[Game Thread] 1. Catch As Catch Can

[phinar]

Rambaudi, the dottari captain, turns his mouth up in distaste. "I will assume that you are merely being polite, and not trying to bribe an officer of the watch," he says. "But some professions require sobriety to exercise. I will depart now." He hesitates, narrowing his eyes. "You stay away from the widow, you understand, Drovenge? Just. Stay. Away. Or I will haul you in."

"Please, Rambaudi, no need for such theatrics. It really is not your strong suit." Du Repree's thin smile is a cross between mockery and sardonic amusement. "Dimitri will comport himself as a gentleman, I am sure. Go be about your investigation, or whatever it is that requires your sobriety."

Lansdowne looks between the Hellknight and the dottari captain, then makes his excuses. "Unfortunately, I can't join you. I must prepare for the evening. But please, be well. Come by the theatre tomorrow evening, Dimitri, and perhaps we can talk?" The thin man nods to his acquaintances, gives an appraising look to the new arrivals, then hurries off across the cemetery, heading for his coach.

The Hellknight paralictor, du Repree, gives a rueful look to the retreating widow and her drunken escort. "Seems I am to be leaving the widow to her own devices for a time as well," he says. "Maybe I can join you for a drink or two? It's been some time, Dimitri, and it seems you've come up in the world if you're burning down theatres. Torch songs to torch jobs?" His smile is like carved granite, his eyes like chips of obsidian.

"Come, we can take my coach." He glances at Conbar, arching an eyebrow. "Though we might be a little crowded, we should all fit."

The rest of the group has formed up. If they are the noticing sort, Trystienne and Conbar might notice that the attorney has retreated from the gathering. Whatever message he was trying to send must have been sent already.

* * *

The trip to Rego Pena exhausts the morning, and the sun has just passed its apex by the time the coach has delivered the party into the cobbles out front of the Almato Pianni. Dimitri may have exaggerated the trattoria's charms, though not by too much.

The establishment features a moderately accomplished kitchen atop a truly spectacular wine cellar. Within, dark wood and oil lamps illuminate a large common room that features a full-sized pianoforte. Outside, the handful of half-dozen tables set up in a narrow alleyway might be overbilled as "open-air seating," but the spring breeze carries on it the smell of earth and the promise of fresh growth. The waitstaff pulls a handful of tables together to seat the party.

The Hellknight orders a '02 Mauchard, a red that oozes notes of chocolate and berries. His money gleams golden when he pays. He pours liberally.

"Drovenge, I don't think I've seen you since...." He pauses, tapping pursed lips with his fingertip. Then he laughs. "Yes, I don't think I've seen you in a while. Something dreadful, I imagine, from the way those flowers burned. Should I give Amelia your regards?" His wry grin suggests that he will do no such thing.

"Tell me how you got into this mess. How did you come to be on Ungliano's blacklist?"

 

OOC Some things that might be helpful: K:local (DC15) or K:nobility (DC15) might give additional insight into some of the characters introduced so far. Diplomacy could be used to gather information on any of these topics, though this would take time,and so the information would not be available until there's an adequate scene break to do the legwork. The crime scene was secured for three days after the fire, but is no longer. Several of you know where Ungliano lives. It's not a secret. Other skills or abilities might be useful, but I haven't tried to make an exhaustive study; please feel free to roll and tell me what you hope to accomplish with it. Hopefully this will give you some avenues to explore. Given that nobody has anything to lose by rolling, I'll start preparing the results now.

[ogamodyna]

Sitting with a vacant expression and only the occasional obligatory glance to see if any fans were about, Trystienne rifled through the images and Looking at the reactions and body language of the various mourners for clues.

Dice sense motive:

d20+7

(14)+7

Total = 21

Dice sense motive:

d20+7

(6)+7

Total = 13

Dice sense motive:

d20+7

(13)+7

Total = 20

Dice sense motive:

d20+7

(13)+7

Total = 20

Dice sense motive:

d20+7

(19)+7

Total = 26

Dice sense motive:

d20+7

(4)+7

Total = 11

Dice sense motive:

d20+7

(15)+7

Total = 22

As well as a roll for any salacious or at least relevant gossip.

