An unwelcome visit

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Agatha Maplethorne
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Location: Vienda
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Sat Jul 06, 2019 9:56 am

20 Bethas 2720
Aggie's House

Agatha Maplethorne hated the 20th of the month.

The 20th was the day the Seventen came by to make sure the elderly lady wasn't doing anything illegal. Of course, they sometimes dropped by unexpectedly, but they always came by on the 20th.

So Bethas 20 found Aggie up at dawn, doing some deep cleaning and pushing down her aggravation and resentment over these checks. She never let the house get too messy in the first place, but the deep cleaning gave her an outlet for her frustration that the mere fact that she owned a house had put her on a watch list.

It wasn't like her house was a godsdamned mansion – it was just a slightly better house in the Dives. But Lady forbid any human have even the tiny power of being able to die in a house they had lived in for decades. She didn't have to fear a golly pushing her out if she became ill and couldn't pay rent. She could afford to feed herself and keep a roof over her head. The fact that most gollies thought that was suspicious enough reminded Aggie why she joined the Resistance in the first place. It had taken her and her husband ten years of eating little besides bread, bean soup, and half-rotted vegetables to save up for this place.

Aggie's frustration was deepened by the fact that she knew being on the watch list was part of the reason the Resistance had started ignoring her. As the older generation died off, the generation that knew Aggie always managed to keep her house safe for Resistance people, the younger generation saw her as a liability. And then Serro had pulled his premature victory party and Aggie had to choose between protecting her community and staying in the Resistance. The choice had agonized her, but she had felt no choice.

Of course, the illegal things that Aggie did have -- Betsy and the mimeograph -- were securely locked away in the root cellar. There was no outside entrance to the root cellar, but a ragged rug over the door in the floor was enough to hide its presence. She had Brent help her move the heavy dining room table back over the rug, since she had moved it once Adam had started renting the mimeograph for whatever he was doing. It left her back aching, even with Brent's help, since they had to lift it instead of just pushing it along the floor. They didn't have to move it far, but she couldn't risk the neighbors hearing the scraping sound of the table going across the kitchen floor.

After that, the frail, white-haired woman had sent Brent out for the day, telling him not to come home until dusk. He had to go deliver papers anyways, but ever since Adam's first visit, he had simmered with anger. She couldn't afford to trigger a search by either of them being anything less than completely friendly and polite to the Seventen officer that would visit. She and Brent could be pissed off later, after the Seventen left.

Aggie hadn't figured out how to help the boy deal with his anger yet. She could pour her frustration and helplessness and utter emotional exhaustion at having to do this stupid dance for the gollies into scrubbing the counters and the floor, cleaning the sinks and toilet thoroughly, and beating out the threadbare rugs that were scattered around the house (with the exception of the one under the table, which should look dirty, as if the table was always on top of it). But that wasn't the sort of thing that helped a teenage boy deal with his anger at the unjust nature of the world. And the boy's anger had simmered near a boil since Serro had died.

By 11 o'clock, the house was spic and span, but Aggie was hurting so much that it was all she could do to hobble over and collapse on the couch. She couldn't lie to herself in these moments – she wasn't sure how long she could keep this charade going, how long she could keep cleaning her house on the 20th so she would look like a "respectable" human. Maybe the Seventen wouldn't care if her house was perfectly clean. It was likely they just assume that her house wasn't as clean because she was old and frail. But she would care. She felt like she'd lose a tiny part of herself by not being able to put her best foot forward, even in the face of golly bullshit like the house check.

The aching woman curled up in a corner of the couch, a few tears of pain streaking down her cheeks. She didn't sob outright, but she let herself cry. She was angry and hurt like someone had beat her with a bag of rocks and she was oh so tired of this bullshit. It's not like the officer would care that she had been crying. If they questioned her – and she'd probably die of a heart attack right then and there if they did – she could and would just say she had a fight with her boarder. Everyone knew teenage boys were testy, right?
Last edited by Agatha Maplethorne on Mon Jun 15, 2020 3:17 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Rhys Valentin
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Wed Jul 17, 2019 2:05 pm

Painted Ladies
afternoon on the 20th of Bethas, 2720
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Special Enforcement Sergeant Rhys Valentin had earned his four snaps back as Patrol Sergeant Rhys Valentin just a little over a year ago, Captain Damen D'Arthe nearly simmering with tangible frustration as he shoved the paperwork back at the tall blond's chest, signed by both himself and his Co-Captain, Maura Redden, with a vehement reluctance that the not-galdor couldn't help but savor.

He'd finished his patrol training. He'd chosen Constable Greymoore to remain as his partner, however, having come to enjoy her company on chroveback and her talents in times of trouble, like the gunman situation during the Feast of Saint Grumble. She might have also shared a few of his suspicions—suspicions he knew were true but didn't feel time yet to share as facts with Navinia lest his very careful plans backlash in his face by trusting someone too soon.

