That's a shame about the mirror, and Rin still thinks it might be worth checking out what all of these mirrors do because maybe there's one Pyle hasn't had a chance to look at? He hasn't been here that long, right? Or does time even work right in the Market? Whatever the point about the mirrors - and they will look at those mirrors! - they speak, "We can do that, definitely. And if your sister can't find it there, we'll search it out for you. I'm pretty talented at finding hidden things. Especially if it's gold. Or some nice bones or stones."
Something occurs to them! "How're we going to find your sister, though? Do you remember where she's at? Or I guess we could ask around."
Dmitri thinks, but doesn't say, that there's a not-nil chance that whoever paid for the assassination is also searching for the gold. If it is the case, it's not something Gower needs to worry about. (It might be something for their group to look into once they get a sense of who offered the money, and what their usual practices might be.)
<.>
Sen has been awfully quiet through most of this conversation; he's watching Payl closely, wondering how much of his amnesia is truth. If it's entirely true, he's about to spend a lot more time than a single evening running around looking for their would-be-assassin's shadowy employer.
"Awich," Gower nods. "Work's not easy to come by when you don't work the docks. I took the river south to Mysos with Manon and my wife; they're always looking for servants. That's where I was when..." A shaking off of the thought. "She's in Awich. She has a house in South Ward. It isn't much, but she gets by. She'll get by."
Faolan almost asks what happened to Payl's wife, but he can guess. It's the first time he's mentioned her, after all; either she's dead or she left him. Either way, she's not someone Payl is worried about now.
A group of very much alive, very young necromancers filter into the stall; Payl hums a note of apology. "Is there anything else I can answer? I'm afraid I haven't been much help."
<.>
It's a detail worth holding onto, the fact of Gower's (former) wife. Something to ask into, if they end up needing further information, further sources. Something that needn't be brought up just now—
Probably.
For the moment, at least. There's been an interruption, and Dima turns his head just enough to favor the intrusive necromancers with a chilly, an affectless glance. Then, scarcely raising his voice, though he's sharper now in enunciation, and there's a trace of warning in his voice: "Would you mind. Out. I don't appreciate your interruption."
Dima is absolutely attempting to snarl them ouT, at least for a few more minutes.
[INT: 18; There is ONE necromancer permitted in this shop rn >:C]
<.>
The stunned neophytes immediately stumble over one another to try and get out of the tent; one of them knocks into a table, nearly sending a mirror crashing to the floor. Sen only barely manages to grab at it in time, fumbles and nearly drops it, himself, but rescues it from potential shattering.
(Acrobatics: 12. lkfhashdf Had to beat a 10.)
<.>
All Dima needs to see is that they are leaving (little shits); he hears the mirror-shuffling, but fixes his attention of Gower. "My pardons; I haven't finished with our questions.
"First, you said you knew a name: Can you recall it? Or any pertinent name, title at all, however tangential."
"Second: What can you tell us of Calabra himself— Or of his employ.
"Third: Where did you obtain your poison.
"You've given somewhere to begin, and I do appreciate your efforts. But you've had much more to say of your family than the circumstances leading to your end. Understandable, yes, but we need something more if we're to find the ones who put you in this position.
"If the answers elude you, try to focus on what you do know: The feeling of cobblestones beneath your feet, perhaps, or the cloak you wore. Perhaps the scents you noticed when you met your scarred contact."
<.>
"No, no. I've tried that. We don't have any sense memory," he replies disconsolately. "Some of the others claim it comes back, but it's why there's such a - demand for memories. For anything, just a shred, so we can taste wine again, or smell grass -"
"Or touch hair like our child's."
He lifts a shoulder and stares at the ground, clearly trying to think of something, anything. "Calabra's as your companion says. Even his fellow made-nobility don't like him much. He likes to flaunt his money and still whines about earnings.
"Working for him was always being accused of laziness, or theft, or of grifting from the cook's funds. Fucking miser. New-gold trash, really. Heavily on the side of stricter taxes on the canals. On all of us."
