faderift | [closed] harvestmere is for lovers

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[closed] harvestmere is for lovers

WHO: Val, Wysteria, & A Bunch of Rubes
WHAT: A perfectly uncontroversial fundraiser
WHEN: The first day of Harvestmere
WHERE: The Asgard Estate in Hightown
NOTES: If you received one of Wysteria's invitations at the beginning of ~~September~~ Kingsway and your character would have agreed to show their face, then here's what they signed up for. With thanks to Ceeeee/Eppy/Beka for the NPC profiles; if we run out of comedy NPCs to match up with, ping me at

prosodi and I'll cram in a few more.

Per certain written invitations judiciously dispensed in earlier weeks prior, on the very first day of Harvestmere a bizarre conglomerate descends upon the Asgard Estate in Hightown. And while it's true that the state of the household might be somewhat controversial—it being appointed in a very Tevene fashion in accordance with the taste of its proprietor—, for almost a full hour it seems the evening will proceed in the manner that similar benefits must: doomed to be somewhat stilted, punctuated with rather too much polite laughter and the occasional tactless question, but generally inoffensive for all involved. While the members of Riftwatch and the invited would-be benefactors mingle over respectably appointed boards of hors d'oeuvres and various (entirely optional) dances are led under a string quartet's guidance, Wysteria plays at the role of host in an effort to see that everyone is acquainted and in good spirits be it emotionally or in the liquid sense.

However (for there must be a however), the evening takes rather a sharp before dinner.

At some point, the music recedes and everyone is ushered into an adjacent room where a series of chairs are arranged. One might be expecting someone to play whatever charming instrument is near the front of the room, but alas. Instead, Miss Poppell gives a very charming introduction to the evening's main event - a small auction, the lots of which "You should all be well acquainted with by now, but will secure your seating arrangements for dinner," - and surrenders the floor to Monsieur de Foncé so that the bloodbath may begin.

Each attending member of Riftwatch (excepting Val, Wysteria, and Leander who somehow landed being Wysteria's personal guest rather than a victim of their machinations) will be called up in turn and introduced either very faithfully according to a description they provided or one written for them, and auctioned to the highest bidder. Very stealthy members of the company (or indeed a selection of especially mortified guests) may have an opportunity to slither out a side door once the bidding starts, but it may honestly be less embarrassing to just go with it. Surely everyone's had enough to drink by now to ease any potential sting, correct?

Once the bidding ends, everyone will be shown to dinner where everyone is arranged according to the auction's results so that the "lot" is seated to the left of whomever won their bid and forced to either endure or enjoy their company for the duration of the meal. Afterwards, the party—or whatever remains of it, given various escape attempts or whatever surprise pressing business or headaches might have been claimed in an effort to beat a more polite retreat—retires back to the first room for dessert and drinks, a few rounds of cards, and the last exhausted dregs of conversation before at last winding to a close.

Entertaining? Debatable. Gauche? Perhaps more than one might prefer. But no one dies, so it hardly can be called a disaster as far as Riftwatch interacting with the public goes.

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There is, to a very perceptive eye, something which changes in the quality of the good humor she has adopted into her face. Perhaps it is a gleam of real interest in her pale eyes, or a slight lessening in the politely imposed force at the corners of her smile.

"Oh? What sort of project? I must warn you that I am regrettably rather indisposed with a great host of other business, but were there some particular thing which might especially benefit from my input...—"

Fishing for compliments? Please, she would never.

Mhavos knows it as the look a noble gets, when they remember you're useful for something other than calculating their tithes and keeping books in order. He doesn't take it personally. People aren't always genuinely interested in other people; certainly, Mhavos isn't.

"I would, in fact." Compliments are free, and thus easy to give. "When you have time, of course. You recall the guide for new Rifters. I wonder if something more profound could be done-- in terms of impact, of course. To my knowledge, you are one of the most senior Rifters in the organization."

