illithidnapped | INBOX II

[Goodness, this one's brusque, isn't she?]

Hire? Oh sweetheart, you don't need to hire me for that: we're comrades, aren't we? Packmates in war-targeted arms or whatever it is we're presently considered.

And if you just so happen to have something I might need in the future, well....

My name is not sweetheart. Nor, for that matter, is it darling, honey, or whatever other moniker you decide to bestow upon me. "Madam Lutece" is my title; you may shorten it to merely Lutece, if that proves too much to type out.

[A bit brusque, yes. And so very fun at parties.]

A favor for a favor. That works, insofar as I can hold up my own end of the bargain. As it so happens, you'll be helping yourself: I need equipment for my laboratory. The more I have, the more I can potentially make for you— and I assure you, the wonders I can create are far beyond what this world can boast of.

There's a warehouse in Lowtown that happens to have a shipment waiting for me. It's full of glassware, and exceedingly heavy, I imagine. Expensive, certainly.

I want it to disappear. I can file for a dispute and get my money back, and if the products happen to turn up in my laboratory anyway . . . happy coincidence.

Are you up to the task?

Oh

you meant

[That sort of clever-fingered reputation, not the other kind that he'd been thinking of.]

And here I was thinking you were offering a fun little night out on the town.

Then again, a spate of unseen skulking in Lowtown isn't exactly an unfun night either. All right, dear mistress Lutece, I can fetch you what you're after, if you're certain all you want is a couple of armfulls of cold, stiff machinery.

[Oh. He meant—]

Very certain.

[Yuk, as an as-yet unborn pup might mutter— though that's no reflection on Astarion himself, mind you. It's just that she has eyes for one person only.]

Does your answer about your price still stay the same? At least your generosity makes more sense, I suppose.

Hah! does it really?

[Well, mm, after a momentary spinning of the gears in deep consideration, he supposes it does; the newborn thrill of heretofore unknown perspective catches him off guard before he falls in step— a handful of seconds spared each time it tracks him down. This is what it's like to be one more rakish rogue in a city full to bursting with them. This is what it's like to see entanglement as a sporting game, rather than a prime directive.

How odd.]

But in light of all our current revelations, in the spirit of camaraderie and friendship

and with ample note of your self proclaimed wonders

yes, my dear, [Didn't she tell him not to use any monikers?] consider this bout of breaking and entering entirely on the house

regardless of whether or not any academic miracles ever happen to surface

[She doesn't love my dear, but it's more tolerable than sweetheart. Pick your battles and all— and besides, she's fairly certain she's heard him call others that. That makes it more tolerable.]

Suit yourself. Though I would caution you against such bargains in the future. Allies we may all be, but organizations are rarely the paragons of virtue they claim to be.

[...she explains rather patronizingly to the former slave. And speaking of being patronizing:]

Are you certain you're up to the task? I can procure some helpers, I expect. Some of the equipment is heavy, and nearly all of it delicate.

[Hm. Fair point there, actually.]

Helping in thieving or helping in carrying?

[Very important distinction, that.]

How competent are you in either arena? "Both" may be the answer.

When it comes to thievery, my dearest Lutece, trust that anyone you might send would only slow me down.

That said, if you're wanting an entire laboratory's worth of equipment stolen, a pair of extra fingers might not be a bad idea. If they're capable of staying out of my way.

Otherwise, well

might be prudent to trim your wishlist down.

That's a bold claim.

[And that isn't a statement of doubt, but rather a fact. If he lives up to the claim— and from what Rosalind has heard, he does— she'll be impressed. She might even tell him as such. It's always pleasant to meet someone competent in their field, especially when there's so many blowhards and braggarts about.]

I'll see about extra hands to aid you when it comes to carrying. And in the meantime . . . I can offer a few incentives, even if the equipment in this world is rudimentary at best. What weaponry do you favor? I can improve it, for starters— unless you think you'd be better served with quieter boots or the like.

[Or whatever it is thieves need. Extra steady lockpicks? She wouldn't know.

(Lutece, she notes, and that makes a difference too. Such an easy courtesy to follow, and yet so few do. It means nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it does matter now.)]

