sir rictor cassul, korporal. (templars) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-04-14 10:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, !plot: founders festival, arielle chiaro, rictor cassul |
you've got your scene pinned underneath your thumb.
Who: Rictor & Ari
What: An autograph (and teasing)
Where: Theatre District
When: Founders Festival day three, late morning
Rating: PG-13 for Ric’s potty mouth, tame otherwise
Status: Complete
He shouldn’t have been surprised to spot Ari in the theatre district—actors and actresses seemed to burst fully-formed out of the walls and floor here, emerging from the woodwork with their stereotypical flair and spectacle, a gil a dozen. She was, however, almost on the verge of disappearing back into the ground, slipping away like smoke dissipating into the wind. Rictor immediately considered, assessing the variables: he was on his way to meet a friend for early lunch, had some time to spare, and neither Aspel nor Drake were with her, which went a way towards dispelling any potential awkwardness. So once the recognition sank in, Ric cheerfully bounded forward through the crowd and tried not to elbow his way into innocent bystanders before catching up with the bard. “Morning,” he said, falling into line beside her, as nonchalantly as if they’d planned this all along. Ari, in turn, offered her unexpected companion a sunny smile. “Why is it I find you lurking around the Theatre District so often, Ric?” she asked. Though of course, it had actually been some time since she’d seen him. “You’re looking cheery as always. To what do I owe the pleasure this morning? I’m afraid I left my scheitholt at home today.” “I’m grievously fucking disappointed. You should carry it around with you every day.” The knight managed to shrug while they walked, adding, “Coincidence. Faram must have wanted us to run into each other, ‘cause I’ve got a…” He started fumbling with his pockets, patting them down in an attempt to find a single piece of crumpled-up paper, which he smoothed out to reveal a familiar list of objectives. Ric obviously hadn’t tended the checklist with any particular care, instead keeping only half an eye on its contents—until one of the items practically swanned right into his path with zero effort required, like now. “Spare an autograph for your biggest fan?” he asked, giving Ari a broad, shit-eating grin. “Oh, my biggest fan, are you now?” she asked. “Where are my buckets of flowers and boxes of bonbons, please? If you wish to outpace Lord So-and-So for the title, you’re going to have to step up your game.” She thought fleetingly of the sad, sagging little bouquet he had brought her once as something of an afterthought, the memory bringing amusement to her already easy smile. She looked at his crumpled list, thought of her own -- carefully folded in the side pocket of her lute case -- and said, “You know, I ought to make you do something terrible for it. Last year, I made anyone who wanted an autograph from me sing for gil. Ballads, mind you, not drunken bar songs. Just how badly do you want it?” “Are you kidding me?” Rictor asked, incredulously. He narrowed his eyes at the bard, squinting at her in suspicion. “Y’know, I highly suspect you’re just taking advantage of the fact that I’ve never done this before and I’ve always missed the festival. You can say anything, and I have nothing to go on but your word that this is grand tradition.” “I swear to you,” Ari said, all wide-eyed innocence, “last year, I forced Drake to serenade passerby with My Heart Will Carry On from the edge of that very fountain.” She gestured as they passed it, adding, “If you’ve ever heard him, he’s got a voice like someone stepped on a cat. A very hoarse, unmusical cat. It was appalling. Also hilarious.” She grinned. “People tweaked him about it for months after; it’s probably why he agreed to team up with me this year -- to avoid a repeat performance.” Instead, she would collect the necessary autograph -- easy as breathing. “But all right,” she said, “if you won’t sing, you could always bribe me instead. Your sister brought me an entire flagon of the Duckling’s finest mead in exchange for my autograph.” He broke into laughter, still sauntering along beside the bard at an amiable stroll. The image of Drake warbling to passerby was too good to refuse, and he knew he’d have to grill his friend about it later. “Lesson one about Rictor Cassul: I can handle bribery much better than public humiliation. I’ll owe you one, sure. How about some Kerwonian wine, to shake things up a little?” She made a show of thinking about it before saying, “If it’s something I can’t get easily elsewhere, I suppose you have a deal. But only,” she said, “because I like you.” “Thank Faram for small favours; I knew I’d befriended you for a reason. Guess we’ve finally fucking figured out what that reason was.” Deal now mostly complete, Ric handed over his slip of paper for the obligatory signing—he knew Siri didn’t truly care about the particulars, that their hunt was more for symbolism’s sake than the list, but he might as well. “How are you, anyway?” he said. “It’s been a while.” There had been stray interactions, briefly caught, but they hadn’t seen much of each other since the new year. She scrawled her name on the paper, then took it, left her lip print -- just like last year. “You’ve been planning on this all along, of course, before anyone even knew I’d won the part,” she said. “I am impressed by your patience and your foresight. Now, I hope you’ll be impressing me with your wine, too. By the time Gemini rolls around and I can finally drink again, in any case.” Granted, almost anything would taste good at that point, but she trusted him to put in an effort. He was a reliable sort that way. “And I’ve been fine, aside from overworked. If you saw the play last night, you probably have a notion exactly what I’ve been up to -- exploding dragons and the like. Next up, a melodramatic teenager’s ill-advised double suicide with her husband of five minutes, more commonly known as Romulus and Juliana.” “Oh? You snared that title role?” Ric actually seemed interested; escaping into plays had always been one of his few hobbies, disappearing into tales of dragons and knights and princesses to be saved. “For Gounot’s opera,” she clarified, lest he think she was planning on turning to straight plays any time soon (the Founders Play, as always, had been an exception rather than the rule; it was hard for any performer to pass up the gil and the instant fame that came along with it). “Apparently, I look sweet and innocent and hopelessly foolish -- which they also call romantic. I suppose it goes to show that looks aren’t everything.” She grinned, but then sighed, admitting, “Actually, if you’ll believe it, we open in less than three weeks. I was not, for once, exaggerating about being overworked, though just in case you put stock in the drivel people say about me when they’ve nothing better to do, it wasn’t for the sake of impressing your younger sister -- or your older sister, for that matter.” “Hey, if there’s anything I do understand, it’s getting fixated on the work.” He gave a small, tight smile, but didn’t seem to tense up at the mention of Aspel as he’d used to, once upon a time. “I might not do three plays at once, but I do sometimes leave for six months at a time. Different type of sacrifice. Still sacrifice on your part, though.” A pause, as Rictor counted the weeks in his head. “Opera’s still not my favourite, but I’ll be sure to catch it when it opens. Biggest fan and all.” “You had better, since I suspect buckets of flowers will not be forthcoming,” she said with a laugh. Then: “Speaking of catching things -- I am going to be late to the Riskbreaker fight if I don’t hurry. Are you coming?” He hadn’t fully intended on it—but looking up at the clocktower, he realised there was still time to catch lunch later, and he had no good reason to skimp on attendance here. It was the head of his own guild, and he knew certain people who would be pitting themselves against Duhl... “Yeah, sure. I’ve caught most of the exhibitions, so why not the most badass one?” His smile grew, and with that, they picked up the pace and sped towards the fight. |