Payl looks up again at Dima. "Did you say 'Voronin?" And he laughs with a little schadenfreude. "Oh, he hated you. Or your family. I suppose the feeling was mutual - not to say your family had anything to do with it. I can't remember the name, but I know what the name wasn't."
A sigh. "The poison was just what we use to kill vermin. Concentrated for Calabra, obviously. Like I said: I'm no killer. I'm not - wasn't - very creative about any method of accomplishing a murder."
There's another silence, and Payl thinks to add, "I don't remember who hired me, but I know they weren't from Mysos. They complained of losing their way in the streets, but anyone who's lived there for a month knows the trick to getting around."
<.>
It isn't particularly helpful, but Gower at least seems to be trying in earnest; it's more than can be said for most beings, living or undead. So Dmitri decides to refrain from pushing further.
He did huff an amused laugh at the mention of Calabra's hatred. The hatred's no surprise; the question is how often the shit has cursed Dima's family, and how loudly, and how many vases he might have destroyed in the process. They aren't questions worth asking, or worth entertaining for more than a moment. Dima does, however, remark archly, "Not the most potent choice of poisons, but suited perfectly to Calabra."
Godsdamned ratfink fuck that he is.
"You can't have been the first to attempt to poison him; I'm certain you won't be the last." Most likely, Gower also won't be the last servant approached with the murderous offer. If, if they decide to pursue this further, they could do worse than to surreptitiously question some of Calabra's living servants.
"Payl. You have my thanks, and I've no more questions for you. Your daughter will be cared for; you may rely on that."
Dima folds his arms and looks to the rest of the party.
Rin has no questions to add, though now that the meeting seems to be reaching it's end, they're beginning to grow antsy, their eyes darting to the mirrors more and more often. Clearly, they will not be leaving once the conversation's finished. They have mirrors to look at, thank you very much! Also, maybe if they look at enough mirrors and ask enough questions about enough mirrors, they can help get the ghost's mind off of— Well, off of some of this, at least.
<.>
Sen, seeing Rin's fixation growing, thinks maybe he ought to try to find some way to distract them from the mirrors and allow Payl a little time to compose himself. (Insofar as a ghost may feel composed so soon after its death.) He knows there's a shop full of small totems near the docks, but he's not entirely sure that's enough to pry them away from the dozens of reflected Rins. (He can't blame them.)
Faolan, for his own part, has nothing more he wants to pursue about this. He thinks there's quite a lot of information that's been given, though it might need some puzzling through. Maybe tomorrow after another rest, he can approach all the information Payl's given them and figure out something crucial. Without waiting for the rest, he slips out of the stall and into a little more open space (away from all those mirrors.) (Not now.)
Payl sees the looks Sen keeps casting at Rin, and the looks Rin keeps casting at the mirrors. Hurriedly, he picks up a small hand mirror - folding, with a clever little catch to keep it closed. "Here. It isn't much, and it doesn't have any magic to it, but why don't you have it? With my thanks."
<.>
Rin—
Rin actually. Doesn't quite know what to do with this. People don't really give them things; it's usually a 'Rin takes and nobody realizes until later' sort of arrangement. Or a 'sometimes people give Rin things but it's always when they want something' arrangement.
Which.
Okay, maybe Payl does want something, and maybe what he wants is a little space, and maybe that's also why Sen's been looking at them like that, and it's true Rin's not the best at picking up on hints.
The mirror's in their hands now, and Rin's smiling down at it, pleased, running their hand along its cover. When they look up, there's a grin for Sen and a flash of the mirror - "Sen, Sen, look!" - then a smile for Payl and a little bow of their head. "If you're sure it's all right?