Dice knowledge local:

d20+7

(7)+7

Total = 14

perceptions he'd gathered at the services as well as any tidbits picked up along the street. All the while, the vapid looking acteur enjoyed the delicate wines and fingerfoods of the Trattoria with an almost dramatic relish and joi de vivre.

Tsk tsk, Dry business! We should be toasting our fallen comrade and recounting how we met him and how beloved he was by all! Pausing to refill his flagon with the deep almost violet colored wine he lifted his toast high and began the round. To dearly departed Niccolo Ungliano, manager, critic, blazing star of theatrical society. He offered me my first lessons in the arts, and very few meaty parts after the lessons. Always a pointed mentor but rarely a charitable critique.

[Rolzup]

Jakob grimaces, but drinks nevertheless; he knows better than to turn down a free drink. Those are all too hard to come by, these days.

He savors it for a moment, remembering when he drank stuff as fine as this -- finer, even! -- whenever he liked. When free drinks were the rule, not the exception. When he didn't have to wonder if what he was about to drink might make him go blind.

"To hell with Niccolo," Jakob says shortly, "he's dead, and raising a glass to him ain't going to make him any less dead. Tell me something I don't know. Tell me who did it."

He glares around the table, his gaze finally settling on Dmitiri. Jakob's lip curls as he

Dice Knowledge: Local:

1d20+4

(10)+4

Total = 14

tries to remember what he's heard about the Hellknight. "You. You're the man with the answers, ain't you?"

[PinkFairyArmadilo]

Conbar's glass didn't quite fit in his hand, the same way he didn't quite fit in his suit. He made a real, yet futile, effort to drink at the same pace as all others present, but he wasn't a man made for sipping and savoring things. It gave an odd effect, the big man in his small clothes sipping from his small glass which he held as though at the slightest squeeze it would shatter. He was a man out of his element among this type of high society. And while a wiser man would know to walk away when he's in over his head, wisdom was had never been a common accusation of Conbar.

"Mister Ungliano was a good man." He added to his new friend's epitaph for his old employer, "He did right by me when he didn't have to, so I gotta do right by him."

[PopCultureBard]

"The man was a fraud and a liar." Dimitri sips the Mauchard with the appropriate demeanor, checking the nose and twirling the glass. "But to be honest I still don't know why he hung me out to dry." Glancing around the table, his lip curls into a smirk behind the glass. While the hellknight, the actor and himself didn't stand out at the table the others didn't exactly blend. "One day we had a contract, the next he wouldn't even acknowledge we'd spoken. I..." His frown is clear as he sets the glass aside. "...didn't react well." He turns his eyes toward Conbar then. "No matter how right he did by you, he did wrong by a bunch of others. Don't think we're going to solve this without dragging his name through the muck."

"Speaking of which...how are we going to go about that exactly?" He takes up the glass again, touching it to the one set out for Darcy. "Rough up some suspects? Stake out an abandoned warehouse? I'm afraid my investigative technique is straight out of Millere's 'A Lady Left Wanting'." A glance to the others, his face blank, then a lift of his shoulders. "Just a guilty pleasure."

[Rolzup]

"Yeah," Jakob says dismissively, "I like books about ladies too. The ones with pictures, yeah? Nothing to be ashamed of, man."

He leans forward, and cracks his knuckles. "Now, me? I've found the best way to get yourself some answers is to beat 'em out of the right guy. Or someone who knows the right guy, and then you just gotta do it all over again." Jakob shrugs. "Just point me in the right direction, watch me work."

[ogamodyna]

While his face betrayed little except preoccupation with the winelist, hors d'ouevres , and his own appearance, Tryste mentally winced and sighed once or twice. Information gathering should be an art. A carefully crafted word to open the conversation and glean tidbits. A carefully placed ear while appearing oblivious, the trade of one tidbit for another; these were all readily acceptable and elegant ways to gather information. Stake-outs and the pounding of heads was just so...distasteful. Perhaps even vulgar. Still, one did not slip out of role and point out such affronts to the art. I don't know...you think somebody knows something useful? Has anyone talked to the widow or her new an oh so ardent protectors? Surely the lady would know who had such a passionate dislike for her husband. I mean poor old Master Ungliano wasn't always pleasant but who could have a reason to kill him? Hey maybe he wasn't the target! Maybe it was the theater that somebody hated and he just got in the way..like that poor old woman who died in the fire too.

