eachdraidh | iii. video. open, then unseelie-locked. backdated to the end of september, ~29-30th

[UNLOCKED: VISIBLE TO ALL.]

[Candlelight laps at the dim image of the Brucolac's face, showing up mottled scars along his cheeks. His expression is tired. Whether it's the light or exhaustion, his olive skin looks faintly greenish.]

Alyosha of Redgate is dead by the hand of Reynard the Fox.

[It's not a lie. She is exactly as deceased as he is. He sighs out a breath, tches faintly, and moves on, his hoarse, scratchy voice impassive.]

Unrelatedly, I require information on the thief who stole the feathers of the birdking. He wasn't found? Did anyone pick up a trail?

[He knows he wasn't found. Hence (partly) the current sticky situation he's in.]

[LOCKED TO UNSEELIE.]

I'm at Caer Scima.

[He hisses through his teeth, rubs his forehead; his head is pounding, thick knots of tension twisting in his temples, pain shooting down his neck, bursting behind his eyes, tightening his jaw. Bone-dry and grimly humourous, he says:]

If anyone, preferably human, feels they have a surplus of blood.

[That sentence is left unfinished, the conclusion—in his mind, at least—obvious.]

[LOCKED TO ALICE & BERSERKER.]

[Flatly:]

What the fuck happened.

- - - -

[ooc: I realised too late that dating it this way means it went up a few days before new arrivals, damn it! but PLEASE feel free to have any newbies reply a few days late, if you so wish. c: ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Rats. [Why.] No thank you. I am long past my days of killing pests.

[He smiles thinly and is about to just say no to the Outsider's question (unconstrained, as ever, by politeness), but something stops him. The Outsider is so alien that it feels somehow less troublesome to explain to him than to Vol'jin, who has implied essentially the same question and been offered nothing.

After a thoughtful moment, he offers:]

Alyosha was the guardian of Redgate, a mining town to the West. Prosperous and—more peaceful than other places. [But not peaceful, really, at all.] A viciously clever old battleaxe with fear burnt out of her by dragon fire. [All of this is said in tones of admiration.]

The Fox is a mad fool sickened with ungodsly power, his chest stuffed full of stolen shards, an old enemy of hers.

They are what I have to offer. [ After all, he's not human. ] If you change your mind...

[ Let him know, etc. It might be in his nature to say no if he inquires again, but then the Brucolac offers some information. If he asks, he will not say no. ]

I see. And what do you intend to do now?

Now.

Now I am going to eat and sleep and then begin looking for this damned thief.

Why?

There are many reactions to grief, vengeance chief among them. That your reaction is to find the feather thief is... interesting.

[He sighs, drums his fingernails on the desk before him, looks uneasy at the word grief.

Bluntly:]

I will not explain my grieving to you.

Let it be known, though, that I do not enjoy being aimless. And that I will not swear vengeance against the Fox, because I hate to make empty promises. I'm not powerful enough. Not yet. There's no point in me dying on a fool's errand.

[ Blunt refusal doesn't bother him. He's used to such things; it is, at least, more interesting than people shouting at him. ]

You are interesting.

[ He sounds like he's confirming the idea. ]

And do you intend to become more powerful, then?

Yes. Most do.

Most who are in the position to do so, at least. Many others simply seek to survive.

If you want to survive, you need the power to survive. It's not just a matter of raising armies. Getting food on your table means exerting some power.

Power that can often be easily taken. The laborer can be replaced. And then- well, then you hope that your hands are faster than the eyes of the Watch.

[ He says 'you', not 'they'. What he means is 'I', though those memories of doing it himself are from lifetimes and lifetimes ago. ]

iii. video. open, then unseelie-locked. backdated to the end of september, ~29-30th

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