A nod, as if approving of both the servants' circumspection and their efforts toward an honest answer. "I take your meaning well.
"Given these security measures, do you find it likely that Payl Gower was approached outside of the household, rather than within?"
[ Most men of means do tend toward paranoia. I can only hope his staff does not suffer for it.
...More than has already happened. It seems a shame, what happened to Payl Gower.
Two final questions: Do you know the identities of the individuals hired to seek out the Nightmare Market? I may need to put them to question.
Then tell me: Do you feel safe remaining in your present position? ]
<.>
A moment of thought from the human before he replies, [ He only talked of 'Voronin' being with them. I suppose he meant the firstborn; the other two are in Morovsk, last I heard. Don't know his first name, but that's easy to find out, isn't it? Heard there was a tiefling and an elf in the bunch - ]
He pauses with a sudden thought and purses his lips before adding carefully, [ No, he mentioned another person, too. He said 'the Rhys whore's working his way up the food chain like the scraper he is'. I remember thinking - well, there was that big scandal, wasn't it? Half the territories heard about it, three years back - at the youngest Voronin's fete. I remember thinking it's strange that boy would be in the company of a Voronin after what happened. ]
He clearly looks ashamed for having spoken so unpleasantly, even if only relaying what he heard. Still, he manages a weak smile. [ Anyhow. No, Sir. I don't feel safe. Does anyone? ]
And, [ I'll get by. ]
<.>
Dima sees red. At the words regarding (slandering) (fucking speaking where no one has the right) Faolan, he doesn't quite catch the anger that flashes across his expression, brief but evident.
He.
( He's going to fucking kill Calabra and his godsfucked minions himself.)
Dmitri exhales a shape breath, rubs his forehead and speaks: "Take no mind of my frustration. You have all answered well, and - I believe - truthfully. Baseless embellishments would prove no aid to our cause, and there is use in all that you have shared today.
"A final question: When will Lord Calabra be available tomorrow? I should like to speak with him as early as is possible.
"There will, of course, be no mention of our discussion here today."
[ Guard yourself with care. Take care not to flinch at the mention of Payl Gower's name or death. And know that what you have told me here may well preserve countless lives. ]
<.>
While Dima has been interrogating the servants, Faolan has made his way to South Ward; it takes him the better part of an hour to find someone willing to even speak with him. The community here is especially distrustful of strangers. However, he does find someone he persuades to direct him to Morwenna Gower's home. (Persuasion 15)
What he finds is a door ajar and, within, a ransacked house. The girls are gone.
He doesn't think it's been long since the invasion took place; there's food on the table that can't be more than a few hours old, and the ashes in the hearth are warm. ( Investigation 18 )
Outside, he tries to find someone who witnessed what happened to Morwenna and Manon; the only person who'll even look at him is an elderly woman who seems to be terrified of what she witnessed. He gently pleads with her to speak with him (Persuasion 15 again); she very reluctantly tells him she saw a group of men forcing the girls from their home and into a carriage.
She goes on to say she tried to run and call for help, but Faolan can see she's infirm, able only to hobble at best. By the time she found aid, the carriage was gone.
Faolan has no reason to believe she's lying, but he really can't tell. (Insight 11)
He looks up to Liviana and, trying to keep his worry in check, asks her to find Dmitri; he intimates he'll be waiting at the inn where the four of them are quartered.
Once there, he finds Rin and Sen; once sat at a table apart from the meager tavern crowd, he tells them what he discovered, but urges them to wait until Dmitri joins them to detail what they found out at the Lion and Boar.
<.>
He receives the message from Liviana before he sees her (feels relief that at least, at least it sounds as if Faolan is safe), and cautions her against joining him until he's dropped his disguise and the Boar and Lion is out of sight. When they arrive at their own inn, Dmitri ushers them up to his room, cautioning against speech until they're safely sequestered.
There, he tells what he's learned: That they were tailed to the Market and the meeting with Gower. That Calabra meant to find Gower's daughter before ever reaching Awich. That Calabra and his elite retinue are supposed to be returning tomorrow, having left no note of where they've gone. Everything gleaned from the servants, Dima shares as quickly as possible (leaving out, of course, the way Faolan was spoken of), concluding with—
"The bastards followed us. We'll need to tell Nerys—" He shakes his head, looks at Faolan (and feels again a surge of warmth, twined with anger at the words those bastards dared to speak), and asks, "They weren't in Morwenna's home, then."
<.>
Faolan looks a like maybe he's in a bit of shock, shaking his head automatically at the question. It's only just beginning to sink in that the girls were taken, and this is compounded by the surge of guilt he feels for exposing the Market's whereabouts. He should have been mindful of anyone following them. He shouldn't have spent all the time on the dock with Dima. He shouldn't have slept. He should have gone straight to Morwenna the moment Gower told them about her.
Sen isn't feeling quite so guilty; he only says quietly, "We'll find them. If he'd wanted them dead, there would've been bodies."
Faolan only shakes his head again. "The Market's there for one more night. We need to go at sunset. We need to warn Nerys, like you said. As soon as possible. No more delays. No more - diversions."
He's wringing his hands in his lap as he speaks.
Sen frowns and gives Dmitri a subtle shake of his head. [ Don't take that personally. He's in no state. ]
Almost imploringly, he turns to Rin and says, "Why don't you show them what you found?"
<.>
"We'll go; of course we'll go." It's the one thing Dmitri can promise right now. The rest - the whereabouts of Morwenna and Manon, Calabra's intentions - is beyond prediction at the moment. And the talk of—
Of diversions.
Dmitri has some notion of what Fae might mean; Sen's Message only further seals the notion. And though Dima feels a sinking in his chest, he tells himself to remain focused.
He does also attempt - carefully, lightly - to settle a hand on Faolan's back, and Messages: [ We'll fix this. ]
Then, to Sen, [ I can't imagine what Calabra wants them FOR. ]
At Sen's cue, Rin immediately begins setting their findings out for view: The pile of Calabra's correspondence, the jewelry (one piece in its box), the weapon the piece of cloth and the nice-smelling item from the desk, the bag of coins, then the shirt and whetstone and piece of cloth from the room with the twin bed.
"I'm not sure what any of this is supposed to mean. There were also a bunch of locked trunks in one of the rooms - the guard's, I guess? - and a lot of clothes. And a pisspot.
"So. All right, what do you think?"
Dima will be particularly interested in the correspondence, though he will of course take a look at all of the items, and will try to determine whether any of them is touched with magic.
Rin is going to start counting out the coins.
<.>
The first piece of jewelry proves to be a signet ring. The piece of cloth is a handkerchief embroidered with the letters "N C”. The nice-smelling thing is a small tin of solid perfume. The weapon is a jeweled dagger. It looks expensive - and also unique and therefore recognizable. Rin counts out 105 gp, 33 sp, 4 cp. The miniature portrait is of a young woman. The shirt is a shirt, the whetstone is a whetstone, and the rag is a rag.
Of those items, would you like to make any checks?
<.>
Dima would like to check the signet ring and determine whether it's recognizable as Calabra's. He would like to check the dagger, both to see whether it's anything he recognizes, and whether it bears any magical properties. The portrait, to see whether he recognizes it. Also tbh is the perfume/its scent recognizable.
also a q: what is Calabra's wife's name, if Dima knows it?
<.>
For the signet ring, make an insight check. The dagger quite overtly has no magical properties and is in fact somewhat dulled; it's just a showpiece. For the portrait, make a separate insight check. The perfume is a commonly-used scent amongst nobility and Dmitri has smelled it on men and women alike. Calabra's wife's name is Naja. Both are human.
[INS, d: 6 (for both wtg man)]
<.>
Is the showpiece anything Dima might recognize? And. Dima. Is going to ask Sen and Faolan if they can make anything out of the ring or portrait.
<.>
It's literally just Calabra's show-off-y dagger
[Fae check: nat 20]
Fae identfies the ring as belonging too the baronial household in Riversdown.
[Sen check for portrait: 15]
Sen says she looks an awful lot like Calabra.
<.>
Rin is going to lean over, look at the picture again, and nod in agreement despite not really at all remembering what Calabra looks like.
Dima asks Faolan what he knows about this household.
[q: and i'll ask if dima knows anything about this household]
<.>
Being nobility, Dmitri of course knows the household and has found all his interactions with the Baron to be amiable, honest, and enjoyable.
Faolan reports he has heard much the same.
In short, they're good people and good leaders, and it's strange Calabra has the Baron's signet ring.
Dima is going to remark on this out loud, noting the extreme scarcity of good leaders, let alone good leaders who manage to be decent people.
<.>
Also, Faolan hasn't recoiled from the touch, and in fact seems more present each time he glances at Dima.
<.>
Dima is going to keep his hand where it is, and begin to give a slow and pressured back-and-forth brushing of his thumb. He's trying to be reassuring (comforting) without imposing too much presence on Fae; he wants Faolan to know Dima is here, and both aware of and sympathetic to Fae's unease.
Dmitri will remark that the handkerchief may possibly belong to Calabra's wife or daughter.
Rin is dividing the coin into equal shares, and toss the remainder in the pouch into the bag of holding, calling it their 'party fund.'
<.>
The first letter—
My Lord, At your command, we have withdrawn to the borderlands and await further instruction. Forgive me my forwardness, but there is much confusion about this decision and I have no answers to offer my men. Perhaps some small explanation of your plans would go far to assuage them. - L. Hillcarver, Gen
The second letter—
D- I am pleased to hear of Nephela's eagerness to be wed; she has been nothing if not cold to all prior suitors and I began to fear she might see spinsterhood. I have no doubt you will please her in every way, as a good husband must. I will remind you, my friend, of the concerns I expressed in my previous letter, as well as the need to maintain strict silence about this union until Zara marries. You have my oath on this: if, in one year's time, Zara has yet to make a match, I will give Nephela to your stewardship, that you may enjoy her delights as you will. In two years' time, regardless of Zara's nuptials, I will see you and Nephela wed and on that day shall proudly name you my son. Know that Nephela pines for you, often calling out your name in the midnight hours, seemingly in states of misery and joy. She lives for your letters, though I must wonder what you write that causes her to blush so. Continue your correspondence as you will; what pleases Nephela pleases me. - U
The third letter—
Calabra, I know what you're up to, you godsdamned ratfuck scraper. I'll smile as they shell you from the feet up and feed you your own bastard hide. You won't get away with this. - Jannos
<.>
qs! -would dima have some sense of what 'the borderlands' might refer to? -does he recognize the name 'l. hillcarver' -has dima ever encountered nephela, and if so, when did he last see her? -is zara the older daughter? -does dima recognize the name jannos?
<.>
The borderlands refers to the borders between territories, which, rather than a line, tend to be more like five to ten mile stretches of forest, or a river or some other natural feature. Make a history check for Hillcarver The last time Dima would have encountered Nephela was when she was ten or so, before Calabra began arguing for taxation on the canal. Zara is the older daughter And make a history check for Jannos.
[HIST for hillcarver: 10 HIST for jannos: 15+ with Bardic Inspiration from Sen]
Dima recognizes Jannos as 'Jannos Stonehand', on the council of Merchant Lords of Mysos. He's a rough-spoken dwarf whose father was among one of those who hewed the Canal; Jannos is currently involved in establishing trade routes to points south.
Hillcarver's a big ol blank. For Sen and Fae, too.
So, while this is going on, Sen is idly spinning the miniature in its frame on the table. He stops it mid-spin with a single finger to its center and looks oddly at Rin. "Where did you say you found this?"
<.>
"Oh! It was in one of the trunks. Closed and unlocked and—" They think. Think. "...Shit, Sen. It was in the guard's trunk. I think? This shirt was in there too." They toe said shirt toward Sen.
