So Alessandra decided to indulge it, the same way she would have any other of her last wishes. She pressed her cheek against the bar of her cell to get the best possible view of the other prisoner as he spoke. His words spoke to a story that might give her a reprieve from her own thoughts, at least for a time.


"So you're a pirate?" Alessandra assumed, for that was the only category she put "sailors" into in Eventyr, with nowhere legitimate to trade with. With an almost flippant shrug of her shoulder, Alessandra pushed. "Who should be here instead of you?" Lord knows, she could name ten in her own stead…


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--
Benjamin Warner


Re: Make Him Free #hawkins #alessandra

Rachel
 

Hawkins: “Has your life been that terrible? Have you done good for anyone? Made someone smile, even once?”


Alessandra offered a weak shrug instead of a verbal response. Sure, she'd made people smile. Her husband had given up his farm - and thus his entire sense of normalcy - to be with her. Her conversation with Marcus that last night was the most recent and thus the most potent in her memory. He'd laughed and joked, telling her - essentially - to go live. If she had gone to dance and drink the night away and fallen asleep in her mate's arms, maybe she wouldn't be here. But she'd never know for sure.


Hawkins: “Possibly. Me trial has been out off on account of the festival. I’ll be here for a long time to say the least.” … “It would seem though that I’m here instead of others. I don’t regret me life, but it would have been nice to sail the seas again with me friends, just one last time.”


A sob caught in Alessandra's throat at his final words. "One last time," she echoed. One more raid. One more romp with Evan. One more… phone call with her son. That's all she wanted, now. "Just one last time."


She wouldn't get one last anything, though, except this final conversation. So Alessandra decided to indulge it, the same way she would have any other of her last wishes. She pressed her cheek against the bar of her cell to get the best possible view of the other prisoner as he spoke. His words spoke to a story that might give her a reprieve from her own thoughts, at least for a time.


"So you're a pirate?" Alessandra assumed, for that was the only category she put "sailors" into in Eventyr, with nowhere legitimate to trade with. With an almost flippant shrug of her shoulder, Alessandra pushed. "Who should be here instead of you?" Lord knows, she could name ten in her own stead…


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Re: The Babe With the Power #James #Sanya #Malia

Rachel
 

James: "You are always lovely, Duchess"


With a coy bite of her lower lip, Malia tamed her voice down into a somber, deadpan tone even as she joked in return, "And that might well have presented a... complication."


Sanya: "Duchess North, Duke East," "My parents send their regards. My mother took ill just before they were to begin traveling to the King's City, and my father sprained his ankle while training with his guard's youngest recruits. He forgets to leave the adventuring to the youth some days."


The young lady was shrewd. Malia had only been at this for a few years, and so she was well aware than Sanya might have looked youthful, but she had Eventyr in her blood in ways Malia never would. The ease with which she both deferred to the other leaders of the kingdom's regions showed respect… but there was a corner of Malia's mind that latched onto that suspicion of a beautiful, capable up-and-comer in a particularly defensive way. Malia had to hope that her study of Shakespeare's Gertrude and Lady Macbeth for decade on decade would make up the difference.


James' snort bolstered her. It seemed to emphasize how very much he needed Malia to compensate for his - unexpected - total lack of charm.


"Send your parents our best wishes, if you would," Malia said, daring to presume including James' wishes in there. "Their situations must be severe," to risk their standing in court by sending their young daughter to such a monumental event! Didn't the Southern Dutchy already pay less in tax than the others?


"How does it suit you?" Malia asked, gesturing at the necklace around Sanya's throat. It was a loaded question if ever there was one: How ready are you to usurp your parents? "I think it couldn't be lovelier."

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Jump Magic, Jump! #Bridgette #Theo

Vincent Gonzales <alchemicalnonsense2578@...>
 

Who: Bridgette (aka Red) and Asteria

With: Theo

Where: Silver Tankard Wagon, Riverside Avenue, Artisan's Quarter, King's City

When: Thursday, February 28th, 872 RoK (Reign of Kings)

 

Red gave a short bow of her head in a ‘thank you’ to the barmaid who was all too eager to help pour drinks and loosen purse strings. She was kind enough and seemed to do her job well, Red noted as she turned her attention to Theo.

 

“You don't owe me, you owe the Woods,” Red said with a playful smile, nodding her head in greeting to Theo. “I…normally wouldn't go to something like this but I keep my promises.” Glancing around, Red tilted her head towards an empty table that was mostly shielded from the public by a wagon overfilled with kegs of fresh fruits and cheeses if the smells were any indication.

 

As she sat and placed her mug of ale on the table, a twinkling light shot out of her sleeve and landed with a splash in the mug, followed by an audible gulping sound. “Slow down or you'll get sick,” Red warned, glancing down at the pixie with an almost motherly glare. The pixie returned the glare with a universally rude gesture between gulps, seemingly content for now.

 

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