Lemons — Roleplayer Guild

Etoile

@Inkarnate@Altered Tundra
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I should've just pissed off of the railing.

Etoile's left eye twitched violently as an idiot with a death wish popped over her head and borderline admitted to going after the Ecclesiae, tantamount to heresy already. It would've been bad enough if he'd only whispered it, but speaking it aloud? He was either insane or stupid. Or both. It was only too easy to see where this would go as soon as an Inquisitor arrived and just so happened to find a young lady bearing the Lécuyer family crest on a highly-visible mechanical arm. The cogwheels in her head began to turn rapidly so as to formulate a plan and, as though wishing it would hide her away and give her more time to think, she pulled her mantle a little tighter around her.

Hold on. There was a thought. 

The land barge had gone deathly quiet, with the exception of a woman standing up that set off about seventeen different kind of alarms in Etoile's head. Before she could move to cut her off, though, she fell on her own, and a teenager with bright red hair knelt to help her up. Etoile frowned briefly; something about the girl seemed vaguely familiar, something like a character from a book. No time to think about that now, though. She couldn't have asked for a better distraction. At that precise moment, the attention of everyone in the barge that had known what was going on was drawn to the woman for just a split second, enough for Etoile to finalize the rough sketch of a plan in her mind. This is going to come back to bite me later, she thought as she stood at her full height, but I'm out of options. As long as they don't look for an insignia of rank or something, I should be fine. Her Inquisitor badge had been taken away from her when she'd been slated for execution, and she'd been unable to reclaim it in her escape from Iquenos.

She rolled her shoulders forward, drawing the eyes of any that might have been looking to the fact that she still had an Inquisitor's uniform on, and made a show out of looking at the idiot's face. "One of my colleagues did mention that there was a magically-gifted individual on the barge about to attain adulthood that had expressed prior interest in becoming an Inquisitor. Hmmm. You might do." With any luck, people would be amenable to an alternative explanation towards the phrase "after them."

She gritted her teeth behind her impassive expression, hoping desperately that nobody would think to inquire too deeply about who she was and why she was where she was. Also, she was hoping even more desperately that the moronic blonde kid in front of her—who, she noticed with chagrin, was just as tall as she was, if not taller, while being quite measurably younger—would catch the subtext behind what she was saying and go along with it.

"Come, walk with me. I wish to speak with you privately. Impulsus ventus." She extended her organic hand and flicked a finger, and a burst of wind blasted out of it, knocking open the door to the stairs that led to the upper deck. A low murmur spread through the crowd. Magic wasn't as common as it had once been, to put it lightly. Many of these people had likely never seen in their lives.

She inclined her head towards the stairwell. Come on, kid. Don't screw this up.
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