<.>
Sen blinks, then turns the miniature so it's upright from his perspective. "Now, why would this be in the guard's trunk? My supposition - from the strong resemblance - is this is one of his daughters."
<.>
Rin helpfully remarks that they sure hope there aren't a lot of Calabra-looking people in the world. Because it'd be miserable for those people of course because of how much Calabra sucks.
Dima would like another look at the portrait, though he's nodding: "I take that as a logical conclusion.
"And the question, of course, is which daughter. And whether Calabra knows of the guard's - Torrio's - apparent interest— if interest it is."
[q: does the baron of Riversdown have any children? a: Yes, a son around 11 years of age.]
<.>
Sen slides the portrait over to Dima; meanwhile, Faolan is reaching for the as-yet unopened box.
<.>
Dima is going to look at the portrait. He'll look for any signs of marking or writing on it, and while he's at it, try to discern how recent the portrait is and whether the clothing tells anything about which daughter this is.
[PERC: 8; There are no identifying features that Dima can pick out.]
And is going to hand the portrait back to Sen, shaking his head. It's been too long since he saw Calabra's daughters, and they were never really worth his noting.
<.>
Sen will just pass that back to Rin for safekeeping.
<.>
[q: has dima heard rumors regarding calabra's intentions to marry off his daughters or people who seemed particularly keen on getting on that marriage train? a: Y u p. Zara in particular. q: what rumors pls? a: Namely what's in the letter: both daughters have been quick to reject suitors. He's probably also heard a lot - a LOT - of men express interest in marrying them, a handful of women as well.
And there's also a pretty salacious rumor about the way Calabra talks about the girls. Or stemming from. He speaks very openly about their attributes and also in not-that-coded language about their sexuality / what other men will enjoy about them.]
Dima has not been prone to giving much credence to this rumor. Though he's not not thinking about that monogrammed handkerchief.
Dima is ps reading the letter again, brow very furrowed. Dima is inclined to take the words in this letter as embellishment... But. It is very mm interesting. Either way.
While all this speculation is going on, Faolan has opened the box and is sitting there staring mutely at its contents.
<.>
Dmitri, noticing Faolan's stillness, is going to give a brush of his thumb and look over.
<.>
Faolan's head turns as though he wants to look at Dmitri, but the item draws him back. He doesn't look wounded, but rather as though he'd like to crawl into a hole and die.
Picking the ring up from the box, he inspects it, then offers quietly, "I've seen this before."
<.>
Dima continues with the brush of his thumb, and moves just a little, little bit closer to Faolan. Considering how best to approach the question - and what might best be avoided; what might prove thorniest for Fae - before asking, "Faolan. What is it?"
Meaning the ring, perhaps. Meaning also, 'are you all right?'
[q: is there anything about the box or ring dima might identify without picking either up? a: Not particularly. The ring is clearly an expensive piece, filigree gold with a blue stone, made for a larger hand. He has never seen it before.]
<.>
Faolan carefully sets the ring back in the box, which he then closes and pushes aside. He rests his elbows on the table and grips his hands together, pressing them without force against his mouth as he stares off. After a minute, he draws them an inch away and says the part he really didn't care to say to...anyone. Ever.
"One of my...Someone in Loch Bien wore it. When he'd come to me."
No, that's not the worst part, he decides. The worst part is saying out loud, "I didn't know his name."
<.>
Faolan.
What Dima would like to do is draw the man into his arms, draws his head to Dima's neck, and let him rest in quiet, tell him there's no need to say another word.
He can't do that. If there's meaning in this ring— They need to know.
What Dima does do, or will attempt to do, is to continue his thumb's caress at Faolan's back, and to move his free hand to settle on Faolan's arm. Speaking softly, "It's all right."
And, Messaging: [ Faolan. It's all right. ]
Rin, who has been watching Faolan with a somewhat guarded expression, seems to decide on something, and offers, "There's a lot of names in the world. And a lot of men." A shrug. "Sometimes it's not worth knowing."
Then, from Dima, "If you can tell us about him. What he looked like. How he seemed. It might help draw these pieces together."
<.>
Sen doesn’t think this is the time for him to say a word; he lets Dima and Rin handle this, though he does reach for the box to have a look at the ring. It is a unique piece; it’s likely Faolan knows what he’s talking about here.
With the exception of a flicker of his gaze towards Rin, Faolan doesn’t immediately respond.
He thinks about saying, It was a bad time. Or maybe joking, If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Something to diffuse this somehow. The problem is, the others don’t need diffusion (Rin knows what it’s like) (Dmitri didn’t slide his hand away in disgust; he drew closer, touched with his other hand as though reaching out-)
(How long will that last, really?)
He’s ashamed of himself, and he’s ashamed of being ashamed.
He’s ashamed that he stopped bothering to learn their names after a while.
(But Dima -
(‘My Dima’ was a name he could live on.))
He blinks a little too much and decides to just answer about his patron. He rakes a hand through his hair, the movement carrying it back and then before him again, where it settles very near Dmitri’s on his arm.
(Near, but ready for the moment Dmitri pulls away.)
“I saw him - saw him.” He huffs mirthlessly and shakes his head. “Accommodated him - maybe a dozen times. I suppose my shine wore off after that; I didn’t much care.”
His fingers drum the table. “He was a northerner, like me. Had to have been a noble - that’s all I’d take, and he had the means.”
Poking his tongue at the inside of his cheek, he summons a picture to mind. “Auburn hair. Green eyes. Thirties probably; slender, about my height. Had an average voice - not high, not low. Handsome, I suppose.”
He motions to the ring in Sen’s hand. “That would be his distinguishing feature.”
He finally cuts a glance at Dmitri, his expression stony, though not quite hiding fear of some oncoming loss. “He seemed like every other man who crossed my path.
“Predatory.”
Something in his expression weakens (softens the longer he holds Dmitri’s eyes) and he looks away, ashamed of something new, for once.
[ But not you. ]
Not yet. There’s still time, he tells himself.
To Rin, he says softly, “Most of the time, it’s not worth knowing. Better the name doesn’t haunt you after.”
<.>
Dima was unprepared.
For the settle of Fae's hand so near his own.
For the way Faolan seems to more-than-tolerate the lingering of Dima's hands, even as Fae struggles through his words, this difficult disclosure.
For the pain struck by a stony glance (stinging, but fairly dealt, to Dmitri's mind)—
And for Faolan's Message. For the way it resonates like seedlings that might yet find bloom; tentative but daring, daring to accept a silvered fall of rain. For the way his own heart stalls upon his pulse; the way the hand at Fae's back gives an encouraging brush, and the hand at Fae's arm moves to cover the man's own hand. To hold; to press.
It seems to Dima a gift of sorts and an unveiling; a daring to confess both a wound and the presence of some could-be-hope, known in spite of all the brutal lessons Faolan's been dealt. Faolan's offered him a revelation, and Dima swallows, nods; ignores the prick of burning at his skull.
And, returning: [ Not to you, Faolan. Never to you. ]
(To Calabra, though, and to the men who serve him in friendship. To the man who slandered Faolan so readily. Oh, Dmitri has predation to spare for those fucks.)
[ Thank you— For sharing this with me. For daring. ]
[q: does the description of this man strike any familiar bells for dima? slash is he aware of any prominent redheaded nobles of the northern variety?
INT, d: 5; The description could be of any number of nobles in the north. Red hair and green eyes aren't uncommon at all. ]
He could say more. He wants to say so much more: To tell Faolan that any man who could fail to see his shine in perpetuity must be a fool; to assure the man that Dima remains firm in his convictions and affections. Dima also gathers that now isn't the moment for these words, and that what Faolan doesn't need is an avalanche of words ahead of action.
And. And they need to determine what to do about this mess.
The auburn-haired man in question is unfamiliar to Dima— Rather, the features are so frequently found that there's little narrowing the field of possibility. Dmitri doesn't wish to push Faolan any further in his recollections; he also knows they'll need something more, unless Sen or Rin have somehow, somehow recognized this description.
Cautiously, gentle, he speaks again, nodding slowly, "I'm afraid I don't recognize the description precisely - or I cannot suit it to a name - but this is far, far better than a start.
"A question is whether this man freely gave the ring to Calabra, and where he fits into this entire picture."
Rin, who at some point leaned their head against Sen's arm, notes that they found that ring in the same place as the pouch of coins, so maybe there's a connection and maybe there isn't, and whatever's the case with the coins, they nod to Faolan. "I— Mm, I don't keep many names at all. Just the ones that matter, really." What they mean is that Faolan's words make a lot of sense to them. And they feel rather badly for this man, who really, really doesn't seem so much more than a kid.
Pressing Fae's hand again, Dima speaks, "Did this man mention any names, any locations?" There's a brief flash of worry in Dima's eyes, and he adds, "You needn't say, Faolan. What you've given takes us far further than what we had."
<.>
It's easier and not so, to have Dmitri's hand covering his own. He doesn't want pity - and he knows that's not what this is. He doesn't want amorousness, either, but Dmitri isn't being amorous.
He's being -
Gentle.
His heart could melt or break, and at the moment, it feels about the same to Faolan. He holds still under the touch the way a feral animal might if it once knew what it was like to be warm and fed. Frightened, yes, but likewise trying not to cause fright, itself.
(He said, never to you. As though Faolan is the exception.
As though Faolan is exceptional.)
The smile he gives Rin is more a pained curve of his mouth, because they're right. They are. That same smile turns into a laugh that carries the same pain in it: did the man mention any names or locations?
"We didn't exactly talk,” he says. He meant it as some sort of bleak joke, but it comes out flat, toneless. (And it's not true. He's just not going to tell Dmitri what words were spoken.)
That's as much as he can bear, he thinks. Saying that to them. Saying that to Dmitri, further illustrating what he did, who he is. Faolan starts to rise and slide away from Dmitri's touch, mumbling something about needing a rest, when Sen leans forward, arms folded on the table, and says in a perfect stage whisper, "You know, Faolan, if you run away to your room, you're going to be all alone with the only person who judges you for getting by."
Faolan freezes, not quite out of Dmitri's reach, half-risen from his chair, and gapes at the elf.
"Why don't you sit back down and enjoy having a few friends to act as a buffer between you and the witch hunt in your head?"
When Faolan, in a state of confusion, doesn't immediately act, Sen points to the chair. "Sit down. Let Dima pet you some more."
[PERS, s: nat 20]
Slowly, Faolan lowers himself to his seat. He's not entirely sure what just happened here.
<.>
Dima's first thought: Shit, he should have known.
Or should have suspected. Doesn't it seem most likely that any words exchanged would be... less than helpful for the current situation, and likely to cause Faolan pain in recollecting, let alone voicing?
His touch tries to follow Faolan; his hand drifts along the man's arm, not quite letting him leave, no without reminder of his presence; not without an attempt at some apology, acknowledgement that Dima spoke too far, and he's stumbling toward a Message, trying to decide what he might speak without causing further harm, when Sen speaks, and Faolan goes still.
The glance Dmitri throws to Sen is one of gratitude. (He can't even manage a feigned glare at the remark about 'petting.') (And Dima does want to offer continued caresses; at least that brush of his thumb, some steadiness to offer Faolan.)
And even before Faolan moves to sit, Dima's hand has found his elbow, to settle light. To let Fae make his own decision, while giving further proof to what Sen's said: That there's no judgment here, and that here, Fae will find only support.
As Faolan sits, Dima settles his hand again at the man's back— Then turns the touch into a loose embrace. Something Faolan can shake if he finds it too restrictive. Something that might turn into a twining, if Fae doesn't seem to find it unwelcome. He doesn't Message yet; he hasn't found the words.
