The half-elf shrugs as he examines his paper again. "Brother Perrison is...well, let us say that much of his behavior could only be considered subjectively rational. His distribution appears to be random; my own fiche consists of five symbols of the Tarokka, also apparently random, although if he intends a personal comment I think I must be insulted."Rotipher wrote: He glances at the note carefully, hiding it like a cardsharp checking the contents of a fresh hand, then looks up to Quiret in puzzlement, and ask the 'senior Brother', "Party games, perhaps...?", in tones rather more baffled than wry.
La Maison Soulombre: Entrances
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Crow peeks again at his own message -- if such it is -- then shakes his head dismissively and tucks it into his notebook. "I'd rather doubt it could be that personal: mine appears much the same, yet I've even never met the man, to the best of my recollection." No point to hiding the general gist of my note, if he's openly admitting to that of his own....Nathan of the FoS wrote:The half-elf shrugs as he examines his paper again. "Brother Perrison is...well, let us say that much of his behavior could only be considered subjectively rational. His distribution appears to be random; my own fiche consists of five symbols of the Tarokka, also apparently random, although if he intends a personal comment I think I must be insulted."
"Well, I'll not squander those limited hours a day does afford us, fussing overmuch about another man's quirks. May he subjectify reality -- is that a real word, I wonder? If not, it likely should be... -- to his heart's content.
"But in this reality, you'd been asking as to my own calling, I believe? A guitarist, yes, though not exclusively: in keeping with your own analogy, this Crow's oft inclined to diversify." And the spy pulls aside the edge of his outer jerkin, thus revealing the harmonica sheathed at his belt.
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
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"Ah! The mouth-harp. An excellent choice for one who must travel light, and popular hereabouts, as well. I cannot claim any proficiency in it myself; you see, the Kartakan school is deeply opposed to any instrument which impedes the vocal expression of the bard, by which a great many instruments go by the board!"Rotipher wrote:"But in this reality, you'd been asking as to my own calling, I believe? A guitarist, yes, though not exclusively: in keeping with your own analogy, this Crow's oft inclined to diversify." And the spy pulls aside the edge of his outer jerkin, thus revealing the harmonica sheathed at his belt.
At a signal from somewhere over Crow's shoulder Ibelis nods and says, "You will excuse me, I'm sure; I have a meeting at present. If you wish, a few of the musically inclined will be meeting this evening at Mme. Solobre's house, along Rue Pescadero, and we would welcome your presence."
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As no one seemed to know what the peices of paper are for, Buchvold stops worring about his, He turns back to Hazan
"As I was saying, I've been atempting to re-enginere the spell that allows us to look into the ethereal, in order to look into Shadow insted. It occured to me that it might be of some use in tracking the dead, so when the good professor asked if the Traitor would leave a trial in shadow , I thaught your answer could save some trial and error on my part"
He bows in apology.
"Please excuse me. I think I'm going to try and find out just what Brother Perrison is up to"
And with that remark, Buchvold withdraws into the crowd, in persuit of the note giving Brother.
"As I was saying, I've been atempting to re-enginere the spell that allows us to look into the ethereal, in order to look into Shadow insted. It occured to me that it might be of some use in tracking the dead, so when the good professor asked if the Traitor would leave a trial in shadow , I thaught your answer could save some trial and error on my part"
He bows in apology.
"Please excuse me. I think I'm going to try and find out just what Brother Perrison is up to"
And with that remark, Buchvold withdraws into the crowd, in persuit of the note giving Brother.
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OOC: I’ll try to post more then once a day, but omg you guy are quick ![Smile :)](./images/smilies/icon_smile.gif)
Hazan looks at his own paper: "The Shepherd (i), The Soldier, The Charlatan, The Merchant, The Missionary." . “I guess we should keep this handy, should it be asked later on.”, Viktor said while folding the paper and putting it in his pocket. He looks at Mrs Kinsley and asks “does your paper have a meaning you understand?”
Hazan looked at Gertrude, then at Buchvold and Harko, looking surprised “I sometimes wonder who let this strange unfocused bunch in the Fraternity?”, Hazan asked, smiling.
