• Solo • SOCK Puppet Theater Invitation

Woe visits a certain tea house and saloon in the Gleam. There he meets a group of like-minded individuals who are interested in discussing politics, philosophy, and revolutionary propositions.

18th of Vhalar 720

Most shops, parlors, workshops, and other businesses are found here, as well as the homes of those wealthy who are not of royal title. Guilds bleed the citizens dry of coin through taxes and fees. Trade is limited in Quacia, and supplies can be expensive.
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Woe
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SOCK Puppet Theater Invitation

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18th of Vhalar 720

Woe tapped the stiffened parchment against the back of his hand, considering the writing in Vahanic upon it. And then the subtext in Common.

For a casual discussion on matters concerning the betterment of our fair Nation.

He scoffed at the common, not for its content, but the very fact that they included a translation for ignorant tourists. There was a word Woe knew, that was reserved for people unwilling to learn the languages of places they visited. Tourist. This ought to be interesting, at any rate. He wondered what kind of assemblage they'd gathered inside that quaint townhouse, on the corner of the King's Road.

Shrugging to himself, he supposed he was bound to find out. Never one to turn down a lively discussion on such topics, Woe was lured into their midst. He knocked several times on the door and was swiftly answered by a young lady, wearing a modest dress of tweed, and a heavier woolen coat over it. She waved him in, curtseying lightly on seeing who it was. Apparently, Woe was becoming more recognizable around town. "Welcome Senhor... er... Captain Morandi." She extended the other hand, by way of inviting him inside. "I'm Representative Dolizar's daughter, we're so glad..."

Woe cleared his throat to interrupt the poor girl. Another time, he might've found her intriguing for her looks and youth. Now, however, he found the very notion of lust and sex trite. It simply didn't compare to tapping into the exquisitely intricate weave of a person's emotional tapestry. While youth came with a certain vivacity of emotion, it didn't compare to the richness of a heavier, older fabric. So he nodded politely to her, so as to discourage any ideas of courtship, "Thank you Madam Dolizar, may I come in?" Was all he said before letting himself in.

Her mouth slackened several times as he passed her by, slipping inside to the common room of the townhouse. There was a well-appointed parlor, with a lighted fire containing various bits of wood and scrap. The Gleam was in deep decay, it couldn't be denied. Before long it would be eating itself, tearing down the buildings for burning wood and other materials, a pulsating mass of human misery.

Yet for all that, it wouldn't come anytime soon. Not if Woe could help it. This was his home, after all. And he wished to make it better, for all that he didn't care much for most of his neighbors.

The man of the hour, who'd invited him to the SOCKS talk, rose from his seat, where he'd been enjoying a bit of tea. He rushed forward to meet Woe and extended his hand to shake. "Welcome! Welcome, Captain! So glad you could make it, ahh... Let me find a seat for you..."

He rushed over back to the sitting area, and Woe followed with a shrug. There, Dolizar cleared out one of the arm seats that was neighboring his own, "Out of that seat! That's for the Captain!" And so rushed the poor lad that was seated there for the Mortalborn to take.

Woe cleared his throat uncomfortably and then sat down, as discretely as he could the chair that had been evacuated. At that, Dolizar beamed and sat by the chair neighboring it. "So, Captain, we were just talking about... Err.... what was it we were talking about Julos?"

Julos, a fresh-faced man who appeared at least twenty years old with the air of someone who was nearing their forties, cleared his throat at Filipe’s prompting. ”Ah hnnnn yes Filipe. You were talking about how we ought to weight the benefits against the hazards of err… comendo… comendo…”

”Cannibalism! Yes yes!” Filipe said, relaxing back in his chair, as if refreshed by the reminder of such a grisly topic. ”Afterall, you would think He Who Bleeds must be in favor of such a practice! But no, he is greedy for our blood that we must not sample ourselves. We can’t all of us be gods…”

Papa! You mustn’t speak such terrible blasphemies!”

A woman’s voice came from the other side of the room,near the heartfire. Woe looked in that direction, to see a beautiful woman in her late forties, leaning against the mantle languidly. Intrigued, yet distracted by the conversation still, Woe found himself drawn in by her silent charisma. ”Dearest go and play your little stringed instrument, won’t you? You’ll bore your father with talk of the blood priests…” She lifted her hand to her mouth and yawned, in a perfectly convincing expression of disinterest.

The young woman, Augusta, stared at her mother with undisguised malice. ”Blessed is he who bleeds, Mother! Perhaps he will bless you ne…”

”Augusta!” Filipe Dolizar lifted his voice, for the first time that night, ”Come here girl…”

Augusta tilted her head downward, shame evident on her face as she shuffled toward her father, and held out her hand, he slapped it lightly with his smoking pipe. ”Now, go do as your Mother bids. I’m sure Captain Morandi would love to hear you play…”

She rubbed her hand, where he’d struck her, and nodded, her chin held low. ”Yes Papa. Of course,” She turned to Woe, and curtsied, ”By your leave, Captain?”