So it's Rin who speaks next. (Rin, who watched Sen speak with wide eyes and a look like admiration, a look of adoration. Rin, who nudges their horns against Sen's arm, even as they look at Faolan.) "Sen's right, Faolan. You're okay here. You're okay wherever; just maybe it's harder to see on your own. Especially since—" They wave a hand vaguely, pulling a sour face. "Nobles have a lot of ideas about shit that doesn't mean anything. That's not your fault and, you know. They can [pound shit of their own prodigious assholes]."
And finally, Dima speaks, "Please, Fae; stay with us."
And, feeling a catch in his throat, thinking 'Stay with me,' he adds, [ I'm here with you. You've done nothing to be sorry for; you have no cause for shame. ]
<.>
He's too stunned to shake off Dima's embrace. (Would he have done so if he had the wits? Maybe.
Maybe not.) The nearer the man draws, the more the memory of last night solidifies, and Faolan wonders if he gave Dmitri the wrong idea. Or the right one.
But it feels softer than anything he's ever known, a safe haven - not just with Dmitri, but all three of them. He doesn't feel quite so alone. He wants to leave, oh, he always wants that, but just now, he doesn't want to leave them.
The final straw, the final blow that isn't a blow at all, is Dima's voice asking him to stay. Not messaged, but spoken for everyone to hear. (Stay with us, not with Dima specifically, but if he says 'us', he means he'll stay, too. He can't be part of 'us' if he's gone, Faolan reasons.)
(But he says I'm here with you, and why didn't he say that part out loud? Shame?
Or something else, something better and fonder?)
Sen's watching him expectantly still, and when Faolan blinks in further confusion, Sen nods subtly towards Dmitri. Hesitantly, Faolan shifts to draw an arm around the man, then looks at Sen to confirm that's what he meant, but Sen is turning away to flag down a barmaid.
"We'll have several rounds. That one's paying." 'That one' being Dima, of course.
Faolan sits stiffly like this for a beat or two, then slowly relaxes into a mutual, loose hold.
While Sen is busy detailing what drinks he'd like in what order, Faolan Messages back, [ I have plenty of cause. I've done plenty to be sorry for. ]
He looks down at Dmitri as though peering out through a cracked door. [ I'm here with you, Dima. All right. I'm here with you. ]
<.>
At the press of Faolan's arm (an intentional gesture, or one offered in a moment's confusion, loss?) (either way, it remains) (either way, Dima has to keep himself from a strangled breath, though he can't keep his pulse from stammering its beat), Dima leans in a little nearer, and lets his own arm wrap a little nearer, firmer. Not quite daring to look at Faolan for a moment (feeling, perhaps, the moment as a vibratory string near to breaking) (wary of what his own imposition might cause), but he can't keep from looking for long, and when he finds Faolan looking back, he can't help a small, a warm and fragile smile.
[ I could ask little better, Fae— ] (Fae!) [ Than that you remain. ]
('As long as you're able.') ('Forever; please, for always.')
[ You speak harshly of yourself. You think harshly of yourself. Please— I don't doubt you have been dealt with censure. I know you have been—
It hasn't been easy, has it?
But there is nothing you have done, nothing you can have done, to make me think or— Feel. Any less of you. ]
A pause, a huffed breath, and— [ And I am far from faultless. ]
Dima's aware, vaguely, that Sen's been speaking with a barmaid; that the barmaid has departed, and drinks are expected. He's aware of a relentless clock ticking down to some uncertain issue. And he's aware that the man beside him - sitting half-twined with him - is dear, his heart battered but beautiful, endless.
And, caught in eyes like deep amber, like honeyed, he speaks softly, aloud, "You're safe here, Faolan. I'll see to that."
This man is nothing like he's heard. Nothing like the cruel, vindictive portrait painted of him. (Or maybe. Maybe it's that he's not like that for Faolan.) (Or maybe he's biding his time.) (Or maybe there's truth to be found in the uncertain jumble of thought, of rumor, but Faolan can't get past the smile Dmitri gives him.)
That smile.
It's so tentative, so frail, like hope, and Faolan wonders how it would look if Dmitri smiled without any fear of loss. If he was happy, if Faolan made him happy -
(If they could find some happiness together.)
He's going to get hurt. He knows it. It's set in stone, it's waiting for him at the end of the road north, and Dmitri will smile a different smile, a cruel one while he laughs -
(His faith in that has a fracture in it. There's a blue cast over it the same shade as Dmitri's eyes.)
Faolan looks as though he'd like to speak one thing, but shakes his head and carefully answers, [ You haven't known me long enough to say any of that, Dmitri. ]
Somehow, his hand has found Dima's and he looks down now, studying it. How it looks, held in his own. (Perfect.) (Dangerous thought.)
It's unwise, he knows, but he still says, [ A month might be long enough to know one another. ]
Sen, meanwhile, has been occupying himself and Rin while the lovebirds talk; the game has become one of exotic drink ingredients and what the names of said concoctions might be.
<.>
For a moment, his smile faltered. Not his touch, no, but there's that worry again (not only a worry; a very real chance): That he's pushed too far, spoke with too much claim or asked Faolan to step further than he safely can.
(He isn't used to this: The wanting to see someone happy; the wanting to provide both warmth and aegis for anyone at all. Dima has little practice in speaking words of— Of affection, let alone the feeling he knows now, a certainty wrapping through his veins, suffusing every action.
He feels more for this man than he has words for; he knows such certainty in Faolan.
And though all of this is new, though he knows the way ahead requires care and knows himself ill-equipped for its discernment, he wants and means to learn, to try.)
Faolan speaks, 'a month,' and Dima's smile returns, he, blinking rapidly. Shutting his eyes for a moment, only briefly - only to let the words (the promise? the hope) settle into place - before meeting Fae's once more.
[ Give me a month, then, and I will cherish every hour.
Let me know you, Faolan. And I will— I'll show you what I can. What I am. ]
There's a tilt of his hand; subtle, graceful in the motions that bring his palm to Faolan's, and twine the man's fingers with his own. [ I'd like that very much. ]
Rin is in the middle of holding up three fingers, the better to signify three particular varieties of frog, and how a drop of the not-terribly-toxic poison from each, muddled with citrus and a garnish of crocus petals, might make for a sweet drink with a sharp bite, and that they would call the drink 'Til Drink Croak-Us Part.' It doesn't make sense, exactly, but they'd argue that that is part of the point: No one partaking of this drink would wish to bear an ounce of sense!
<.>
Like the night before, Faolan draws Dima's hand to his lips; there's pain in the way he closes his eyes as though he's certain of the loss facing him, but he knows there's no avoiding it now. Why not give Dmitri more cause to smile like that?
As though he's been given all the world. (Like no one's ever smiled at Faolan.)
It's a promise: their joined hands, the kiss he offers. If by some miracle Dima still smiles at him like that in a month, he'll believe in as much time as Dima gives him.
His attention returns to the thieves and their lively discussion; he's not particularly good at this, but interjects tentatively, "You should add ale to it."
At Sen's bewildered stare, he continues in the same low, somewhat meek voice, "So it hops."
<.>
Rin.
Is.
Grinning.
Grinning and tugging Sen's sleeve, pointing at Faolan. "See, I like him."
There is a good chance that Rin will, at sporadic moments for the next day or so, say aloud to themself 'So it hops.' And they're certain that if they ever were to make this drink - which is unlikely, as catching frogs requires patience and also Rin prefers drinks with cherries! - it would of course include ale.
Dima isn't entirely processing this conversation. Dima is in fact look at his hand in Faolan's, feeling the subtle afterburn of his kiss (like the seal upon a vow, or the casting of a breakless spell), thinking how strange it is, that after decades of existence, he should have found new life; some part of himself that's never had a chance to breathe.
Thinking how fortunate he is, to have this month, and know Fae will be with him through it all.
(Thinking of the sorrow, the pain that runs through Faolan, and thinking that a month may be time to learn small steps to pain's alleviation; to giving Fae - his? Fae? - cause to smile, and know there's life, there can be so much life beyond the ills he's known.)
When Dmitri manages to turn his eyes back toward the group, he finds the barmaid's begun to set out drinks, and reminds himself that there's work to be done yet, there's the haphazard puzzle before them, and— And he need not forfeit Faolan's company, or Faolan's touch in order to address the issues.
So he looks over the correspondence, thinks, and when the barmaid's departed, speaks: "What I cannot fathom - one of the many pieces of the mess I cannot fathom - is the cause of Calabra's fixation on Gower's daughter. What he thinks he can gain through her, and why he went to the trouble of locating Gower and—" A tick of his lip, a sneer he doesn't hide. "Of setting us after the Market. There would have been a simpler way to locate the girl, surely."
"We have the debris of several mysteries; there must be something binding this mess together."
<.>
"Not if Calabra thought she was still in Mysos," Sen muses. "And not if Gower never mentioned where he was from. I don't suppose it ever came up in casual conversation between master and servant."
The man he met didn't appear to give a single shit about his employees beyond their service.
"This was in the nightstand, you said?" he asks Rin, prodding the ring now replaced in its box. "Dima, have you known Calabra to tend towards men that way? Oh, fuck alm- Dima. Pay attention. He's not going anywhere."
If Dima's attention has been diverted, it might be because Faolan's other hand joins the first and holds Dima's tightly clasped against his thigh. There's a fearful quality to this, as though he's certain it'll all be snatched away. It's rare and precious, how Dima seems to want him. It's different from the possessive, self-assured way others behaved. (Predatory.) (Never to you.)
Faolan's own attention may have been on their hands and a faint smile has been playing at the corners of his mouth: a little break in the clouds, a little grain of hope shining through. The look fades when he remembers the enormity of the puzzle before them, and how much there is ahead.
"Maybe we ought to start off for the ruins now and see if Nerys is camped there. We can worry through the rest while we walk. Unless he gave you a way to contact him?" he looks quizzically at Dima, wondering how he's meant to inform Nerys when he finds Seddum Madin.
[q: doeS dima have any notion of whether calabra will or will not get it on with men? AND! does the contract from nerys happen to. mention. any way of contacting him?
INS, d: 19 ARC, d: 22
dm: Dima is aware that Calabra has rejected every man who ever approached him, and by all appearances and accounts, is heterosexual. For the latter: Dima has a sense that the contract scroll itself has a spell on it that could (and probably does) alert Nerys when Dima's side has been fulfilled. That said, otherwise he has no way of contacting Nerys other than marching out into the woods.
q: does dima have a sense of whether the nightmare market is on another plane? a: It's not on another plane, nope]
<.>
Dima’s attention was in fact entirely diverted, as much by Faolan’s smile - almost, tracing hint of a smile, and Dima’s heart could break in its beholding - as by his touch. He does let himself be drawn back to the conversation, though he doesn’t lose sensation of the warmth he knows at the way Fae’s clasped his hand, at the way he almost seems to want Dima and Dima’s guarding close.
To Faolan’s question, Dima frowns just slightly. “I’m afraid I have no way to reach him; not directly. As I understand, the scroll is touched with a spell that will alert Nerys on completion of the contract.
“So. Short of locating Seddum, I have no certain method of communication. “
There’s a click of his tongue, a cant his head. “I suppose— I might try writing a message on the contract itself. There isn’t much chance that it would reach Nerys, but it shouldn’t harm anything.
“There is also the option of burning the document, but I’d rather not run that risk; it might sever any opportunity for further return.” Dima’s tone suggests that he’s willing to try it if necessary, but would rather find another option.
It occurs to Dima that if they had access to Gower’s corpse, they might be able to raise an alarm— But that suggestion’s liable to go over poorly, include an unpredictable host of consequences, and anyway, they don’t know where the body is. Still—
“There are spells that could hypothetically allow us to contact Nerys, or even Gower himself. They are—“ His brow furrows, he shakes his head with a huffed breath. “At present, I am unfamiliar with this magic. And Messaging won’t manage what we do.”
