RP:Trouble May Double
Background
Blaire seeks out her new study-buddy as mandated by Ernes--- Odhranos. This is a Mage's Guild RP.
Somewhere in Vailkrin
This wide blackstone street is crowded with elegantly constructed homes and charming shops. The buildings are narrow, tending to vertical development and are fitted rather closely together. Glancing up, one might find that some are even joined via sturdy walkways from their upper floors. Those lucky enough to purchase homes or office space in this desirable location may be glimpsed through the windows here and there, with the majority of denizens appearing aptly pale. To the south, an erected barrier now looms, though the pathway to the west now appears open.
Players:
- Blaire
- Ernest
Ernest had a little while to prepare himself for Blaire's arrival. Meeting her as Odhranos here wouldn't have made a lot of sense, so he sat down to "meditate" for a while and then tapped into his own body as though it was a Shade. Felt a little strange, returning to himself without actually returning to himself, but he figured it was for the best. In any case, the Xalious-wood staff he'd acquired for himself after the initiation ceremony made it a lot easier. So with his new partner rapidly approaching, he did a bit of tidying up of the office--setting up the kegs of dark magic along one wall, placing his crossbow back on the decorative stand he'd made for it, and then settling himself behind the keys of the Organ of Doom and playing some haunting music with the Help of several Hands. Now that the man was back in his own body, several vultures from the surrounding miles suddenly locked onto his position and began circling, because their natural homing instinct towards thematic necessity for their presence compelled them. Or maybe they were there the whole time, having smelled Ernest's body inside. Who knows?
Blaire had taken a detour by Cenril in order to wrap up some guild business per reccomendation, which would've given Ernest a fairly good head-start on her for whatever preparations he felt like making. Adding onto that head-start, she'd stopped by her own office to swap out her gear and generally get organized. But eventually, without excessive delay, she came strutting down Nightshade avenue in the pale light that passed for the sun in Vailkrin. She'd exchanged the studded jacket for one reminiscent of a marching band uniform and matched it with a studded corset and two-layer leather pants with a snake-skin pattern underneath and plain black soft-leather over it, decorated with small discs of pale gold along the sides. She still wore heels, but these new ones were low platforms and made her already graceful, elfin figure further exaggerated. Suffice to say she matched the vailkrin aesthetic like a fish in a pond. Which only made the contrast more striking when she came to a halt in front of the adress on the business card and saw... well. It wasn't exactly a intimidating victorian mansion, was it? Still, the organ music was a promising touch and seemed to be coming from inside. So she raised a gloved hand and knocked.
Ernest had a number of Hand-Eye Coordinators hanging around the outside to monitor the front, and when Blaire approached and knocked he had a couple of Helpin' Hands ready for exactly the entrance he wanted: with a slow, ominous creaking, the doors swung open--seemingly of their own accord, until she noticed the disembodied hands that gripped the door handles. The interior space was lit well enough, though of course Ernest made sure to direct most of the light to the most dramatic places in the room--namely, himself and the organ, with which he played a dramatic final sting and then swiveled around, raising his arms in greeting as the Hands behind him continued to play quietly in the background. "Welcome to Ernest Crane's Villainous Consulting," he intoned, standing up and flipping his longcoat over the chair as he descended from the control cockpit of the thing down to the floor. "Ernest Crane, naturally," he added, tipping his hat with a flourish. "And you are?" Sure, he'd met her before, but it'd make the most sense to pretend he hadn't yet.
Blaire raised a carefully manicured eyebrow at the creaky door opening itself. Though less out of suspicion than positive surprise and burgeoning approval. He may be based out of a shack but this 'Cane' had a sense for aesthetics, clearly. Far from being put off by the dismembered hands, they got a wry little smile from her as she stepped across the threshold and returned his greeting by sweeping her cap of her head in return. "Blaire Voltreyaux Nasar." For once her excessively long tongue-twister of a name came in handy. "Or just B, to those without a week to spare for courtesy." She smirked at the mummy and replaced her hat on her head. "Newly minted mage apprentice."
Ernest grinned widely. It felt good to be back in his own element, no hiding behind another person's face. Granted, the identity theft shenanigans were hilarious, but there was nothing like a real meeting with one's own face. "Oh, what a coincidence, so was I," he answered, moving across the little shack to the makeshift bar he'd set up in the corner. "Did 'em a favor an' helped 'em take down Haladidn'tbotherrememberinghiswholename. Ordinarily, takin' down villains is the opposite of my business, but I happen ta disapprove specifically of world-enders. Overplayed, hackneyed, doomed from th' start." He pulled a couple of glasses from the shelf beneath the bar. "What brings you by, miz Nasar?"
Blaire listened to the man drawl, her wry smirk growing into something like a real smile due to the sheer level of this creatures devil-may-care attitude and obviously deliberate showmanship. "Can't say I've foiled any world-ending plots or have any leg to stand on commenting on their proffessional integrity." She started, matching his tone somewhat. "I'm a tailor by trade. And a magus, as of a few days ago. Big Hat in the tower said we ought to partner up, since there's no masters taking apprentices at the moment."
