[PM to Join, Mature] Wearing the Veil

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 33 Loshis, 2719
The Wharf, Old Rose Harbor

Leander raised his eyebrow at her; his tone was incredulous, and considerably louder than Niccolette would have hoped for. He bristled; he explained, and explained again, as if she was a stupid, incompetent child – as if, Niccolette thought, irritated, clenching her jaw to hold silent, she was as much of a fool as he. She took a deep, even breath, counting through it, to keep from hissing back, from saying or doing anything that would not serve their purpose.

She felt, Niccolette was startled to realize, dangerously close to losing her temper. Her eyes searched Leander’s face; her field held indectal and clear, but it was a close battle, closer than she might have liked. She held her breath; she found the rhythm of it through his speech, and won back her self control, hard-fought.

Leander, oblivious as ever, went on; he had the sense to lower his voice, at least, hissing, half-hysterical but at least quiet.

“Quiet,” Niccolette snapped, softly, when he finished. She grabbed hold of Leander’s forearm, and squeezed, sharply. Her hand was distinctly warm, warmer than it should have been; he would be able to feel it even through his clothing, and there was a faint, sharp, thickening to the air around them. Her hand cooled, as she held on, and whatever the feeling had been drained from the air.

Niccolette took a deep and careful breath, in, and out. She let go of Leander’s arm. “Look at me,” she said, quietly. She waited until he had turned; she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with hers. “Stay quiet,” Niccolette said, carefully, deliberately, “and stay calm.”

There was a burst of tight laughter from the dice game behind them; Niccolette, from the corner of her eye, saw Gap-tooth look away again.

“These are not our friends,” Niccolette continued, softly. She took another deep breath, even.

“Hawke was told,” Niccolette said, intent, her voice sharp and serious, “I was told, that among these papers there is only one legitimate document. Only one. Our job,” Niccolette continued, quietly, “your job, is to identify which.” Her eyes searched his face; she grimaced, faintly, again.

Niccolette turned, and looked down at the papers; she made another face, running her fingers over the remainders. “Do you need sharper vision?” She looked back up at Leander, raising her eyebrows. “More sensitive touch? I need you to be certain before you tell me that these seven are all legitimate.”

Niccolette paused; she glanced over towards Gap-tooth again. He was looking at them again. She found something like a smile for her face; it ached through her cheeks. She settled her gaze on Leander again. “Otherwise,” Niccolette continued, still soft, “it means that we were lied to – that Hawke was lied to – and he shall have to do something about that. So be certain, Leander. Be very, very certain.”

“Bird,” Howie’s voice came from behind them, just a little raised. Niccolette did not look away from Leander.

There was a distant chorus of groans and laughs; Gap-tooth’s gaze flicked away again. The game paused; then the rattle of dice went on.

[Leander]

33rd Day of Loshis

The tension was palpable, along with the flexing of Niccolette’s field around them both. Her hand, warmer than was normal even on a hot day such as this one, tightened around his arm and he paused his continued scrutiny of the documents. The two papers placed back on the table, he turned to meet the galdor’s gaze, and he saw more fire there than he had ever seen before. It was in sharp contrast to the vague expression she had worn on the carriage ride over here, where she had appeared as nothing less than… vacant.

Now, it was clear that Niccolette was very much present in the moment, hissing at him to lower his voice. she seemed desperate not to draw too much attention from Lemandier’s men. Leander’s own gaze flickered over to them. For the most part they seemed enraptured by their game of chance, see for Howie, whose back was slightly stiffer than could be considered entirely natural, and the gap-toothed man, whose gaze seemed to look anywhere but at Leo.

“I-” he swallowed, “Alright, look, I’m sorry,” he replied, shrugging out of her grip, which was no longer as warm as it had been moments previously.

“I am calm, I’m sorry,” he repeated, dragging his long fingers through his hair as he breathed out a slow breath. The game of dice was still on-going, Howie valiantly keeping the attentions of most of their company on the game, rather than on Leo’s unnerved and frazzled commentary.