He asks Liviana whether she holds any magic that might aid them; then looks over the group again. “If it comes to seeking Nerys in the forest, I’m not opposed. But if any of you have a way of reaching him or Gower— Or anyone we met last night. We might spare more time and energy to direct elsewhere.”
A blink; a thought. “Faolan. What you gained last night—“ The tattoo. The scimitar. “Does any part of it carry a connection to its creator?”
If Faolan isn’t certain, Dima will ask Fae if he can take a look and attempt to discern any potential for connection.
Faolan isn't certain and so he'll start to lift his tunic to show the mark on his back - though Dima never actually gets a chance to look at it.
While Dmitri has been asking everyone at the table for some method of contacting Nerys, Sen has been staring at him with a puzzled expression.
Before Dima can get his hands on bare Fae back, Sen asks in a carefully amiable tone, "Short of locating who, Dima?"
If his late timing means there's confusion about his question, he clarifies, "You said something about locating someone as a means of communication. Who was that?"
<.>
The elf's timing is and always has been abominable.
Or.
Maybe it is, maybe it isn't; when Dima's moved past his moment's exasperation, he turns a mostly neutral, slightly curious expression to Sen. "Seddum Madin."
And— "Sen. What do you know."
Dmitri hopes to fuck there's information to aid the present conundrum, but really, no matter what, he now needs to know what that careful look is about, Sen.
<.>
What does he know?
Sen's own expression goes carefully neutral; his hands fold delicately on the table, then unfold so one can extend just a little in an invitational sort of request. "Maybe nothing. Maybe something.
"You mentioned your contract, as well. May I see it?"
<.>
"You're joking."
He doesn't trust that look. He doesn't particularly trust an open hand from Sen, certainly not when the elf's playing circumspect, and while Dima's fairly certain Sen doesn't intend to abscond with the contract, and while Sen might not intend to tear it into pieces, Dmitri isn't particularly keen to work in blind trust on this.
"I can just as easily tell you of the content."
Rin might be throwing Dima a sour look right now. Rin absolutely is throwing Dima a sour look, and is currently very cross with themself for not picking the damned thing from Dima earlier. They do speak, "Just let him see it."
Dima is still not willing to just let him 'see' it.
<.>
Sen's hand withdraws.
He stares hard at Dima, then nods. "All right. Tell me the content. If you want any help at all, though, I suggest you stop being a paranoid twat."
<.>
Rude, Sen.
Rude, but not entirely unfair, or untrue.
Dima is going to roll his eyes and sigh, just to show that Sen is being unnecessarily troublesome right now. "I'll cease to be a paranoid twat when you cease to steal my gold at every given opportunity."
That isn't entirely fair, and Dima waves a hand as if to brush away any argument, as if to signal that yes, yes he knows, Sen, Dima's simply being demonstrative right now.
He'll then tell precisely what is in the contract, augmented by what he and Faolan heard from Nerys and Moloch about the absconding warlock.
And: "Does that ring any bells."
<.>
Sen listens with a furrowing brow, mouths 'Moloch' with a bemused expression, then snorts and shakes his head as he hunches, arms folding on the table. For a moment, there's silence while he considers.
A frown forms. He glances at Rin, then stares down at the table.
He swears some deep-seated aggravation.
Faolan casts a perplexed sidelong look at Dima, but before he can say anything, Sen speaks quietly, "To be clear. The Nightmare Market is in peril because we were duped into seeking it, and then we were incautious and led Calabra right to its very door. It's our responsibility to mitigate damage by warning Nerys.
"And short of locating your bounty, you have no faster method of reaching him than making the journey, which will almost certainly bring us into a scrape with Calabra and his thugs, assuming they're lying in wait at the ruins. Have I understood all of that correctly?"
<.>
"You know where he is."
What and how does Sen know? There's a moment in which Dima almost continues, but he stops himself short, reminds himself to consider the situation at hand because Sen's correct: They've brought potential peril to the Market.
So there's a pause before Dima speaks again: "Assuming they've gone to the ruins - which is a not inapt supposition, but a supposition nonetheless - then yes: I imagine we'd find ourselves facing whatever 'force' Calabra might muster."
It's unwise to think the man - or, at least, his guard, his close-kept servants - won't be prepared; Dima knows that, and there's no good letting personal animosity veil the possibility. "Calabra and his entourage of bastards may be better prepared than I should like to admit— And I don't relish the thought of what they might do with—" A tick of his lip and a sideways nod of his head; he means what they might do with their hostages, if Manon and Morwenna are with them still, and gods' sakes, if they are, why take them to the ruins?
...He doesn't like the answer that presents itself most immediately. And there's no using getting caught up in this string of 'if's.
Dima shuts his eyes, breathes, and looks at Sen once more. "Are you suggesting that there's a faster way of reaching Madin."
<.>
Sen would laugh; he almost might. His expression seems to be a complicated mixture of pity, amusement, and aggravation - though not all of this is directed at Dima.
"Oh, yes," he replies, and now he does laugh. "There is a faster way, because I do know where he is."
Settling back in his chair, he picks up his drink and holds it out in a benevolent sort of toast. "Sitting at your table, drinking on your account."
With that, he drains his tankard, sets it down firmly (and with some finality), and announces, "All right. Let's get this over with."
[note: The contract says Dima has to find Seddum Madin and bring him to Nerys. But the contract sort of "activates" when Dima holds it and says anything suggesting he's found Seddum]
<.>
Dima has gone stock-still.
Rin has gone stock-still, though they're faster to break, to rise and grab Sen's elbow and say, “No.”
Messaging, [ You don't have to do this. Sen. Sen, you DON’T. ] No, Rin doesn't know what precisely 'this' entails, and *no* they also don't *care*. [ We can go. Now. ]
Dima, meanwhile, has started speaking, eyes fixed on Sen, voice steady but hushed: "You thrice-fucked dunce.”
He has. Questions. Many, many questions.
This isn't the time for any of them. Instead, shaking his head, pressing Faolan's hand and beginning to rise—
"You'd best shine that silver tongue of yours."
Meaning, Dima is in fact thinking ahead to the conclusion of the contract, and any loopholes in its language.
Meaning that as much as he might like to leave Sen to wallow in the mess he's made (fucking how??), he doesn't intend to do any such thing.
Fucking Sen.
Fuck's sake.
Dima, gritting his teeth, reaches for the contract, and hands it out to Sen.
[ Might as well take a look now, you absolute shit. ]
<.>
Sen covers Rin's hand with his own and smiles at them, then kisses their forehead. Before responding to anyone, to anything, he touches beneath their chin with the tip of his finger and urges them to look at him. [ It's not the gallows. Trust me, if no one else. ]
With a little smirk, he adds, [ Trust that I still want that kiss. ]
Turning back to the table, he - stares at the contract. He thinks touching it might just be the trigger for the spell it holds. He could back out, he could run with Rin - ugh, but he'll be hounded by this forever, won't he?
Faolan reaches out and presses the contract down as though preventing Sen from taking it. Surprisingly, he's the one who says it out loud. "You don't have to do this."
Sen considers for perhaps a heartbeat, then replies, "I don't. But I will. I'm not all thievery and stories."
With that, he grasps the contract, which glows briefly.
From the right of the table, a voice says, "That took less than a day. Impressive."
Nerys approaches, hands clasped casually behind his back, and smiles approvingly at the group. "I lost a bet, you know. I thought it would take months. He's very good at obfuscation, your bard. Watching him last night, I was sure he'd lead you on a grand chase."
<.>
Well. Rin does trust Sen; if nothing else, they're sure he can get out of any scrape, and they can help him get out of whatever's even going on (Seddum??) (a warlock??), and that kiss, that smirk goes a long way to set them less on edge. Still wary, still waiting for anyone to try anything, but they gave Sen a nod, and now they're going to stay very, very close to him, and anyone who tries to change that is going to losing a fucking finger or three.
Dima is currently watching Nerys as if he'd like very much to strangle him.
Then strangle Sen.
Then strangle Nerys again, for good measure.
(Well. The upside to this absolute mess: The problem of contacting the wood elf has been solved.
Never mind that it's opened a host of other problems Dmitri can't begin to track. Fucking. Sen.
Fucking 'Seddum.' Shit.)
What Dima thinks, and keeps from saying: 'Nerys, what the fuck.’
What he does say: "Grand chases seem to be his forte." And, after a sharp exhale through his nose, "We will, of course, need to discuss the matter of this contract's outcome. Given what we have learned.
"Given what you apparently knew when you sent us off."
<.>
Nerys seems perplexed by Dima's ire, as well as by Sen's apparent calm in the midst of all of this. He cocks his head at the necromancer and replies, "Suspected, Dmitri. If I'd known for certain, I wouldn't have wasted anyone's time."
He hums and regards Sen appraisingly, now that he's a little closer than he was the night before, then returns his attention to Dima. "I'll admit, it was a little bit of a 'gimme', wasn't it? But I wanted to know what sort of caliber men you are. Ah, men and tiefling; my apologies."
"What I mean is, I hoped to learn how quick you are on the uptake, and how you might react to learning one of your own is - well. Him."
With an expression of quiet exasperation, he says to Sen, "Now. Would you please be so good as to come collect your demon."
Faolan slowly leans nearer to Dmitri and whispers, "Dima. I don't understand what's going on."
Sen, for his own part, sits casually sprawled, though one hand rests against Rin's shoulderblade and rubs slow, soothing arcs. "Business first, pissant collection second. You've got a problem heading your way."
Nerys looks around at the faces of the party and shakes his head. "I'm afraid you've lost me."
<.>
Looking over to Faolan - feeling a sudden, if likely to be short-lived, easing of his tension at the sight, the reminder that whatever the mess around, Faolan is here, a presence worth the world - Dima shakes his head slightly, speaks low, "I don't believe I have the scope of it, myself." And, [ The godsdamned elf's dug us all into a hole; that much I see for certain.
Moloch's eloquent high elf— Perhaps I should have guessed. ]
Then, addressing Nerys, brusque, "We were followed. Last night."
Rin, scowling, cuts in, jamming a finger in Nerys's direction: "You could suspect Sen, but you didn't catch the fake necromancers stumbling into mirrors??"
Dmitri close his eyes. Messages the tiefling, [ Rin. Please. ] (Absolutely ignoring Rin's response, [ ’Rin please' WHAT. ] Presses Fae's hand and breathes. Looks at Nerys. "Calabra's men followed us, led by the guard who murdered Gower. From what we understand, they sought information regarding Gower's child—
"And through our... Negligence. They gleaned that very information, along with access to the market.
"Your greeter must have noticed them." A click of his tongue, a cant of his head. "Dependent on the skeleton's awareness, I suppose."
<.>
Faolan still doesn't really grasp what's unfolding here; he does, however, notice something crucial: Dima seems to relax when reminded of his presence. (He takes comfort in Faolan's nearness? In the fact of him, maybe?) So, as something of an experiment, he shifts a hand to rest on Dmitri's thigh: light, intimate, and soothing.
[ Hindsight has eagle eyes, Dima. Why would you suspect Sen, of all the eloquent elves in the world, hm? ]
Nerys, meanwhile, considers this information, then responds carefully, "If you'll recall, there was a situation last night. I - might have said it was routine, though it was anything but. The 'greeter', as you call him, was found pieced apart and scattered by the river. We still haven't found all of him.
"But before you level any accusation or condemnation: the Market doesn't turn away visitors. Until now, we've had no problem enforcing the rules.
"Granted, no one's thought to threaten our generally peaceful host of more than three hundred undead before. There's always a first time."