"Here, you should have something to, I'll—" They don't have much a ghost would want. Or could do much with. But there's a thought, something recent that tickles their memory, and as they tug at their hair, the pieces slip into place: "What if I bring you back a memory? If I— When we find your daughter." A pause as they try, they really try to remember and the name issss, "Manon, that's right, right? I could touch her hair - just like—" Here, they demonstrate, combing their fingers slow through their own hair. "Like that, and bring the memory to you? If it's okay with you, and if your daughter's okay with it."
They look to Sen, partly just to look at Sen because he's lovely to look at, partly as a way of checking to see whether they've gone way off-point. Then, back to Payl with a nod: "I'd like to do that."
Dmitri, when he saw the conversation had indeed reached its end, has followed Faolan out. Approaching him without coming too close, just in case the man needs a moment. Just in case what he witnessed was a little overwhelming. After a moment, he does ask, voice not too loud, "How do you feel?"
<.>
Payl looks utterly broken by their offer. If he had breath, it would catch - and it looks as though, if he could weep, maybe he would. "I..."
Composing himself a little, he nods. "I didn't expect anything. But if you would do that - Please. Yes, please. I'd like that."
Sen, with a sense of timing and more than his fair capability to read a room, begins to herd Rin out, offering Payl one parting smile and the reassurance that they'll do all they can.
Once they're just out of Payl's sight, Sen stops and smiles down at them. "You are a remarkable creature - with a lovely mirror and a lovelier heart. Do you know that?"
Faolan, meanwhile, doesn't know how to answer that question. Or rather, he doesn't know what Dmitri picked up one, and why he's asking. (There are so many reasons for him to feel anything other than well.) (...Not when he meets Dmitri's eyes, however. Dangerous, that's very dangerous.)
"I can't say I enjoyed that, obviously." He folds his arms and examines the tops of his shoes a moment before bringing himself back to the conversation - and Dmitri. "Tonight's been...a lot. I'm not used to being around so many people anymore, dead or alive."
Why is he telling Dmitri any of this?
(Because it's nice to tell someone who cares.)
"Also. I can't help but think of the servant stopping by our table. How many other people do you suppose he asked, and how many of them know Calabra is looking for whoever hired Gower?"
Faolan chews his lower lip thoughtfully. "I'm worried for his daughter. Someone might get it in their head that Gower told her what he was doing and who he was doing it for. Someone might get to her and his sister long before we do."
no subject
Something occurs to them! "How're we going to find your sister, though? Do you remember where she's at? Or I guess we could ask around."
Dmitri thinks, but doesn't say, that there's a not-nil chance that whoever paid for the assassination is also searching for the gold. If it is the case, it's not something Gower needs to worry about. (It might be something for their group to look into once they get a sense of who offered the money, and what their usual practices might be.)
<.>
Sen has been awfully quiet through most of this conversation; he's watching Payl closely, wondering how much of his amnesia is truth. If it's entirely true, he's about to spend a lot more time than a single evening running around looking for their would-be-assassin's shadowy employer.
"Awich," Gower nods. "Work's not easy to come by when you don't work the docks. I took the river south to Mysos with Manon and my wife; they're always looking for servants. That's where I was when..." A shaking off of the thought. "She's in Awich. She has a house in South Ward. It isn't much, but she gets by. She'll get by."
Faolan almost asks what happened to Payl's wife, but he can guess. It's the first time he's mentioned her, after all; either she's dead or she left him. Either way, she's not someone Payl is worried about now.
A group of very much alive, very young necromancers filter into the stall; Payl hums a note of apology. "Is there anything else I can answer? I'm afraid I haven't been much help."
<.>
It's a detail worth holding onto, the fact of Gower's (former) wife. Something to ask into, if they end up needing further information, further sources. Something that needn't be brought up just now—
Probably.
For the moment, at least. There's been an interruption, and Dima turns his head just enough to favor the intrusive necromancers with a chilly, an affectless glance. Then, scarcely raising his voice, though he's sharper now in enunciation, and there's a trace of warning in his voice: "Would you mind. Out. I don't appreciate your interruption."
Dima is absolutely attempting to snarl them ouT, at least for a few more minutes.