But this calm didn’t help the fact that he could only identify three forgeries within the pile. The rest, as far as he could tell - and Leander liked to consider himself an expert on counterfeited documents - were as authentic as a woman’s labour pains. The passive paused to consider… “Can you do that?” he asked quietly. Ever since he had been discovered as a passive and shipped off to Old Rose Harbour, he had scorned and avoided any mention of the study of magic. He was well-read in many an area but this was one where his knowledge fell short. He didn’t know that Niccolette could do.

“I can look again, with your help,” he murmured, nodding decisively. It didn’t really bother him either way whether or not Hawke would have to take action if they had been lied to… but the sense of solemn urgency in Niccolette’s tone was enough for him to be willing to try again.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 33 Loshis, 2719
The Wharf, Old Rose Harbor

Can you do that? Leander asked.

Niccolette hesitated. She knew better than to hesitate; she knew better than to doubt. Of course I can do that, she wanted to snap, you clocking self-righteous little idiot. Her jaw was clenched; it stayed clenched. She said nothing, but nodded, faintly. Leander nodded too.

Niccolette had done it. She’d done it dozens upon dozens of times; she had cast spells to improve vision or hearing, to see in the dark, to see heat instead of light, to see with such clear vision as to detect the most minute shifts in the air currents. She had cast such spells on herself, naturally, sometimes, but it was not recommended. Niccolette rarely put much stock in recommendations, but it was good to be cautious, where the mona were concerned, where casting on oneself was concerned.

Mostly, of course, she had cast on Uzoji.

Niccolette’s hands were shaking; she crossed her arms over her chest, and glanced off to the side, looking at Gap-tooth. She looked back at Leander. She hesitated; she knew better. She hesitated.

Then, quietly, she began to cast. She was close to him; her gaze stayed fixed on him. She cast beneath her breath; she did not rush, even now, the monite chanted slow and steady into the air around them, strange, harsh syllables winding from her tongue into the air. Her field, always bright and sharp, grew brighter, and sharper – and then, just at the edges, it began to heat. Niccolette’s face tightened; she did not break the spell, but pushed through the tension, and curled the spell.

For a moment, the air grew warmer – and warmer – stifling, oppressively hot. The etheric flex flickered, then, and faded, and Leander felt nothing.

Niccolette was shivering; she was standing close enough to Leander that he could feel waves of heat coming from her skin. She shook her head, faintly; she gritted her teeth again, and closed her eyes for a long moment. She inhaled, deeply, and exhaled. “I shall try again,” Niccolette said, quiet. “I do not know if I shall be able to hold it long.”

Niccolette took another deep breath, steady and careful. She looked away, and then back at Leander, and raised her chin. “It may hurt,” she said, this time.

Niccolette found the rhythm of her breath, then; the pulse of her field flowed with it, pressing around Leander, and then settling back. Her gaze was fixed, not on him, but on some distant point; she was trembling. When she spoke, her words were calm and even, tucked into the spaces between her breath. Her field went etheric in the air around them once more; there was sharpness, and brightness, and heat, and bright red blood trickling steadily from Niccolette’s nose; one nostril, just, for now.

Something hazy rose up in the air around her, and reached for Leander. It streamed through the space between them, and filled his gaze, clouding it, pouring into his eyes.

The first thing Leo would notice is that it hurt – it hurt, very much indeed. It would feel as if Niccolette had jammed something into his eye – her fingers, perhaps, and pried it open, somehow. The next thing he would notice, through the pain, not quite replacing it, would be the sharpening of his vision; as if his eyes themselves were magnifying glasses, and whatever he wished to see, at whatever distance, they could view, better than anything he could normally have managed. The pain would never quite fade, but he could focus through it - if he had the will.

The chanting stopped; Niccolette held the spell. She knew the cast was not as strong as it could have been, but she held the note of upkeep through the pain, tensed and tight, all that she had shaking through it. She gestured with one hand at the papers, the color fast draining from her skin. Blood was streaming from both of her nostrils now, in a steady flow.