“Oh, it’s me who introduced Harko” said Hazan with a feign surprised look.
“But this was before his … accident.”, Hazan documented, looking grimmer for a short moment.
“Well, I think I must leave you here,” Hazan says. "Meetings! If you'll excuse me?"
![Smile :)](./images/smilies/icon_smile.gif)
Nathan of the FoS wrote: But Kingsley's greeting is too late to stay the blond Fraternity brother in his progress; by the time she has finished her query he has moved on.
"Brother Harko Perrison," Hazan supplies, glancing at his own paper.
“Our dear Brother Harko”, Hazan started uneasily, “isn’t in charge of security, but he said he’d complement the levels of security what we already established. Let’s say it’s a … parallel security system. Harko is a very bright person, often astonishingly so, and it will be interesting to find if this random thing has a meaning.”Llana wrote:Gertrude nodded at Hazan’s naming of the man with the white-blond hair, and followed his example. She looked at her paper, a puzzled look upon her face, and then folded the paper. “Are we to keep these private?” And what in the world do they mean with this and the numbers?
Hazan looks at his own paper: "The Shepherd (i), The Soldier, The Charlatan, The Merchant, The Missionary." . “I guess we should keep this handy, should it be asked later on.”, Viktor said while folding the paper and putting it in his pocket. He looks at Mrs Kinsley and asks “does your paper have a meaning you understand?”
Before Hazan was going to answer to Buchvold, the Borcan was gone into the crowd.Moral Machivelli wrote:As no one seemed to know what the peices of paper are for, Buchvold stops worring about his, He turns back to Hazan
"As I was saying, I've been atempting to re-enginere the spell that allows us to look into the ethereal, in order to look into Shadow insted. It occured to me that it might be of some use in tracking the dead, so when the good professor asked if the Traitor would leave a trial in shadow , I thaught your answer cold save some trial and error on my part"
He bows in apology.
"Please excuse me. I think I'm going to try and find out just what Brother Perrison is up to"
And with that remark, Buchvold withdraws into the crowd, in persuit of the note giving Brother.
Hazan looked at Gertrude, then at Buchvold and Harko, looking surprised “I sometimes wonder who let this strange unfocused bunch in the Fraternity?”, Hazan asked, smiling.
“Oh, it’s me who introduced Harko” said Hazan with a feign surprised look.
“But this was before his … accident.”, Hazan documented, looking grimmer for a short moment.
“Well, I think I must leave you here,” Hazan says. "Meetings! If you'll excuse me?"
"A full set of (game) rules is so massively complicated that the only time they were all bound together in a single volume, they underwent gravitational collapse and became a black hole" (Adams)
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Brother Perrison has an uncanny ability to slip through the crowd without being slowed; by the time Buchvold catches up to him he is standing at the front door of the Maison, more papers in hand, looking out at an arriving carriage with a mooncalf smile.Moral Machivelli wrote: "Please excuse me. I think I'm going to try and find out just what Brother Perrison is up to"
And with that remark, Buchvold withdraws into the crowd, in persuit of the note giving Brother.
He turns to Buchvold as he approaches and his smile widens. "Buchvold!" he says. "Thirty-one. Auspicious!"
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Not wishing to tie himself to any firm commitment, but aware that the half-elf's invitation might present a handy opportunity to place the names and faces of the Fraternity's bards, outside the Maison's security-cordon, Crow nods gratefully in response to Quiret's invitation. "I shall certainly make every effort to do so, Songmaster, barring the unforeseen."
The dark-curled bard bows politely to the feyborn's departing back; as he rises, his eyes scan the far end of the room, where Buchvold appears to be in pursuit of the note-handing Brother Perrison. Dear me, what's the Borcan in such a tizzy about? His note ... it didn't actually come close to the truth, did it?
Nonsense. That man couldn't have had a drop of Vistani blood in him, and he called me "Brother" without a moment's hesitation: hardly a testament to cosmic omniscience, on his part! And my note certainly doesn't ring true at all.
