"There's a hunting party of them here, tonight. We've been working together, to hunt a questing beast that is chasing my badger. But-" Tristan considers his words carefully, "There is something wrong with them. With everything. I can't say what, just that I've had to be very dishonest while dealing with them. King Pellinore, if you know of her? She expects me to hunt with her tomorrow, as well."
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"Of course," Tristan agrees without hesitation. He would have agreed just as readily, even without her promise of help in kind. "What is it?"
Like that? No. The ones that trained Tristan were more about cutting and deflecting and dodging. That kind of brutal, unrelenting endurance? Strength and stance that raw and ruthless?
No. Never like that.
He does nothing to hide his admiration for it as Robena approaches.
"I thought of you, during my hunt earlier." He greets her with a raised glass. "That solid knight I saw at the jousts. What we managed to track was a badger, the size of a team of horses - and it could burrow just as fast. I thought... I could kill it, if I could get enough shots into it, but I'd have needed someone like you to stop it getting under me. I don't think anyone else could have held it long enough."
He offers her the other drink. The silver she's won him has more than paid for it.
No. Never like that.
He does nothing to hide his admiration for it as Robena approaches.
"I thought of you, during my hunt earlier." He greets her with a raised glass. "That solid knight I saw at the jousts. What we managed to track was a badger, the size of a team of horses - and it could burrow just as fast. I thought... I could kill it, if I could get enough shots into it, but I'd have needed someone like you to stop it getting under me. I don't think anyone else could have held it long enough."
He offers her the other drink. The silver she's won him has more than paid for it.
"What I'm hearing is that there are fried pickles." Lucien watches the Professor's face for a reaction. If that reaction is not to glance where the pickles may be found, he will start following his nose. Surely he'd be able to smell them out - the carnival is a riot of smells, but nothing cuts through like boiling vinegar. And if anything does... well, wouldn't that be interesting?
He's also waiting for that defeated, disappointed look on the man's face before he claps him on the shoulder reassuringly. "You're right, of course, but I need to get a sense of the place before we start talking anything permanent. Actually, I'd love if you could show me around? Go for a bit of a jaunt and stretch the legs?"
Lucien and the Professor could lope off and meet back up with everyone else later, right? The train's an obvious landmark and, besides, he suspects the others aren't as enthusiastic about deep clown lore as he is.
He's also waiting for that defeated, disappointed look on the man's face before he claps him on the shoulder reassuringly. "You're right, of course, but I need to get a sense of the place before we start talking anything permanent. Actually, I'd love if you could show me around? Go for a bit of a jaunt and stretch the legs?"
Lucien and the Professor could lope off and meet back up with everyone else later, right? The train's an obvious landmark and, besides, he suspects the others aren't as enthusiastic about deep clown lore as he is.
Tristan silently slides the five silver pieces onto the bartop. He's not much of a gambler, usually, but it's very important to support your friends in all things. Even if you're not friends yet, it's never too early to start.
What else can be done, at a moment like this?
Tristan sips his beer and watches, taking great pains to make sure none of what's about to happen spills the other mug.
A talk with nature is still on the cards. But nature isn't going anywhere. A knight like Robena getting hurled across the room is a rarer thing indeed, and she might appreciate the drink more...
Interrupting now, though, feels quite rude indeed. It looks like nobody's getting hurt that doesn't want to.
Tristan sips his beer and watches, taking great pains to make sure none of what's about to happen spills the other mug.
A talk with nature is still on the cards. But nature isn't going anywhere. A knight like Robena getting hurled across the room is a rarer thing indeed, and she might appreciate the drink more...
Interrupting now, though, feels quite rude indeed. It looks like nobody's getting hurt that doesn't want to.
Lucien's shirt is buttoned, ironed. His pants are neatly creased and mended. His bloody useless pistol has at least been loaded with dry powder, now. Composed. Sensible. He looks across the vista seriously.
"I wonder if we can find fried pickles, here." He smiles wistfully at a food tent which appears to be deep-frying an alligator of some sort in a bathtub of bubbling oil. The alligator has been run the whole way through with a cast iron skewer. Must be a baby one, it's only the size of a surface gator. And is that - yes. The smell of beer batter is unmistakable. Carnival veal schnitzel! "It's been years since I've had a good fried pickle."
"I wonder if we can find fried pickles, here." He smiles wistfully at a food tent which appears to be deep-frying an alligator of some sort in a bathtub of bubbling oil. The alligator has been run the whole way through with a cast iron skewer. Must be a baby one, it's only the size of a surface gator. And is that - yes. The smell of beer batter is unmistakable. Carnival veal schnitzel! "It's been years since I've had a good fried pickle."
