driftfleet | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: IT'S A GAME MINGLE GET IN THE VAN
Broadcast: If you want!
Action: All of it!
When: Second half of the month.

[hey everyone! how's it been going? how's medieval-fun-time-world treating you? anyone pillaged and burned anything yet? got kicked out of the castle? been planning expeditions? registered for jousting? busy angsting for the last two weeks on your ship?

this is a mingle for everybody, whether they're hiding in the volcano, out and about in the city, or up on one of those random random stations where you can get quirky souvenirs.]

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[he lifts his chin a little bit, in tentative acknowledgement.

he's got one of those faces that doesn't emote easily, but the blankness of expression maybe helps the subtle things show up. and he flattens the line of his mouth a little, in slight, veiled frustration.

this is one of those moments when he wants to ask further, probe for specifics, but doesn't know if he can or should.

...it eventually amounts to him stealing a hesitant glance over his shoulder, to check for listening ears.]

[He follows the glance and it takes him a brief moment to catch onto Coil's concern.]

Oh, yes, of course. Just a moment.

[He turns to the stall owner with an easy grin and makes a quick purchase of a large bag of chalk, which he pockets quickly, and casts his gaze around the marketplace]

Would you like to talk further elsewhere?

[Talk is a strong word, but he's sure someone like Coil either has something to write with, if need be]

[he must have some method of communication at his disposal, because he gives an immediate, shallow nod in agreement.

finding somewhere else to talk would be great. with him already cautious about discussing these things to begin with, the looming threat of what might happen if the locals are disturbed has him extra nervous.]

[Felix is slightly less concerned with the locals and more for breaking the rules and forced back to the ship. He'd really rather not.

A nod of his head across the market square]

There's a tavern over there. I'm sure we can find a quiet table.

[Even if he has to bribe the servers. He turns on a heel with a reassuring smile and moves towards the building, confident Coil will follow. The inside is the expected riot of smells and muttered conversations, but luckily there's a table in a corner both well lit by a window and shadowed from the rest of the patrons by glare. He heads off an eager server with an entirely different kind of smile and a quick order of drinks, then slides into a chair.]

[Coil's initial reservations about the establishment don't last. once they're there, once he sees the table they're headed towards, the benefits become clear.

he finds a seat for himself across from the man, and manages to only send one slightly neurotic glance around at their nearest tavern-mates before he settles into pretending that he belongs there and isn't bothered by these sort of surroundings at all.]

[He doesn't really notice Coil's unease. He's mostly too busy pawing about in his bag]

Right. Well, I assumed you had a more specific question for me, but we'll need a little help in that area. Will this suffice? [He pulls out a sheet of paper]

[he lifts his chin in acknowledgment, before doing a little rooting around of his own--fishing out a half-wrapped stick of charcoal from an inner pocket of his sweatshirt. a useful tool for writing notes, as well as anything else that a piece of chalk might be used for.

and he'd rather not clutter up his own small notebook with this, so he's grateful for the paper. after sliding it over, he neatly scrawls a few words for the man to read.

'What do you practice?'

The most innocuous way to ask about it, he thinks.]

[He still has to stop himself from being unhelpful and answering the question with 'magic'. He still found his skills difficult to summarize when Cabaline magic was easier to define by what it prohibited than the reverse, and that was as much politics as it was by design.

He does find himself smiling at the economic question, which brings another reminder of Gideon with it.]

I am a wizard - I should probably specify that it is by birth rather than by trade. I don't have a particular specialty, if that is what you want to know, though the closest I could come would be warding spells.

[He keeps his voice conversation and low]

[he tilts his head a little, thoughtfully, with a furrowed brow. doubtful or confused about something, probably.

when he puts pen to paper again, however, all he writes is 'gods?']

[It's a rather open ended question that is difficult to answer. It seems simple, but it also begs the question of why that subject, of all things, comes up.]

No, gods don't have anything to do with it. If that is what you're asking.

[yeah, that is what he'd been asking, and he slumps back a little in his seat with the answer. just a little silent huff of breath.

and his next question is even more vague--as it's only a fingertip tracing the shape of a question mark in the air.

ever since he'd left home, magic has made less and less sense.]

[He has less success interpreting that question, and he stares at the space in the air as if it might spell it out for him eventually]

How? Why? That's more than a five minute explanation, I assure you. May I ask you something first? I assume by your questions that you...practice? And that it involves gods somehow?

[he doesn't pursue the question very hard, because... yeah. it's a combination of all of those things. and it will take more than five minutes to explain.

so, he shifts focus to the new question. and he gives a very reserved, almost hesitant nod in reply.]

Would they be the reason, or the source? By which I mean, do you believe them to grant you the power?

[He doesn't want to outright deny the existence of said gods, although in his opinion, at least half the time, the existence of deities were a convenient fiction. Then again, half the time they were not]

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