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[Erm.] I didn't - I'll reimburse you. Forgive me, I hadn't thought - [Having momentarily forgotten himself, Javert quickly doffs his cap in her presence, wringing it between his hands as he takes two measures steps away from the shattered remains of the -- Whatever that was. He still isn't sure, even after his rough inspection.] It didn't occur to me that it might have been... delicate.

[To be fair, he probably didn't realize they were so delicate. But a handful of her smoke 'bombs' (thankfully empty as she never fills them before she thinks she'll need them) are broken on the ground, no matter whose fault it was. (Lee's fault. It's probably Lee's fault, considering that she was the one who left them momentarily on the back of her bench where anyone could easily brush them accidentally off the narrow edge.)] Perhaps you just shouldn't touch things that aren't yours?

[Lee's now collecting the broken bits of eggshell-thin material off the ground. They're made especially to be delicate, of course, and so this is hardly the first time anyone's broken them. ...in fact it was her that accidentally leaned too hard against a wall and shattered one, the time before this.

She sighs and looks away before seeking out Javert's gaze, looking both calmer and a bit apologetic.] I'm...sorry. I'm just-- [always very abrasive] --a bit on edge lately.

You don't need to reimburse me, it's my fault for placing them somewhere easily knocked over.

No, I shouldn't have -- Please, allow me. [Shards of glass crunch under his boots as he kneels to help her, carefully gathering the larger pieces into his cupped palm. He remembers the prisoners of Toulon bent over in a similar way, collecting the stones they'd been breaking into neat piles until their spines felt crooked and sweat had soaked through their uniforms. The thoughts rears, unbidden, and, growing more uncomfortable, Javert keeps his eyes firmly on his hands, avoiding her eyes lest she read his thoughts.] It wasn't my intention to inconvenience you.

I was - I was foolish. And ignorant. I apologise.

[Well, doesn't he look...almost too guilty. Lee feels genuinely soothed now about the shattering of her carefully-crafted weaponry and is rather relieved that they're such an innocuous shape and pattern while empty. Glass vials, probably for herbs, and nothing more. At least she needn't explain what she's doing with weapons to a stranger.

She frowns at his expression even though she can't read anything further than 'regret' across his features. Lee's not exactly a counselor - in fact she's horrible at speaking to people when a softer voice is required - but her gathering concern is sincere.] It's alright. Truly.

[She's thoughtful as she reaches out her small, calloused hands and waits for the shards he's collected to be passed over.] You...sound like you're apologizing for more than just knocking my-- [bombs...no! uhm] --my spice canisters over.

Is that what they were? [He doesn't sound entirely convinced. Catching her momentary hesitation, Javert's eyes narrow mistrustfully, with a dulled sort of keenness. Once, it might have seemed dangerous but not now. He is a broken man, defeated, and a policeman no longer. She has nothing to fear from the likes of him.] I should have guessed, I suppose.

[Dismissing any reservations he might have as old habits, he tips his hands into hers, brushing the grit from his palm, fine speckles of glass so small as to nearly be invisible shimmering in the light. He doesn't explain himself.] But I must insist you allow me to pay for them all the same. It's only fair.

[Oh, she's terrible at bluffing, and she doesn't even bother with a pleading smile when he seems rightfully suspicious. Just stares steadily at him, wondering if she's going to need to make a quick getaway or... And then it passes, and Lee can't say she's not relieved. He seems almost...tired? But he's clearly clever, if he thought to grow suspicious.

She collects the glittering dust and the larger fragments and pours them, one and all, into the small cloth bag they'd been carried in before she set them out. Perhaps the wizard she knows can somehow re-melt the glass and repair them; Lee has seen her fix stranger objects.

He just avoided her not-really-a-question though, didn't he? She frowns both at that and at the insistence to pay. Lee has no idea what form of currency they use - except that it appears to be coins - and couldn't even guess at how much the delicately-crafted spheres would be worth.] Your sincere apology is payment enough.

