Glancing back and forth as he walks, Odebie watches his reflection in golems and in the rare window to look behind him without turning.
Fiordelise is still on edge and jumpy from the prior events, she tries to compose herself ready to distract any oncoming acquaintances, but she's barely holding herself together at the moment.
Odebie notices a pair of figures that appear to be following the group a short while after you exit the Watch building. However, Osric's unparalleled mind-map of Hearth leads you quickly through the Dims and past the Great Temple. Any pursuit seems to have been left behind.
As a friend-of-a-friend (and not a very good friend, at that) of Fiordelise's approaches in the Mansions district, Byron mutters that the spell is ending soon. Fiordelise manages to hurry the unwelcome woman on her way without boiling any pots - the Incarna family can ill afford less friends than it already has.
Soon after, the sturdy door of the Incarna household closes behind you with a firm click. You all hear a loud sound in between a crash and a slump to your right - a sound that puts Fiordelise in mind of Fierenzo's countless drunken nights. A moment later, Leoni slowly fades into view, sitting in the middle of the cold stone floor. He is hunched forward, his goggled eyes staring at nothing. "Do not take this as insult, but, if given the chance to act this day again, I would have left my door closed."
"Uh, Fi?" Stopped on the staircase on the far side of the room is Fierenzo, with a look of hungover confusion on his face.
"Go back to bed Fierenzo, I'll be up to tuck you in, in a moment." Fiordelise tries to divert attention away from the Mister in the hope that he won't notice his presence, so falls back on her usual icy sarcasm.
He visibly flinches from your tone, as if struck. Shaking his head, he says, "Fine." His stomping feet make little impact on the stone stairs. Before he disappears, he glances over his shoulder. Not at you or your companions, but toward the room on your left.
Following his gaze, you see a dress, hung carefully if crudely over one of the dining room's high-backed chairs. It is a dress you've never seen before- done in the latest fashion, silver on black. On the table, there is a note that says,
"
Heard through the grape vine about your date with Macario v'Manco tonight. Thought a new dress would be more valuable to the family than my old wine.
--Fiero
"
Leoni's mellow baritone interrupts your thoughts. "Might there be a basement, or trap door of some kind around the premises?"
Fiordelise closes her eyes and lets out a sigh, she'll have to try and put her family back together.... when there are less pressing things to deal with.
"Back in better days we used to have wine down there." Fiordelise smiles half-heartedly as she leads Leoni to the cellar. "Now it just holds damp and memories."
Byron stands about awkwardly watching, shifting back and forth on his feet, uncertain of what to contribute to the scene.
Osric sits down heavily in an overstuffed chair. Glancing at the dress, he says, "Sky, is it still the same day? You've got a date with that ass at the brutbreve...?"
Suddenly, he jumps out of the chair. "What rite is it? It's Mistrites!" He looks at each of you, gesturing and wide-eyed. "There was a broadsheet. At the Vulture. It said..." He closes his eyes. "'Sylphs get in half off. Fallen Sky means falling prices.'" He opens his eyes again, and resumes pacing. "Why else would that twitchy ifrit at the flower shop have so many tickets? Dirt-poor sylphs in the Dims going to a cheap show - the place will be crowded! It's the perfect cover to nab the idiots and squeeze them into Gasp!"
He pulls two tickets out of his pocket, bright red with cheap ink. He holds them out to Odebie and Byron. "Who's up for catching the game tonight?" He grins.
Byron looks stunned. "That... but... but... I need more time I'm almost out of bombs and I certainly don't have time before then to brew more extracts but we can't let them get away with it if that's their plan and it probably is..."
"Hm. I'm not a fan of Brutbreve, even if they have started taking hints from real sports recently. I suppose it's better than nothing though. Any idea what we'd be looking for - beyond the obvious, that is?"
Fiordelise watches her companions talking, now that immediate danger is over she's trying to process what's happened so far.
Osric paces restlessly. "If this is a front for sylph smuggling, then there will be something to attract them, to go along with the "falling prices" theme. We'll have to see what other tacky things are aimed at sylphs in particular, and go from there."
Nodding, Odebie sits down in the nearest chair and tilts his head back. In less than a minute he's snoring gently.
"I'd say it's more than tacky it's insulting I mean Sky has been dead for a long time but it's still insulting of them to use that horrible pun just for advertising anyway I'll be back in time but I want to at least mix up a couple more bombs for when things inevitably get violent."