Especially by trusting someone in uniform.

Strangely enough, there were parts of Patrol Division work that totally overlapped with Investigative Division work, the most obvious of which happened to be all of the godsbedamned paperwork. So much paper. Hours of paper. As if sitting at ones desk smelling of chroven while baking in the radiator heat wasn't unpleasant enough, signing incident reports in triplicate was quite honestly as torturous as it was familiar. He filled out his role as Inspector Liaison quite well, really, given he at least knew his own signature rather intimately.

It was as he sorted paperwork from said previous Saint Grumbles' misadventure that he noticed a few extra files had found their way into his pile that perhaps had previously belonged to Navinia or another of his Patrol Division squadron, one of which involved checking on rumored members of the Resistance. This surely wasn't his responsibility, but just as he groaned and began to shove them aside, his sharp blue eyes caught some of the locations. Soot District. Steelworker's Square. Painted Ladies—

Clocking hell.

—Agatha Maplethorne. No spectographs for the particular record, but the young Valentin recognized the name. A familiar sense of nausea and vertigo washed over him alone in his small office with its small desk, window open to the chilled breeze that whispered outside rustling other papers on his desk but not calming the racing of his pulse. It was the last thing he needed—someone who knew his own truths to live in his godsbedamned neighborhood—but the connection was less of a surprise and more of a discomfort. Several sets of signatures later and the Sergant had re-assigned himself every check-in within walking distance from his own Painted Ladies home.

Conveniently keeping the schedule of all the appointments, he was prepared on the Twentieth of Bethas to make his way through familiar streets into the Dives, today without his chrove or his partner, the two having decided to split up their assignments in a way that Rhys carefully construed to make sure which specific ones became his. He'd spent time pouring over the notes of all of the contacts he was supposed to check in on, but he might have spent a bit more time than necessary pouring over details on one in particular. It wasn't much of a surprise that he could literally see his home from Agatha's, approaching with the easy gait of someone who wore the bright greens of a Seventen, the tall blond hiding his worry behind his four snaps and the baton at his belt even though whispers of fearful paranoia seethed in the darkness of his innermost thoughts.

He'd made attempts to meet most of his neighbors, and while many of them knew his face, none of them knew he was an officer of Anaxi law. He hoped the umbrella, green like his uniform, kept his face hidden from view until he made it up the little path to the front porch and stood awkwardly in front of the door.

If he glanced to his left, he could see the curtains Charity had so carefully chosen just a handful of brick rows over. He drew his nervousness inward, binding it all behind a ramscott glamour while he closed the umbrella and leaned it near the steps. Rapping his knuckles against the door, he called out,

"Good morning, Mrs. Maplethorne!" He cleared his throat and straightened his collar, fingers drifting upward from his four snaps to trace over the scar that marred the his left eyebrow, that crept up into his strawberry blond hairline before letting it drop to his side again, "Patrol Sergeant Rhys Valentin of the Seventen here to see you today, ma'am."

Had enough time passed that she'd have forgotten his face?

Did she already know he was a neighbor?

Swallowing all of these questions, he knocked again and waited.
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Agatha Maplethorne
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Thu Aug 22, 2019 12:56 pm

20 Bethas 2720
Aggie's house

After a good cry, Aggie gathered her wits about her and got up from the couch. It wouldn't do for the Seventen to see her actively crying. She made her way to the bathroom, splashing her face with cold water before looking in the battered metal sheet that served as a mirror.

"Oh, Aggie. You're getting old, m'lady," the woman said sadly as she examined her face and its wrinkles. She had lived a good life, laugh lines carved into the corners of her eyes and mouth, but she couldn't hide the exhaustion in her eyes. She was glad she had Brent around, but it was on inspection days that she missed her Edgar the most. He was always so self-assured when dealing with the Seventen, instinctively knowing how to toe the line between being confident enough to not allow himself to be disrespected while not being so confident that he raised the ire of the Seventen. Edgar didn't brood about the meetings that the pair had dealt with since the day the couple had bought the house the way that Aggie did. He had outlets for his anger that a gentle, motherly woman like Aggie didn't have.

After a few minutes of examining herself, she clapped her hands and shook her head. "All right. Enough maudlin bullshit," she muttered to herself as she turned and left the bathroom. She took out the bread dough that she had left rising and started kneading it aggressively as she hummed a Resistance song from the days when she and Edgar had been working heavily to undermine the golly oppression. Most of the Resistance songs had died out, people shying away from singing them in fear of being overheard by a golly sympathizer. But Aggie still sang them to herself for comfort when she was alone.

The elderly woman had just pulled the bread out of the oven when she heard the knock on the door. She took a deep breath, put the bread on the counter and shuffled towards the door. She frowned as she heard the voice of the Seventen through the door. It wasn't the usual inspector's voice, and Aggie was torn between relief and worry. The old inspector was a hell of a person, someone who seemed to go out of her way to be unpleasant to elderly women. She hoped this new inspector would be at least a bit better.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" she yelled as she slowly made her way to the door. She took a deep breath before pulling it open.

She blinked at the familiar Seventen. She hadn't seen him since that night that felt so long ago, when Gale's life was in danger, but she immediately recognized him.

"Oh. You. Well, you might as well come in," she said before turning and making her way over to the couch. "Close the door behind you," she said as she all but collapsed on the couch.

The white-haired woman looked up at the ceiling for a few moments before speaking again. "You here to arrest me?" she finally asked, her voice thick with tears as she slowly accepted her fate. She had known that this would eventually happen. She knew that this particular Seventen knew about her gun and she supposed that he'd choose to be more loyal to gollies simply to hide his secret. Even if her gun was well-hidden, the fact that he knew she had a gun was enough reason to tear the place apart. There was only a table and a rug protecting the entrance into the root cellar. "Surprised it took you so long. I certainly hope you didn't hurt Gale to hide your secret," she said as she met the man's eyes.
Last edited by Agatha Maplethorne on Mon Jun 15, 2020 3:21 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Rhys Valentin
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Tue Sep 10, 2019 10:14 am

Painted Ladies
afternoon on the 20th of Bethas, 2720
Everything was so delicately balanced and yet everything felt as though it was one little mistake away from falling apart, from unraveling, from exploding in his face and leaving his whole precious life nothing but another red smear on the cobblestones in some alley here in the Dives. He knew it. He felt it when crawling out of bed. He carried its weight like another layer over his green uniform. He saw it in the smiles of his lovely wife. The veil was thin, and yet it was all he could do to keep it in place.

He had to be here because he'd met Agatha. Because she knew his face.

Rhys heard the older woman's voice ring out and he sighed, shifting on his feet and rubbing an impatient hand through his wet hair. The door finally opened and his sharp blue gaze came into focus on the white-haired human. She recognized him immediately and he couldn't help but smirk at the tone of voice she used with him, like chastising some wayward child instead of addressing an officer of the law with the number of snaps that shone on his high collar,

"Good afternoon to you, too, Mrs. Maplethorne." He countered coolly, voice even with all of his well-trained professionalism even if there was the hint of a smile in his blue eyes. She ushered him in and he stood in the threshold, removing his dripping coat and wiping off his wet boots after he quietly closed the door with wordless obedience. Smoothing over the flap of his uniform jacket, he looked up at her question, hovering awkwardly for a moment while Agatha sank into the couch as if she'd always belonged there.

There were already tears and he chewed the inside of his cheek,

"Arrest you? No—should I be?" The young Valentin deflected seriousness with a hint of humor, smirking before he entered the sitting room, glancing around, "I have no orders to take you in today, ma'am. I've taken over for Officer Gildman; I will be coming by to check in on you from now on, to make sure you're staying safe and making wise choices, as befitting your age."

He didn't feel like adding to the political chroveshit that surrounded this sort of thing. She was a Resistance suspect and they didn't need to dance around this assignment. She was also an old woman who had tears in her eyes and happened to be his godsbedamned neighbor. He didn't give a damn about her gun or her connections anymore. If anything, he was glad for them. They gave him leverage, they gave him an illusion of safety to cling to because she knew he wasn't a galdor and she knew he didn't deserve to be a Sergeant of the Seventen.

"I have no interest in hurting Mister Saunders. Last time I checked, they're settled in their new forge and business is well. I have no interest in being a nuisance, either. I'll just—" Rhys held up a finger and dug his notebook out of his breast pocket, digging for the small, elusive fountain pen as well. He had a check list of questions, and he flipped to the page to squint at it, aware that he should have his glasses on as well. Tongue against the fresh scar that split his lower lip, he finally resigned to pulling those out, too, balancing them with a flick of his wrist on his nose,

"We can make this easy for both of us, Mrs. Maplethorne. I go through my list, you offer me tea, and I'm on my way, alright?"

He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, not incapable of empathy but on edge by the proximity to his own home, just a few houses down this same street. Perhaps he'd sneak through the back easement and snatch a kiss before returning to work. If only he wasn't in this damn uniform—

"We both have our secrets, after all."
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Agatha Maplethorne
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Joined: Thu Nov 22, 2018 8:52 am
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Thu Jan 16, 2020 5:07 pm

20 Bethas 2720
Aggie's house

Aggie relaxed some when she saw that Office Valentin didn't immediately pull out his handcuffs. "Mm. Only decisions I've been making lately are how many loaves of bread to make every morning," the old lady said with a half-shrug. She eyed Rhys up and down for a moment before nodding and standing up. "You're getting lunch," she declared before hobbling to the kitchen. "You're too thin. Been worrying too much, I suspect," she said as she started dishing out a bowl of stew for the Seventen.

Her shoulders relaxed some when she heard about Gale. She had been worried about them, but if Rhys could say they were okay, at least her "grandchild" hadn't gone completely off the grid. "I'm glad to hear Gale's doing all right. Tell them not to forget about their Granny next time you see them." She placed a heaping bowl of stew on the table and looked at Rhys expectedly. "Sit," she commanded. "I'll answer your questions while you eat."

She turned away and picked up a still-warm loaf of bread, placing it on the table next to the butter and knife. "I'm not gonna tell people what I know about you. I'm a clocking human, Officer. Ain't nobody that's gonna believe me if I do tell people," she chuckled, shaking her head as she sat down.

When she spoke next, her tone was quiet and conspiratorial. "I noticed you moved in a while ago. There ain't much that goes on here that I don't notice. But who am I to say who can and can't live here? Anyone who asks has been told you're a stableboy at one of the inns. Your pretty wife is a shut-in with consumption. Hopefully that should keep people off your tail. Nobody wants to deal with people who got family with consumption."

Aggie leaned back in her chair and sighed sadly. "I hope you don't mind me taking liberties. After what that ersehole put you and your wife through, you deserve some peace and quiet. It's a goddamn shame that he didn't pay for his deeds. But you and I know that the law ain't always just," she said, meeting Rhys' eyes for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was gentle. "Don't think you owe me anything. I ain't trying to buy you off or anything like that. I ain't that low. Consider it a thank you for what you did for my Gale."
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Rhys Valentin
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Wed Aug 05, 2020 11:42 am

Painted Ladies
afternoon on the 20th of Bethas, 2720
She looked sad, really. Sad and tense and tired. The tall blond couldn't blame her. He might've felt just about the same, but he couldn't clocking let it show beyond the shadows that clung to the hollows around his blue eyes or the sorry state of his oft-chewed fingernails that he conveniently kept hidden from view, tucked tightly into his palms,

"Lunch, huh? No, I won't say no to that, Mrs. Maplethorn. I won't even write it down as attempted bribery." It was a wary but totally genuine, non-threatening smile he offered with his slightly teasing words, stepping in and choosing not to pursue a comment about how he looked or what he'd been worrying about. He followed through the house anyway, fidgeting with the buttons of his uniform coat until it was undone enough for his personal level of comfort, unconcerned about being in dress code when not on the street in public view.

Like a well-trained officer of the law, he sat on command, quietly pulling out a chair and folding himself into it, though it wasn't without some look of regret creeping into his well-carved features because he probably should've at least offered to help and received a refusal first, "Well, it's no benefit to anyone, really—" The not-galdor chanced a self-deprecating chuckle, no more interested in being hung for being a wick as the human was interested in being pegged some strange suspect for the potential whistleblowing, "—and you might be surprised who'd be eager to hear such a truth, whether they chose to believe it or not."

There was a bitterness in that last sentence, but he didn't say anything else. Digging a notebook and a pen out of the inner pocket of his now-unbuttoned coat, he set them on the table next to his stew and thumbed to a blank page. Writing the date, he glanced up at Agatha's storytelling,

"You what—oh, gods. Alright. Well." He giggled at the thought of it all, not entirely terrible for a cover story, especially considering he now spent plenty of time in the chroven stables. Consumption shut-in was a bit unkind to Charity, but at the same time, it kept people away from curiously looking in on an often high young galdori woman in the Dives. His shoulders sagged a little, leaning against the table, and he looked back up at the widow when she came and sat across from him, taking in her words with a frown.

"Take all the liberties you want, really. I don't know how long any illusion's going to last, so there might as well be a few layers to shift through. It's not that law as a concept is unjust, it's just that the people in charge of writing it for a few centuries have been clocking ridiculous." He pointed with his pen for emphasis, not yet touching his spoon, blue eyes drifting from Agatha's face to the bread, "I can't ever say I've done my best to abide by or uphold the law I claim to serve either, no matter this uniform I wear, so I'm in no position to judge."

He chewed his lip, teeth digging into the scar that now split it down the middle, thinking of Gale, thinking of his own beating. The Sergeant cleared his throat and shifted his legs more comfortably under the table,

"Anyway, let's get through the bureaucracy first, yeah?" He tapped his pen to the page and wrote the date, "I'm sure you have a standard set of answers to the same questions you hear every month."


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