[If you've more of a score to settle than that, it's clearly with God and not her.]

An apology isn't payment at all. [How many times has he tugged desperate, petty thieves from their scabbed knees as they begged his forgiveness, his leniency? Too many to count to be certain. Apologies, to Javert's mind, are too hastily given and too often accepted. For that, they are worthless.]

But if that is indeed your wish - [And far be it from Javert, who has already done her enough of a disservice, to disregard it.] - I suppose I have no choice but to accept it.

[Although it's clear that he doesn't particularly agree with her soft-heartedness.] And to thank you. You're too kind, mademoiselle.

[OOC: Cheers hun :) I'm still get my bearings with him. He's not my usual fare when it comes to muses but I enjoy a challenge!]

[For Lee, an apology carries quite a lot of weight - it shows as much intent as the initial act that required the apologizing, when done earnestly, and she sees nothing that she wouldn't describe as sincere about this man. He seems genuinely contrite, just as much as he seems genuinely taken aback by her insistence that she doesn't need his money.

...Perhaps she's interrupting his own close-held values, to refuse that?

Lee can practically hear her traveling partner's wails of disbelief if she told him she had turned down offered money. That thief was too likely to take it from unwilling parties to ever refuse someone attempting to give him coin or food.

She's wondering if she was hasty, after all, but she still doesn't feel comfortable getting money from him. There's a flicker of a smile at the thanks and then, as an idea strikes her, a gleam of curiousity in her eyes.] It's no problem at all. But, sir-- what's your name? I'd like to know.

There's a...well there's a shortage of polite people in this city. [That's payment enough, to put a name to a face, and then they can call themselves even, right?]

{Well, damn it! Alastair stills as if suddenly turned to stone, hands holding an invisible ball over the now shattered ancient scrying orb. Once life returns to the bard, all he exercises is the ability to turn his head to the woman, face tinged in offense.}

Now lookit what you've made me do!

{Did anyone hear them? Alastair looks over to the door, as if expecting someone to rush in and discover their lurking. His hands close in fists, anxiously and in anticipation.}

Edited 2013-06-25 19:06 (UTC)

I made you do? Why didn't we just send me in here alone. I'm far more quiet than you are. [She's hissing the words on an angry stream of air, bending down to feel at the far-gone pieces of orb. No, definitely beyond repair, at least with normal means.

Her head snaps to the door as well, and there's a distinct pattern of suspicious footsteps outside of it. This is it, then. There's no way they won't hear her, but Lee has to ask:] Is this fixable with a spell? Should we take this anyway?

[They've only got a handful of seconds before the door opens, most likely, if the answer is yes.]

Aye, but you need me to find the-- {He hears it, and words completely disappear. Mind jumping quickly into action, Alastair is tip-toeing past Lee as she begins to scoop up the broken magic crystals. He hears her question but the murmurs moving past his lips are not a reply when he presses his shoulder to the wall, eyes fixed on the door about to open.

It's a chant.

There is a sound of a hand clasping around the door knob, but with Alastiar's mumbling, what the guard hears is a soft conversation between two voices in Undercommon -- and any sensible employ would know not to disturb his masters' in a private discussion, or even to suspect anything out of the ordinary.

The door knob shifts slightly as a hand relaxes, and releases. Foot steps barely carry over Alastair's soft droning, but lets his chant trail off after a few moments.}

...What was the question, again?

[Assuming he's just not going to answer, Lee immediately begins bundling up the shrapnel into a leather bag they'd brought just for carrying it in - in one piece, they'd assumed. She'll find out later whether or not the orb is useful for them anymore in assessing the Devil army's patterns. A final scoop that mercifully doesn't cut through her calloused skin and she turns to Alastair, who likewise has stopped chanting in a language she doesn't recognize.] ...Nevermind.