[INT: 18; There is ONE necromancer permitted in this shop rn >:C]
<.>
The stunned neophytes immediately stumble over one another to try and get out of the tent; one of them knocks into a table, nearly sending a mirror crashing to the floor. Sen only barely manages to grab at it in time, fumbles and nearly drops it, himself, but rescues it from potential shattering.
(Acrobatics: 12. lkfhashdf Had to beat a 10.)
<.>
All Dima needs to see is that they are leaving (little shits); he hears the mirror-shuffling, but fixes his attention of Gower. "My pardons; I haven't finished with our questions.
"First, you said you knew a name: Can you recall it? Or any pertinent name, title at all, however tangential."
"Second: What can you tell us of Calabra himself— Or of his employ.
"Third: Where did you obtain your poison.
"You've given somewhere to begin, and I do appreciate your efforts. But you've had much more to say of your family than the circumstances leading to your end. Understandable, yes, but we need something more if we're to find the ones who put you in this position.
"If the answers elude you, try to focus on what you do know: The feeling of cobblestones beneath your feet, perhaps, or the cloak you wore. Perhaps the scents you noticed when you met your scarred contact."
<.>
"No, no. I've tried that. We don't have any sense memory," he replies disconsolately. "Some of the others claim it comes back, but it's why there's such a - demand for memories. For anything, just a shred, so we can taste wine again, or smell grass -"
"Or touch hair like our child's."
He lifts a shoulder and stares at the ground, clearly trying to think of something, anything. "Calabra's as your companion says. Even his fellow made-nobility don't like him much. He likes to flaunt his money and still whines about earnings.
"Working for him was always being accused of laziness, or theft, or of grifting from the cook's funds. Fucking miser. New-gold trash, really. Heavily on the side of stricter taxes on the canals. On all of us."
Payl looks up again at Dima. "Did you say 'Voronin?" And he laughs with a little schadenfreude. "Oh, he hated you. Or your family. I suppose the feeling was mutual - not to say your family had anything to do with it. I can't remember the name, but I know what the name wasn't."
A sigh. "The poison was just what we use to kill vermin. Concentrated for Calabra, obviously. Like I said: I'm no killer. I'm not - wasn't - very creative about any method of accomplishing a murder."
There's another silence, and Payl thinks to add, "I don't remember who hired me, but I know they weren't from Mysos. They complained of losing their way in the streets, but anyone who's lived there for a month knows the trick to getting around."
<.>
It isn't particularly helpful, but Gower at least seems to be trying in earnest; it's more than can be said for most beings, living or undead. So Dmitri decides to refrain from pushing further.
He did huff an amused laugh at the mention of Calabra's hatred. The hatred's no surprise; the question is how often the shit has cursed Dima's family, and how loudly, and how many vases he might have destroyed in the process. They aren't questions worth asking, or worth entertaining for more than a moment. Dima does, however, remark archly, "Not the most potent choice of poisons, but suited perfectly to Calabra."
Godsdamned ratfink fuck that he is.
"You can't have been the first to attempt to poison him; I'm certain you won't be the last." Most likely, Gower also won't be the last servant approached with the murderous offer. If, if they decide to pursue this further, they could do worse than to surreptitiously question some of Calabra's living servants.
"Payl. You have my thanks, and I've no more questions for you. Your daughter will be cared for; you may rely on that."
Dima folds his arms and looks to the rest of the party.
Rin has no questions to add, though now that the meeting seems to be reaching it's end, they're beginning to grow antsy, their eyes darting to the mirrors more and more often. Clearly, they will not be leaving once the conversation's finished. They have mirrors to look at, thank you very much! Also, maybe if they look at enough mirrors and ask enough questions about enough mirrors, they can help get the ghost's mind off of— Well, off of some of this, at least.