Without waiting for a response, Byron turns to leave.
"I guess I'll see you there, no offense, but I probably shouldn't be seen arriving with you - no need to make v'Manco more aggravated."
Once Leoni is secured out of the way, and the others have gone Fiordelise will knock on Fierenzos door. "Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you, Il sangue non è acqua - we'll talk later."
She then returns to her room, dress in hand and cleans up all the days problems. She'd have to remember to drop the armour back with Osric later too.
Byron hurried back to his home/shop/laboratory, and spent the next couple of candles mixing volatile compounds into another couple of bomb catalysts. He only had time for two before he had to rush back to meet up with Osric and Obedie.
Waking up with a start, Odebie stretches languidly before leaving for Osric's.
He rubs his hands together briskly. "Anyone care for a cup of coffee, or shall we be off?"
"Off. Best to not waste time."
"I have my own mental stimulants for when the situation calls for such but I don't particularly need one right now so let's be off."
Fiordelise nods to the subordinate, adopting a haughty persona and steadfastly refusing to acknowledge his leering. Should the lout even think to offer she will climb into the carriage without his aid.
Inside the carriage, you find v'Manco casually sprawled on one side of the soft red velvet seats. With his hands behind his hand and his eyes closed, he says, "And where shall we sojourn before the match? You have but to name a favored tavern, and we shall be off." A small smile plays upon his lips, the meaning of which is unclear.
The line for the brutbreve match starts several blocks away from the entrance. The arena is but a shadowy bulk in the distance, adorned by lines of shining torches.
Joining the line at the end, Odebie looks to Byron and Osric. "Probably best not to draw attention to ourselves."
"And pleasure to see you too. I'm surprised that you came to meet me yourself, I thought you would just send a carriage?
Hmm, how about the Taverna Focolare di Pietra? Fiordelise sits up neatly, making no attempt to get comfortable or relax.
Byron shifts anxiously from one foot to the other as he follows Odebie. "But what if they're already grabbing Sylphs can we really afford to wait this whole time?" he nervously whispers.
"Worse, I think, if we're spotted before we set foot inside. Speaking of, we'll need to separate once we have - I'm not a sylph."
Byron nods unhappily and waits. It's clear that waiting does not sit well with him, but he makes no further complaints.
v'Manco smirks. "To be pedantic, I did send a carriage. I just happened to be in it." There is a brief pause, and you realize he is so used to his jokes being laughed at that he paces his conversations to accommodate it. "Besides, if I weren't here, we would lose out on valuable drinking time. And," he waves his hand vaguely, "the chance to get to know you better."
Without pause, he launches into a story of what he was doing last night before being rudely interrupted by 'whatever that bark-head corporal was up to last night.' His brow furrows as a new thought comes to him. "What were you doing at that hole, anyway? Don't tell me that's the sort of establishment you frequent."
Behind you, a large, amorphous mob of drunks are singing the national anthem, "Volcano's Land", very, very badly. A few of them are singing an entirely different song.
To either side of the line, merchants, both stationary and mobile, yell to everyone and no one, selling food, drink, charms, mittens, and cold remedies. The yeasty smells of bread and beer mingle with the sharp body odor of the crowd. The line crawls forward. You see nobles in carriages going to a side entrance, skipping the line entirely.
Fiordelise at least offers a polite smile at v'Manco's joke.
"No, of course not, I fear I was mislead as to the nature of the establishment. While I'm glad you were on hand to assist I don't think I was in any real danger, lowborn thugs tend to underestimate the diversity of training a highborn lady possesses."
Byron's patience runs out. "We can't wait through all of this! he whispers intensely to the other two. "Too much could be going on it could all be over before we get up there!"
He thinks for another moment. "Or, there is always something reckless," he eyes Byron's alchemical paraphernalia, "but I've found that's usually more trouble than it's worth."
Before long, the carriage arrives at Taverna Focolare di Pietra. The driver opens the door. v'Manco leaps out the door in one smooth motion, then turns around and offers his hand. With a look of sarcastic contrition, he says, "Not to imply you are incapable of getting down by yourself of course, but one would hate to see that dress torn accidentally."
Fiordelise graciously accepts v'Manco's aid, snubbing the leering help is one thing, but to do so to her host... well, that's another thing entirely.
She opens her mouth to remark on his his comment on tearing the dress, but thinks better of it. "This dress was a gift, and has more value to me than the purely material. I appreciate your concern." she smiles with a warmth not directed at v'Manco.