--What was that, though? A spell to make him forget he'd heard us? [She's still whispering, because usually his spells wear off as soon as his voice stops enchanting, and she thinks they won't get lucky twice. Standing up from the floor and tucking the bag away into the belt on her waist, under her robes, she nods at him.] Ready for the next part?

Edited 2013-06-25 21:47 (UTC)

I wish. {He scoffs quietly, moving past her to paw through another cabinet of nick-knacks, completely ignoring Lee's prompt to leave. Though they retain the same alphabet, Alastair can't fully read Undercommon, but he squints at the titles of a few leather-bound ledgers before pulling one off the shelf and tossing it to Lee.}

Y'know, just in case the orb's completely busted.

{And then he can't quite help plucking an odd looking trinket from the shelf before shutting the cabinet. Could be worth some money.}

[Lee jerks her head up and down in something that's probably supposed to be an agreeance on his forethought, but really comes out as more of cutting through the air with her jaw. There's a lot of tension right now, in enemy territory with a man who is at once a great asset and a great liability. He can charm himself out of indirect danger, sure, but if things swarm or go too far sour Lee could potentially have to literally carry him out the door.

The book is caught without hesitation, a welcome momentary distraction. She shuffles it under her arm and strides over to him, raising a judgmental eyebrow at his pocketing of the...whatever that tool is. It's shiny, so clearly it's going to hide itself in Alastair's jacket.

Whatever, at least he uses most of his money to buy them supplies.]

Good thinking. [She's clearly distracted, though, and the compliment is a bit flat.] Are we still going to go destroy the maps they've made of our camps? [It's been a problem, being ambushed at a few of their scattered resistances of the Petunia Guard, and even though they have safe places still it had seemed wise to put a stop to as much of their intelligence as possible.]

[Ah. His name. He already has a lie prepared for just such an occasion, an entire history of a man who doesn't exist, someone honest who's fallen on hard times. Someone with whom she couldn't possible find fault.]

[But, as he regards her coolly, still threading his cap between his fingers - almost like a schoolboy who's been caught by one of the Sisters, waiting to have his knuckles rapped by her ruler - it doesn't fall quite so easily from his lips as he'd anticipated. There's an obvious hesitation, a moment's pause, before he sighs. As much as he might like to, he cannot lie to her. Not yet.] You may call me Javert.

[Habitually - because it certainly isn't necessary in these circumstances - he bends into a short bow, as though he's done it a thousand times before.] And I offer you my service, mademoiselle. Such as it is.

{Alastair cranes his neck to look over his shoulder at the desk behind them.} Easier said than done, when they're so good at cleaning up after themselves.

{Strangely enough, the Drow's meticulous attention to organization makes it incredibly difficult to find exactly what Alastair wants. It's bad enough that they make their base with local nobles whom they have seemingly threatened, brainwashed, or shallowly bribed.

You would think Alastair would put about as much care into keeping things tidy as he rummages through drawers and leatherbound portfolios as he does doing his hair in the morning. The thing is, Alastair achieves the same effect with both: to make it appear as though nothing ever happened.

Nimble fingers flick through pages under the audience of a pair of focused eyes and a wrinkled brow, ears straining to keep themselves trained on every sound beyond the feathery sighs of parchment displacing the air around them.

Alastair may not be able to read Undercommon, but he knows a freaking map when he sees it--

...Wait.

Like a spring, he jumps up, slapping his forehead.} They're too damn smart for that, ohh...! {Hands are now clawing at the crown of his hair as he looks at Lee.}

Lee, they wouldn't have drawn maps, that's too obvious. They might not have even written down the location, not anywhere where someone may try to decipher it! If they kept a record at all, it would keep it well hidden from the naked eye...

[He's...got a point, doesn't he? Lee is coming up closer behind him and, when he begins to worry his hands through his hair, she puts one of her own up, palm out. Calm down, there.] Okay, but then...why would they keep a record at all? If they're so clever, couldn't they all just remember where the camps are?