"I believe only the Provost and Madame de Cedoux are senior to myself, yes." A shame that the latter hadn't been able to attend tonight's engagement; this might made made for an excellent opportunity to trap the woman into a conversation which might later be followed upon with an inquiry into certain other arcane hobbies she is known to possess.

Alas.

"Is there a more... profound result you have in mind?"

"Yes. A book about your experiences. A chapbook, if you'd prefer it shorter, whatever length you like. If you've a diary, taking it from older entries-- leaving out whatever personal details you like-- may make it easier. Simply, an account of your arrival, some incidents you feel worth recounting, and your current successes, would make an excellent addition to our library, and possibly gain positive press around Kirkwall."

He thinks it's a flattering proposal, if she has the time for it. If she likes it, maybe she'll bother de Cedoux with it; he can't imagine Thranduil would care.

She listens attentively, and in the pause that follows seems to genuinely consider the possibility before her (comparatively) straight face fails. This laugh is significantly less pleasant and chiming, and rather more guffawing honk and therefore significantly more genuine than the former. It takes some moments for her to master herself, and even then it's mostly a matter of physically restraining herself with a knuckle pressed against her lips and a slight turn to avoid the alarmed looks being cast in their direction.

Eventually:

"Forgive me. It's a flattering proposal, Monsieur. But I'm afraid I've been told that I'm an exceptionally poor writer by everyone who had reason to read any of it, save perhaps Captain Silver. And I believe even he may have some regrets with respect to the work he commissioned."

"I would not mind editing it," Mhavos says, "but if the proposal interests you none at all, I'll leave it at that. Thank you for your time, in any case."

"Well."

There is such a wealth of possibility in that single word, a place holder for a pause (for Wysteria Poppell rarely truly expresses much with silences or by holding her tongue).

"It's not that I'm uninterested. Merely that I thought you should be aware of it, so as not to think you were inviting the writing of some true talent only to be inevitably disappointed should I agree to the thing. Could it be anonymous? Or written under a pseudonym, perhaps. If certain personal details are to be stripped from it already, I would expect that would be a matter of course."

"If you'd like, I suppose, but I'd like it to retain as much as possible obvious ties back to you being a Rifter in Riftwatch in Kirkwall."

All said placidly, while sipping the watered-down wine he's been given. (He watered it down himself.)

"Yes, of course. It would have to, or risk diluting the aim of the project - which is, I assume, to somewhat improve the reputation of Rifters. Tell me, are you looking to romanticize Rifters, or to humanize them? They are two very different things."

And before he can answer, Wysteria continues to ask, "Have you discussed this with the Provost? Or Speaker Fabria. I suspect as the leader of Project Haven, he might have some preferences on the subject. He has been very particular on the subject of keeping notes on mage practices and how they might be perceived should they somehow be disseminated outside the Gallows."

"I have not. At the moment, the project is in its infancy. But it's a good idea, of course." He sips his drink quietly.

"My aim is to raise the profile of Riftwatch with things we can sell as well as archive. It is up to you, and what information you give me, and how you tell me to write it, how you would like it to be perceived, with romance or realism."

'Humanize' is a word that always leaves Mhavos somewhat at a loss.

Here, finally, a pause in which Wysteria studies him with a sudden calculating and measuring quality. Not that the good cheer in her has drained away exactly; simply that it now shares residence with a more genuine sort of consideration.

"And how would you go about the publication and sale? By chapter, or would one need the entire piece prepared prior to distribution?"

Ceding power is its own kind of play. It forces people to make up their minds about things, so you yourself cannot be blamed.

"What would you prefer?"

Her focus narrows still further, practically squinting in contemplation.

"The first, I should think. Hardly anyone will care about a whole book written by a Rifter, but lots of people find it pleasant to be up to date on unusual things for the sake of gossip."

A smile. It's a good angle.

"I would like that very much. Once it's started, it's harder to stop, hm?"

