entrancelogs | + Where Do Your Loyalties Lie? +

Entry tags:

+ Where Do Your Loyalties Lie? +

Who: Everyone
Where: The party
When: 7/21-7/23
Rating: PG-13 (warn if you go higher)
Summary:
The Story:
Orlais' current ruler, Lacie, has invited anyone of name, fame, and influence to The Winter Palace for three days of extravagant festivities surrounding the peace talks between her and Tillie, whose grasp for the throne has plunged beautiful Orlais into a dreadful civil war. Unbeknownst to both a third player, Elsie, has worked tirelessly behind the scenes to obtain her own share of power over the land.

Get ready for three days of fancy food, fine drink, good music, good entertainment, and just a little bit of murder, maybe? Your character has secured an invitation, and will join the illustrious crowd, become privy to the latest scandals and gossip, and observe as the struggle for Orlais' throne reaches its final chapter.

[OOC: This is an open mingle log for the Dragon Age event. The plotting post can be found here and event details can be found on the Bulletin Board.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Of course he doesn't.]

[You can't break something the same way twice.]

[The game isn't an easy thing to play, and the line is a difficult thing to walk at the best times. Even more so in times such as these - when all eyes can so very easily end up on them. Just one mistake is all it will take - ]

They're going through barrels of wine faster than we can roll them up here.

[Throw him a bone, maybe.]

I could use a hand.

Edited 2018-07-26 05:25 (UTC)

[He could, couldn't he?]

[Jay doesn't smile beneath his mask, not quite, but the skin around his eyes crinkles. There are other servants out there, other trays of appetizers. At this point, the majority should be too drunk to tell the difference between a stuffed mushroom and a meat pie anyway.]

[He tosses the empty tray onto a side table. It knocks against the candelabra, which rattles ominously for a long moment but stays upright.]

Sure, I just have to--One sec.

[He fumbles with the pouch at his side, pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper and a stick of charcoal. He scrawls a hasty tray left hlwy 5N before stuffing both back into the pouch.]

The cellar, or...?

[Tim's eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't call attention to the oddity. Bites back the blade of sarcasm - no, the roof, where all wine barrels would be reasonably kept - and forces the blankness to smother any instinct that he might have otherwise. It's for the best that he's learned to repress all else.]

[It's second nature now.]

Yes. The cellar.

[Perfectly dull, and flat. And like someone who has absolute trust in the routine around him, despite the scream of wadded-up terror that comes with turning his back on an unknown variable, he starts to walk.]

[The unknown variable pulls the drawstrings of his pouch shut and shuffles after him, head hanging and shoulders hiked. Normal. He has to look normal. The attendees--the invited attendees--chatter on, clusters of twos and threes scattered sparsely through the winding hallways.]

[There's a prickling at the back of his neck, and he flinches. There's someone watching. There must be someone watching.]

[He turns, accidentally catching the eye of a young lady, the layers of her golden gown accented with an odd metallic glimmer. Decorative mail, then, which could mean one of Tillie's. Wonderful. He can't be sure she was watching him, but she does clearly see him.]

[He hisses softly at the man leading the way. Maybe he's already noticed, but it pays to be safe.]

[If any part of this counts as 'safe'.]

[If Tim notices, he makes no indication of it. Externally. Nothing about the rolled-back shoulders, lowered chin, and empty gaze suggests someone who is exerting every ounce of their willpower into not turning around and strangling the moron on the spot. What the hell is wrong with you? Does he not understand how to keep a low profile in public?]

[Just his luck to saddle himself with a mess of deadweight. Charity only takes you so far, until that charity catches at you like a drowning man, and pulls you into the undertow along for the ride.]

[Tim doesn't intend for his usefulness to run dry here and now. So credit where credit is due, he waits until they're safely out of range of earshot before growling, low and nearly inaudible:]

Is there something wrong with you?

I'm fine.

[The response comes a little too quickly. It's little too insistent. (To his credit, he manages to keep it at a whisper.)]

[He glances back over his shoulder. Just an empty hallway. He looks again, before hissing a question:]

Are we getting more wine or what?