Okay Fi, keep it reigned in, I can't afford more enemies
"And I am... not very good at talking."
After exactly one drink, v'Manco declares the tavern a bore and insists on going to the brutbreve arena. He rattles off the names and positions of hsi favorite players, occasionally asking for your opinion.
Byron and Odebie notice Fiordelise and v'Manco climbing out of a carriage, not fifty feet away. They are, of course, next to the side entrance reserved for nobles and rich merchants.
Frowning at v'Manco, Odebie stays quiet. He'd rather not remind the man he locked up his favorite player.
Byron eyes the others as he sees Fiordelise. "Maybe we could get Fiordelise to convince the guards to let us in it's better than waiting and if we just keep Obedie behind us maybe her not-exactly-friend will go along with it," he suggests.
Byron (rather nervously) leads the way towards Fiordelise and her... "date". He gives them a small bow when they arrive, and he puts great effort into speaking slowly and understandably, while standing enough in front of the other two that they might hopefully be overlooked..
"Greetings, Lady Incarna and Sir. I don't believe I've ever told you about my skills with brutbreve, yes? Unfortunately if we have to wait through the whole line I think you'll never get to see it."
Fiordelise smiles at Byron, "Really, well perhaps we need help you jump the queue? V'Manco... Mecario, surely you could use some of your influence to let the Sylph and his friend jump the queue a little?"
With exaggerated, expansive gestures, v'Manco says, "Of course! Of course! A friend of Fiordelise's is, well..." He smiles, showing an overly-white grin. He puts a burly arm around Byron's shoulder, and roughly pulls him close. Inches from his face, Byron smells the cornucopia of liquors that grace v'Manco's breath. "Just don't expect me to provide seats for you as well! Ha! Ha! Ha!" He punctuates his joke with forced, artificial laughter, as if the sound itself will make him funny. He lets Byron go after a few hard claps to the shoulder.
Swaggering, the large ifrit waves all of you inside through one of the side entrances, not sparing a glance for Odebie or Osric. The arena guards--not part of the city watch, and without adornment on their dull breastplates--eye all of you, but say nothing. They bow slightly as v'Manco passes.
v'Manco slips his arm around Fiordelise's waist with something approaching gentleness. "To my box, for the real fun. We'll see how you compare to what the rest of the boys brought."
The Brightfield arena is the smallest in Hearth, but still an impressive sight. The stone outer walls stand as tall as ten men. Sharp-cornered doorways and glassless windows are cut into the exterior at regular intervals. The tall columns outside are mostly without decoration, save the two that mark the grand entrance - these are covered with depictions of various heroes and monsters of the ifrit mythology. Sword-wielding men of long ages past battle hideous, twisted efreets, the once-angelic betrayers of Volcano. Leering efreets with forked tongues peer down upon the spectators as they enter.
Below ground level is the brutbreve court itself. The flat area, made of compacted earth, is roughly an I shape one hundred yards long. Flanking the length of the I are two steep stone walls, called aprons. The top and bottom of the I are end zones.
The ampitheater aurrounds the court in a roughly elliptical shape. There is seating on the ground level, as well as one and two stories above. The most expensive seats and boxes are directly adjacent to the court; the cheapest seats, high above, require excellent eye-sight, or opera glasses.
You are all currently on the ground level, on the main thoroughfare. You cannot see the court - it is blocked by a wall of benches and seating. Garish posters depicting the Brightfield Bruisers and the Green Steamers are plastered on the walls at haphazard angles. Following the night's theme, there are notices for sylphan food vendors, alchemical jugglers, and even street performers putting on a rendition of The Ascent of Fallen Sky.
"Time to split up. I'll be following, but at a distance - go make friends."
Fiordelise tenses up at v'Manco's touch, but forces herself to relax, she did after all agree to be here. Though his final words gnaw at here. I am not some trophy to compare! Calm Fi, Calm. This is not a battle I want to fight right now.
She distracts herself looking at the Sylph food and entertainers and idly wanders what her Sylph great-great or whatever grandparent was like. There were no records of who they were, no secret diaries or pictures... a dirty little secret of a family who thought the tainted bloodline would ruin them.
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Byron nods slightly at Odebie, glad that v'Manco hadn't called his bluff. Truth be told, he didn't even know what sort of ball brutbreve used... or if it even involved a ball at all.
He meanders away, looking around for anything that might look suspicious as he heads for the vendors first.