"Something like that, yes. Further, then you could have it out the door much more promptly, and were I to disappear suddenly it would be easy enough to have someone take over the writing of the thing without anyone being the wiser. That is, as it happens, why I might suggest a pseudonym as well. A layer of anonymity would see that the project could outlast the writer should some version of the worst happen. There is, I have heard, a war happening."

She punctuates it with a swift smile - ha ha, yes. She's extremely clever -, and then moves on without further delay to say, "Seeing as we are in such agreement then, and how I am already doing you a small favor with respect to the Rifter's guide, I will see if I can't scrape together a little something additional for your perusal while I'm at it."

The idea of pretending to be Wysteria for the sake of periodicals certainly prompts a feeling, but Mhavos doesn't know what it's called. Incredulity just doesn't seem like enough.

It distracts him, a half second, before he realizes the inevitable other foot has settled primly down next to him in a fashionable hat. "How can I be of use, serah?"

"Of service? Hardly. However Monsieur, it has occurred to me that you have a particular talent for gathering and indexing information and find myself wondering whether you might have any interest in pursuing a different sort of study. Being as you know something of an outsider, I've found it difficult getting traction with collecting information which would be invaluable to the Research division from a few of Riftwatch's members and wonder if you might be willing to enter into a partnership with me on a little project of my own. You have such a way with words, and a disarming nature. The former I have at best passing relations with, and the latter I can manage only for a short time."

Would anyone in the entire world describe Wysteria Poppell as disarming even for the briefest moment? Unlikely, unless she'd somehow miraculously managed to literally slap a knife out of their hand by accident.

"Disarming nature?" He raises a brow. Is this an elf thing? Maker, he hopes it's not an elf thing.

"I'm not opposed, but I still don't know what your proposal is."

"My proposal," she says, quite patient and cheerful indeed. "Is that I will come up with a series of questions and a list of who I would like to answer them, and you will see how many of them you can persuade to answer it."

Mhavos keeps his face blank, but not too passive. It's a little exhausting, honestly. "And what, may I ask, are these questions?"

"They relate to--" Here, a pause so she might unconsciously flick a glance about the room. She leans slightly closer, borrow sapphires glinting in the lamp light of the room. "To arcane theory, and the practice of magic by Thedosian mages so that it might be compared to the sorts practiced elsewhere. By Rifters. But as I'm sure you understand, there is some hesitance on the part of most mages to submit to a survey."

Mhavos listens, still impassively unfolding. The effort in following her request seems to far outweigh the effort of surviving this conversation, but at the moment his instinct is just to put her off with acquiescence.

Deep breath.

"I understand the hesitance," Mhavos says, "I don't understand why one would confide in me over you, especially by merit of... force of personality."

"Ah, but that is precisely the trouble!" she declares, seemingly relieved by his recognition of it.

"Indeed, I believe that very thing to be a factor in the refusal. It seems there are people who find it difficult to imagine that I am a careful steward of secrets, for example. Being, I suppose, that I am such an easy conversationalist generally. That sort of thing. I have no doubt that such individuals would find you a much more secure confidant, and your endorsement of the project encouraging."

Mhavos pretends to consider that. "You are a rifter, so you would be excused for not knowing the general stereotype, that elves are shiftless and will sell anything to the highest bidder, secrets included."

Is he playing this up to get out of it? A little. Does he really, really want to avoid the reputation of 'secretive'? Entirely.

"And I am a bumbling Rifter who will trip over my own feet and spill them publicly for no material gain whatsoever," she agrees, as if they are speaking of funny hypotheticals.

"No, I have seen the way in which our fellows take your various inquiries—seriously is perhaps a great reach for anything which occurs there, but let us say at least that you have seen some measure of useful responses. Why, your project concerning the Rifter's Guide is just one such example. I believe that between the two of us, we might be able to most confidently liaison with a broader sample of the Gallows mages."

(no subject)

murderbaby - 2020-11-16 00:31 (UTC) - Expand

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