These knights are not his friends. Certainly, Tristan respects them - their service to their lord is unimpeachable - but he respects them as colleagues in competition. They are peers, but he doesn't even trust them enough to tell them that they are peers, because he doesn't feel safe to be honest with them.
And, as Nin's made rather clear to him, and Mort has implied, he's right to feel unsafe in honesty.
He's always retreated to nature, when he's had a crisis of authenticity. It's usually been moments when he's caught himself trying to be someone he isn't. Trying to be interesting to a crush. Trying to downplay his needs and limitations for a mentor. After the performance, he can sometimes feel himself become what he's pretended to be. Not everything that is picked up can be put back down.
It was fun to play pretend for Mort, with Mort, at Mort. And he's going to need to pretend again, and soon. Maybe for a while. That's fine. It's just important to get everything out, as difficult as getting all the sand out of a shoe.
He needs to be alone for a while, to separate the threads of performance from himself.
Being alone, in nature, is where he finds dishonesty to himself impossible. And maybe, after everything that's happened today, the world still has things to tell him.
If he can, he'll take two cups of beer from the tavern on the way out, and pay for it how he can.
And, as Nin's made rather clear to him, and Mort has implied, he's right to feel unsafe in honesty.
He's always retreated to nature, when he's had a crisis of authenticity. It's usually been moments when he's caught himself trying to be someone he isn't. Trying to be interesting to a crush. Trying to downplay his needs and limitations for a mentor. After the performance, he can sometimes feel himself become what he's pretended to be. Not everything that is picked up can be put back down.
It was fun to play pretend for Mort, with Mort, at Mort. And he's going to need to pretend again, and soon. Maybe for a while. That's fine. It's just important to get everything out, as difficult as getting all the sand out of a shoe.
He needs to be alone for a while, to separate the threads of performance from himself.
Being alone, in nature, is where he finds dishonesty to himself impossible. And maybe, after everything that's happened today, the world still has things to tell him.
If he can, he'll take two cups of beer from the tavern on the way out, and pay for it how he can.
"I can see just how important it is, for us to be here, helping this hunt now, Sir Knight." Tristan says gravely, glancing at Nin only once, only briefly. "It sounds like Pellinore wants to make sure it's her that slays the beast, after all. If you were to fail today, after we managed to catch it ourselves by sheer fortune... it would make her very angry. Very angry indeed." He looks at Mort very concerned, now. Fearful for him. "I did not mean to put you in this position, Sir. Where the King would see huntsmen, such as ourselves, accomplish more than her knights... What might she do?"
He's not lying. Not really. But Mort did say something about an anger problem, and he's very curious how Mort reacts to this idea being put in his head.
If the King is kind, should have nothing to fear from being outshone by luck and circumstance. If.
[Size Someone Up: 5, 6 +2 = 13
How might I get you to speak your concerns about your king?
Where are you vulnerable to me?
How prone to anger is your king, and what does it look like?]
He's not lying. Not really. But Mort did say something about an anger problem, and he's very curious how Mort reacts to this idea being put in his head.
If the King is kind, should have nothing to fear from being outshone by luck and circumstance. If.
[Size Someone Up: 5, 6 +2 = 13
How might I get you to speak your concerns about your king?
Where are you vulnerable to me?
How prone to anger is your king, and what does it look like?]
The Fool - one does not doff their armor until the hurley burley's done, and the battle's fought and won - ambles amiably up to Coleman, claps his shoulder. This close to the fires, and after so much dancing, the Fool is drenched in sweat. Their shirt hangs loose around the edges, but clings tight and translucent to what flesh it touches. For now, they are more themselves than ever. A version of themselves that isn't bothered by trains, anyway.
"It's a good thing you were here, you know." The Fool gestures grandly at the chaos. "So you know, more than anyone, that there was nothing more you could do. That you did everything you could. I don't know what you did - but I know you, and I don't doubt it. You shouldn't."
The Fool taps their pockets and - yes, they do still have those foraged mushrooms, of the station. Maybe there's something useful in them. Maybe they'll just be sentimental. Something to keep in mind, for when Coleman isn't so very busy.
Another to keep in mind; "Caranadir" may no longer be armor worth wearing, with his child dying as it is. Glide over to Jackdaw, to see which face she's wearing, shall we?
"It's a good thing you were here, you know." The Fool gestures grandly at the chaos. "So you know, more than anyone, that there was nothing more you could do. That you did everything you could. I don't know what you did - but I know you, and I don't doubt it. You shouldn't."
The Fool taps their pockets and - yes, they do still have those foraged mushrooms, of the station. Maybe there's something useful in them. Maybe they'll just be sentimental. Something to keep in mind, for when Coleman isn't so very busy.
Another to keep in mind; "Caranadir" may no longer be armor worth wearing, with his child dying as it is. Glide over to Jackdaw, to see which face she's wearing, shall we?
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