muckspout: (Default)
Edgard ([personal profile] muckspout) wrote in [community profile] faderift2020-11-09 03:48 pm

Open

WHO: Edgard and YOU
WHAT: I'm doing the catch-all thing too
WHEN: Now-ish, post-Murderhaus and Satinalia
WHERE: Various places
NOTES: Open to all unless otherwise specified. Post-murderhaus stuff might have murdery discussions




All prompts in comments! Feel three to throw wildcards in here if you so desire. I love you.
murderbaby: ( (190)

[personal profile] murderbaby 2020-11-10 03:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Mhavos is also in the infirmary, paging through several books he's gotten someone or other to bring him. He's also struggling with staying awake-- they gave him something heady for the pain, and he very much hates it.

Edgard seems awake, if forlornly.

Mhavos picks up a stylus and throws it at Edgard. Were he in a better state, it would smack Edgard squarely on the head. As it is, the stylus lands in Edgard's lap.
murderbaby: (027)

[personal profile] murderbaby 2020-11-15 10:50 pm (UTC)(link)
Is it a joke, is it real? It doesn't matter. Mhavos, foggy headed and over serious, disregards it.

Chin nodding into his chest, he tries to stay upright. "I need your help."

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poleaxed: static; angry; hand; fight (when i only meant)

[personal profile] poleaxed 2020-11-10 04:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Jone likes to wander the grounds because they're pretty, the sort of pretty that feels like a prison. The dissonance is... fun, in a dangerous sort of way, which is to her the most fun.

She catches sight of Edgard, clearly soused, and answers honestly, "fantastic riches. You?"
poleaxed: joke (it ain't me babe)

[personal profile] poleaxed 2020-11-15 09:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"Boo hoo, poor you." She sits next to him, kicking him a bit-- not hard, just kind of communal kicking, which is a thing that exists in her mind-- "What's crawled up your arse?"
acreage: (} just sit down like a normal person)

[personal profile] acreage 2020-11-10 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
"Easy."

He holds up both hands, pausing near where Edgard sits. He sounds more or less unruffled, though.

"I was just passing through."
acreage: (} 008.)

[personal profile] acreage 2020-11-12 05:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Buddy. His eyebrows go up, but he doesn't comment on that...yet.

"Mind if I join you?"

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cozen: (016)

[personal profile] cozen 2020-11-11 08:46 pm (UTC)(link)
"To say hello," Bastien says, in Orlesian, bonjour compatriote et cetera.

He doesn't usually bother people who don't look like they want to be bothered. But people who don't want to be bothered don't often sit in the middle of open gardens, drinking alone. So he sits down next to him, and leans over to get what he just said he wanted:

"Hello."
cozen: (036)

[personal profile] cozen 2020-11-13 01:09 am (UTC)(link)
“Yes, that’s me.”

He picks up one of the empty bottles to examine it, then sniff the contents, as if judging the quality of the now-missing wine.

“This is a lot of wine, my friend. Did you have help?”

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keenly: 'cause you don't know me (I knew he'd get it wrong)

[personal profile] keenly 2020-11-11 06:44 am (UTC)(link)
A hand slams against one of the signs just as Edgard moves to tear it down, and in the seconds that follow, Edgard might reflect on whether or not he has actually seen Colin angry before. Perhaps previously, he had merely seen him indignant, impatient, or just in the moments leading up to anger. Perhaps he'd assumed that's what anger looks like on Colin because Colin is sweet by nature, and rarely angry, so it's anyone's guess what it looks like on him.

Well, this is what it looks like--simmering blankness staring up at Edgard from beneath black eyebrows, a clenched jaw and flushed face with little else in terms of change.

"Is this a joke to you?" comes the seething hiss.
keenly: (I'll be there)

[personal profile] keenly 2020-11-11 06:36 pm (UTC)(link)
He might as well have said nothing. Colin doesn't even blink.

"Some servant or other here is going to take the fall for what you've done and you're fine with that."

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altusimperius: (Default)

[personal profile] altusimperius 2020-11-10 12:01 am (UTC)(link)
This feels like a trap.
So used to the schedule by now that he's actually awakened by the absence of Edgard yelling, Benedict sits up, blinks confusedly, and looks over to the man-shaped lump in the adjacent bed.

"Edgard?"

Maybe he died.
Edited 2020-11-10 00:01 (UTC)
altusimperius: (ofuck)

[personal profile] altusimperius 2020-11-10 12:49 am (UTC)(link)
Benedict's heart twinges with fear. No reaction, no sound. What if he's actually did? Bene has seen dead bodies before, but only in the worst moments of his life.

He sits on the edge of his own bed and uses one long leg to prod gently at Edgard's back.

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lumelume: (Default)

makes my OWN PROMPT like a REBEL

[personal profile] lumelume 2020-11-10 12:29 am (UTC)(link)
(tw: offscreen animal abuse)

It's a cold, dingy night in Lowtown, and amidst the hustle and bustle of the city's sounds there comes a series of frantic, high-pitched barks. It's drowned out before long by a cacophony of other barks, lower and at times more fearsome in tone, and the residents of the neighborhood complain under their breath about that fucking kennel: it's where the fighting dogs are kept, and the slightest disturbance can make them all lose their minds.

The first dog quiets down amidst the mayhem, and anyone listening more closely can hear the angry shouting of the kennel keeper before he slams the door and ostensibly goes back to bed.
lumelume: (aaaaa)

[personal profile] lumelume 2020-11-10 07:31 pm (UTC)(link)
The occasional bark still breaks the silence of the yard, but it's a happier sound, the smell of a familiar and friendly presence to many of the dogs. There's whining and claws scraping at the bars of cages, the fighting dogs knowing little about the rules of subterfuge.

Down at the end of the row of cages is a much subtler clicking sound, human fingers dragging furtively at what they can reach of the latch, to little avail: there isn't an opening large enough to accommodate a whole hand, and the man inside is sitting rather uncomfortably folded up in an enclosure barely big enough for a medium-sized dog to turn around.

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