Ernest scratched his chin, allegedly in thought. "That right? Huh. Wonder why he went with me. My studies ain't exactly..." he gestured vaguely, as if looking for the word, "orthodox." He gestured behind himself to the row of kegs, each one with a strange, esoteric name written on the front in branded-on letters. "Tyrant's Dissent", "Vulture's Shadow", "Tricksy Rabbit", etc. Tricksy Rabbit in particular had several warning signs and exclamation points on it. "Curses, an' I've been workin' on bottling 'em up. It's astonishin' how much negative energy you can siphon out of certain places 'round these parts. What makes ol' Stars And Moons think we'd fit well together?"
Blaire closed the door behind her, complete with ominous creaking, and made a show of leaning against it with the small of her back. Her arms folded under her chest in a pantomime. She followed the mummys movement with her eyes, mostly, but occasionally broke off to take in the contents of the shack. It was quite maddening how much stuff he'd actually managed to cram into so much space. "Wizards will be wizards, or so I'm told." She said, airly. The nonchalant tone suited her somewhat deep and raspy voice quite well. "Maybe he simply thought to stick the oddballs together?" She looked back to Ernest after eyeing the cospicous containers. "I'm a Fateweaver." She said, by way of explanation that wouldn't tell anyone anything. "Imagine it by first imagining that the metaphore about a tapestry of fate that connects us all, imagine it's actually not a metaphore, and that some magics can tug and re-tie those threads."
Ernest had heard and seen this demonstrated once before, but he still made a show of raising his eyebrow curiously. "Huh! Interestin'." He paused, and thought for a moment, picturing that. "So, hypothetically." He held a mug underneath the keg that read "Wandering Child" and lifted the lever, allowing a viscous black fluid to pour out into the mug, spreading a bit of inky smoke into the air which dissipated harmlessly. "Supposin' fer example that I wanted ta make sure a certain person received a curse with their name on it. D'you reckon you could, by tuggin' on this supposed tapestry, that they'd be more likely ta get hit by it?" He slid the mug across the bar towards her.
Ernest said, "Don't drink that, by the way, unless yer lookin' ta spend th' day dreamin' up nonsense you'll never remember."
Blaire stood away froom the door and moved over to the bar, finally, just in time to catch the mug before it slid right off the bar. That trick was harder than it looked, but she wasn't surprised this rather theatrical fellow had mastered it. "Easy. Or hard. Depends on how you do it." She said, propping herself against the bar by the hip. "If I got ahold of a string connected to the target – like, say, the one made by your animosity towards them, exploiting that connection – and tied that to whatever medium you use to deliver the curse it'd more or less be destined to hit." She mused, eyeing the oozing blackness of the mug. "Or... a little more advanced... but theoretically, if you used the threat itself as a vector you could make it so the only real way to avoid a hit would be to do something thuroughly unlikely, going down a extremely improbable series of events. Or somehow severing your connection. By, say... forgiving you? I guess?"
Ernest friggin' -beamed- at this news. Not everyone was as skilled at hitting a target as he was, and so making it vastly more likely that the various users of the spells he planned to sell would be able to pull them off properly would be an amazing extra benefit that would be great both for publicity and for business, because he was fairly sure she wouldn't do something like that for free. "In that case, I've got a project I think you might be innerested in. This here's only th' prototype of an entire establishment I'd like ta open. Curses on tap. Mass-produced black magic fer th' average consumer with a grudge. 'Miss Fortune's Taproom of Tragedy,' I'm callin' it. I got a supplier of real alcohol ta round it out, I got a nearly limitless supply of black goo, an' Cenril is full of folks who ain't shy about gettin' nasty with each other. All I need is a public face fer th' joint an' a building ta set up shop in. Any of that sound intriguing t'you? Ain't necessarily a research project but I reckon it'll give us both a lotta opportunities ta see how well fate mixes with curses."
Blaire gave her cup of bad juju another good look, staring into the inky depths of the curse as if she could tell more about it by scanning it with the naked eye. Eventually thinking better off it, she set the mug down and focused on Ernest and his enthusiastic explanation. A wry little smirk spreading on her own face. Showing sharp teeth and a playfully mischievous intent. “About as well as alcohol and bad intentions, I expect.” She said, but held her hand out. “Sounds like a profitable project. And one with plenty of chances to practice and develop my craft.” She mused, “Besides. I like the sound of Miss Fortune. No idea why I hadn't thought of that one myself, considering what I do.”
Ernest || The suitability of the name was not at all lost on Ernest and he chuckled at it, shaking her hand firmly. "Welcome to th' business, Miss Fortune. Cain't wait ta get started." He paused briefly, then added, "Matter of fact, why wait? We got curses, stuff ta curse," he drew his crossbow in the blink of an eye and had it spinning on his finger with a grin, "an' a buncha ornery birds outside what'll make fer good target practice. Wanna make some stuff?" How Ernest knew the vultures were outside despite having not looked, he left to the imagination.