abraxaslogs | WELCOME TO NOTT!

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WELCOME TO NOTT!

WELCOME TO NOTT!

Welcome to Nott! A blend of old world Thorne and new world industrialism, densely packed wooden buildings surround a section of ancient stone architecture at the lake’s edge. The city rises up against the horizon and is easily seen from a distance, lacking any farmland or outposts around it to distract the eye.

The city gates are wide open. Whatever may be happening back at the Thornean capitol, there’s no obvious hint of it here. Busy citizens are going about their day, guards in local uniform patrol the streets with little urgency, and no alarm bells or horns are sounding. It appears,at least on the surface, as though no one is concerned about escaped prisoners here.

But it certainly is a bustling place! Sounds and smells assault the senses right from the gate. The streets are filled with vendors and panhandlers and criers shouting out deals and directions and soliciting money, hawking food and services and shops. There seems to be a tavern or a public house on almost every corner. A cool wind comes off the lake and the scent of the fish market carries through the city. People are everywhere and no one seems to notice or care that much about strangers - aside from wanting their coin.

It’s the perfect place to hide out from Thorne while staying within Thorne’s borders.

Within a few hours of arrival a city guard will approach each escapee from Thorne - regardless of what their standing was back at the castle - to politely inform them that Lord of Representatives Lyle Vela would be happy to receive them at the House of the Lords at any time today. Each character will be given a handwritten invitation marked with an official seal that gives directions to the House of the Lords, a sprawling Old Nott building on the lake that overlooks the city. The invitation is of course optional and there are no repercussions for declining.

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[The House of the Lords is an impressive old stone building that once upon a time was the home of the Thornean royal family. Overlooking the lake on one side and the city on the other, it's easily the largest building in all of Nott.

Any who take Lyle Vela up on his offer to receive them will only need show their invitation to one of the guards at the main doors. A lesser employee will be summoned to lead the visitor (or visitors) to Lyle's office. It's a sparsely decorated room, the furnishings practical and well made but hardly impressive. A plain wooden desk with simple wooden chairs, a nicely made woven rug of various blue scraps of fabric that looks like many of the rugs one can find in any shop in the city, a few generic but well-painted landscape portraits hung on the stone walls. There are two filled bookshelves behind the desk. The most impressive thing about the office are the windows that overlook the Circinus. They're massive and thrown open to let in the pleasant lake air.

Lyle sits at work behind his desk with papers spread out in front of him. He's dressed in the same style as his office, practical and not flashy. The office smells like tobacco.]

Edited 2021-09-01 02:38 (UTC)

To say Abigail looks suspicious is an understatement. She clings to whatever dark corners she can find, glancing around furtively to ensure that none of the guards from Thorne have followed her here. At first she's still in her prison rags, which she tries to cover with a piece of linen she's swiped from a weaver's cart, ensuring that the picture of her Arcana on her back is covered, partly so she can pretend it's not there herself, as she's still a little disturbed whenever she has to look at it.

It's easy to slip into anonymity once she's managed to get hold of more suitable attire, which she's pilfered from a washing line, even though Abigail herself feels like she's standing out like a sore thumb both with how nervous she is and feeling like she's dressed for a ren faire. At first she simply wanders to get her bearings, glancing around for anyone she recognises from Thorne. Then, realising she'll need money if she wants to eat, she begins to hang around outside the many taverns and inns that Nott is home to, watching card and dice games until she's confident enough with the rules to have a go herself, hoping she'll be able to bluff her way through.

Edited 2021-09-01 19:02 (UTC)

[ Abigail feels very out of place in her prison rags, with how respectable the office looks in contrast. She clutches the invitation tightly, afraid that she'll be kicked out if she lets it slip from her hand even for a moment and is unable to prove that she's allowed in, looking over Lyle warily as she tries and fails to assess him. ]

Sorry, I-- [ She stops herself, clears her throat, starts again with just a bit more confidence in her tone. ] You wanted to see me?

[ She can only hope he's not about to throw her back in prison. ]

[Lyle's eyes widen just slightly and his mouth flinches into a severe line at the sight of Abigail.]