<.>
Sen, seeing Rin's fixation growing, thinks maybe he ought to try to find some way to distract them from the mirrors and allow Payl a little time to compose himself. (Insofar as a ghost may feel composed so soon after its death.) He knows there's a shop full of small totems near the docks, but he's not entirely sure that's enough to pry them away from the dozens of reflected Rins. (He can't blame them.)
Faolan, for his own part, has nothing more he wants to pursue about this. He thinks there's quite a lot of information that's been given, though it might need some puzzling through. Maybe tomorrow after another rest, he can approach all the information Payl's given them and figure out something crucial. Without waiting for the rest, he slips out of the stall and into a little more open space (away from all those mirrors.) (Not now.)
Payl sees the looks Sen keeps casting at Rin, and the looks Rin keeps casting at the mirrors. Hurriedly, he picks up a small hand mirror - folding, with a clever little catch to keep it closed. "Here. It isn't much, and it doesn't have any magic to it, but why don't you have it? With my thanks."
<.>
Rin—
Rin actually. Doesn't quite know what to do with this. People don't really give them things; it's usually a 'Rin takes and nobody realizes until later' sort of arrangement. Or a 'sometimes people give Rin things but it's always when they want something' arrangement.
Which.
Okay, maybe Payl does want something, and maybe what he wants is a little space, and maybe that's also why Sen's been looking at them like that, and it's true Rin's not the best at picking up on hints.
The mirror's in their hands now, and Rin's smiling down at it, pleased, running their hand along its cover. When they look up, there's a grin for Sen and a flash of the mirror - "Sen, Sen, look!" - then a smile for Payl and a little bow of their head. "If you're sure it's all right?
"Here, you should have something to, I'll—" They don't have much a ghost would want. Or could do much with. But there's a thought, something recent that tickles their memory, and as they tug at their hair, the pieces slip into place: "What if I bring you back a memory? If I— When we find your daughter." A pause as they try, they really try to remember and the name issss, "Manon, that's right, right? I could touch her hair - just like—" Here, they demonstrate, combing their fingers slow through their own hair. "Like that, and bring the memory to you? If it's okay with you, and if your daughter's okay with it."
They look to Sen, partly just to look at Sen because he's lovely to look at, partly as a way of checking to see whether they've gone way off-point. Then, back to Payl with a nod: "I'd like to do that."
Dmitri, when he saw the conversation had indeed reached its end, has followed Faolan out. Approaching him without coming too close, just in case the man needs a moment. Just in case what he witnessed was a little overwhelming. After a moment, he does ask, voice not too loud, "How do you feel?"
<.>
Payl looks utterly broken by their offer. If he had breath, it would catch - and it looks as though, if he could weep, maybe he would. "I..."
Composing himself a little, he nods. "I didn't expect anything. But if you would do that - Please. Yes, please. I'd like that."
Sen, with a sense of timing and more than his fair capability to read a room, begins to herd Rin out, offering Payl one parting smile and the reassurance that they'll do all they can.
Once they're just out of Payl's sight, Sen stops and smiles down at them. "You are a remarkable creature - with a lovely mirror and a lovelier heart. Do you know that?"
Faolan, meanwhile, doesn't know how to answer that question. Or rather, he doesn't know what Dmitri picked up one, and why he's asking. (There are so many reasons for him to feel anything other than well.) (...Not when he meets Dmitri's eyes, however. Dangerous, that's very dangerous.)
"I can't say I enjoyed that, obviously." He folds his arms and examines the tops of his shoes a moment before bringing himself back to the conversation - and Dmitri. "Tonight's been...a lot. I'm not used to being around so many people anymore, dead or alive."
Why is he telling Dmitri any of this?
(Because it's nice to tell someone who cares.)
"Also. I can't help but think of the servant stopping by our table. How many other people do you suppose he asked, and how many of them know Calabra is looking for whoever hired Gower?"
Faolan chews his lower lip thoughtfully. "I'm worried for his daughter. Someone might get it in their head that Gower told her what he was doing and who he was doing it for. Someone might get to her and his sister long before we do."
<.>