He purses his lips and thinks for a moment, then reaches out to grasp Sen and Dmitri, who in turn are touching Rin and Faolan. Without warning, the five souls vanish from the tavern and reappear on the outskirts of the ruins, where well-disguised caravans sit idle, waiting for tomorrow's departure.
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kingdomsofrain2026-01-17 02:26 pm
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"Given these security measures, do you find it likely that Payl Gower was approached outside of the household, rather than within?"
[ Most men of means do tend toward paranoia. I can only hope his staff does not suffer for it.
...More than has already happened. It seems a shame, what happened to Payl Gower.
Two final questions: Do you know the identities of the individuals hired to seek out the Nightmare Market? I may need to put them to question.
Then tell me: Do you feel safe remaining in your present position? ]
<.>
A moment of thought from the human before he replies, [ He only talked of 'Voronin' being with them. I suppose he meant the firstborn; the other two are in Morovsk, last I heard. Don't know his first name, but that's easy to find out, isn't it? Heard there was a tiefling and an elf in the bunch - ]
He pauses with a sudden thought and purses his lips before adding carefully, [ No, he mentioned another person, too. He said 'the Rhys whore's working his way up the food chain like the scraper he is'. I remember thinking - well, there was that big scandal, wasn't it? Half the territories heard about it, three years back - at the youngest Voronin's fete. I remember thinking it's strange that boy would be in the company of a Voronin after what happened. ]
He clearly looks ashamed for having spoken so unpleasantly, even if only relaying what he heard. Still, he manages a weak smile. [ Anyhow. No, Sir. I don't feel safe. Does anyone? ]
And, [ I'll get by. ]
<.>
Dima sees red. At the words regarding (slandering) (fucking speaking where no one has the right) Faolan, he doesn't quite catch the anger that flashes across his expression, brief but evident.
He.
( He's going to fucking kill Calabra and his godsfucked minions himself.)
Dmitri exhales a shape breath, rubs his forehead and speaks: "Take no mind of my frustration. You have all answered well, and - I believe - truthfully. Baseless embellishments would prove no aid to our cause, and there is use in all that you have shared today.
"A final question: When will Lord Calabra be available tomorrow? I should like to speak with him as early as is possible.
"There will, of course, be no mention of our discussion here today."
[ Guard yourself with care. Take care not to flinch at the mention of Payl Gower's name or death. And know that what you have told me here may well preserve countless lives. ]
<.>
While Dima has been interrogating the servants, Faolan has made his way to South Ward; it takes him the better part of an hour to find someone willing to even speak with him. The community here is especially distrustful of strangers. However, he does find someone he persuades to direct him to Morwenna Gower's home. (Persuasion 15)
What he finds is a door ajar and, within, a ransacked house. The girls are gone.
He doesn't think it's been long since the invasion took place; there's food on the table that can't be more than a few hours old, and the ashes in the hearth are warm. ( Investigation 18 )
Outside, he tries to find someone who witnessed what happened to Morwenna and Manon; the only person who'll even look at him is an elderly woman who seems to be terrified of what she witnessed. He gently pleads with her to speak with him (Persuasion 15 again); she very reluctantly tells him she saw a group of men forcing the girls from their home and into a carriage.
She goes on to say she tried to run and call for help, but Faolan can see she's infirm, able only to hobble at best. By the time she found aid, the carriage was gone.
Faolan has no reason to believe she's lying, but he really can't tell. (Insight 11)
He looks up to Liviana and, trying to keep his worry in check, asks her to find Dmitri; he intimates he'll be waiting at the inn where the four of them are quartered.
Once there, he finds Rin and Sen; once sat at a table apart from the meager tavern crowd, he tells them what he discovered, but urges them to wait until Dmitri joins them to detail what they found out at the Lion and Boar.
<.>
He receives the message from Liviana before he sees her (feels relief that at least, at least it sounds as if Faolan is safe), and cautions her against joining him until he's dropped his disguise and the Boar and Lion is out of sight. When they arrive at their own inn, Dmitri ushers them up to his room, cautioning against speech until they're safely sequestered.
There, he tells what he's learned: That they were tailed to the Market and the meeting with Gower. That Calabra meant to find Gower's daughter before ever reaching Awich. That Calabra and his elite retinue are supposed to be returning tomorrow, having left no note of where they've gone. Everything gleaned from the servants, Dima shares as quickly as possible (leaving out, of course, the way Faolan was spoken of), concluding with—
"The bastards followed us. We'll need to tell Nerys—" He shakes his head, looks at Faolan (and feels again a surge of warmth, twined with anger at the words those bastards dared to speak), and asks, "They weren't in Morwenna's home, then."
<.>
Faolan looks a like maybe he's in a bit of shock, shaking his head automatically at the question. It's only just beginning to sink in that the girls were taken, and this is compounded by the surge of guilt he feels for exposing the Market's whereabouts. He should have been mindful of anyone following them. He shouldn't have spent all the time on the dock with Dima. He shouldn't have slept. He should have gone straight to Morwenna the moment Gower told them about her.
Sen isn't feeling quite so guilty; he only says quietly, "We'll find them. If he'd wanted them dead, there would've been bodies."
Faolan only shakes his head again. "The Market's there for one more night. We need to go at sunset. We need to warn Nerys, like you said. As soon as possible. No more delays. No more - diversions."
He's wringing his hands in his lap as he speaks.
Sen frowns and gives Dmitri a subtle shake of his head. [ Don't take that personally. He's in no state. ]
Almost imploringly, he turns to Rin and says, "Why don't you show them what you found?"
<.>
"We'll go; of course we'll go." It's the one thing Dmitri can promise right now. The rest - the whereabouts of Morwenna and Manon, Calabra's intentions - is beyond prediction at the moment. And the talk of—
Of diversions.
Dmitri has some notion of what Fae might mean; Sen's Message only further seals the notion. And though Dima feels a sinking in his chest, he tells himself to remain focused.
He does also attempt - carefully, lightly - to settle a hand on Faolan's back, and Messages: [ We'll fix this. ]
Then, to Sen, [ I can't imagine what Calabra wants them FOR. ]
At Sen's cue, Rin immediately begins setting their findings out for view: The pile of Calabra's correspondence, the jewelry (one piece in its box), the weapon the piece of cloth and the nice-smelling item from the desk, the bag of coins, then the shirt and whetstone and piece of cloth from the room with the twin bed.
"I'm not sure what any of this is supposed to mean. There were also a bunch of locked trunks in one of the rooms - the guard's, I guess? - and a lot of clothes. And a pisspot.
"So. All right, what do you think?"
Dima will be particularly interested in the correspondence, though he will of course take a look at all of the items, and will try to determine whether any of them is touched with magic.
Rin is going to start counting out the coins.
<.>
The first piece of jewelry proves to be a signet ring. The piece of cloth is a handkerchief embroidered with the letters "N C”. The nice-smelling thing is a small tin of solid perfume. The weapon is a jeweled dagger. It looks expensive - and also unique and therefore recognizable. Rin counts out 105 gp, 33 sp, 4 cp. The miniature portrait is of a young woman. The shirt is a shirt, the whetstone is a whetstone, and the rag is a rag.
Of those items, would you like to make any checks?
<.>
Dima would like to check the signet ring and determine whether it's recognizable as Calabra's. He would like to check the dagger, both to see whether it's anything he recognizes, and whether it bears any magical properties. The portrait, to see whether he recognizes it. Also tbh is the perfume/its scent recognizable.
also a q: what is Calabra's wife's name, if Dima knows it?
<.>
For the signet ring, make an insight check.
The dagger quite overtly has no magical properties and is in fact somewhat dulled; it's just a showpiece.
For the portrait, make a separate insight check.
The perfume is a commonly-used scent amongst nobility and Dmitri has smelled it on men and women alike.
Calabra's wife's name is Naja. Both are human.
[INS, d: 6 (for both wtg man)]
<.>
Is the showpiece anything Dima might recognize? And. Dima. Is going to ask Sen and Faolan if they can make anything out of the ring or portrait.
<.>
It's literally just Calabra's show-off-y dagger
[Fae check: nat 20]
Fae identfies the ring as belonging too the baronial household in Riversdown.
[Sen check for portrait: 15]
Sen says she looks an awful lot like Calabra.
<.>
Rin is going to lean over, look at the picture again, and nod in agreement despite not really at all remembering what Calabra looks like.
Dima asks Faolan what he knows about this household.
[q: and i'll ask if dima knows anything about this household]
<.>
Being nobility, Dmitri of course knows the household and has found all his interactions with the Baron to be amiable, honest, and enjoyable.
Faolan reports he has heard much the same.
In short, they're good people and good leaders, and it's strange Calabra has the Baron's signet ring.
<.>
no subject
<.>
Also, Faolan hasn't recoiled from the touch, and in fact seems more present each time he glances at Dima.
<.>
Dima is going to keep his hand where it is, and begin to give a slow and pressured back-and-forth brushing of his thumb. He's trying to be reassuring (comforting) without imposing too much presence on Fae; he wants Faolan to know Dima is here, and both aware of and sympathetic to Fae's unease.
Dmitri will remark that the handkerchief may possibly belong to Calabra's wife or daughter.
Rin is dividing the coin into equal shares, and toss the remainder in the pouch into the bag of holding, calling it their 'party fund.'
<.>
The first letter—
My Lord,
At your command, we have withdrawn to the borderlands and await further instruction.
Forgive me my forwardness, but there is much confusion about this decision and I have no answers to offer my men. Perhaps some small explanation of your plans would go far to assuage them.
- L. Hillcarver, Gen
The second letter—
D-
I am pleased to hear of Nephela's eagerness to be wed; she has been nothing if not cold to all prior suitors and I began to fear she might see spinsterhood. I have no doubt you will please her in every way, as a good husband must.
I will remind you, my friend, of the concerns I expressed in my previous letter, as well as the need to maintain strict silence about this union until Zara marries. You have my oath on this: if, in one year's time, Zara has yet to make a match, I will give Nephela to your stewardship, that you may enjoy her delights as you will. In two years' time, regardless of Zara's nuptials, I will see you and Nephela wed and on that day shall proudly name you my son.
Know that Nephela pines for you, often calling out your name in the midnight hours, seemingly in states of misery and joy. She lives for your letters, though I must wonder what you write that causes her to blush so.
Continue your correspondence as you will; what pleases Nephela pleases me.
- U
The third letter—
Calabra,
I know what you're up to, you godsdamned ratfuck scraper. I'll smile as they shell you from the feet up and feed you your own bastard hide. You won't get away with this.
- Jannos
<.>
qs!
-would dima have some sense of what 'the borderlands' might refer to?
-does he recognize the name 'l. hillcarver'
-has dima ever encountered nephela, and if so, when did he last see her?
-is zara the older daughter?
-does dima recognize the name jannos?
<.>
The borderlands refers to the borders between territories, which, rather than a line, tend to be more like five to ten mile stretches of forest, or a river or some other natural feature.
Make a history check for Hillcarver
The last time Dima would have encountered Nephela was when she was ten or so, before Calabra began arguing for taxation on the canal.
Zara is the older daughter
And make a history check for Jannos.
[HIST for hillcarver: 10
HIST for jannos: 15+ with Bardic Inspiration from Sen]
Dima recognizes Jannos as 'Jannos Stonehand', on the council of Merchant Lords of Mysos. He's a rough-spoken dwarf whose father was among one of those who hewed the Canal; Jannos is currently involved in establishing trade routes to points south.
Hillcarver's a big ol blank. For Sen and Fae, too.
So, while this is going on, Sen is idly spinning the miniature in its frame on the table. He stops it mid-spin with a single finger to its center and looks oddly at Rin. "Where did you say you found this?"