Good gracious...sit down, girl.

[Spoken as the Lord himself stands, striding to the door and snapping his fingers to get the attention of one of the guards outside.]

Send to the kitchen, would you? Have them bring up a plate of whatever they have lying around on hand. With haste.

[He returns to his desk and resumes his seat with a sigh, his attention now focused on the young woman who's accepted his invitation. He shakes his head and steeples his fingers with a sigh.]

Yes, thank you for coming. I'm well aware of what's been happening in the capitol, I visited there recently at the invitation of the mages. Illuminating experience, seeing first hand how the capitol's choosing to deal with things. Trotting out the 'good' ones, tossing the rest of you in their cells...Understand that we had nothing to do with that. The capitol no longer consults the House of Lords on matters of any importance.

[ Abigail sits at his request, but she doesn't make herself comfortable. Quite the opposite in fact, her hands are clasped in her lap, her back straight and stiff, and she's glancing around for anything that she could use as a weapon or a quick getaway if needed. ]

So you're not going to put me back in jail?

[ She doesn't really care for his posturing and excuses, but she needs to be clear about that, reading between the lines. ]

Of course not! We jail criminals. Who've committed some sort of crime. If we threw everyone in jail who might break the law I don't think we'd have citizens of any sort left.

[The office door opens and a young woman dressed for kitchen work slips in, sets down a tray of cold meat and cheese and fruit on the desk and slips out again.]

There. Eat. It doesn't look as though you've been well fed or cared for. But to ease any fears you have about us notifying the castle or turning you back over, we aren't going to. Relax. You're refugees in our eyes. And even if you weren't...we certainly aren't interested in cleaning up the latest mess the capitol made for itself.

[Walking into this office is like a punch in the gut. It's not really anything like her father's little office in the back of the ranch - aside from anything else, he'd never have been able to afford that much paper, or such fine furniture. At the same time, it's just like his office, down to the smell of pipe smoke. It brings a lump to Susan's throat that she has to fight down.]

[She clears her throat, not to get his attention but to loosen that tight nostalgia that's threatening to choke her. She didn't come here to wax nostalgic about her da. She came because she's got enough sense to know that whatever's happening in such a town as this, it's happening here. She'd be a fool not to see what the man wants.]

Hile, sai. Ye sent for me?

[She half-raises the invitation in her hand, as if to prove it, and looks around the office, trying to take it in without giving in to that lingering homesickness.]

I like your, uh, paintings.

When she was a child, when her father was alive, they'd go to Seafront for the horse fairs. This place reminds her so much of it that it's like a solid, physical ache in her chest, the most homesick she's been since she first arrived. Even the stink of fish is pleasantly familiar. Even the pickpockets - and it's not as though she has anything much to steal, anyway.

She came here to keep her word to Eponine, and so for the first day she sticks close to the group. Really, Eponine and Nadine are the only ones she actually knows, and around the others, she's quiet and watchful, trying to get the measure of her new clan. It might just be caution. It might also be a kind of grief, a doubt at letting Roland go again so soon after they found one another. She's keeping the gun he gave her well-hidden - nobody needs to know she's travelling armed, least of all these near-strangers, and while she cares a good deal for Nadine and Eponine she doesn't at all trust them to be circumspect - but she's also keeping it close, tucked into her jacket, almost a talisman.

Eventually, she starts to feel that the company is too much, and peels away to spend a solid day just exploring. She's good at looking like she belongs, and the lingering familiarity of the place helps - even when she's pretty lost, she walks with a degree of purpose, having learned a long time ago that looking too obviously lost is a dangerous thing for a pretty girl to do.

You can find her all around town, but in the end, she finds herself sitting at the lakeside, watching the wind ruffle the water, a slight frown creasing her forehead. She looks lost in thought, and not happily so. But she'll look up if she's approached, offering a small smile and shifting over to make space if you want to sit down.

She can't mope about for ever. By the afternoon of the second day, she's looking for work, approaching merchants and shopkeepers with a confidence she doesn't entirely feel. She's hard-working, but she's never actually had to look for a job before - work's found her, or she's been born to it. This is new, but she's determined.