[slapstick]

Darcy drums her fingers on the side of the glass, watching the conversation around the table. The wine smells like a molding cherry hiding in an old sofa, so she doesn't touch it. Her eyes linger on Jakob, who had been mum on the woman lost in the fire, but the clinking of glass draws her attention to Dmitri.

"I don't make it a point to hang out at warehouses for no reason, but we should check the scene and the last known whereabouts." A pause, then: "And avoid cleaning clocks, if possible."

She refocuses on du Repree. "Curious sort, aren't you? Hellknights usually prefer burning librettos, but you prefer burning coin. No artist's going to ask too many questions of a man paying for drinks, but lucky for Dmitri here I'm artless. I'm sure you've got some 'patron and opera lover' spiel tucked under that doily you're calling a hat; I've got the gist of that so let's skip it."

"Tell me, Alphie -- what's your connection with Niccolo Ungliano? Or is it to Maria Ungliano?

[phinar]

The Hellknight laughs good-naturedly at Darcy's barbed query, but his eyes glitter above his smiling face. "Well, but I am a patron of the arts and a lover of drama!" He pauses as the waiter returns to the conjoined tables, deftly laying out a selection of small plates. The light refreshment consists of an array of cheeses, smoked meats, and breads. The break allows the irony of the Hellknight's claim to truly set in.

Du Repree's face is streaked with sweat and ash, gleaming in the orange light of the bonfire. He glances over his shoulder at the assembled crowd, then back at the prisoner.

Reynaldo Giancarlo was stretched between two posts, black manacles and heavy-gauge chain holding his arms out to either side. He sagged in its iron embrace, knees weak with pain and fatigue. The playwright's head was bowed, his long, sandy hair hanging in a stringy mess. Above him, the Order of the Rack's banner hung, listless in the uncommonly still air.

Giancarlo was the author and director of The Arrow's Den, a call to revolution thinly veiled as allegory. Promoting such heresy and hope right beneath the Order's nose was reckless, but calculated to inspire. Du Repree's task was to squelch that inspiration in the fires of inquisition. From exactly that fire, he withdrew a set of pincers, the iron glowing yellowy orange. The iron was hot, even through his thick leather gauntlets.

"Say it." The paralictor's demand pealed across the square like thunder. "Loud enough for everyone to hear. Say it: Arodus is dead, proof of his frailty. Arodus is dead, and his tepid altruism with him."

The prisoner mumbled incoherently; he had realistically sustained far too much damage to comply with the demand.

To the Hellknight on his left, Alphonse said, "Prise open the heretic's jaw." As the soldier moved to comply, du Repree raised the pincers.

As the waiter withdraws, du Repree's easy smile returns. "In truth, as paralictor I have a place at the funeral of any notable. But in this particular case, I confess to having some interest in the widow. She has much to offer, and a fine habit of keeping herself entertained." He smiles again, but this time there's a cunning menace to it.

"Do try the roasted peasant— sorry, pheasant. It's something of a house specialty." It's not, actually. But that hardly bears clarification.

 

OOC Feel free to roleplay until you know what's next; several useful avenues of inquiry have been suggested. Splitting up is fine, but please keep it to two groups only. I will post the Hellknight as required and adjudicate rolls, but this scene is entirely up to the players. I'd love to move on within a couple post cycles, if we can come to agreement on what moving on would mean.

[slapstick]

"Oh? I think you and I have very different appetites." Darcy's chair scrapes across the cobbles as she stands, her eyes fixed on the Hellknight's. "Enjoy the meal. Try not to play with your carrion." Shoulders squared, she turns, not allowing herself a glance over her shoulder as she walks away.

Once around the corner she stops, one palm on the bricks while the other rummages for her flask. Damned if it wasn't always in the same pocket, but she still had to go around the world twice before getting her fingers on the metal. She yanks the stopper out and wraps it in a white-knuckle fist. The city swarmed with men like Du Repree; men who were nothing more than skin that bled conviction and pulsed want, who took you to restaurants meant to be appreciated but not enjoyed.