Rolls

First vision enhancing spell: SidekickBOTToday at 11:23 AM
@moralhazard: 1d6 = (1) = 1
Severity of failure (1-3 backlash, 4-6 fizzle): SidekickBOTToday at 11:23 AM
@moralhazard: 1d6 = (4) = 4
Second vision enhancing spell: SidekickBOTToday at 11:23 AM
@moralhazard: 1d6 = (2) = 2
Upkeep of vision spell: SidekickBOTToday at 11:33 AM
@moralhazard: 1d6 = (5) = 5

[Leander]

33rd Day of Loshis

Conversations with mona were a curious thing. He wondered if all galdori fields became the same, stifling, almost unbearable heat like it was now. Leander wasn’t so much of a recluse that he had never been around a caster of magic, but it was rare that he would be so close to the source of it. Then, as if it had never been, the heat was gone, though he could still feel the heat radiating off of a now shaking Niccolette. The primitive lizard-part of his brain wanted him to move away from the woman, from the source. It felt so unnatural and natural all at once.

“It may hurt,” she had said, and by Circle, did it. That, too, made him want to flee. If this was what mona alway felt like, then he was glad to be free of it. He never wanted magic cast on him ever again if this was what it was to bear it. It prickled at his eyes, somewhere between getting soap in them and how he imagined it would feel if he stuck hot pins directly into the pupil. Hi blinked several times, squeezing them tightly shut with each attempt to rid himself of the pain. Each time he opened them, however, he noticed a sharpening of his vision.

The room, though darkened and lit only by candlelight, somehow seemed more vibrant. He could see the splintering wood of the table under all the forged documents, every small blemish on the skin of Niccolette’s face, things that would otherwise be unnoticeable to the untrained, unenhanced, eye.

Eyes still stinging like he couldn’t believe, he pushed though the pain and lent over to focus again on the seven documents still remaining to be identified as forgeries or not. Niccolette was looking for a single genuine identification paper, for whatever reason, and Leander was keen to prove that he knew his stuff.

“You’re… sorry but can you step away again?” They weren’t touching, but Leander was finding it hard to focus with the galdor shaking next to him. He glanced up, away from the parchment and froze, “You’re - clocking hell, Niccolette,” the passive blanched, his own pain forgotten at the dismal sight of the woman in front of him, and stuffed his hand into his pocket as he straightened up, pulling out an unused ‘kerchief and pushing it into the woman’s hand, “Are you alright? You look like the de- you don’t look well, Niccolette. Shall I summon a physician?”

His voice had risen again, now loud and significantly mote compelling in note than it had been a few minutes ago. The game of dice had been paused, and now everyone was looking in their direction. Confused, Leo turned to meet Howie’s gaze, a questioning look of urgency written across his face. But the man seemed for the most part unconcerned, or was at least acting that way.

Leander understood the message and turned back to Niccolette. He took her by the arm, she was still very warm. “Sit… sit down and rest. I’ll finish of what we’re doing here and we can be on our way in no time.” If she allowed it, he pulled out a chair and turned it to face the woman, guiding her backwards into it. “Clocking… gollies…” he muttered under his breath as he turned away, back to the seven remaining identification papers.

“Yes, I see it now.” Did he? His eyes were beginning to hurt less, and his vision seemed to almost… dim. But he had spotted an error on one of the documents, and that was enough for him to look out for on the other six.

He worked slowly, Niccolette’s imperative tone still ringing in his mind. No mistakes. The game of dice was back in full swing, though from the conversation around, it seemed like the men were only half paying attention to it: Leander had caused enough of a scene that their backs were up. He knew he was running out of time. Eventually, he picked up one of the pieces of parchment and turned to the galdor next to him. “This one.”

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 33 Loshis, 2719
The Wharf, Old Rose Harbor

Niccolette breathed, steadily, through the discomfort; she relaxed into it, and let it be. She did not try to fight it, not the steady ache through the bones nor the pounding in her head, not the trickle of blood down her face or the heat burning beneath her skin – not even the trembling that wracked her. She knew them for what they were; she had asked of the mona, and this was their price. She paid it, and gladly, and she held the upkeep.

Leander was bent over the papers, staring at them. Niccolette breathed, steadily, as he watched, counting the spaces between the breath, holding herself to the rhythm of the meditation. In, and out, and in again, careful, the rhythm that reached to the ona and asked them to be one with her, that opened her to them and the world beyond, unreservedly.