"...And I'm stronger than I look, and I ain't afraid of hard graft. I ken animals, too, I'm real good with horses, and..."

Another door slamming in her face. She scowls, kicking the doorpost, and glares at anyone who happens to be passing. "What?"

Moping seems to have given way, then, to irritability.

It's the nervousness, more than anything, that catches Susan's eye, and it's only then that she recognises the woman from the cells. They haven't talked a great deal, but Susan's done her best to remember the faces of her fellow-prisoners (and continued to think of them as her fellows, even though she was released before some of them even got here), and she's got a good memory.

She's not heading anywhere in particular - mostly just out walking to clear her head, away from the people she gave up her love for - and so it's not out of her way to turn and head towards the dark-haired young woman. Susan herself is still in the clothes she was wearing at the execution, a loose shirt, jacket, and pants, her hair braided down her back. The only addition she's made is a serape fashioned out of a blanket, which is partly for the sake of keeping her warm, and mostly for the sake of giving a little more coverage to the lump of Roland's revolver tucked away inside her jacket.

She whistles through her teeth to draw the other woman's attention, sharp and piercing, and turning a couple of heads momentarily towards her. "Sai!"

Eponine, on the other hand, has fitted into life in Nott easily. It's not so different to the Paris she's familiar with, with grand old buildings housing the places of law, the lake standing in for the Seine and the slums feeling scarily like home. Work comes easily too, especially when it's unlawful, and by the time Eponine meets Susan on the shores of the lake, the leather pouch she's swiped and hidden beneath her dress is jingling merrily and in both hands, she clutches pies, piping hot. One for her, one for Susan.

"They're eel, I think," she says by way of greeting. It feels nice to share. She never has been able to before. And it feels nicer still to think that she's got a piece of chocolate stuffed into the boots she's 'borrowed' too.
"Not so good as a sausage, but not bad neither. Better than a bun anyway."

She plops herself down, the silk dress mushrooming up about her as she does so.
"Tomorrow, I must find a new dress, you know? I don't want to ruin this one, and so it is so lovely, it stands out in the bad parts. I'll be mistaken for rich!"

Susan's smile has, perhaps, a hint of shadow behind it - but it's genuine, nonetheless. She didn't walk away from Roland for nothing, after all. It's nice to be reminded of that, when she's in the doldrums over it.

"Ye do look quite the lady in it." It's a lie, but a kindly-meant one. Eponine doesn't look like a lady; she looks like a poor girl in a fine dress, having the time of her life. It seems to Susan that there are plenty worse things to look like. "Ye'll have to let me brush your hair out and braid it up proper, one of these days, and see if there's anyone in the world dares call 'ee ugly then."

Her smile fades, though, and she looks out over the lake, tucking one knee up under her chin. She reaches over to take the pie she's offered, oddly glad of the way it burns her fingers. "Thankee, 'Ponine." Then, sheepishly, as her stomach growls: "Guess I forgot lunch."

"I do, don't I?" Eponine stares at her reflection in the gently rippling water. She fancies she looks like a princess, and she smooths the too big dress down over her sides.
"I shall have to take a sash or a wide ribbon or so to pull it in, I think, until I get meat on my bones." It doesn't truly bother her though. In her mind's eye, she sees herself plumper, healthier, her scraggly, matted hair curling to her shoulders, her bruised face blemish free. Perhaps she's pretty in the dress? Perhaps someone will find her pretty and fall in love and - and - She sighs, content.

She nibbles at the pie, careful not to spill crumbs, grease or fillings on the silk.
"If you can get a brush through my hair." The illusion's shattered, and Eponine wrinkles her nose.
"I fear it is knotted so badly. Truly, I haven't had a brush since I were a child. There is string and all sorts knotted into it..."

She looks pensively at her reflection, seeing herself properly. "I look silly, no? You ought to wear this, not me. Me, I think Nero were trying to laugh at me in it, as 'Parnasse used to. If he saw me now, he'd say, ''Ponine, you little slut, dressed like a dog's dinner in sommat so grand as that. You look like a cheap whore dressed as a mistress and ain't no one buying it even with their eyes closed.'"

