Introduction

[smokedglasseyes]

Enter a man. A bookish man without doubt, if we are to judge such things on appearance. The very perceptive might notice something in his black, smoked glass eyes that doesn't quite fit your average academic, but they would put it down to perhaps the reflection of the light in his pince-nez

Comments

[heartofbirds]

Linden is perfectly silent, staring at a man he's worshipped, a man who's inspired him to most of everything he's done--stands, and watches, and cannot speak.

[smokedglasseyes]

Quillam notices him and turns to him, his tone polite and quiet. Cautious without appearing so. And yet when he stands to face him, there is quiet strength in his gaze.

"Good day. You are here, perhaps, to tell me my fate?"

[heartofbirds]

"Mr. Mye-- sir. I'm afraid I don't exactly know even where I am, at present."

[smokedglasseyes]

He gives an inward sigh as he recognises those tones, but gives him a kind, if curious, look. "I would ask how it is that a man can arrive in a place without any knowledge of it. Were I not in the same position myself." He looks him over, gauging him as best he can. "Your accent reminds me of Mandelion, sir."

[illgotten]

Mordred cocks an eyebrow at him. "Skinny kid with a pet goose?"

[smokedglasseyes]

Quillam fixes his gaze on him. "Mosca has always been small, that is true. But I know nothing of a goose."

[illgotten]

"Fair enough," meeting his eyes; if he's a little taken aback, he's not about to let on. "Hi, by the way. Welcome to wherever."

[smokedglasseyes]

"Thank you." He studies him for a moment. "I am intrigued, however, by your phrasing. I would initially imply that your intention is that you offer a welcome regardless of current location, as that is the more logical possibility. However, I cannot quite disregard the other."

[snow_white_scar]

Typist: I've been going back and forth on whether Tamarind would recognize him. I think she probably knows all about him, but wouldn't recognize him physically. Either way, if he's associated with Mosca, she thinks that they probably won't get along with each other for very long. Sound about right?

[smokedglasseyes]

Typist: Once she realises who he is I definitely doubt they'd get along. I'm trying to work out timelines. She's young, so do you think she would have taken up that look before or after he left Mandelion? He'd recognise that she's very wealthy, of course, and be wary on that count, but I'm not certain whether or not he'd immediately recognise her as the Duke's sister. Unless the scar gives it away.

[snow_white_scar]

Typist: Let's see, Linden was ten when Quillam left, and I'm pretty sure that he's slightly older than Tamarind. So she would have been in Jottland still when Q went to Chough. Actually, now that I think about it, the Book Riots were probably one of the reasons for her family's return. He'd probably know her family name, if not her.

[smokedglasseyes]

Typist: I expect he would have kept as close an eye on the events in Mandelion and elsewhere as was possible from as small a place as Clough. So he'd definitely know her by reputation, and possibly recognise her, since travellers' reports would probably have included descriptions of this Lady Tamarind who all the ladies emulated as well they could. After all, there's a good eight years after he goes to Clough, so time for her to get thoroughly settled in the position we find her.

[snow_white_scar]

*hearing the term Stationers, she recognizes a countryman, but also hearing Mosca, is going to be cautious*

Mosca is around here somewhere, sir, most likely with her goose. How do you know her?

*runs through the major players in the whole mess in her mind, but can't place him*

[smokedglasseyes]

*looks up at her and stiffens slightly, though is careful not to let fear, wariness, anger or any other dangerous emotions colour his expression - besides, from what he's heard, this manner of dress was common enough in Mandelion of late, although this would be an uncommonly accurate impersonation, as even the scar looked genuine*

So I have been told, Lady.

[snow_white_scar]

Mr. Kohlrabi told you then, I suppose, he has the most interest in her. If you wish to find her, I don't know where to point you.

Tell me, what news do you have of Mandelion?

[smokedglasseyes]

*doesn't say that he is glad of that ignorance, though his expression may show his relief*

*is, however, still warily evasive* I believe any news I have may be somewhat out of date, judging by the small amount I have learnt so far.

[mosca_mye]

Mosca stops dead in the doorway, her face gone as white as Lady Tamarind's, and stares at him.

[smokedglasseyes]

Quillam gets up, extending a hand towards her, not certain if he's welcoming or pleading, eyes taking in the changes in her.

"Mosca."

[mosca_mye]

"Papa?" in a small voice, like a much younger child. Her hands knot tightly in her skirt.

[smokedglasseyes]

Now he crouches, extending both arms for her in a gesture that's natural even for men who never considered themselves good fathers.