Café de Nuit

"Good morning, sir!"

This had happened a good deal earlier in the conversation, for reference. Granted, it was technically morning by now, and it was quite nice out, but pleasantries were all Celeste chose to add for the moment--well-meant as they seemed. She had been through rather a lot recently.

Insight 28!

1 Days, 21 Hours, 10 Minutes
Century Oak, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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Mercator wrote: "Very well; you would know best. As for the matter of assisting us...we are in need of assistance, but you must understand that the matter is delicate, and requires both discretion and diligence. Ah...may I ask how much you have learned about the task we have in mind?"

“You may ask.” The unseen voice of Your Friend said, appearing in the air quite near Mercator, and just a little behind his head. “I certainly don't intend to stop you.”

Kerrian wrote:"At this point, I'd honestly take inscrutable and alien over out of benevolence. One's easier to understand." Kerrian said quietly. "Now, you've been invisibly observing us for how long? You may be trying to help for inscrutable alien motives, but a baseline of trust is a pretty good thing to have."

“According to whom?” Your Friend said. “I very much doubt I can do or say anything that would convince you that wholeheartedly that I mean you or your cause no harm, so any baseline of trust would be just false confidence. Don't you agree?”

“I could assure you that I am quite scrupulous regarding my promises.” The disembodied voice said. “But would you believe a disembodied voice which made such assurances? I wouldn't, even if the voice was being honest.”

Celeste wrote:"Good morning, sir!"

“Good morning, mademoiselle.” The amused voice said solicitously. “I trust you're feeling quite recovered from your ordeal?”

Friend wrote:
“According to whom?” Your Friend said. “I very much doubt I can do or say anything that would convince you that wholeheartedly that I mean you or your cause no harm, so any baseline of trust would be just false confidence. Don't you agree?”

“I could assure you that I am quite scrupulous regarding my promises.” The disembodied voice said. “But would you believe a disembodied voice which made such assurances? I wouldn't, even if the voice was being honest.”

"Some of the information you're holding back would perhaps be a good start?" Kerrian said, starting to pace with a mild sneaking fear that he might bump into their invisible guest, but at least that would prove it was tangible. May...no, probably not. Magic was after all, weird.

"We've dealt with so much misdirection and skulduggery that a little honesty would go a long way. Of course, you probably know that already."

"Don't be tedious," Mercator recommends, perhaps a trifle sharply. "Do you already know what our business is? Or would you need it explained?"

M. Anonyme wrote:“Good morning, mademoiselle. I trust you're feeling quite recovered from your ordeal?”

"Why, yes! Thank you for inquiring, Sir." Celeste aimed a quite genuine smile at nowhere in particular, which involved a good deal of turning around.

"I hope that you shall not take me amiss, good Sir--despite our brief acquaintance!--if I should tender my own opinion on the matter at hand. It is only that...Sir, it has been made manifest to me that any transaction conducted upon these festive grounds must needs involve one item in exchange for another. Oh, forgive the very baseness of my stating so! It is only that I trust you to be politic of disposition, and in the knowledge of this necessity to be implying a requisite payment from our band instead of specifying the like. Oh, do not allow decorum to seal your tongue, good Sir! Or, if you have no formal request from my fellows, allow me to proffer you some definite payment upon my own part. I have many fine antiquities that may serve our common purpose!" She gestured to her little cart.

1 Days, 21 Hours, 5 Minutes
Century Oak, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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Kerrian wrote:"Some of the information you're holding back would perhaps be a good start? We've dealt with so much misdirection and skulduggery that a little honesty would go a long way. Of course, you probably know that already."

“You didn't actually listen to a word that I said, now did you?” The invisible voice said, his tone patently amused. “Let me rephrase. If nothing I say will make you trust me wholeheartedly, and it shouldn't, why should I give you away information, that most valuable of commodities, for free?”

Mercator wrote:"Don't be tedious," Mercator recommends, perhaps a trifle sharply. "Do you already know what our business is? Or would you need it explained?"

“Tedious?” The unseen voice of Your Friend sounded scandalized. For the duration of approximately six seconds, in any case. “Explanations are always welcome.”

Celeste wrote:"I hope that you shall not take me amiss, good Sir--despite our brief acquaintance!--if I should tender my own opinion on the matter at hand. It is only that...Sir, it has been made manifest to me that any transaction conducted upon these festive grounds must needs involve one item in exchange for another. Oh, forgive the very baseness of my stating so! It is only that I trust you to be politic of disposition, and in the knowledge of this necessity to be implying a requisite payment from our band instead of specifying the like. Oh, do not allow decorum to seal your tongue, good Sir! Or, if you have no formal request from my fellows, allow me to proffer you some definite payment upon my own part. I have many fine antiquities that may serve our common purpose!"