<.>
"Oh! It was in one of the trunks. Closed and unlocked and—" They think. Think. "...Shit, Sen. It was in the guard's trunk. I think? This shirt was in there too." They toe said shirt toward Sen.
<.>
Sen blinks, then turns the miniature so it's upright from his perspective. "Now, why would this be in the guard's trunk? My supposition - from the strong resemblance - is this is one of his daughters."
<.>
Rin helpfully remarks that they sure hope there aren't a lot of Calabra-looking people in the world. Because it'd be miserable for those people of course because of how much Calabra sucks.
Dima would like another look at the portrait, though he's nodding: "I take that as a logical conclusion.
"And the question, of course, is which daughter. And whether Calabra knows of the guard's - Torrio's - apparent interest— if interest it is."
[q: does the baron of Riversdown have any children?
a: Yes, a son around 11 years of age.]
<.>
Sen slides the portrait over to Dima; meanwhile, Faolan is reaching for the as-yet unopened box.
<.>
Dima is going to look at the portrait. He'll look for any signs of marking or writing on it, and while he's at it, try to discern how recent the portrait is and whether the clothing tells anything about which daughter this is.
[PERC: 8; There are no identifying features that Dima can pick out.]
And is going to hand the portrait back to Sen, shaking his head. It's been too long since he saw Calabra's daughters, and they were never really worth his noting.
<.>
Sen will just pass that back to Rin for safekeeping.
<.>
[q: has dima heard rumors regarding calabra's intentions to marry off his daughters or people who seemed particularly keen on getting on that marriage train?
a: Y u p. Zara in particular.
q: what rumors pls?
a: Namely what's in the letter: both daughters have been quick to reject suitors.
He's probably also heard a lot - a LOT - of men express interest in marrying them, a handful of women as well.
And there's also a pretty salacious rumor about the way Calabra talks about the girls. Or stemming from. He speaks very openly about their attributes and also in not-that-coded language about their sexuality / what other men will enjoy about them.]
Dima has not been prone to giving much credence to this rumor. Though he's not not thinking about that monogrammed handkerchief.
Dima is ps reading the letter again, brow very furrowed. Dima is inclined to take the words in this letter as embellishment... But. It is very mm interesting. Either way.
<.>
no subject
<.>
Dmitri, noticing Faolan's stillness, is going to give a brush of his thumb and look over.
<.>
Faolan's head turns as though he wants to look at Dmitri, but the item draws him back. He doesn't look wounded, but rather as though he'd like to crawl into a hole and die.
Picking the ring up from the box, he inspects it, then offers quietly, "I've seen this before."
<.>
Dima continues with the brush of his thumb, and moves just a little, little bit closer to Faolan. Considering how best to approach the question - and what might best be avoided; what might prove thorniest for Fae - before asking, "Faolan. What is it?"
Meaning the ring, perhaps. Meaning also, 'are you all right?'
[q: is there anything about the box or ring dima might identify without picking either up?
a: Not particularly. The ring is clearly an expensive piece, filigree gold with a blue stone, made for a larger hand. He has never seen it before.]
<.>
Faolan carefully sets the ring back in the box, which he then closes and pushes aside. He rests his elbows on the table and grips his hands together, pressing them without force against his mouth as he stares off. After a minute, he draws them an inch away and says the part he really didn't care to say to...anyone. Ever.
"One of my...Someone in Loch Bien wore it. When he'd come to me."
No, that's not the worst part, he decides. The worst part is saying out loud, "I didn't know his name."
<.>
Faolan.
What Dima would like to do is draw the man into his arms, draws his head to Dima's neck, and let him rest in quiet, tell him there's no need to say another word.
He can't do that. If there's meaning in this ring— They need to know.
What Dima does do, or will attempt to do, is to continue his thumb's caress at Faolan's back, and to move his free hand to settle on Faolan's arm. Speaking softly, "It's all right."
And, Messaging: [ Faolan. It's all right. ]
Rin, who has been watching Faolan with a somewhat guarded expression, seems to decide on something, and offers, "There's a lot of names in the world. And a lot of men." A shrug. "Sometimes it's not worth knowing."
Then, from Dima, "If you can tell us about him. What he looked like. How he seemed. It might help draw these pieces together."
<.>
Sen doesn’t think this is the time for him to say a word; he lets Dima and Rin handle this, though he does reach for the box to have a look at the ring. It is a unique piece; it’s likely Faolan knows what he’s talking about here.
With the exception of a flicker of his gaze towards Rin, Faolan doesn’t immediately respond.
He thinks about saying, It was a bad time. Or maybe joking, If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Something to diffuse this somehow. The problem is, the others don’t need diffusion (Rin knows what it’s like) (Dmitri didn’t slide his hand away in disgust; he drew closer, touched with his other hand as though reaching out-)
(How long will that last, really?)
He’s ashamed of himself, and he’s ashamed of being ashamed.
He’s ashamed that he stopped bothering to learn their names after a while.
(But Dima -
(‘My Dima’ was a name he could live on.))
He blinks a little too much and decides to just answer about his patron. He rakes a hand through his hair, the movement carrying it back and then before him again, where it settles very near Dmitri’s on his arm.
(Near, but ready for the moment Dmitri pulls away.)
“I saw him - saw him.” He huffs mirthlessly and shakes his head. “Accommodated him - maybe a dozen times. I suppose my shine wore off after that; I didn’t much care.”
His fingers drum the table. “He was a northerner, like me. Had to have been a noble - that’s all I’d take, and he had the means.”
Poking his tongue at the inside of his cheek, he summons a picture to mind. “Auburn hair. Green eyes. Thirties probably; slender, about my height. Had an average voice - not high, not low. Handsome, I suppose.”
He motions to the ring in Sen’s hand. “That would be his distinguishing feature.”
He finally cuts a glance at Dmitri, his expression stony, though not quite hiding fear of some oncoming loss. “He seemed like every other man who crossed my path.
“Predatory.”
Something in his expression weakens (softens the longer he holds Dmitri’s eyes) and he looks away, ashamed of something new, for once.
[ But not you. ]
Not yet. There’s still time, he tells himself.
To Rin, he says softly, “Most of the time, it’s not worth knowing. Better the name doesn’t haunt you after.”
<.>
Dima was unprepared.
For the settle of Fae's hand so near his own.
For the way Faolan seems to more-than-tolerate the lingering of Dima's hands, even as Fae struggles through his words, this difficult disclosure.
For the pain struck by a stony glance (stinging, but fairly dealt, to Dmitri's mind)—
And for Faolan's Message. For the way it resonates like seedlings that might yet find bloom; tentative but daring, daring to accept a silvered fall of rain. For the way his own heart stalls upon his pulse; the way the hand at Fae's back gives an encouraging brush, and the hand at Fae's arm moves to cover the man's own hand. To hold; to press.
It seems to Dima a gift of sorts and an unveiling; a daring to confess both a wound and the presence of some could-be-hope, known in spite of all the brutal lessons Faolan's been dealt. Faolan's offered him a revelation, and Dima swallows, nods; ignores the prick of burning at his skull.
And, returning: [ Not to you, Faolan. Never to you. ]
(To Calabra, though, and to the men who serve him in friendship. To the man who slandered Faolan so readily. Oh, Dmitri has predation to spare for those fucks.)
[ Thank you— For sharing this with me. For daring. ]
[q: does the description of this man strike any familiar bells for dima? slash is he aware of any prominent redheaded nobles of the northern variety?
INT, d: 5; The description could be of any number of nobles in the north. Red hair and green eyes aren't uncommon at all. ]
He could say more. He wants to say so much more: To tell Faolan that any man who could fail to see his shine in perpetuity must be a fool; to assure the man that Dima remains firm in his convictions and affections. Dima also gathers that now isn't the moment for these words, and that what Faolan doesn't need is an avalanche of words ahead of action.
And. And they need to determine what to do about this mess.
The auburn-haired man in question is unfamiliar to Dima— Rather, the features are so frequently found that there's little narrowing the field of possibility. Dmitri doesn't wish to push Faolan any further in his recollections; he also knows they'll need something more, unless Sen or Rin have somehow, somehow recognized this description.
Cautiously, gentle, he speaks again, nodding slowly, "I'm afraid I don't recognize the description precisely - or I cannot suit it to a name - but this is far, far better than a start.
"A question is whether this man freely gave the ring to Calabra, and where he fits into this entire picture."
Rin, who at some point leaned their head against Sen's arm, notes that they found that ring in the same place as the pouch of coins, so maybe there's a connection and maybe there isn't, and whatever's the case with the coins, they nod to Faolan. "I— Mm, I don't keep many names at all. Just the ones that matter, really." What they mean is that Faolan's words make a lot of sense to them. And they feel rather badly for this man, who really, really doesn't seem so much more than a kid.
Pressing Fae's hand again, Dima speaks, "Did this man mention any names, any locations?" There's a brief flash of worry in Dima's eyes, and he adds, "You needn't say, Faolan. What you've given takes us far further than what we had."
<.>
It's easier and not so, to have Dmitri's hand covering his own. He doesn't want pity - and he knows that's not what this is. He doesn't want amorousness, either, but Dmitri isn't being amorous.
He's being -
Gentle.
His heart could melt or break, and at the moment, it feels about the same to Faolan. He holds still under the touch the way a feral animal might if it once knew what it was like to be warm and fed. Frightened, yes, but likewise trying not to cause fright, itself.
(He said, never to you. As though Faolan is the exception.
As though Faolan is exceptional.)
The smile he gives Rin is more a pained curve of his mouth, because they're right. They are. That same smile turns into a laugh that carries the same pain in it: did the man mention any names or locations?
"We didn't exactly talk,” he says. He meant it as some sort of bleak joke, but it comes out flat, toneless. (And it's not true. He's just not going to tell Dmitri what words were spoken.)
That's as much as he can bear, he thinks. Saying that to them. Saying that to Dmitri, further illustrating what he did, who he is. Faolan starts to rise and slide away from Dmitri's touch, mumbling something about needing a rest, when Sen leans forward, arms folded on the table, and says in a perfect stage whisper, "You know, Faolan, if you run away to your room, you're going to be all alone with the only person who judges you for getting by."
Faolan freezes, not quite out of Dmitri's reach, half-risen from his chair, and gapes at the elf.
"Why don't you sit back down and enjoy having a few friends to act as a buffer between you and the witch hunt in your head?"
When Faolan, in a state of confusion, doesn't immediately act, Sen points to the chair. "Sit down. Let Dima pet you some more."
[PERS, s: nat 20]
Slowly, Faolan lowers himself to his seat. He's not entirely sure what just happened here.
<.>
Dima's first thought: Shit, he should have known.
Or should have suspected. Doesn't it seem most likely that any words exchanged would be... less than helpful for the current situation, and likely to cause Faolan pain in recollecting, let alone voicing?
His touch tries to follow Faolan; his hand drifts along the man's arm, not quite letting him leave, no without reminder of his presence; not without an attempt at some apology, acknowledgement that Dima spoke too far, and he's stumbling toward a Message, trying to decide what he might speak without causing further harm, when Sen speaks, and Faolan goes still.
The glance Dmitri throws to Sen is one of gratitude. (He can't even manage a feigned glare at the remark about 'petting.') (And Dima does want to offer continued caresses; at least that brush of his thumb, some steadiness to offer Faolan.)
And even before Faolan moves to sit, Dima's hand has found his elbow, to settle light. To let Fae make his own decision, while giving further proof to what Sen's said: That there's no judgment here, and that here, Fae will find only support.
As Faolan sits, Dima settles his hand again at the man's back— Then turns the touch into a loose embrace. Something Faolan can shake if he finds it too restrictive. Something that might turn into a twining, if Fae doesn't seem to find it unwelcome. He doesn't Message yet; he hasn't found the words.