Definitely nonsense. I'm not imprisoned, for sun's sake -- certainly not at present, nor for long if I am found out -- and I've no right to expect such a vindicating future as the fourth card promised ... let alone, the first.
Still, it is troubling, if only because Buchvold seems concerned enough to risk a potential scene. Recalling the remarks he'd overheard between Hazan and Kingsley, moments before -- that he, unlike the Borcan, didn't need to face Hazan to listen in on the pair was one of the reasons Crow'd been able to convince his "ally" of his own usefulness -- the bard fades back to where Professor Kingsley now stood, looking a bit nonplussed at having been abandoned by the Esteemed Brother.
"Well, this is a bit of muddle," the bard opines, stepping up to stand beside the Zherisian professor. "It seems we've both been deserted by our higher-ranked co-professionals! A deliberate snub, to get we tyros out of the grown-ups' hair, do you think? If so, I'll allow the lists of cards are a novel approach ... though if we're expected to sit about playing Entari-vitir until the seniors return, I'd have appreciated it if they'd given us real cards, or at least me, a different set of five: I'm two suits short of a wretched 'Lunaset', let alone a winning hand!"
He turns to face the Paridoner, a self-deprecating smirk lifting one corner of his mouth, hoping his jest might cheer her up a tad. Then he lets the joking fade from his expression, and speaks more soberly, but warmly:
"You'd not believe me, if I told you how good it is to see you again, Madam. Best if I don't then, I should think.
"Better, I'm sure, to ask what you might make of all this?"
He tilts his head, in a pose of mildly-inquisitive 'small talk', and gestures to the slip of paper in her hand, and the corner of the one tucked into his own notebook.
The dark-curled bard bows politely to the feyborn's departing back; as he rises, his eyes scan the far end of the room, where Buchvold appears to be in pursuit of the note-handing Brother Perrison. Dear me, what's the Borcan in such a tizzy about? His note ... it didn't actually come close to the truth, did it?
Nonsense. That man couldn't have had a drop of Vistani blood in him, and he called me "Brother" without a moment's hesitation: hardly a testament to cosmic omniscience, on his part! And my note certainly doesn't ring true at all.
Definitely nonsense. I'm not imprisoned, for sun's sake -- certainly not at present, nor for long if I am found out -- and I've no right to expect such a vindicating future as the fourth card promised ... let alone, the first.
Still, it is troubling, if only because Buchvold seems concerned enough to risk a potential scene. Recalling the remarks he'd overheard between Hazan and Kingsley, moments before -- that he, unlike the Borcan, didn't need to face Hazan to listen in on the pair was one of the reasons Crow'd been able to convince his "ally" of his own usefulness -- the bard fades back to where Professor Kingsley now stood, looking a bit nonplussed at having been abandoned by the Esteemed Brother.
"Well, this is a bit of muddle," the bard opines, stepping up to stand beside the Zherisian professor. "It seems we've both been deserted by our higher-ranked co-professionals! A deliberate snub, to get we tyros out of the grown-ups' hair, do you think? If so, I'll allow the lists of cards are a novel approach ... though if we're expected to sit about playing Entari-vitir until the seniors return, I'd have appreciated it if they'd given us real cards, or at least me, a different set of five: I'm two suits short of a wretched 'Lunaset', let alone a winning hand!"
He turns to face the Paridoner, a self-deprecating smirk lifting one corner of his mouth, hoping his jest might cheer her up a tad. Then he lets the joking fade from his expression, and speaks more soberly, but warmly:
"You'd not believe me, if I told you how good it is to see you again, Madam. Best if I don't then, I should think.
"Better, I'm sure, to ask what you might make of all this?"
He tilts his head, in a pose of mildly-inquisitive 'small talk', and gestures to the slip of paper in her hand, and the corner of the one tucked into his own notebook.
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
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Buchvold smiles back at the Brother.Nathan of the FoS wrote:Brother Perrison has an uncanny ability to slip through the crowd without being slowed; by the time Buchvold catches up to him he is standing at the front door of the Maison, more papers in hand, looking out at an arriving carriage with a mooncalf smile.Moral Machivelli wrote: "Please excuse me. I think I'm going to try and find out just what Brother Perrison is up to"
And with that remark, Buchvold withdraws into the crowd, in persuit of the note giving Brother.