“My word. How could I have possibly forgotten that little tradition.” The voice drawled. There was a pause, perhaps for thought. “Well, I find myself at present with really no need of anything that you have, and the results of my labors shall be adequate reward to suit me. So you may do with your antiquities as you like. Perhaps give them to the poor, with my very best regards. Otherwise, whatever trinket of matter or mind that you think matches the value of my service.”

"We don't have time for this." Tomas snaps, his patience with coy fairy beings at its absolute limit. "Lives are on the line. Lia, we also don't have the time to ease that young man into something resembling a trustworthy state of mind."

"You claim to be able to get around whatever magic's protecting the dust rune. Fine. If you follow through, I'll tell you a story-something that's too unbelievable to publish. Since you've been listening in on us, what do you make of the Breath rune? If we cannot catch that, this whole damned evening is pointless."

Tomas makes a bit of a mistake, then. Looking at the soul of the Midnight Market is already akin to sticking your head in a vat of boiling acid. But this...

...it should not be...!

Eisenwald barely keeps standing, stumbling back as though he were physically struck. Years of training and meditation keep him from bleeding all over the place, which would be...problematic. Tomas takes a few shallow breaths, but quickly regains control of himself; an explanation is, seemingly, not forthcoming.

Well.

In the absence of better options, it seems that trusting the Voice has become necessary.

"To expand on M. Eisenwald's remarks: We wish to find a series of symbols or talismanic objects associated with the pretender to the role of Death. We have been informed that one of these is symbolized by Dust and represents what he is becoming, and that it can only be obtained by visiting...h'm...I believe the phrasing was 'a chamber sacred to the Lady of Winter, which is death to any mortal who sets foot in it'. Hence our interest in finding someone not mortal to assist us. The object or symbol in question is or was associated with the Hospice of Hala in Port-a-Lucine but is probably now to be found outside the city. Are these facts sufficient to give you an idea of what is spoken of and how it might be gotten?"

Nerit put out a hand to Tomas' shoulder to steady him. Her grip was firm, even pressing (though, of course, nothing the likes of Tomas could not easily get out of).

She watched him distinctly. "You are all right, Tomas?" Nerit asked lowly.

Otherwise, she said nothing to and nothing about A Friend.

"While my name may not be on the top ten list of most elegant appellations in the history of the Mordentish language," Lia says, her voice as taut as her facial expression, "I shall at least credit it with not being the idea of my mother. Few mothers are daft enough to think up something like that. Therefore, I find it equally unlikely that yours named you A Friend. It will be interesting, perhaps, to find out down the line what she did name you -- provided you had one. Unless there is any objection, I am going to the place of the Dust rune now. All who wish to join me are free to come. This includes, apparently, our invisible 'friend'."

"Splendid, I see no reason to look an invisible benefactor in the errr.... lack of mouth, ummm well I guess then thin air" Nicolas finishes with a helpless shrug, taking a long look inside his empty flask and hoping that the voice was real and not just in his head.

Lia wrote:All who wish to join me are free to come. This includes, apparently, our invisible 'friend'."

"One moment Ma Chere" Nicolas says in a soothing voice, "I agree it is time for action, but then I'm an impulsive fool. Let us at least hear our friend's proposal before we go diving into the sewers,hmm?"

1 Days, 20 Hours, 54 Minutes
Century Oak, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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Tomas wrote:"You claim to be able to get around whatever magic's protecting the dust rune. Fine. If you follow through, I'll tell you a story-something that's too unbelievable to publish. Since you've been listening in on us, what do you make of the Breath rune? If we cannot catch that, this whole damned evening is pointless."

“On the contrary, you'd have met me. And I am never pointless.” The voice of Your Friend drawled, letting the “I” stretch out. You had the impression of a grin. “Still, if I were in the business of catching things, which I am not, I would refer to Goodman Eric Finnsen. A specialist in travel arrangements of all shapes and sizes.”

“Just tell him that Ykkarr Vinr will owe him a favor if he gets you to the rune of breath.” There was another brief pause here. “You shouldn't have any problems with price.”

History DC 18

Nerit wrote:"You are all right, Tomas?" Nerit asked lowly.

“Of course he is. He's just presently indisposed.” Your Friend said blandly. “But so long as he shows good sense, proper reserve, and doesn't eat any strange fish, I'm sure that will be only temporary. Don't you agree?”