So it's Rin who speaks next. (Rin, who watched Sen speak with wide eyes and a look like admiration, a look of adoration. Rin, who nudges their horns against Sen's arm, even as they look at Faolan.) "Sen's right, Faolan. You're okay here. You're okay wherever; just maybe it's harder to see on your own. Especially since—" They wave a hand vaguely, pulling a sour face. "Nobles have a lot of ideas about shit that doesn't mean anything. That's not your fault and, you know. They can [pound shit of their own prodigious assholes]."
And finally, Dima speaks, "Please, Fae; stay with us."
And, feeling a catch in his throat, thinking 'Stay with me,' he adds, [ I'm here with you. You've done nothing to be sorry for; you have no cause for shame. ]
<.>
He's too stunned to shake off Dima's embrace. (Would he have done so if he had the wits? Maybe.
Maybe not.) The nearer the man draws, the more the memory of last night solidifies, and Faolan wonders if he gave Dmitri the wrong idea. Or the right one.
But it feels softer than anything he's ever known, a safe haven - not just with Dmitri, but all three of them. He doesn't feel quite so alone. He wants to leave, oh, he always wants that, but just now, he doesn't want to leave them.
The final straw, the final blow that isn't a blow at all, is Dima's voice asking him to stay. Not messaged, but spoken for everyone to hear. (Stay with us, not with Dima specifically, but if he says 'us', he means he'll stay, too. He can't be part of 'us' if he's gone, Faolan reasons.)
(But he says I'm here with you, and why didn't he say that part out loud? Shame?
Or something else, something better and fonder?)
Sen's watching him expectantly still, and when Faolan blinks in further confusion, Sen nods subtly towards Dmitri. Hesitantly, Faolan shifts to draw an arm around the man, then looks at Sen to confirm that's what he meant, but Sen is turning away to flag down a barmaid.
"We'll have several rounds. That one's paying." 'That one' being Dima, of course.
Faolan sits stiffly like this for a beat or two, then slowly relaxes into a mutual, loose hold.
While Sen is busy detailing what drinks he'd like in what order, Faolan Messages back, [ I have plenty of cause. I've done plenty to be sorry for. ]
He looks down at Dmitri as though peering out through a cracked door. [ I'm here with you, Dima. All right. I'm here with you. ]
<.>
At the press of Faolan's arm (an intentional gesture, or one offered in a moment's confusion, loss?) (either way, it remains) (either way, Dima has to keep himself from a strangled breath, though he can't keep his pulse from stammering its beat), Dima leans in a little nearer, and lets his own arm wrap a little nearer, firmer. Not quite daring to look at Faolan for a moment (feeling, perhaps, the moment as a vibratory string near to breaking) (wary of what his own imposition might cause), but he can't keep from looking for long, and when he finds Faolan looking back, he can't help a small, a warm and fragile smile.
[ I could ask little better, Fae— ] (Fae!) [ Than that you remain. ]
('As long as you're able.') ('Forever; please, for always.')
[ You speak harshly of yourself. You think harshly of yourself. Please— I don't doubt you have been dealt with censure. I know you have been—
It hasn't been easy, has it?
But there is nothing you have done, nothing you can have done, to make me think or— Feel. Any less of you. ]
A pause, a huffed breath, and— [ And I am far from faultless. ]
Dima's aware, vaguely, that Sen's been speaking with a barmaid; that the barmaid has departed, and drinks are expected. He's aware of a relentless clock ticking down to some uncertain issue. And he's aware that the man beside him - sitting half-twined with him - is dear, his heart battered but beautiful, endless.
And, caught in eyes like deep amber, like honeyed, he speaks softly, aloud, "You're safe here, Faolan. I'll see to that."
<.>
no subject
That smile.
It's so tentative, so frail, like hope, and Faolan wonders how it would look if Dmitri smiled without any fear of loss. If he was happy, if Faolan made him happy -
(If they could find some happiness together.)
He's going to get hurt. He knows it. It's set in stone, it's waiting for him at the end of the road north, and Dmitri will smile a different smile, a cruel one while he laughs -
(His faith in that has a fracture in it. There's a blue cast over it the same shade as Dmitri's eyes.)
Faolan looks as though he'd like to speak one thing, but shakes his head and carefully answers, [ You haven't known me long enough to say any of that, Dmitri. ]
Somehow, his hand has found Dima's and he looks down now, studying it. How it looks, held in his own. (Perfect.) (Dangerous thought.)
It's unwise, he knows, but he still says, [ A month might be long enough to know one another. ]
Sen, meanwhile, has been occupying himself and Rin while the lovebirds talk; the game has become one of exotic drink ingredients and what the names of said concoctions might be.
<.>
For a moment, his smile faltered. Not his touch, no, but there's that worry again (not only a worry; a very real chance): That he's pushed too far, spoke with too much claim or asked Faolan to step further than he safely can.
(He isn't used to this: The wanting to see someone happy; the wanting to provide both warmth and aegis for anyone at all. Dima has little practice in speaking words of— Of affection, let alone the feeling he knows now, a certainty wrapping through his veins, suffusing every action.
He feels more for this man than he has words for; he knows such certainty in Faolan.
And though all of this is new, though he knows the way ahead requires care and knows himself ill-equipped for its discernment, he wants and means to learn, to try.)
Faolan speaks, 'a month,' and Dima's smile returns, he, blinking rapidly. Shutting his eyes for a moment, only briefly - only to let the words (the promise? the hope) settle into place - before meeting Fae's once more.
[ Give me a month, then, and I will cherish every hour.
Let me know you, Faolan. And I will— I'll show you what I can. What I am. ]
There's a tilt of his hand; subtle, graceful in the motions that bring his palm to Faolan's, and twine the man's fingers with his own. [ I'd like that very much. ]
Rin is in the middle of holding up three fingers, the better to signify three particular varieties of frog, and how a drop of the not-terribly-toxic poison from each, muddled with citrus and a garnish of crocus petals, might make for a sweet drink with a sharp bite, and that they would call the drink 'Til Drink Croak-Us Part.' It doesn't make sense, exactly, but they'd argue that that is part of the point: No one partaking of this drink would wish to bear an ounce of sense!
<.>
Like the night before, Faolan draws Dima's hand to his lips; there's pain in the way he closes his eyes as though he's certain of the loss facing him, but he knows there's no avoiding it now. Why not give Dmitri more cause to smile like that?
As though he's been given all the world. (Like no one's ever smiled at Faolan.)
It's a promise: their joined hands, the kiss he offers. If by some miracle Dima still smiles at him like that in a month, he'll believe in as much time as Dima gives him.
His attention returns to the thieves and their lively discussion; he's not particularly good at this, but interjects tentatively, "You should add ale to it."
At Sen's bewildered stare, he continues in the same low, somewhat meek voice, "So it hops."
<.>
Rin.
Is.
Grinning.
Grinning and tugging Sen's sleeve, pointing at Faolan. "See, I like him."
There is a good chance that Rin will, at sporadic moments for the next day or so, say aloud to themself 'So it hops.' And they're certain that if they ever were to make this drink - which is unlikely, as catching frogs requires patience and also Rin prefers drinks with cherries! - it would of course include ale.
Dima isn't entirely processing this conversation. Dima is in fact look at his hand in Faolan's, feeling the subtle afterburn of his kiss (like the seal upon a vow, or the casting of a breakless spell), thinking how strange it is, that after decades of existence, he should have found new life; some part of himself that's never had a chance to breathe.
Thinking how fortunate he is, to have this month, and know Fae will be with him through it all.
(Thinking of the sorrow, the pain that runs through Faolan, and thinking that a month may be time to learn small steps to pain's alleviation; to giving Fae - his? Fae? - cause to smile, and know there's life, there can be so much life beyond the ills he's known.)
When Dmitri manages to turn his eyes back toward the group, he finds the barmaid's begun to set out drinks, and reminds himself that there's work to be done yet, there's the haphazard puzzle before them, and— And he need not forfeit Faolan's company, or Faolan's touch in order to address the issues.
So he looks over the correspondence, thinks, and when the barmaid's departed, speaks: "What I cannot fathom - one of the many pieces of the mess I cannot fathom - is the cause of Calabra's fixation on Gower's daughter. What he thinks he can gain through her, and why he went to the trouble of locating Gower and—" A tick of his lip, a sneer he doesn't hide. "Of setting us after the Market. There would have been a simpler way to locate the girl, surely."
"We have the debris of several mysteries; there must be something binding this mess together."
<.>
"Not if Calabra thought she was still in Mysos," Sen muses. "And not if Gower never mentioned where he was from. I don't suppose it ever came up in casual conversation between master and servant."
The man he met didn't appear to give a single shit about his employees beyond their service.
"This was in the nightstand, you said?" he asks Rin, prodding the ring now replaced in its box. "Dima, have you known Calabra to tend towards men that way? Oh, fuck alm- Dima. Pay attention. He's not going anywhere."
If Dima's attention has been diverted, it might be because Faolan's other hand joins the first and holds Dima's tightly clasped against his thigh. There's a fearful quality to this, as though he's certain it'll all be snatched away. It's rare and precious, how Dima seems to want him. It's different from the possessive, self-assured way others behaved. (Predatory.) (Never to you.)
Faolan's own attention may have been on their hands and a faint smile has been playing at the corners of his mouth: a little break in the clouds, a little grain of hope shining through. The look fades when he remembers the enormity of the puzzle before them, and how much there is ahead.
"Maybe we ought to start off for the ruins now and see if Nerys is camped there. We can worry through the rest while we walk. Unless he gave you a way to contact him?" he looks quizzically at Dima, wondering how he's meant to inform Nerys when he finds Seddum Madin.
[q: doeS dima have any notion of whether calabra will or will not get it on with men? AND! does the contract from nerys happen to. mention. any way of contacting him?
INS, d: 19
ARC, d: 22
dm: Dima is aware that Calabra has rejected every man who ever approached him, and by all appearances and accounts, is heterosexual.
For the latter: Dima has a sense that the contract scroll itself has a spell on it that could (and probably does) alert Nerys when Dima's side has been fulfilled. That said, otherwise he has no way of contacting Nerys other than marching out into the woods.
q: does dima have a sense of whether the nightmare market is on another plane?
a: It's not on another plane, nope]
<.>
Dima’s attention was in fact entirely diverted, as much by Faolan’s smile - almost, tracing hint of a smile, and Dima’s heart could break in its beholding - as by his touch. He does let himself be drawn back to the conversation, though he doesn’t lose sensation of the warmth he knows at the way Fae’s clasped his hand, at the way he almost seems to want Dima and Dima’s guarding close.
To Faolan’s question, Dima frowns just slightly. “I’m afraid I have no way to reach him; not directly. As I understand, the scroll is touched with a spell that will alert Nerys on completion of the contract.
“So. Short of locating Seddum, I have no certain method of communication. “
There’s a click of his tongue, a cant his head. “I suppose— I might try writing a message on the contract itself. There isn’t much chance that it would reach Nerys, but it shouldn’t harm anything.
“There is also the option of burning the document, but I’d rather not run that risk; it might sever any opportunity for further return.” Dima’s tone suggests that he’s willing to try it if necessary, but would rather find another option.
It occurs to Dima that if they had access to Gower’s corpse, they might be able to raise an alarm— But that suggestion’s liable to go over poorly, include an unpredictable host of consequences, and anyway, they don’t know where the body is. Still—
“There are spells that could hypothetically allow us to contact Nerys, or even Gower himself. They are—“ His brow furrows, he shakes his head with a huffed breath. “At present, I am unfamiliar with this magic. And Messaging won’t manage what we do.”
