taxonomites | o1o ♠ if you wanna play dirty darling [ visual ] [ filtered against the doctor ]

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o1o ♠ if you wanna play dirty darling [ visual ] [ filtered against the doctor ]

"Good morning, Taxon." Crisp British diction and smooth French enunciation and it must be the Countess of Gatas, sober in dark, deep blue and holding a china teacup in both hands as she sits down at her husband's desk, dwarfed by the masculine surroundings designed for a man much, much larger than she is but soothed by the authority of it.

Some few days have passed since the bomb threat, and as the city returns to an equilibrium it seems to her eye that there's no time to waste. She sips her tea as she briefly scans the notes she's had transcribed, and then begins. "My name is Lady Petrana, and I am the Countess of Gatas. The Doctor is presently incarcerated in the Alcione dungeons of my home. We have been poorly organized here in the city, and to my eye we're now paying for it. First of all I propose that those of you most closely involved with the capture of the Doctor meet with me here at Gatas; I am his jailer and I'd appreciate being kept aware of how we will continue to handle this matter. Some of you may have seen the gates of Gatas open in the past- they are now closed. They will remain so. Visitors who are not expected will not be permitted within the grounds without a very good reason until such time as I am no longer acting as prison mistress."

A beat passes; Petra takes another sip of tea.

"A committee of some sort seems to be our best - if not our only - option, but to begin with it may be easiest to meet with those involved in smaller groups. I greatly, greatly admire how well we've all pulled together for this, but with so many involved we'll be better served having some sense of organization before we attempt to wargame the situation."

In closing, Petra looks directly at the tablet and smiles radiantly. "I am so proud of you all. The feats of bravery, kindness and keen intellect on that day are well worthy of the knights that I have given my loyalty and love; I can pay no higher compliment. Thank you."

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"Please join me, Master Doul, and close the door." Petra doesn't look up from what she's working on now; she's trying, slowly, to transcribe her notes from Elenic into English. It'd go faster if she let someone take dictation, but it speaks to her trust in Doul that she lets him witness what she considers a weakness.

"Of course," he says before doing as she asks and coming to stand before her desk. Doul looks well. He wasn't injured in the recent troubles and he had the chance to do a little fighting.

Once he's before her, she sets her quill aside and folds her hands, looking up at him. "Master Doul, this mess has made it plain to me we must be more organized here."

"It would be wise, I agree." Still, he's not entirely sure how to go about such a thing - it's not even remotely something he's comfortable with at all.

"In the broadest sense, I don't expect you to shoulder that burden," she goes on, hopefully soothing that, "but I will, if I have to. At the very least I will see that we have this council."

She doesn't expect to have a place on it; Queen Ehlana is the exception, not the rule.

"My authority here is...permitted. You are presently all I have to call on if I need my will enforced, and if I'm going to have to do that, then I'd like us to have a firm grasp of what we do and do not expect from each other now and not later. Will you work for me, Master Doul?"

"I am not opposed to the idea, but I would like to know exactly what being in your employ entails." What a strange place Taxon is -- over a decade of forced employment on Bas-Lag and then, in a few months, two separate, perfectly reasonable and refusable offers.

Petra presses her fingers to her temples, her elbows resting on the desk, and her weariness has nothing to do with Doul and everything to do with why she looks as if she's recently wrecked herself with tears. (She's since tidied up, of course, but that kind of sobbing fit leaves a mark.)

"I am a lady, Master Doul, I'm not a knight. When I tell someone to jump, I need you to be willing to break his knees if the first thing out of his mouth isn't 'how high' and I don't care for his tone." There is a pause, and she moderates herself, aware that the Doctor has left her in more of a temper than she cares for, "Of course that's a severe example. I require trustworthy guard and suitable right hand; I can provide you with a home if you should require it, the resources of my land, and I'm of course willing to negotiate more creatively. Money seems irrelevant here, but knowledge never is."

And she suspects that he'd value her books more than her coins, even if her strongboxes are still here.