Mercator wrote:"To expand on M. Eisenwald's remarks: We wish to find a series of symbols or talismanic objects associated with the pretender to the role of Death. We have been informed that one of these is symbolized by Dust and represents what he is becoming, and that it can only be obtained by visiting...h'm...I believe the phrasing was 'a chamber sacred to the Lady of Winter, which is death to any mortal who sets foot in it'. Hence our interest in finding someone not mortal to assist us. The object or symbol in question is or was associated with the Hospice of Hala in Port-a-Lucine but is probably now to be found outside the city. Are these facts sufficient to give you an idea of what is spoken of and how it might be gotten?"

“An admirably concise summary of events, Doctor.” The unseen voice praised. “It shall guide me in my endeavors to see that there is a... ah... suitable outcome for these events.”

Lia wrote:"While my name may not be on the top ten list of most elegant appellations in the history of the Mordentish language," Lia says, her voice as taut as her facial expression, "I shall at least credit it with not being the idea of my mother. Few mothers are daft enough to think up something like that. Therefore, I find it equally unlikely that yours named you A Friend. It will be interesting, perhaps, to find out down the line what she did name you -- provided you had one. Unless there is any objection, I am going to the place of the Dust rune now. All who wish to join me are free to come. This includes, apparently, our invisible 'friend'."

“I wish you the very best of luck, and I advise dressing warmly. In layers perhaps?” Your Friend said. There was a sound that was very much like a yawn, and then the masculine, rather confident voice continued. “I, in the meanwhile, intend to take a brief catnap, possibly a meal, and then confront our dearly departed Crone's domicile at the peak of my energies. Never fear, I plan to take care of the rune before the deadline.”

“In any case, it has been a pleasure speaking to such a group of insightful people.” The voice of Your Friend said. “But I really must fly. I expect we'll hear from each other soon enough. A blessing for the road, perhaps, Sister?”

And with that, the voice of Your Friend was silent, and was no more heard by the Century Oak. A minute ticked past, and then Prof. Lessard said quietly. “Somehow, I think we may yet regret this.”

Remy was sitting by the tree, where Perrine was huddled in some blankets, virtually invisible in her own right beneath the cloth. Just a few stray red hairs peeked out. Lessard took a look at the young woman and stood up, dusting his scholarly jacket off. “I'm going to look into Our Friend if I can. Though it's probably a good idea to get Mlle. Perrine back to the Chateau before we head off to look for these runes. See that she's settled, perhaps grab a meal before we rush off again. Any objections?”

Your Friend wrote:“Just tell him that Ykkarr Vinr will owe him a favor if he gets you to the rune of breath.”
...
“Of course he is. He's just presently indisposed.” Your Friend said blandly. “But so long as he shows good sense, proper reserve, and doesn't eat any strange fish, I'm sure that will be only temporary. Don't you agree?”

Nerit turned away and smiled. As she let go of Tomas' shoulder she couldn't help but laugh. There was no other response to the scary, disembodied voice. Well, other than this one at his departure:

"Lady watch over you," she whispered, her mouth curled up into a smirk. "...For our sakes," she amended, glancing with a nod toward the others. Was that relief?


23 History. Teehee.

Celeste had been about to say something, but had clearly felt it imprudent to interrupt. Then...

"...He is gone!" Obvious: stated. Celeste pouted briefly, then brightened. "But his kind offer of assistance remains. I am only sorry that I was not properly able to offer him a suitable item in exchange...perhaps I shall offer a de Bábaco* to charity, at that! A lovely gesture as well as a symbol of agreement..."

"At any rate, gentle fellow-lodgers, I am for Hail--and you shall not find a more dedicated investigatrix to that end!" Celeste looked fittingly purposeful. "I should be quite glad for company upon the journey, however, if any among you share that aim."

---------

*Francisco de Bábaco, 744-Present: noted Valacani bronze figure sculptor

Mercator looks slightly pained at Nerit's irreverent farewell to their interlocutor; obviously Nerit does not quite meet his ideal of monastic decorum. He looks thoughtful as the Voice announces its name (or at least a sobriquet, or at least an acquaintance), but seems not to come to any useful conclusion.

"We might regret any number of things, Professor," he mutters. "Not accepting this offer of assistance, for example." Then, to everyone, "I will stay until the Market closes, but I think it would be well to have Mlle. Perrine go home with you if you are leaving now. Mlle. Perrine, if you all decide it is the easiest solution you may use my quarters for the night; I do not anticipate returning before dawn. If decorum does not permit so much, I am sure other arrangements can be made. Mlle. Viardot has declared for the Hail rune; I will make certain preparations for locating the Fire rune and go to look for it tomorrow morning; if anyone would like to join me, he or she would be welcome."

History 16. Stupid virtual dice.