[Too much. This guy wouldn't be in the business this long if he didn't value his own skin. Jay doesn't want a knife between his ribs, so he amends:]

I...I mean, should we still...should we stick to...? [Breathe. The crowd's got you on edge. That's all it is.] Have they had enough, do you think?

Okay. So you're just a moron.

[Curt, dismissive. God, he needs something to smoke. The nervous energy this guy is radiating feels like it might be catching, burning through the air and digging in beneath his skin.]

You are going to blow my cover, and I'm not about to let that happen. Get it together.

[Holy shit, he actually broke.]

[Jay'd be almost proud, if he weren't too busy bristling at the rest of it. Sure, fine, he's got a reputation, and sure, fine, maybe he's got it for a reason. Maybe he's too much of a moron to be worth anything in this business. Maybe wanting a story isn't enough. Maybe wanting to disseminate the truth, so maybe fewer people get killed, isn't enough.]

Fuck off. [It's muttered, nearly inaudible, like he knows it just makes him sound more like he's on the losing side of the discussion.]

But sure, fine, I'll get it together. Just... [He jolts, looking back down the hallway behind them. Still nothing.] ...I'm just a little uncomfortable with all this, is all.

[All this being the party. All this being Tilly's people, or people allied with Tilly's people, or people allied with people allied with Tilly's people. All this being the fact that he's beem dressed up in Lacie's colors, worn though the fabric may be.]

So you decided to attend the most social event of the season. I won't repeat my earlier comment.

[He might be taller than Tim by a few inches, but he looks about as intimidating as a newly-planted sapling. If he feels like shedding a little light on who Tim is on a person, he has that advantage - along with the fact that anyone who's spoken to him for longer than a few moments will safely assume that Tim, the poor idiot, is too simple and empty-headed to be capable of anything so conniving.]

If you break your cover, you are on your own.

[In case that wasn't clear.]

[Jay believes it. The man could just dip his shoulders, unfocus his eyes, maybe mumble something along the lines of he keeps bothering me, sir. He dropped the act fast, and Jay doesn't doubt he could pick it back up just as quickly.]

[Who'd they believe? The simpleton, or the gossip?]

Like either of us had a choice.

[The worst of it is that he knows he'd have come here willingly. Too much going on, too much information. Can't afford to miss it. Though, at this rate, he doubts he'd be able to sell this guy a signed confession of treason from Tillie's full guard. Not that the money's the real point, obviously, but he can't say it doesn't help. Paper isn't cheap.]

Fine. [His eyebrows raise, sarcasm twisting the corner of his mouth. Then, not quite all at once, his gaze drops to the floor, his shoulders curl inwards. It's not as effortless as it was for the other man, Jay knows.] Lead the way.

[He'll try and mimic what he sees.]

[He has half a mind to simply drop him and bolt. Cut his fucking losses. But you don't get as far as he has by making enemies every time someone rubs you wrong. All told, someone who lacks foresight isn't the worst possible partnership he's had. The morally unsavory types, the ones that will drop you as soon as look at you?]

[Those are the ones you ought to be worried for.]

[For several long moments, he doesn't bother to answer.]

What is it you're after?

[Jay tenses again, checking over his shoulder. Nothing, again.]

[Still, his voice drops softer, muffled behind his mask.]

I just wanna talk.

[He tilts his head, an obvious failed attempt at resisting the urge to check the hall behind him again.]

Maybe...see if I've got anything to say that you think is worth hearing. Or vice-versa.

[Vice-versa would be fantastic. Jay doubts he can afford vice-versa.]

I don't shell things out for free.

[Presumably he knows that. But they've skipped over most of the cursory give-and-take these sorts of exchanges encourage, which entitles him, he thinks, to cut to the chase a hair if he so chooses.]

[And he does so choose.]

What's got you so certain you have something I don't already know?

[Jay takes a moment to weigh the value of his dignity against the value of the truth.]

[Or, at least, one wording of the truth.]

[Eh, not like he's got much dignity left to lose.]

'Cause I'm...I'm a filter. Like, you know--or, I'm assuming you know, 'cause everybody knows. People don't say stuff when I'm around.

[You screw up once, maybe twice, and you're marked for life. Nobles. Word travels fast.]