He turns to Buchvold as he approaches and his smile widens. "Buchvold!" he says. "Thirty-one. Auspicious!"
"Quite possibly, Perrison" He replies "I'm very much afraid I never had much interest in numology"
He looks out at the carridge
"And who is this arriving now?" The borcan inquiers.
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"Numerology!" For some reason this strikes Brother Perrison as hilarious; he claps his hands and titters. "Wonderful!"Moral Machivelli wrote:Buchvold smiles back at the Brother.
He turns to Buchvold as he approaches and his smile widens. "Buchvold!" he says. "Thirty-one. Auspicious!"
"Quite possibly, Perrison" He replies "I'm very much afraid I never had much interest in numology"
He looks out at the carridge
"And who is this arriving now?" The borcan inquiers.
Turning with the Borcan to the carriage, he looks at it sharply. "Ah ha ha ha!" he exclaims as a tall, saturnine gentleman in early middle age emerges from the carriage in stages. "Exalted Brother Roeccha! Fifty-seven, and a wonderful test case."
Advancing down the drive, he presses a paper on the arriving brother, who does not look too pleased to be the recipient of so strange a gift.
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Buchvold ducks around the Maison's door in order to avoid encountering the angered Exalted Brother Roeccha. After the brother goes past, Buchvold returnes to Brother PerrisonNathan of the FoS wrote:"Numerology!" For some reason this strikes Brother Perrison as hilarious; he claps his hands and titters. "Wonderful!"Moral Machivelli wrote:Buchvold smiles back at the Brother.
He turns to Buchvold as he approaches and his smile widens. "Buchvold!" he says. "Thirty-one. Auspicious!"
"Quite possibly, Perrison" He replies "I'm very much afraid I never had much interest in numology"
He looks out at the carridge
"And who is this arriving now?" The borcan inquiers.
Turning with the Borcan to the carriage, he looks at it sharply. "Ah ha ha ha!" he exclaims as a tall, saturnine gentleman in early middle age emerges from the carriage in stages. "Exalted Brother Roeccha! Fifty-seven, and a wonderful test case."
Advancing down the drive, he presses a paper on the arriving brother, who does not look too pleased to be the recipient of so strange a gift.
"By the way, how were you able to work these out?" He indecates the Brother's remaining peices of paper with his own.
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Brother Perrison laughs again--a high, eerie titter. "Ah, that's the question, isn't it?" he says, elbowing Buchvold in the ribs. "High times ahead for you! Master of Glyphs!"Moral Machivelli wrote: "By the way, how were you able to work these out?" He indecates the Brother's remaining peices of paper with his own.
Still giggling, he skitters away through the crowded foyer.
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Hazan’s uneasiness and vague answer encouraged Gertrude’s curiosity. She was going to answer when Buchvold interjected to further explain his supposed interest in the professor’s research- and abruptly departed. Her eyebrows were raised as she tried to contain her amusement, but laughed pealed forth at Viktor’s reaction and answer. Leaning forward as if she were imparting a state secret, she solemnly said, eyes dancing, “It is quite possible that the Borcan Fraternity feel they have a quota to maintain rather than standards to uphold…” His lecture should be very interesting indeed if this is his usual manner of speech...
Returning Viktor’s confidence, she read aloud quietly, “The Temptress, the Tax Collector, Prison, the Druid and the Raven. I’m afraid I’m ignorant about Tarokka cards, though the Prison is my birthsign. ” She wondered at this ‘accident’, wondering if it was recent and somehow related to their undead brother. She was going to ask further when Viktor recalled the time. Smiling, she remarked, “Excuse me for having held you up; I look forward to talking later.” She gave a small bow as the professor stepped away to greet some other new guests, and turned at the bard’s approach.
She smiled at Crow and shaking her head, “No, not deserted; Hazan is surely involved in the security, and I’m honoured that he spoke to me as long as he did.” There were certainly enough there who wouldn’t give her the time of day, and she appreciated those who did- including the ambiguous man beside her.