She grins ruefully and chuckles. "P'raps I'm cut more for a ragged skirt where I can run from the police. Pretty girls like you should wear the pretty dress."

Susan lets out a low huff of frustration, and turns her eyes from the water back to the other girl, her lips pressed into a hard line. It's not Eponine she's angry at, of course; just as it has been before, it's everyone who's brought the poor girl to such a place. She has a nasty feeling that the dress might have been a cruel joke, and if that's true, then isn't that a disgusting thing? Isn't it a terrible thing, to know there are people in the world who'd take it that way? She's always known it, of course, just as she's sure Eponine has - but that doesn't mean it doesn't bring a sick fury to the pit of her stomach.

One which she quickly does her best to wipe from her face, because she really doesn't want Eponine to think it is aimed at her. Still, she can't help being brisker than she entirely means.

"Don't be stupid. Ye're cut out to wear whatever the fuck it is ye want to. And that..." It's not a style that suits Eponine, truthfully. But that look of content, even for a moment? That had suited her. And this suits her a lot better than prison rags. "The colour's nice on 'ee. Brings out your eyes. Ye've got real pretty eyes, 'Ponine, much more than mine."

Hesitating a moment, she reaches over with one hand, the warmth from the pie still lingering on her fingers, to squeeze her friend's hand. "And if anyone laughs at 'ee, I'll break his jaw. Just see if I don't."

[Eponine goes. She can just about read the invite and the directions, but even within those few hours, she's starting to find her way around and has already clocked the office buildings by the lake.
Still dressed in her ripped and stained prison clothes, the smell of dirt and neglect lingers for a second or so after she passes through.

She's decidedly uncomfortable by the time she reaches the office, and she shifts from foot to dirty foot, curling her toes against the rough material of the rug as she stares about.]

If you are to arrest me, Sir, and send me back there, will you do it now? Me, I ain't seen freedom for months and it'll hurt the more to go back if you let me have it now.

[She speaks quickly, words tumbling over one another. Eponine knows that this man has every right to send her back. The other one did, the Duchess, and just as she had there, Eponine's pockets have already been lined by her quick fingers and light touch.]

But they'll beat me if you do, you know? For escaping, I mean. Look what they have done to my face, Sir. Will you send me to my death, Sir?

[It's risky, lying about the bruises on her face. They're from Julie really, but this man can't know that. He might let her stay if he feels sorry for her.]

It honestly hadn't occurred to Eponine that Nero was laughing at her. She was just so glad, so excited, to have a dress - finally, a dress - that she hadn't really questioned an ulterior motive. She looks at her half eaten pie; her stomach's twisting in knots. And now Susan's cross.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I'm sorry. You look so sad, Susan, and here I complain about a dress."

She can never do anything right.

Eponine swallows. There's a lump in her throat that makes her gulp it and she coughs too.

"I'll swap with you. You are better in it and I shall blend in with the other street girls here wearing your things. No one will remember me among the others picking pockets and that. Come, Susan. Look -"

She reaches back to her messy ponytail and extracts the ribbon Susan had give her when they first met. It's frayed and dirty and darkened with blood from Julie's assault. Eponine holds it out. "I'll do your hair and make it pretty for you."

Susan looks down at the ribbon, and then up at the other girl's face, and she bites her tongue hard enough to hurt. Just a moment ago, Eponine had been smiling; had looked content, more so than Susan had thought was possible from her. Now she looks like she might be about to cry, and it isn't fair. It isn't fair that Susan's stuck her foot in it again, when she was trying to help. It isn't fair that she gave up Solvunn for this.

Life's not fair, Sue. But you made your choice.

She shakes her head, and sighs, setting the uneaten pie down on her lap. It will leave a grease-stain on her pants, but she'll worry about that later. (Gods, though, what she'd give for a decent pair of bluejeans, where she didn't need to worry over such things!) Her hands come up to cover Eponine's, to close the other girl's fingers more properly over the ribbon.