Woe nodded, waving a hand nonchalantly. Truthfully, he was more interested in the mother than this stripling girl they seemed so keen to foist on him, but he would play into it as long as it was advantageous.

Once she was off in the corner, and began playing her mandolin, Woe turned surreptitiously back toward Filipe, ”Cannibalism? Surely you jest?”

Filipe took a long puff of his pipe, and leaned back in his chair, rocking in the leather cushions as Woe waited for an answer. ”Indeed! Even the most repulsive ideas deserve consideration, do they not? If only to expose the monstrosity of them! But… In these times of abundance, I think we’re past the point of worrying over famine… The Plenty was well protected during the, terrible attacks upon our city. Thanks to the efforts of heroes like you and that fellow… What was it the people called him?”

Olga smoked her cigarette as she leaned against the mantle, smiling coyly at Woe. ”Bombeiro… The Fireman. Tell me Captain Morandi, was his prowess with magic and the arts of war truly as impressive as they say?”

Woe shrugged. ”I would have to know what they were saying, but I’d venture to say that his feats were even more legendary than anyone could’ve imagined.”

”And… you were the one who delivered him to us?” Olga quirked a brow, taking another puff from her cigarette.

”I can’t take credit for that, no. It may have been chance that brought him here, but we were well acquainted before the war, and I did try to reach out to him… But no, it was fate that brought him here.”

Augusta could be heard across the room, ”Twas the will of He who Bleeds…”

Olga rolled her eyes, taking another drag of her cigarette, then blowing it in the general direction of her daughter, ”Children should be seen and not heard…”

”You’d do well to remember Mother!” Augusta rose from her seat, nearly throwing her mandolin against the cushion of her lounger. It made a racket as it hit the cushions. ”Lest you insult our Lord with the black, polluted blood that runs through your veins!”

Olga merely rolled her eyes. ”Child, go to your room.”

Augusta stood her ground in spite of her mother’s orders, and she looked from her, to her father.

Filipe saw they were at an impasse, and sighed, ”Augusta Dear, do as she bids.”

”Yes, Papa.” She strode across the room, leaving her instrument behind. She curtsied politely toward Woe once, and then to her father, and shot another hateful look toward her mother. Woe was surprised at the fury in the young girl. Especially for the woman who carried her and gave her life. She padded up the stairs to her room, and a door was heard to slam several trills later.

”You must forgive her insolence, Captain Morandi… she really is a good girl, and so obedient. Just… perhaps too conservative for our tastes.”

Woe shook his head, ”You’ve raised a fine daughter, I would say. She is a woman of principle. You both ought to be very proud of the woman she’s become.” Woe let the flattery drip on thick. Yet he meant it well enough, and it would’ve rung sincere.

”Perhaps you’d like to accompany her to the production that is upcoming in the Lair, the latest theater play that my dear wife stars in… What was it called again, my love?”

”The Passage of the Triumvirate.” Olga said, fixing Woe in her blue eyed stare. ”You might recognize a few of the characters in it, Captain Morandi…”

Filipe chuckled. ”Well what do you say, Captain? Will you take up my wife’s generous offer? I will have you and my daughter seated on my own personal box, away from the rest of the unwashed heaps…”

Woe considered it. He’d always wanted to attend a real production, and it seemed too intriguing to pass up. And what did she mean by familiar characters? He nodded to Filipe.

Olga and the older man shared a look, and then smiled in unison on Woe. ”You will accompany her on opening night then. A guest of honor! Thank you very much Captain. It really does my heart good to know my daughter will be in such admirable company…”

Olga stared a little longer than the old man at Woe, something hidden in her stare. But Woe, having tapped into her tapestry, could very well guess what she was thinking. It would be an interesting night, to watch the performance on opening night.

They talked the rest of the time about idle subjects, this or that. Before a few breaks passed, Woe excused himself from their company. Leaving their quaint townhouse, he made his way back to his own home.
word count: 1713
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Doran
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Re: SOCK Puppet Theater Invitation

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Woe:

Knowledge:
Acting x 4
Psychology x 2

Loot: A night at the theater, in Filipe's box with his daughter Augusta.
Lost: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 10
- - -
Comments: I found the beginning of the thread where Woe scoffed at the translation for ignorant tourists quite amusing. I also found it interesting that he’s apparently more interested in a person’s emotional tapestry than in sex, and I was just as curious as he was about what the meeting was all about. I wonder what the acronym “SOCKS” stands for though …

The aforementioned meeting was interesting – I didn’t expect them to talk about the benefits and hazards of cannibalism! – and I found myself quite curious about the NPCs that you created for the AA. They were well-realized in my opinion. I hope that there will be a thread about the play, by the way.

I want to know what Woe thinks about it!

Anyway, enjoy your rewards!

word count: 167

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