Leander’s voice cut through the meditation. Niccolette’s gaze snapped to him, and she lost the count of her breath. She scowled at him; she opened her mouth to speak, but she knew she could not, not without losing the upkeep. Leander was staring at her, his face pale with shock. The papers, she wanted to say; look at the fucking papers, you clocking idiot. I do not know how long I can hold –

Even to think the words was more effort than she could bear.

Niccolette let it go; she let it go, because she could hold nothing except the spell. Leander closed her hand around the handkerchief; there were eyes on them from across the room, although Niccolette was only faintly aware of them. She did not fight it; Leander eased her backwards, and sat her in a chair like a child, and still Niccolette held the spell, and found the count of her breath once more.

And then – in time – it was too much. The upkeep eased away from her, not in a single snap but in a long exhale, a slow loosening that left her whole once more, still aching. She held the handkerchief pressed to her nose, her head tilted forward; it was smeared bright red with her blood, brightly visible even in the dim light.

Niccolette nodded, when Leander made his choice. She lowered her handkerchief, breathing carefully. “You idiot,” she said, quietly, although there was no real heat of anger in it. Her field was not quite dim, but it was faintly dampened in the air around her, and clung close to her skin. “You should not have wasted – ”

“You fucking bird!” Mert’s voice was thick with drink and excitement both, raising through the air and cutting through the room. He was glaring at Howie, his thin chest heaving.

Howie raised his eyebrows. “Game’s called bird’s dice, ye chen?” he tipped his cup over; the rest went too, each of the men revealing what they’d rolled.

Mert stared down at the dice beneath, and almost snarled, lifting his gaze up to the blond Bad Brother. “I had yeh – I fuckin’ had yeh. You – ” he looked around the dice again; his hand tightened at a fist.

Niccolette shoved her bloody hand through her hair, pushing it back off her forehead, and stood forcefully up from the chair, shoving it back with a rattle. “We have finished,” she announced, loudly, her voice sharp and crisp, cutting through the air. Leo would feel the pulse of her field, the way she pressed her ramscott out in the air around her, and held it. “Take it,” she told Leo, nodding to the paper he’d held out.

Niccolette walked forward, carefully, one step after the next; her black dress swished around her. All of the humans were watching her, Mert most carefully of all. She pulled her field in with a deep breath as she came close, and then pulsed it out, forcefully; they flinched, every one, and Howie too.

“We shall go,” Niccolette said, coldly, nodding her head to the human.

Howie touched his fingers to his head, nodding to the other men; he pocketed his coins, rising up, and followed Niccolette from the room.

“Fuckin’ birds,” Mert grumbled into the room behind them. Niccolette glanced back at him, once, green eyes flashing in the darkness. She held the door, standing with one small, bloodied hand against it, until Leo and Howie had left; only then did she follow them out.

The door closed behind her; Niccolette stifled a groan, then, her whole body wracked with shakes. She closed her eyes; she wobbled, scarcely able to stand.

“The fuck happened ‘n there?” Howie asked. “Mrs. Ibutatu, can I – ought I t’ – ” he hovered; he held himself just a little distant, and did not dare to touch her. There was a distant blur of motion from Glen, and he was hopping down from the box, coming closer. There were footsteps behind them, in the warehouse, just audible through the closed door.

[Leander]

33rd Day of Loshis

Niccolette did not look well. It was an equally interesting and alarming sight to see, if Leo was completely honest. Was it normal for galdori to bleed out of their orifices when they performed magic? Was it normal to make them shake and shiver and heat up like they had ben bitten by a rabbit dog? These questions were not appropriate for the moment, and certainly ones that he did not want to ask Niccolette, lest her disdainful glance became all the more fierce.

If the woman had appeared monotonous in the carriage ride over, it was nothing compared to the complete void that faced him now. When she spoke, there was no bite to her voice, nothing of the normal Niccolette that Leander had become used to. That in and of itself was the most distressing part. Leander had become used to her fiery energies, her sneering contempt for him. her words carried that same derisive scorn, but there was no passion behind it in her voice. The boy blinked and opened his mouth, only to be stopped by the loud voices of the dice players to the side.

It was probably a good thing: he had nothing of value to say, nothing that would quicken Niccolette’s anger, and nothing to diffuse the situation either.

Identification paper still in hand, Leander straightened up and brushed down his coat of imaginary dust - more of a signal that he was ready to leave as soon as his two companions were ready. Then there was another pulsing of Niccolette’s field, and the passive winced against it. Even if the woman’s tired voice could not carry her anger, her magic sure could.

“Yes,” he agreed redundantly, striding past Howie, who was standing and getting ready to leave, and past Niccolette, though he had no real desire to pass in such close proximity to her at this stage.

“What was-” but Howie interrupted him with the same question. He answered with what he could. “I was struggling to identify which of the papers we needed,” He brandished the identification paper in his hand to illustrate his words, “So she used her magic to sharpen my sight. And... well she just started bleeding. I... don’t know...” He stared a the woman who seemed to want nothing more than to cave in on her self and lie down in a foetal position, the way she was shivering and holding herself. Leander folded and tucked the parchment away into the breast pocket of his waistcoat.

“Has this happened before?” Leander turned to Howie ad the drive appeared from atop the carriage box, asking him directly, as the man seemed to know her well. “What do we do? Shall we take her home? Call for a physician?” The passive recognised that neither Glen nor Howie made any effort to touch her. On the contrary, they were noticeably keeping their distance from the woman, so Leo did the same. “We should at least get her into the carriage?” The boy asked desperately, feeling utterly unknowledgeable and useless in this situation.

He was so focused on the woman in front of him that he didn’t even hear the footsteps of the men leaving the building behind him. Not until one of the men spoke. “Oi.” The passive spun around, “That weren’t the deal, y’know. Not for you to come and have a gander at the papers and then wander off with the one we need. You show it to us, boy.” Leander’s gaze flickered over to Niccolette and then to Howie. Though she appeared to be in no fit state to manage any situation, let alone a confrontation, she was still technically the one to manage it, having been charged by Hawke to procure Leander’s services.

[moralhazard]

Evening, 33 Loshis, 2719
The Wharf, Old Rose Harbor

Howie hasn’t played birds with Jack in a couple years, but seemed like the other man hadn’t gotten any better at keeping the twitching from his left cheek. Tells like that were what gave a man away in birds or rooks, though Howie wasn’t much of one for rooks. Dicing had a proper sort of simplicity to it; just a man and his wits and his bluffs, nothing too complicated.

Would’ve been a proper game, too, if it weren’t for the golly and the scrap - passive, Howie told himself, proper - and their hushed whispers in the corner. Wasn’t his qalqa, whatever it was the passive were doing; he knew to keep an eye on Mert instead, and his bloody thumb and shifty eyes. Drink took a man that way, sometimes, angry-like.

He thought as he might’ve had to show Mert his place; wasn’t being called out for a liar, especially cause Howie’d bet right, and there were plenty of threes beneath the cups. No, it was the look in the other man’s eye, and the way he said the word, the waiting in him, keen for Howie to take exception, like the raised voices and the bloody golly over at the table meant he didn’t know the rules no more.

Just as well when Niccolette came over with her voice cold; even with blood smeared from her nose and a bloody handkerchief clutched in one hand that woobly of hers was as sharp as ever. Howie’d promised the rosh not to get in any fights as he didn’t need to, though he didn’t think taking on Mert’d count. Man was drunk enough to skin a hatcher on the smell of it.

He was struck by the size of her, when she held the last for them. She was, Howie thought uneasily, proper small. Warm, too; he could feel it from a distance, like there was a fire in her. Like a fever, though she hadn’t had one earlier, and he didn’t think they came on so quick, even for a golly. Even with all that voo.

The passive were just staring at her too. Howie supposed his sort didn’t know much about it either. He wasn’t so sure what a physician was exactly; he supposed it was something for vroo, when they got sick.

Paulie was the one to come out behind them; he’d bet light on the game, keeping an eye on things like Tor.

Howie glanced as Niccolette, but she was still shaking, and didn’t seem to be speaking.

“Ent mean no harm by it, Paulie,” Howie said, slowly. He glanced at the little passive, only he wasn’t sure, really, whether they had. He didn’t know much; only that he was supposed to do as Mrs. Ibutatu said, and protect her and the scrap - passive - as needed.

So it was Niccolette he looked to, again. She had gone still - really still - and she crumpled.

“Wo chet!” Howie jerked; he grabbed a hold of her shoulder. She was burning through his hand, and he nearly let go, but it didn’t seem right to drop a golly on the ground. He grunted, and eased his arms underneath her, lifting her up; she flopped against them, one arm dangling, all that dark hair getting bloody against her face. The handkerchief tumbled from her hand to the ground.

Howie glanced at the passive, sharp; he didn’t know what to do, but he thought they’d better do it fast. Glen was tense, his eyes flicking from Niccolette to Paulie.

“The fuck’s wrong wit’ her?” Paulie asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Ent nothin’ fer you to worry ‘bout,” Glen said in his low rumble of a voice. He glanced at the scrap too, but Howie didn’t think he knew either what the kid Leo would do; none of them did.

[Leander]

33rd Day of Loshis

The woman didn’t answer the human that approached from the building behind them. She didn’t give any indication that she even noticed Leander’s sideways glance towards her, looking for guidance. She had no response even as Howie spoke. Instead, she completely collapsed in on herself, falling to the ground like a tonne of bricks. “Circle!” The passive exclaimed as his arms flew out wildly. He was not fast enough to catch her as she fell, but luckily Howie was, grabbing her shoulder and easing the woman down to the ground against his own body.

Leander dropped to his knees. He knew nothing of medicine, save knowing a pulse meant the person was alive. Not that he knew how to check for that either. Instead, he touched the galdor’s cheek. She still felt warm, like she had sat out in the sun for hours in the height of the summer season. Her cheeks were flush too, and her eyelids seemed to be fluttering minutely. Leo took that to mean she had not yet gone to meet her husband. Glancing at Howie as he stood up, Leo could tell that he was going to have to make the calls now.

“Can you and Glen get her into the carriage?” He asked, working hard to keep his voice even despite his churning stomach and rabbiting heartbeat. Today could not get any worse if it tried.

The passive turned to the man, “Must just be the heat,” he muttered in reply after one of Niccolette’s men had spoken. “So what was the deal then? As far as I know, we have been instructed to return with the document to Hawke. That was the deal.”

“Aye, that was,” said Paulie, tearing his gaze away from the fallen women, who was now carefully being hoisted into the carriage by Glen and Howie. “But yeh see, we have our own reasons for wanting to know what’s on that bit of paper, yeh chen. We want to see it and then yeh can be on yeh merry way.”

Leander released the breath of air that he didn’t know he had been holding. The passive had expected there would be more to this than them simply wanting to see what name was written on the identification paper. He didn’t know what Hawke or Lemandier were looking for, and to be frank he didn’t care, but he would complete his directive nonetheless. Leo was glad to see there would be no rough-housing, as there had been on his and Niccolette’s last excursion... especially now that Niccolette was utterly useless. Leo was no fighter, so if they had wanted the parchment, he would have had no choice but to give it up.

“Fine,” Leo reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the identification paper. He stepped forward and, as a gesture of goodwill, handed it over for the man to eyeball. Paulie’s eyes widened in surprise: clearly the name written on it wasn’t one he expected to see. “You’re sure?” The passive nodded once, not in the mood to explain his reasoning to a man who looked as though he wouldn’t know which end of a pen to stick into the ink. It was enough of a surprise to learn he could read the name.

Paulie handed back the identification paper without another word and Leo quickly stuffed it back into his breast pocket. Turning, he saw that Niccolette was now safely installed back in the carriage, still unconscious but resting against Howie, who had her secure in place with his arm. Glen was back atop the carriage and waiting for his final passenger. The passive entered without a backwards glance and hit the roof of the carriage, indicating to Glen to get going. “We’ll take her home, yes?” the boy asked Howie quietly as he nodded to the passed out galdor, eyes taking on an edge of concern.