"Don't," she says, quietly. "I mean, it ain't... Ye can do my hair if it's summat ye'd like, but I don't want your dress, 'Ponine, and I sure as shit don't want 'ee to give it up. You look pretty in it. Truly, you do." Then, with a crooked smile: "Anyroad, I mean to get work at a stable if I can, and I can't think ye'd want that fate for such a gown."

She squeezes Eponine's hand, clearing her throat. "Just... don't be sorry. Not for a moment. I'm sorry. Ye were happy, and I brought 'ee down."

"It's only truth." Eponine smiles sadly. "I live in a dream sometimes. It's... it's good to know the true world."

She blinks hard and shakes her head, forcing a laugh.

"Come on. Let's not be sad. We are free. And we are together, no?"
She takes another bite of her pie. "It could be worse. I were going to whore myself to Nero completely for this, the horrid imp. Now if only he cannot get to the Horizon, or I never go back and I shan't have to see him."

She strokes the silk skirts. "I might sell it, you know? It'd get us enough for a room if we all sleep in the same one for ages and ages."

"We're together," Susan repeats, and nods firmly. It is a good reassurance, an important thing to be reminded of. It does, in fact, make some of her sadness withdraw, even if that next part makes her anger more present than ever.

I'll kill him, she thinks, with a coldness that shocks her. If I meet the man, I'll put a bullet through his fucking head myself, for God and the Man Jesus know he'd deserve it more than poor Dave. The weight of the revolver concealed under her clothes is suddenly warm and present, a reminder that she could. She's killed before, and now she knows how to hold the gun properly, now she'd not panic and set spark to her own serape. A man like that wouldn't deserve better.

(It does occur to her that she only has one side of the story, and that Eponine hasn't exactly proven herself the most honest - or the most well-balanced - of people. It also occurs to her that, since this Nero isn't here, she doesn't have to care about that in the moment.)

"Don't sell it, not 'till we got no choice." She looses Eponine's hand, finally picks up her own pie and takes a bite. "I'll get work in a day or two, just 'ee watch. And between us all, it'll be plenty for rent and board. And pies." She manages a more genuine smile. "...We used to have these at the fairs in Seafront. Just the same. Eel pies and water from a pitcher. How'd ye know?"

"You did?" Eponine smiles a genuine smile again. "I didn't know. Just, I always wanted to try one in Paris. Always. They smelled so salty and buttery and good, but it were pennies - sous, we called 'em - that I didn't have, and there, street sellers would rather throw their old ones to dogs than beggars, so I never got one. It is every bit what I imagined though, and more besides." She licks her lips appreciatively.

"Don't tell the others, will you? I'm going to give them some money I earned, but the rest is for us. Me and you, Susan. We shall make sure we have enough to eat first, and a place to lay our heads when we like, or if that Julie starts again. You'll be like Azelma, won't you? We are together in it, no matter what?"

For a minute, she says nothing, but with a sigh, she sticks one leg out from under her skirts and pulls off the oversized boot she'd nicked. From it, she pulls out a slightly soft chocolate bar done in paper.

"I were gonna keep it, but if we are together, I suppose..."

She looks at it doubtfully. "The shop lady said it was chocolate, but I dunno. I ain't never had chocolate before, but I always wanted a piece. She took a gold coin for it but I don't care. I feel rich today, and we celebrate escaping the prison, yes?"

I did. And thank you. Sit.

[Lyle gestures brusquely to the free chair at his desk.]

And be at ease, I know we're counted under the banner of Thorne but you're not in any trouble here. No one's going to toss you in jail or send you bound in a cart back to the royal family. I assume you're concerned about something like that.

Good gracious, child, settle yourself! No one's arresting you. I'm not even the Lord of Justice for damn sake. We only arrest criminals here in Nott. We hardly consider you criminals.

[Lyle raises his eyebrows at the girl, his face stern as he watches her.]

Pull yourself together. Take a moment if it's needed.

[There's a ghost of a smile, a little sardonic, that tugs at her lips. She does as she's told, sitting down with as much good manners as she can. Knees together, ankles crossed, just like a proper lady ought - and just like she never usually does.]