Which means if they do say stuff, that...I mean, that by itself says there's gotta be a reason.

Maybe because they want it known.

[As useful as Jay can be in the right circumstances, he wouldn't consider him particularly reliable in terms of keeping his own secrets. Or anyone else's secrets, for that matter. "Filter" is one word for it. "Disseminator" is another.]

I'm gonna need more than that.

[Jay winces.]

I...Yeah, exactly. [He tries to build up some momentum again.] So--so, either they want something out there, whether it's true or not, or they don't know what they're doing.

[A filter, like he said. A filter for the people who aren't who they say they are, who don't know who they say they know.]

[And the people who know precisely what they're doing when they let something slip within his earshot.]

[And the people who think they know precisely what they're doing, but they don't realize that even Jay Merrick's finally gotten wise.]

[Alright, maybe he's more like a sieve than a filter, but still. Sieve's better than nothing.]

It's a big...a big crowd tonight, and I've got...names, I've got what they told me, and I guess I've got some theories as to why, if that's worth anything.

[The constant weighing of risk versus benefit is an inescapable facet of how he operates, how he must operate if he hopes to keep any footholds he makes. He can't lose purchase - can't let it slip away because of one man's incompetence, one man's desperate need to remain somewhat fucking relevant to the situation.]

And if I have someone to corroborate that, would their story match yours?

[It's possible that's a bluff. But Jay can't really afford to take that risk, can he?]

[Corroborate. He's not sure what's stranger, hearing a word like that come out of his mouth or knowing that, inevitably, his eyes'll glaze over again, and he'll resume the act.]

Yes. I mean, the fact that I heard it, not that what I heard is...true, necessarily.

[Does he seriously have enough informants that he has them listening in on his other informants?]

[It could be a bluff. Could also very easily not be, given the kinds of people who buy from him.]

Hm.

[It's a noncommittal sort of hum - could mean he's assessing the situation. Could mean he's already decided.]

[But for now, he's going to focus on leveraging one of the barrels of wine free from its shelf. It thumps to the ground with a loud, wooden clunk and threatens to roll away pretty much immediately.]

I'm gonna need your help with this.

[It's not an explicit no, at least.]

[Jay watches the barrel fall, wincing at the noise as it hits the ground. He scrambles to the opposite side, grabbing hold of the lip so it won't roll away.]

S-sure. Where's it going?

[He doesn't waste the time or energy on the flat, withering stare - he is, after all, still wearing his mask.]

It's going upstairs. [Toward the celebration - a direction he thought would've been obvious, but maybe Jay's just getting into the role. Into the same kind of stupid, pointless simpleton that Tim purports to be.]

To the kitchens.

Sorry.

[It's insincere, defensive. Sure, he's seen barrels up there, but he's the appetizers guy. He's the guy pouring the drinks, not the guy hauling them upstairs. Doesn't mean he's weak.]

[He lifts his end of the barrel, and sure, maybe it's a strain, but he manages. It's fine.]

To the kitchens.

[That's the nice thing about his little game - he's actually got some of the brawn to play the part. He's far from the strongest guy out there, but for some nothing and nobody human, he can lift his side of the barrel with a minimum of strain.]

[It's time to don his mask again. No more snapping, and no more bothering with words with more than three syllables if he can help it.]

[He irons out his tone, flattens his words, and starts to move.]

'Kay. This way.

[Jay hears the other man's voice shift, watches him sink into the old role. It's enough to make the hairs raise on the back of his neck.]

[He hopes the mask covers the worst of his discomfort.]

Got it.

[He's not the best actor, but he tries to do the same. Head down, voice even. Focus on the work, like it's all you've ever done. You've got a target painted between the charcoal rings around your eyes, but make like you haven't noticed yet. You're harmless. You're nothing.]

[Jay keeps a firm grip on his end of the barrel, and he follows.]

[The difference being that Jay doesn't have much to lose, if he gets seen through. People already know he's not the reliable sort of person you can afford to talk freely around. They already know he's a tacit threat to the integrity of one's gossip.]

[Tim has a role he has to play, and he can't afford any further slip-ups. They're going to be missing them right around now.]

It's going to be a long night.

+ Where Do Your Loyalties Lie? +

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