"I want someone on whom I can safely rely, Master Doul, and I particularly need someone who has demonstrated the capacity to think, intelligently, for himself. I don't want mindless obedience. I want a warrior if I need one and a man who isn't enough of a fool to blindly walk after me without a word if I'm making a dreadful mistake."

"Were I to choose anyone to align myself and my services with, it would be you, but you must understand that should I agree to this, both of us will likely have to deal with an irate vampir. He too made me an offer of employment and while I offered to support him, I declined becoming his man." The promise of steady, reasonable work appeals to him and would give him something to work on other than his garden and library.

"I admit," she says, slowly, "that I anticipate a conflict of interest. The Brucolac's behaviour toward me when we met was unwarranted and beastly; for peace's sake I have no interest in acting against him, but I don't care for him, either, and it is a concern of mine whether or not I would be able to trust you if he proves to be a problem."

Which is not something she wants to have to deal with on top of everything else, but Petra refuses to close her eyes to a possibility just because she doesn't like it.

"He is an old friend and we have fought together and against each other. I take no pride or pleasure in admitting that I can and have beat him in a fight." While Petrana has not seen too much of his skill, that admission should hint that he is a better fighter than most men.

"Knowing him as I do, he will continue to be rude to you and complain bitterly to me. At the worst, when he learns of my employment he will accuse me of betrayal, but generally, he is too wise to care about such things." Yes, 'when'. This means that Doul has accepted the offer.

"You'll have to forgive me for having my doubts about his wisdom," she says, almost tartly, "given my limited and unflattering experience of him. I'm very glad you'll accept-" as she correctly interpreted that, "-but I need to know that if I need you to remove him from my grounds, my authority will supercede your friendship. Will it?"

"Yes." For what it's worth, he sounds completely sure of himself and not just because the Brucolac often needs a good kick in his abdead bus station. (...there's a phrase.)

"Although, if you are to be my employer, there are a few things about myself and my, ah, 'condition' you ought to be aware of."

Satisfied with that - Doul is one of those who've earned the right to be taken at their word - Petra nods and moves on. "By all means inform me."

"I have an old injury that can, at times, leave me ill and unable to work for days at a stretch. It's unusually that it happens, but the possibility is there." Herp derp.

Here she frowns, fidgeting with her quill. "This illness is only rarely incapacitating? Does it affect you otherwise- your stamina, your alertness, your sharp mind...?"

"If I am ill, I am entirely ill and will withdraw from public view, but otherwise I am entirely well." The Liveman frowns and decides that the easiest way to explain the problem is to show her. As he unlaces his armour along one side and prepares to ruck it up, Doul tries to prepare her for the sight, "When I say that it is a variable wound, I am being quite literal."

With her eyebrows shooting up, the quill drops from Petra's startled hands. "-I see?"

Well, she's about to.

With his armour off, Doul turns and pulls aside his undershirt to show her that strange, old nigh-injury that both is and is not but always remains a problem.

...a vivid image. Petra isn't a stranger to blood, injury - even death - but that is something wholly outside of her experience and despite herself she stares at first, taken aback.

"I do see," she says eventually in a slightly higher voice than before, pulling her eyes away from the wound. "I don't imagine I understand, but I'll make allowances for your needs if you find yourself on the sickbed."

"Thank you. I don't enjoy shocking people," he says softly while putting his armour back in place. "But it is a difficult thing to explain and harder still for people to accept unless they've seen."

"I expect so. Do you have any specific requests of me now, Master Doul, or is there any matter that still requires clarification...?" It's not an implied dismissal, she'd just really like to have one thing today properly handled so she can set it aside and keep working.

Processing what she just saw on his side will take her some time, and she suspects that now is not the best moment to take it. (There's never a best moment.)

"No, Lady, there is not. Is there anything else I can do for you?" With the last of his stays in place and scabbard reattached, he looks much the same as he always does -- impassive and more than slightly dangerous.

Flattening her palm on the paper in front of her, Petra shakes her head. "Please see that one of my handmaidens is fetched here."

That is a dismissal.

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o1o ♠ if you wanna play dirty darling [ visual ] [ filtered against the doctor ]

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