Aye, I was. Then I figured ye're probably not mad enough to send us signed and sealed invitations to get arrested.

[She sets her own invitation down on the desk, just in case he wants it back. She knows it's unlikely, but the habit of preserving paper, and of expecting other people to, hasn't left her just yet.]

[For a moment, she's quiet, chewing on her lip. That's not good manners, but she's not aware enough of it to stop. She can't quite shake the familiarity of this place, and along with the homesickness, there's an undercurrent of danger which feels stronger, not weaker, for his reassurance. They call it the House of the Lords here, and it was the Horseman's Association back in Hambry, but she has a sense that for all this place is grand, it's much the same thing - local notables, wielding the real power for the people.]

[Which is fine, as long as it works. When her da ran the Association, there was a lot of good came from it. But it was the Association that killed him, too. It was them that welcomed the war to Hambry.]

Say sorry, sai, but I don't reckon I'm going to be at ease until I ken what I am here for. And why.

"I'm not a child. I'm -"

[She twists her hands together, knotting the edges of her shirt in her fingers.]

I'm old, Sir. Eighteen, p'raps, or twenty or so. I don't know. It don't even matter anyway, does it?

[She glances at Lyle, and looks away quickly. He's not been at all sympathetic to her lies about her treatment in Thorne proper, but he's not dismissed her either.]

It isn't hysteria, Sir. I've seen 'em cart women to the mad house for that, and there ain't a need on it. I swear. And that stupid Duchess, she sent me packing back to Thorne. You know how they locked me away there? All by myself and for weeks, just me and a light? How am I to know you are less stupid than that?
Though - do you really not think I am a criminal? That stupid man what had us come here - Archibald or something stupid. No, Ambrose? Him, anyway? He fair screamed when he saw me, and I hadn't done nothing then. Just straight away in irons. He is not nice, that one. I should box his ears and lock him in a dungeon with no food if I could.

[She scowls at the floor, before glancing back at Lyle. Has she said too much? It's too late now! She tries to change the subject, and darts to the window, hovering near it, nervously.]

You have a lovely view, you know? If I were here, no work would I do.

"No matter what." Again, Susan echoes her, and again, her smile is a little surer. I promised, she reminds herself. I promised, and she needs me, and it's worth it. She takes another bite of pie, watching Eponine curiously as the other girl sticks out her leg like she's got an itch.

Not an itch. A sweetmeat. Susan blinks, and then, to her own surprise, she laughs. There's just something... not even comical, but charming, about hiding food in your shoes. Fill your boots, she thinks, and has to stifle another giggle, because she'd never actually thought of it in that way.

She wipes gravy off her chin, still smiling, and tilts her head curiously. "It don't look like chucklit," she says, after a moment. Her only real experience of chocolate has, after all, been in the cakes and desserts at the castle. If she's ever seen a bar of it before, she hasn't known it as such. "Looks more like..." And she trails off, because honestly, what does it look like? Nothing she's eaten, certainly. "Ye're sure you want to share?"

"That's what we do, isn't it? Me and you. It's what me and 'Zelma did in Paris. If we got an apple, half each. If we found a sous, we spend together. 'Course, sometimes when she were at home and my Pa'd chucked me out for the week or so, I didn't share with her. Or if she'd cried and made him whip harder or so? P'raps it was cruel, but I made her stand by once whilst I ate the apple, and the core and all, and listen to her stomach growl. She'd howled, but then, I had when Pa lost his rag because she lost her stupid letter and begged me take the blame. She deserved it. But you - you wouldn't do that, I know. So we share."

It's all very black and white. Help one another and reap joint rewards. Let one suffer and you deserve to cry too.

Eponine snaps a square of the chocolate bar off and holds it out to Susan. Then she snaps another bit for herself.

"I'm scared it'll be horrid. All those nights dreaming, and imagine it is horrible?"

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Page 1 of 10

WELCOME TO NOTT!

Meeting With Lyle

Abigail Hobbs | Hannibal | The Hanged Man

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Susan Delgado | Dark Tower | The Lovers

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Re: Susan Delgado | Dark Tower | The Lovers

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