She smiled at his jest about the cards, and her smile grew at his next words. She said nothing however; she’d seen that eavesdroppers were everywhere, and didn’t want anyone to misconstrue any comment she’d make in response. She grew thoughtful at his question, and brought out her slip of paper, quietly reading it aloud again. “Some have an 'i' beside them in brackets- the numeral one? I’m afraid that I have no idea myself about the tarokka. Does it reflect the future, or the present? Does it even apply to us? After all, Harko handed them out randomly, assigning us each numbers. For all I know, he may instruct us to approach numbers 19 and 53 for our answers.”
As the crowd began to break up and move outdoors, Gertrude nodded at the open doors. “A little more privacy and fresh air would be good,” she remarked, then returned to the conversation at hand. “Perhaps you can tell me what you know about the Tarokka, and see whether you think these cards apply to myself. The Temptress of course, is an obvious choice for myself, of course,” she remarked wryly.
Returning Viktor’s confidence, she read aloud quietly, “The Temptress, the Tax Collector, Prison, the Druid and the Raven. I’m afraid I’m ignorant about Tarokka cards, though the Prison is my birthsign. ” She wondered at this ‘accident’, wondering if it was recent and somehow related to their undead brother. She was going to ask further when Viktor recalled the time. Smiling, she remarked, “Excuse me for having held you up; I look forward to talking later.” She gave a small bow as the professor stepped away to greet some other new guests, and turned at the bard’s approach.
She smiled at Crow and shaking her head, “No, not deserted; Hazan is surely involved in the security, and I’m honoured that he spoke to me as long as he did.” There were certainly enough there who wouldn’t give her the time of day, and she appreciated those who did- including the ambiguous man beside her.
She smiled at his jest about the cards, and her smile grew at his next words. She said nothing however; she’d seen that eavesdroppers were everywhere, and didn’t want anyone to misconstrue any comment she’d make in response. She grew thoughtful at his question, and brought out her slip of paper, quietly reading it aloud again. “Some have an 'i' beside them in brackets- the numeral one? I’m afraid that I have no idea myself about the tarokka. Does it reflect the future, or the present? Does it even apply to us? After all, Harko handed them out randomly, assigning us each numbers. For all I know, he may instruct us to approach numbers 19 and 53 for our answers.”
As the crowd began to break up and move outdoors, Gertrude nodded at the open doors. “A little more privacy and fresh air would be good,” she remarked, then returned to the conversation at hand. “Perhaps you can tell me what you know about the Tarokka, and see whether you think these cards apply to myself. The Temptress of course, is an obvious choice for myself, of course,” she remarked wryly.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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With a broad smile at the Lady Scalpel's charming wit -- and, moreso, at her intimation of trust, to have welcomed his company -- the bard nods obligingly.
"Too true, Madam ... although not, I should expect, solely by virtue of your gender. Such superficialities carry less import, in Tarokka, than the ignorant are prone to assume. I'll wager at least a couple of our resolutely-masculine colleagues are, even now, perplexed by their own receipt of a feminized significator; indeed, I'd dare to hope they're quite put out by it!" He tips a rascally wink to the Zherisian, aware how sorely she must resent the Fraternity's chauvinists.
"But fitting, nonetheless ... for your invitation has most certainly tempted me, Professor. If I may?"
The bard offers Kingsley his arm, and escorts her out to the front gardens of the Maison, like a doting gallant accompanying a regal duchess.
"Too true, Madam ... although not, I should expect, solely by virtue of your gender. Such superficialities carry less import, in Tarokka, than the ignorant are prone to assume. I'll wager at least a couple of our resolutely-masculine colleagues are, even now, perplexed by their own receipt of a feminized significator; indeed, I'd dare to hope they're quite put out by it!" He tips a rascally wink to the Zherisian, aware how sorely she must resent the Fraternity's chauvinists.
"But fitting, nonetheless ... for your invitation has most certainly tempted me, Professor. If I may?"
The bard offers Kingsley his arm, and escorts her out to the front gardens of the Maison, like a doting gallant accompanying a regal duchess.
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow