Appease it, sure, just walk out a handy buffet in red curtains. [ Do you hear this? This is the sound of a New York asshole jogging along some roofs to try and beat a crazy woman from walking into the woods by herself. ] Are you out of your goddamn mind?
⟪ This may seem out of nowhere, but she has been thinking this one over for a little while, and considering the things she is teaching him –– well, some might not take it quite so well.
Besides, someone did threaten to kill him in some sense of the word.
So, what she slides him across the table are two small pouches, recently sewn, one with an approximation of a flame sitched into it, the other blank. ⟫
One of these powders snuffs out flame. ⟪ Her eyes flicker to his lantern, her lantern, whichever is closest. ⟫ The other chokes any who were to breathe it in.
⟪ Obviously, she hasn't given him all she has, but it's good for a few uses each. ⟫
[ It does seem to be out of nowhere — up until Melisandre explains the purpose behind the little sacks, at which point Rafe is very interested in these little gifts. He isn't surprised that Melisandre has been holding out on him, he always expects as much, but he is impressed that she's willing to share one of the aces up those voluminous red sleeves. ]
Guessing this one [ fingers tracing the thread outline of flames ] to deal with fire.
[ The implications of which are certainly not lost on Rafe. It'd taken a while to fully appreciate the lantern, recognize its value. Its importance. Its potential cost. (There are moments he thinks back to that first day, with the bratty waterboy. The deluge of water had managed to miss his lantern just barely— But what if it hadn't? He'd have been first to sit in those pews as the trapdoor clanged after him.) Yes, these may prove very useful. ]
⟪ She traces the patterns of her own lantern – it's hot to the touch, but it doesn't bother or pain her. ⟫
It's common for me to tend to the nightfires, and there are some powders needed for certain rites. It isn't common to lose control, of course, but you know well and good how quickly some other fool can cross through one's best laid plans.
⟪ For someone who happily touted another murder powder, she is still quite uncomfortable with the possession of the purely fire-snuffing one. Maybe because fire is closer to life than her than breath? ⟫
[ It's not an olive branch, but then, Nate doesn't know what it is. As much as he hates it, he's trying to take the high road. ]
found a museum northwest of the town. half romanesque, half modern thing with a creepy sculpture garden out front. tons of stuff in the different halls.
[ This is what he'd come here to talk about, isn't it. The end was a disaster with a capital D for Drake, the middle had been a tangled maze of back and forth and dead ends and new approaches and a hell of a lot of jaw grinding, but the start... Rafe chews the inside of his cheek, eyes locked onto the glass he keeps setting round and round on the table. The start hadn't been all bad. He takes a deep breath. ]
Fresh out of college, I hear about this guy making the rounds, sniffing for money to back an expedition. Everybody on the scene brushed it off, said it wasn't worth the time — a total scam, you know? But I went ahead. Figured it couldn't hurt anything just to hear him out. And he tells me about Henry Avery.
[ It's impossible to hold back the excitement, the match struck and tossed on a pile of coals that haven't stopped burning for fifteen years. He can't help the way it builds with every word, hands coming to life as he gestures, articulating his point. ]
Avery wasn't in the business more than a couple years total but what he managed in those couple years was... [ A breath of a laugh that underscores the massive understatement to come. ] Substantial. And the biggest score he made off with was the Gunsway haul. Stray Mughal ships on pilgrimage to Arabia, loaded down with millions in treasure, and he makes off with everything. [ Not at all nicely, but he doesn't need to share that. Either Gene's enough a student of history to fill in the blanks of piracy or... Well. Rafe isn't about to detail the depravity Avery was capable of. ] The whole of the Western world turns out everything they've got to find him, the most wanted man alive, and—
[ Rafe snaps his fingers. ]
Vanished. Three hundred years later and nobody ever found him or a penny of the plunder he took with him.
[ A conspiracy nut's wet dream. A treasure hunter's ticket to punch. And Rafe, needing neither antipsychotics or money, found a cause. ]
But this guy— He says he's got a lead. All he needs is enough scratch and pull to get a foot in the door and from there... Fortune and glory, there for the taking.
( he listens, rapt. his attention is wholly on rafe, takin' in each word in turn. he can tell there's somethin' here that's hell an' gone deeper than just casual interest. obsession? maybe somethin' along those lines. admiration, surely. an' willful focus.
rafe leaves off the hard parts, but gene knows, ain't many substantial treasures throughout history taken without bloodshed an' sufferin' done. he finds it a curious thing that it's the glory of the take an' not the reality of the thing itself that rafe chooses to focus on. it don't feel strictly like a whitewashin' of history, nor an avoidance of the matter or an issue of polite company. rafe seems like the sorta guy who alternately cares too much about the opinion of others while not carin' at all. an odd dichotomy, born of contradiction.
fortune and glory. there for the takin'. that was what he'd wanted. not the gold.
but still, gene wonders — just how much has he had to prove?
nate told him all about avery. that coin's burnin' a damn hole in his pocket, but instinct cautions him against showin' it. he'd spoken on the matter with a sort of... reticence, almost like it'd been a matter of shame.
two sides. one coin. there's more to this than he's seein'. )
So, I'm guessin' you took this fella up on the matter?
[ As he takes a breath and a sip chase it down, Rafe waits. Has been waiting, really, for the inevitable question that'll follow. How much? It's the logical question for most people, the only thing that matters for them, the salient detail they want to hold onto above all others. The one thing Rafe has never actually given two shits about.
But Gene doesn't cut him short, doesn't butt in to hurry him along, and it's....something. Rafe prides himself on reading people— a necessity, regardless which job he was dealing in that day —and the genuine interest almost catches him off-guard. An ounce of tension eases off his shoulders as he leans back in his seat with half a shrug. ]
He had a pretty convincing pitch. I didn't even mind him tossing his kid brother into the job.
[ As if he hadn't been years younger than that "kid" brother. As if that kid brother were nothing more than a footnote and just as easily skimmed over. Irrelevant. Unnecessary. ]
[ ...Rafe isn't sure if Nate is fucking with him or not, and he doesn't want to ask in case the answer is— Well. Either. Either answer would be embarrassing in being told it so.
Moving on. Because honestly the idea of Nate getting any extra innate firepower is fucking terrifying. ]
Another... You know. [ His eyebrow arches in the dark, at the greater dark that seems to make up the kid's everything. Certainly explains why it was freaking impossible to get a bead on her before. ] Magic type, or whatever the hell it is you've got going on.
[ It's like walking through a comic book store around here, swear to god. ]
I asked to learn. Be pretty stupid not to pay attention after that.
[ He's turning them over in his hands, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes emphasized as he squints, searches for any discrepancy between the two. Would continue the inspection if not for the hand on his cheek very purposefully drawing him up and away.
The touching is still strange, the frequency and the softness of it without an aim to drop their clothes (not right now, at least) but Rafe once again writes it off to the difference in time, in world, in the everything odd and mismatched between them. A short sigh through his nose is all the response he wants to give, but she is the teacher. She knows what he doesn't. The question warrants an answer, and so he will. ]
Sleep isn't that great a gauge around here, [ he points out. The constant dark fucks with that something fierce, no matter how one sticks to routine. As for the rest, he shrugs. ] And I'm pretty sure "mortal" is out the window given the current setup.
[ Okay, so she's the teacher. Still doesn't mean he's about to start wringing his hands over a possible drawback that hasn't cropped up yet. ]
⟪ it's the non-verbal answer, the sigh that could be seen as derisive, even, at her show of concern that gets her. he is of course entirely in the right: most of these potential changes have been made absurd by their communal death. there is another thing to be learned here, though: for one reason or another, the idea that someone might simply wish to spare him pain, however inconsequential that pain might be, seems to be somewhere between entirely foreign or, at least, not common enough for him to consider it now. ⟫
It's early days still. ⟪ her tone is light, light as her touch when she withdraws her hands. ⟫ The darkness of this place is an asset to the Art, much like the Shadow of Asshai would be. I suspect you could even finish your training here without the poison rite.
⟪ but there they are again – would he really spare himself that? ⟫
In the end... What I am attempting to do is to not take the choice from you. I didn't have one, and all the shadows have done to me I have turned to my favour. But for you, they can be choices still. ⟪ these freedoms shouldn't be underestimated. ⟫
[ He's never said it, never had anybody to say it to, but that had been his own thinking. Suits of plate and embossed shields, the blades from bygone eras with jewels in the pommel and runnels to the hilt. Weapon to match the wielder, steel wielding steel. A small smile comes and goes at her statement, at the knowledge of a choice made correctly and for the recognition of such.
But then the smile twists into a smirk, the quiet of the moment shifting to more familiar amusement. ]
Sure, call it a trade. Shadowbinding for gunplay. [ Though who knows when there'll be a spare piece to go around. There's the crow saying he can supply but who knows whether he'll actually follow through. If it's not in on anything, Rafe would have to assume they'd have armed themselves and done something long before this; if he is, last thing Rafe would think it'd would want was the locals getting firepower. ] But it's got a decent range — around fifty yards.
[ ...Wait. Rafe squints out in the dark, picking out a landmark. ]
From here to the Invincible. That's a stretch for some people, though. I can manage closer to double that with decent light to aim by.
⟪ how often has he been denied the right to pride? the question darts through her as swift as the small smile of his turns into his more world-hardened smirk.
none of it ought to be her business, but then, none of them ought to be dead. ⟫
I should teach you flame for the gunplay, if this place let me.
⟪ she doesn't tell him that she knows just and well what a yard is, not wishing to toss the kindness of his explanation back in his face like so. for most of her life, she'd had to find these things out for herself, and much as the two of them share space for mutual benefit only –– she does appreciate him. ⟫
It's fast isn't it? Less weakened by wind than common archery?
You're teaching me plenty already, considering. Counts as an even enough trade far as I'm concerned.
[ Shadows seem safer, really, in comparison to either guns or fire. At least with the shadows, the only damage that may happen if he loses control is to himself— Possibly to someone in the immediate vicinity. Guns are the same – things go off, collateral damage is minimal. But fire... That's something that can get out of control too quickly, even without the town baking in heat like this.
No, shadows are enough for now as he double checks the safety with a nod. ]
The wind gets to be more of a factor the farther off, but yeah. The speed of it at normal ranges for this kind of gun usually cuts the interference down to nothing. [ An almost wistful sigh. ] What I wouldn't give for a full rifle. With night scope.
[ He'd probably be able to pick off so many of those little pissant wood spirits. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
@priestess ⟪ voice ⟫
I shall be heading into the woods to feed some spirit or other.
@dysmas :// voice;
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There is a hungry spirit in the forest. It may be best to appease it, and sooner rather than later, don't you think?
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Appease it, sure, just walk out a handy buffet in red curtains. [ Do you hear this? This is the sound of a New York asshole jogging along some roofs to try and beat a crazy woman from walking into the woods by herself. ] Are you out of your goddamn mind?
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@dysmas :// voice > action;
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(( the inbox is where physical items go, right ))
⟪ This may seem out of nowhere, but she has been thinking this one over for a little while, and considering the things she is teaching him –– well, some might not take it quite so well.
Besides, someone did threaten to kill him in some sense of the word.
So, what she slides him across the table are two small pouches, recently sewn, one with an approximation of a flame sitched into it, the other blank. ⟫
One of these powders snuffs out flame. ⟪ Her eyes flicker to his lantern, her lantern, whichever is closest. ⟫ The other chokes any who were to breathe it in.
⟪ Obviously, she hasn't given him all she has, but it's good for a few uses each. ⟫
SOUNDS LEGIT
Guessing this one [ fingers tracing the thread outline of flames ] to deal with fire.
[ The implications of which are certainly not lost on Rafe. It'd taken a while to fully appreciate the lantern, recognize its value. Its importance. Its potential cost. (There are moments he thinks back to that first day, with the bratty waterboy. The deluge of water had managed to miss his lantern just barely— But what if it hadn't? He'd have been first to sit in those pews as the trapdoor clanged after him.) Yes, these may prove very useful. ]
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⟪ She traces the patterns of her own lantern – it's hot to the touch, but it doesn't bother or pain her. ⟫
It's common for me to tend to the nightfires, and there are some powders needed for certain rites. It isn't common to lose control, of course, but you know well and good how quickly some other fool can cross through one's best laid plans.
⟪ For someone who happily touted another murder powder, she is still quite uncomfortable with the possession of the purely fire-snuffing one. Maybe because fire is closer to life than her than breath? ⟫
Fire can be so fragile.
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@priestess // << voice >> // private
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[ Don't worry — if Rafe still sounds bitter about his midnight visitor, it's only because he is. ]
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[ not that is is even remotely tempted to name names here, rafe. ]
Perhaps the candles are tied to the bonfire somehow.
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@drake ◆ text ◆ post-museum finding
found a museum northwest of the town. half romanesque, half modern thing with a creepy sculpture garden out front. tons of stuff in the different halls.
thought you might want to know.
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Grudgingly, he taps out a reply. ]
and?
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[ This is what he'd come here to talk about, isn't it. The end was a disaster with a capital D for Drake, the middle had been a tangled maze of back and forth and dead ends and new approaches and a hell of a lot of jaw grinding, but the start... Rafe chews the inside of his cheek, eyes locked onto the glass he keeps setting round and round on the table. The start hadn't been all bad. He takes a deep breath. ]
Fresh out of college, I hear about this guy making the rounds, sniffing for money to back an expedition. Everybody on the scene brushed it off, said it wasn't worth the time — a total scam, you know? But I went ahead. Figured it couldn't hurt anything just to hear him out. And he tells me about Henry Avery.
[ It's impossible to hold back the excitement, the match struck and tossed on a pile of coals that haven't stopped burning for fifteen years. He can't help the way it builds with every word, hands coming to life as he gestures, articulating his point. ]
Avery wasn't in the business more than a couple years total but what he managed in those couple years was... [ A breath of a laugh that underscores the massive understatement to come. ] Substantial. And the biggest score he made off with was the Gunsway haul. Stray Mughal ships on pilgrimage to Arabia, loaded down with millions in treasure, and he makes off with everything. [ Not at all nicely, but he doesn't need to share that. Either Gene's enough a student of history to fill in the blanks of piracy or... Well. Rafe isn't about to detail the depravity Avery was capable of. ] The whole of the Western world turns out everything they've got to find him, the most wanted man alive, and—
[ Rafe snaps his fingers. ]
Vanished. Three hundred years later and nobody ever found him or a penny of the plunder he took with him.
[ A conspiracy nut's wet dream. A treasure hunter's ticket to punch. And Rafe, needing neither antipsychotics or money, found a cause. ]
But this guy— He says he's got a lead. All he needs is enough scratch and pull to get a foot in the door and from there... Fortune and glory, there for the taking.
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rafe leaves off the hard parts, but gene knows, ain't many substantial treasures throughout history taken without bloodshed an' sufferin' done. he finds it a curious thing that it's the glory of the take an' not the reality of the thing itself that rafe chooses to focus on. it don't feel strictly like a whitewashin' of history, nor an avoidance of the matter or an issue of polite company. rafe seems like the sorta guy who alternately cares too much about the opinion of others while not carin' at all. an odd dichotomy, born of contradiction.
fortune and glory. there for the takin'. that was what he'd wanted. not the gold.
but still, gene wonders — just how much has he had to prove?
nate told him all about avery. that coin's burnin' a damn hole in his pocket, but instinct cautions him against showin' it. he'd spoken on the matter with a sort of... reticence, almost like it'd been a matter of shame.
two sides. one coin. there's more to this than he's seein'. )
So, I'm guessin' you took this fella up on the matter?
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But Gene doesn't cut him short, doesn't butt in to hurry him along, and it's....something. Rafe prides himself on reading people— a necessity, regardless which job he was dealing in that day —and the genuine interest almost catches him off-guard. An ounce of tension eases off his shoulders as he leans back in his seat with half a shrug. ]
He had a pretty convincing pitch. I didn't even mind him tossing his kid brother into the job.
[ As if he hadn't been years younger than that "kid" brother. As if that kid brother were nothing more than a footnote and just as easily skimmed over. Irrelevant. Unnecessary. ]
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[ ...Rafe isn't sure if Nate is fucking with him or not, and he doesn't want to ask in case the answer is— Well. Either. Either answer would be embarrassing in being told it so.
Moving on. Because honestly the idea of Nate getting any extra innate firepower is fucking terrifying. ]
Please tell me she didn't teach you anything.
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Another... You know. [ His eyebrow arches in the dark, at the greater dark that seems to make up the kid's everything. Certainly explains why it was freaking impossible to get a bead on her before. ] Magic type, or whatever the hell it is you've got going on.
[ It's like walking through a comic book store around here, swear to god. ]
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Ha ha.
Ha. ]
I. Uh. Have no idea what you're talking about.
[ The second part comes out all in a rush, showing that she definitely isn't nervous and definitely has nothing to hide. She's doing great. ]
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Rafe can't help the unimpressed look on his face as he stares her down in the face of that thoroughly unconvincing line. ]
Smooth, kid.
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I asked to learn. Be pretty stupid not to pay attention after that.
[ He's turning them over in his hands, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes emphasized as he squints, searches for any discrepancy between the two. Would continue the inspection if not for the hand on his cheek very purposefully drawing him up and away.
The touching is still strange, the frequency and the softness of it without an aim to drop their clothes (not right now, at least) but Rafe once again writes it off to the difference in time, in world, in the everything odd and mismatched between them. A short sigh through his nose is all the response he wants to give, but she is the teacher. She knows what he doesn't. The question warrants an answer, and so he will. ]
Sleep isn't that great a gauge around here, [ he points out. The constant dark fucks with that something fierce, no matter how one sticks to routine. As for the rest, he shrugs. ] And I'm pretty sure "mortal" is out the window given the current setup.
[ Okay, so she's the teacher. Still doesn't mean he's about to start wringing his hands over a possible drawback that hasn't cropped up yet. ]
But no. I haven't noticed anything.
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It's early days still. ⟪ her tone is light, light as her touch when she withdraws her hands. ⟫ The darkness of this place is an asset to the Art, much like the Shadow of Asshai would be. I suspect you could even finish your training here without the poison rite.
⟪ but there they are again – would he really spare himself that? ⟫
In the end... What I am attempting to do is to not take the choice from you. I didn't have one, and all the shadows have done to me I have turned to my favour. But for you, they can be choices still. ⟪ these freedoms shouldn't be underestimated. ⟫
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[ He's never said it, never had anybody to say it to, but that had been his own thinking. Suits of plate and embossed shields, the blades from bygone eras with jewels in the pommel and runnels to the hilt. Weapon to match the wielder, steel wielding steel. A small smile comes and goes at her statement, at the knowledge of a choice made correctly and for the recognition of such.
But then the smile twists into a smirk, the quiet of the moment shifting to more familiar amusement. ]
Sure, call it a trade. Shadowbinding for gunplay. [ Though who knows when there'll be a spare piece to go around. There's the crow saying he can supply but who knows whether he'll actually follow through. If it's not in on anything, Rafe would have to assume they'd have armed themselves and done something long before this; if he is, last thing Rafe would think it'd would want was the locals getting firepower. ] But it's got a decent range — around fifty yards.
[ ...Wait. Rafe squints out in the dark, picking out a landmark. ]
From here to the Invincible. That's a stretch for some people, though. I can manage closer to double that with decent light to aim by.
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none of it ought to be her business, but then, none of them ought to be dead. ⟫
I should teach you flame for the gunplay, if this place let me.
⟪ she doesn't tell him that she knows just and well what a yard is, not wishing to toss the kindness of his explanation back in his face like so. for most of her life, she'd had to find these things out for herself, and much as the two of them share space for mutual benefit only –– she does appreciate him. ⟫
It's fast isn't it? Less weakened by wind than common archery?
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[ Shadows seem safer, really, in comparison to either guns or fire. At least with the shadows, the only damage that may happen if he loses control is to himself— Possibly to someone in the immediate vicinity. Guns are the same – things go off, collateral damage is minimal. But fire... That's something that can get out of control too quickly, even without the town baking in heat like this.
No, shadows are enough for now as he double checks the safety with a nod. ]
The wind gets to be more of a factor the farther off, but yeah. The speed of it at normal ranges for this kind of gun usually cuts the interference down to nothing. [ An almost wistful sigh. ] What I wouldn't give for a full rifle. With night scope.
[ He'd probably be able to pick off so many of those little pissant wood spirits. ]