He asks Liviana whether she holds any magic that might aid them; then looks over the group again. “If it comes to seeking Nerys in the forest, I’m not opposed. But if any of you have a way of reaching him or Gower— Or anyone we met last night. We might spare more time and energy to direct elsewhere.”
A blink; a thought. “Faolan. What you gained last night—“ The tattoo. The scimitar. “Does any part of it carry a connection to its creator?”
If Faolan isn’t certain, Dima will ask Fae if he can take a look and attempt to discern any potential for connection.
<.>
no subject
While Dmitri has been asking everyone at the table for some method of contacting Nerys, Sen has been staring at him with a puzzled expression.
Before Dima can get his hands on bare Fae back, Sen asks in a carefully amiable tone, "Short of locating who, Dima?"
If his late timing means there's confusion about his question, he clarifies, "You said something about locating someone as a means of communication. Who was that?"
<.>
The elf's timing is and always has been abominable.
Or.
Maybe it is, maybe it isn't; when Dima's moved past his moment's exasperation, he turns a mostly neutral, slightly curious expression to Sen. "Seddum Madin."
And— "Sen. What do you know."
Dmitri hopes to fuck there's information to aid the present conundrum, but really, no matter what, he now needs to know what that careful look is about, Sen.
<.>
What does he know?
Sen's own expression goes carefully neutral; his hands fold delicately on the table, then unfold so one can extend just a little in an invitational sort of request. "Maybe nothing. Maybe something.
"You mentioned your contract, as well. May I see it?"
<.>
"You're joking."
He doesn't trust that look. He doesn't particularly trust an open hand from Sen, certainly not when the elf's playing circumspect, and while Dima's fairly certain Sen doesn't intend to abscond with the contract, and while Sen might not intend to tear it into pieces, Dmitri isn't particularly keen to work in blind trust on this.
"I can just as easily tell you of the content."
Rin might be throwing Dima a sour look right now. Rin absolutely is throwing Dima a sour look, and is currently very cross with themself for not picking the damned thing from Dima earlier. They do speak, "Just let him see it."
Dima is still not willing to just let him 'see' it.
<.>
Sen's hand withdraws.
He stares hard at Dima, then nods. "All right. Tell me the content. If you want any help at all, though, I suggest you stop being a paranoid twat."
<.>
Rude, Sen.
Rude, but not entirely unfair, or untrue.
Dima is going to roll his eyes and sigh, just to show that Sen is being unnecessarily troublesome right now. "I'll cease to be a paranoid twat when you cease to steal my gold at every given opportunity."
That isn't entirely fair, and Dima waves a hand as if to brush away any argument, as if to signal that yes, yes he knows, Sen, Dima's simply being demonstrative right now.
He'll then tell precisely what is in the contract, augmented by what he and Faolan heard from Nerys and Moloch about the absconding warlock.
And: "Does that ring any bells."
<.>
Sen listens with a furrowing brow, mouths 'Moloch' with a bemused expression, then snorts and shakes his head as he hunches, arms folding on the table. For a moment, there's silence while he considers.
A frown forms. He glances at Rin, then stares down at the table.
He swears some deep-seated aggravation.
Faolan casts a perplexed sidelong look at Dima, but before he can say anything, Sen speaks quietly, "To be clear. The Nightmare Market is in peril because we were duped into seeking it, and then we were incautious and led Calabra right to its very door. It's our responsibility to mitigate damage by warning Nerys.
"And short of locating your bounty, you have no faster method of reaching him than making the journey, which will almost certainly bring us into a scrape with Calabra and his thugs, assuming they're lying in wait at the ruins. Have I understood all of that correctly?"
<.>
"You know where he is."
What and how does Sen know? There's a moment in which Dima almost continues, but he stops himself short, reminds himself to consider the situation at hand because Sen's correct: They've brought potential peril to the Market.
So there's a pause before Dima speaks again: "Assuming they've gone to the ruins - which is a not inapt supposition, but a supposition nonetheless - then yes: I imagine we'd find ourselves facing whatever 'force' Calabra might muster."
It's unwise to think the man - or, at least, his guard, his close-kept servants - won't be prepared; Dima knows that, and there's no good letting personal animosity veil the possibility. "Calabra and his entourage of bastards may be better prepared than I should like to admit— And I don't relish the thought of what they might do with—" A tick of his lip and a sideways nod of his head; he means what they might do with their hostages, if Manon and Morwenna are with them still, and gods' sakes, if they are, why take them to the ruins?
...He doesn't like the answer that presents itself most immediately. And there's no using getting caught up in this string of 'if's.
Dima shuts his eyes, breathes, and looks at Sen once more. "Are you suggesting that there's a faster way of reaching Madin."
<.>
Sen would laugh; he almost might. His expression seems to be a complicated mixture of pity, amusement, and aggravation - though not all of this is directed at Dima.
"Oh, yes," he replies, and now he does laugh. "There is a faster way, because I do know where he is."
Settling back in his chair, he picks up his drink and holds it out in a benevolent sort of toast. "Sitting at your table, drinking on your account."
With that, he drains his tankard, sets it down firmly (and with some finality), and announces, "All right. Let's get this over with."
[note: The contract says Dima has to find Seddum Madin and bring him to Nerys. But the contract sort of "activates" when Dima holds it and says anything suggesting he's found Seddum]
<.>
Dima has gone stock-still.
Rin has gone stock-still, though they're faster to break, to rise and grab Sen's elbow and say, “No.”
Messaging, [ You don't have to do this. Sen. Sen, you DON’T. ] No, Rin doesn't know what precisely 'this' entails, and *no* they also don't *care*. [ We can go. Now. ]
Dima, meanwhile, has started speaking, eyes fixed on Sen, voice steady but hushed: "You thrice-fucked dunce.”
He has. Questions. Many, many questions.
This isn't the time for any of them. Instead, shaking his head, pressing Faolan's hand and beginning to rise—
"You'd best shine that silver tongue of yours."
Meaning, Dima is in fact thinking ahead to the conclusion of the contract, and any loopholes in its language.
Meaning that as much as he might like to leave Sen to wallow in the mess he's made (fucking how??), he doesn't intend to do any such thing.
Fucking Sen.
Fuck's sake.
Dima, gritting his teeth, reaches for the contract, and hands it out to Sen.
[ Might as well take a look now, you absolute shit. ]
<.>
Sen covers Rin's hand with his own and smiles at them, then kisses their forehead. Before responding to anyone, to anything, he touches beneath their chin with the tip of his finger and urges them to look at him. [ It's not the gallows. Trust me, if no one else. ]
With a little smirk, he adds, [ Trust that I still want that kiss. ]
Turning back to the table, he - stares at the contract. He thinks touching it might just be the trigger for the spell it holds. He could back out, he could run with Rin - ugh, but he'll be hounded by this forever, won't he?
Faolan reaches out and presses the contract down as though preventing Sen from taking it. Surprisingly, he's the one who says it out loud. "You don't have to do this."
Sen considers for perhaps a heartbeat, then replies, "I don't. But I will. I'm not all thievery and stories."
With that, he grasps the contract, which glows briefly.
From the right of the table, a voice says, "That took less than a day. Impressive."
Nerys approaches, hands clasped casually behind his back, and smiles approvingly at the group. "I lost a bet, you know. I thought it would take months. He's very good at obfuscation, your bard. Watching him last night, I was sure he'd lead you on a grand chase."
<.>
Well. Rin does trust Sen; if nothing else, they're sure he can get out of any scrape, and they can help him get out of whatever's even going on (Seddum??) (a warlock??), and that kiss, that smirk goes a long way to set them less on edge. Still wary, still waiting for anyone to try anything, but they gave Sen a nod, and now they're going to stay very, very close to him, and anyone who tries to change that is going to losing a fucking finger or three.
Dima is currently watching Nerys as if he'd like very much to strangle him.
Then strangle Sen.
Then strangle Nerys again, for good measure.
(Well. The upside to this absolute mess: The problem of contacting the wood elf has been solved.
Never mind that it's opened a host of other problems Dmitri can't begin to track. Fucking. Sen.
Fucking 'Seddum.' Shit.)
What Dima thinks, and keeps from saying: 'Nerys, what the fuck.’
What he does say: "Grand chases seem to be his forte." And, after a sharp exhale through his nose, "We will, of course, need to discuss the matter of this contract's outcome. Given what we have learned.
"Given what you apparently knew when you sent us off."
<.>
Nerys seems perplexed by Dima's ire, as well as by Sen's apparent calm in the midst of all of this. He cocks his head at the necromancer and replies, "Suspected, Dmitri. If I'd known for certain, I wouldn't have wasted anyone's time."
He hums and regards Sen appraisingly, now that he's a little closer than he was the night before, then returns his attention to Dima. "I'll admit, it was a little bit of a 'gimme', wasn't it? But I wanted to know what sort of caliber men you are. Ah, men and tiefling; my apologies."
"What I mean is, I hoped to learn how quick you are on the uptake, and how you might react to learning one of your own is - well. Him."
With an expression of quiet exasperation, he says to Sen, "Now. Would you please be so good as to come collect your demon."
Faolan slowly leans nearer to Dmitri and whispers, "Dima. I don't understand what's going on."
Sen, for his own part, sits casually sprawled, though one hand rests against Rin's shoulderblade and rubs slow, soothing arcs. "Business first, pissant collection second. You've got a problem heading your way."
Nerys looks around at the faces of the party and shakes his head. "I'm afraid you've lost me."
<.>
Looking over to Faolan - feeling a sudden, if likely to be short-lived, easing of his tension at the sight, the reminder that whatever the mess around, Faolan is here, a presence worth the world - Dima shakes his head slightly, speaks low, "I don't believe I have the scope of it, myself." And, [ The godsdamned elf's dug us all into a hole; that much I see for certain.
Moloch's eloquent high elf— Perhaps I should have guessed. ]
Then, addressing Nerys, brusque, "We were followed. Last night."
Rin, scowling, cuts in, jamming a finger in Nerys's direction: "You could suspect Sen, but you didn't catch the fake necromancers stumbling into mirrors??"
Dmitri close his eyes. Messages the tiefling, [ Rin. Please. ] (Absolutely ignoring Rin's response, [ ’Rin please' WHAT. ] Presses Fae's hand and breathes. Looks at Nerys. "Calabra's men followed us, led by the guard who murdered Gower. From what we understand, they sought information regarding Gower's child—
"And through our... Negligence. They gleaned that very information, along with access to the market.
"Your greeter must have noticed them." A click of his tongue, a cant of his head. "Dependent on the skeleton's awareness, I suppose."
<.>
Faolan still doesn't really grasp what's unfolding here; he does, however, notice something crucial: Dima seems to relax when reminded of his presence. (He takes comfort in Faolan's nearness? In the fact of him, maybe?) So, as something of an experiment, he shifts a hand to rest on Dmitri's thigh: light, intimate, and soothing.
[ Hindsight has eagle eyes, Dima. Why would you suspect Sen, of all the eloquent elves in the world, hm? ]
Nerys, meanwhile, considers this information, then responds carefully, "If you'll recall, there was a situation last night. I - might have said it was routine, though it was anything but. The 'greeter', as you call him, was found pieced apart and scattered by the river. We still haven't found all of him.
"But before you level any accusation or condemnation: the Market doesn't turn away visitors. Until now, we've had no problem enforcing the rules.
"Granted, no one's thought to threaten our generally peaceful host of more than three hundred undead before. There's always a first time."
He purses his lips and thinks for a moment, then reaches out to grasp Sen and Dmitri, who in turn are touching Rin and Faolan. Without warning, the five souls vanish from the tavern and reappear on the outskirts of the ruins, where well-disguised caravans sit idle, waiting for tomorrow's departure.
<.>