"We should have a look at the theater, or what's left," she says, not looking to confirm the presence of her companions. "The scene's only getting colder."

She brings the liquor to her lips and her hand shakes the whole way up.

[ogamodyna]

Oh dear, women, you never know what's going to set them off eh? I wonder if she's one of those people who only eat vegetables or something? Both tone and expression were meant to show that Tryste was completely unaware of the undercurrents or the innuendo bandied about so freely. I'm tempted to stay well out of it! But then again she's a fellow trouper of sorts no?

Rising to his feet with what practically amounted to a flourish, the thespian strode rapidly after the girl with shoulders straight and chin lifted in what might have been taken for a heroic manner. Upon catching up to Darcy he heard her comment about the scene growing colder. Well of course it's grown colder, the fire was days ago. But we might as well go take a look. I don't suppose there are any acting parts to be had for the moment. The whole community will be busy gossiping for at least a fortnight.

[PopCultureBard]

Dimitri had settled into his chair, one arm draped over the back and the other hand busy lifting a glass to his lips, when his shadow began to dig at the Hellknight. He considers, for a moment, noting his longstanding friendship with the man and his certainty that he isn't involved in anything shady, but he quickly decides it will be more amusing to let it play out on its own. As the investigator stomps off he finds the humor quickly running dry.

"You're always a class act, eh?" Leveling his eyes on du Repree, he gives a brief shake of his head. He'd made similar jibes at the lesser class in his day and it isn't entirely clear to him why he found this one both irritating and unwelcome, like a splinter under his fingernail. "I guess I should tend to keeping my head on my shoulders. Cards later? I'll come around when time is more forgiving." He drains the glass and pushes himself out of the chair with exaggerated labor, following beside Tryste as he pursues their companion.

"I suppose it is a good thing, with your confusion about women, that so few ever take interest in you." His elbow jabs out into the actor's ribs to show the words as they, a good natured tease. As they round the corner and find Darcy quelling her nerves with a stiff drink, he can't help but grin a bit...just in the corner of his mouth.

"It seems wine isn't strong enough for some of us." Stepping up to walk beside her, he fiddles with a loose string on his left sleeve. "Don't mind du Repree. He's a bit of an ass but that comes with the badge, I think. We've known each other a long time, though. There is no way he's in on this frame job."

[PinkFairyArmadilo]

There were levels of subtext going far, far beyond what Conbar could read. Granted he could barely read regular text, but that was hardly relevant. What he could comprehend, quite easily, was that almost all of the group had run off after the Hellknight's joke, which wasn't that funny because peasant and pheasant really sound alike and are easy to-Oh, wait. Now I get it.

After an incredibly delayed and inappropriately incongruous bout of laughter, featuring much eye wiping and shoulder slapping, Conbar eventually gets back to his train of thought, such that it was. Almost the entire group had run off... and he was sitting there, drinking wine, slapping a Hellknight's shoulder....

Conbar jumps out of his chair, in a way not UN-reminiscent of a frightened cat. After extending his hand and muttering something to the effect, "Thanks for the booze, Mister Durpee." he follows after the others, whose names he was sure he could pronounce correctly on the first try, at a pace somewhere between a sprint and a scurry.

[Rolzup]

Jakbo shrugs. "Why not," he decides, riding laboriously to his feet. He takes the time to empty his glass, and offer the room a thunderous belch, before ambling after the others. ""I don't know from clues, and I ain't gonna pretend otherwise. But you'll all be happy to tell me what you find, right? Sure ya will. And if you need somethin' moved so you get a closer look, I guess I can do a bit of that."

[ogamodyna]

Gaining their interest has never been the problem you buffoon. It's always about finding the properly graceful AND clueless way to lose their attention. Now stop before you ruin my image. There was little sign of the airheaded dandy in Tryste's eyes as he responded to the lighthearted gibe just loud enough for his old friend to hear. Nor did he seem particularly clumsy or dramatic as he slipped aside from the jabbing elbow and looked around full circle to see who might be paying attention. When it was apparent that their small byplay had gone more or less unnoticed, the Acteur allowed his stride to flow back into the attention demanding swagger even as his eyes took on that rather vague and vacant look that advertised his overblown self importance and self interest.