[But if that's the case, their work here is done. She stares at the papers and books, so perfectly kempt even after Alastair has shuffled through them. Or--] Or...

Or to keep from ever writing it down, even to share information between different generals... [Lee's new to playing detective, but following this line of thought is slowly becoming clearer. It's what she would do if tasked with keeping track of something, incredibly up-to-date and in secret.] They'd need to not ever send letters. The information must be in something that everyone else can see.

Alastair, is there another...scrying crystal, or anything that can... That can hold memories or pictures with magic?

[A Sister who's fond of knuckle-rapping wouldn't be too far from the truth of her, although Lee's much more student than elder in her studies.

She's not sure what to do with that hesitation, that obvious pause of uncertainty, because he doesn't seem like he should be shy or shameful. He seems like a man perhaps new to uncertainty as a whole. The bow is returned, though, with a smile to match because there's something familiar. Not everyone bows, around here.] Javert.

[There's nowhere else to go from here except continue the polite rhythm they've managed.] And you can call me Lee. I don't...think I'll need any services right now, but if that changes, I know who to ask. [This does make him her only ally in the city, so far, other than the man she was already traveling with. That's got to count for something.]

Edited 2013-06-27 14:41 (UTC)

{Alastair is slowly sliding down the slope that descends into frustration. There is a damned list of possibilites, and goddess knows that the Drow never leave any hints of what they're doing, and how.

Tapping his bottom lip with an uneasy finger, his eyes are flicking around the room as Lee speaks her thoughtful strings as they cross paths in her mind, weaving for her the grand tapestry of the situation.}

It may not reside in this room...or it may even be this desk. It's a long shot, but I might be able to find it if it's imbued with magical energy, and not a passive or residual imprint.

{But for an inanimate object that may need to be called upon time and time again for re-accessing information, it's likely that it is now an actively enchanted item. Alastair steps around the desk and holds his hand up, palm facing the room, as he speaks an incantation in Elvish.} Hir-luth.

{Detecting magic is easy enough, but just as Alastair expects, in this room, looking for an enchanted recording item is like looking for a needle in a pile of needles. He leaves the desk and calmly moves to the center of the room, looking around in an unfocused -- and sadly, a bit lost looking -- gaze.}

Lee, look for anything...reflective, or clear. {It's difficult trying to keep a firm concentration on a spell while having a conversation. He steps over to a small chest near a window, throwing it open and rummaging through with less care than before.}

Certainly. [Though perhaps Javert's influence or, indeed, his very existence isn't as valuable as it once might have been. He is hardly the man who will help her to climb the social ladder in this town, not now that he's managed to fall rather spectacularly off of it.] I expect you're new to the city? [She didn't flinch at the sound of his name, it's as good an indicator as any.] If ever you need assistance... [For all the good it will do.]

[Small talk and polite conversation, valuable though they seem to be to others, isn't something Javert has had much practice in. Niceties don't come either naturally or easily to him but, he supposes, if ever there was an opportunity to adapt to his change in circumstances, this could well be it.] Assuming you're here to stay, of course. Or are you only visiting?

[At least one of them can perform spells, and Lee will helpfully get out of his way to let him do so. But, of course, they're in the household of an old, corrupted wizard who's taken to assisting the Devils and the Drow and there's simply no end to the amount of magic here.

Back to where they started, then.

Lee nods and turns immediately to the workbench instead of the desk, taking up and discarding tool after finished project after careless mess and finding nothing that looks correct except a few smelting jars.

A 200 year-old elven wizard doesn't have much need for compact mirrors, it seems.

So searching. Lots of searching. It would threaten to be repetitive if it wasn't so vital and threatened, but luckily Lee's well-versed in repetition anyway.

The desk proper is next, then, and in a drawer Lee pauses, suspicious, and begins turning towards Alastair with the false-covered book she's just found. Inside its secret cavern are, well.]

Alastair...what about marbles?

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it's nice to see a Javert player, I have to say c:

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