Edited 2025-03-22 23:45 (UTC)

Then I'd say we're quite evenly matched when it comes to bold claims.

Let's see how well they both hold up.

[He's smiling on the other end of the line, though she'll certainly never know.]

Quieter boots would prove quite useful as luck would have it. As would the improvement of my daggers or arrow or bow, were one so helpfully inclined.

But can you really do all that, I wonder? Is it enchantments that you dabble in?

[The scoff she emits might as well be heard across pen and paper.]

No. Enchantments are what money-obsessed mages and swindlers in this city offer, and none of them are worth much. I offer you improvement and innovation.

Daggers and a bow? [Hmm . . .] Come by tomorrow. Even without my laboratory, I can make you a set of daggers I once prototyped in my last world. They'll come back to their sheaths automatically— or your hands, if you'd like.

But, if you prefer elemental enchantments, I can manage that, I suppose. Electricity will give you a leg up— excuse me. Lightning, as they term it in this world. But mine will give you a far greater edge in battle than anyone else has, for no one has lightning as I do.

Well well, such shocking wonders you contain if true. Personally I can't admit to grasping how your own version of it would even begin to surpass this world's already charged interpretation.

Is it malleable? Controllable?

Biddable?

A fire in a hearth and a blazing inferno that eats a city alive have the same starting base, but you wouldn't compare one to the other in terms of power, would you?

Imagine that, and add to it the idea of harnessing it for yourself. Not as mages do, calling it briefly, but wielding it like you would a knife. Though I would not call it biddable, precisely: it's still dangerous, and it would be foolish to underestimate that. Nor is it a pet. It can, and will, kill you if you handle it wrong, and trust we will go over that tomorrow.

What of your world? If electricity isn't familiar to you, what is? Or is it similar to this place in terms of technological advancements? The magic is a wonder, I suppose, and the sociological implications of magic are interesting, but I find it rather primitive overall compared to what I'm used to.

Familiar in some ways, indescribably unfamiliar in others. I suspect you and I would be here all night if we set to picking apart all the minutiae between us. Because at first glance I really thought this was my world— just some odd, unexplored, backwater fragment of it that I, as an elevated member of high society, had never even heard of until now. An assumption very quickly pruned once it began begging the question of where are the airships? The self sustaining lifts and automated doorways powered by something other than oversized chains and a massive hand crank? The enchanted lights that won't threaten to burn down half the city if a vat of oil topples in its vicinity? And don't even get me started on the whole 'human supremacy' nonsense

no offense, of course

But it's utter tripe, and while the concept of mage jail certainly is funny at a glance, one questions if they're even doing it right when the church can't even keep its tenets straight from region to region as I hear. And I've been told there are comparable modernized luxuries in the north, yet the whole enslavement-beneath-the-rifter-hungry-elf-loathing-self-appointed-'god' puts a bit of a damper on making plans to see any of it.

In other words, darling, primitive is a downright apt assessment as far as I'm concerned.

[An opinion Astarion will never voice to the local herd beyond Fenris, however; it's too valuable to fit in with those he doesn't trust, too important to take their side and make himself seem as native as they come, so that if there ever comes a day when sides are taken or sacrifices made, he can at least slip in at their side and warrant not even a second, passing thought.

He's heard the way rifters are spoken of. The distrust at its thinnest and accusations of demonhood or magecraft at its worst— and he's no intention of ever being trapped again. Not by walls. Not by perceptions.

Not anything.]

[Her first, wholly classist thought is: thank god he's a member of the elite. She'd a fool to claim those are the only people worth anything, of course, and she damn well knows better, but still. When it comes to civility and mannerisms, she was raised a certain way, and some preferences still stick. Perhaps there's a reason she's oddly inclined towards him already.

But her second thought, which races past the first and eclipses it within a second, is: airships. Oh, she would dearly love to see those. How are they powered? Is it something similar to her own anti-gravity inventions, or is it more about aerodynamics? Or even magic? And how does magic work in his world, anyway— is it based on a power source, as it is here, where mages draw on lyrium like a battery, or is it more comparative to electricity, which can be generated if you're clever enough to know what you're doing. And that's to say nothing of lights that aren't lanterns, or self-sustained lifts . . . oh, his world must be so much more advanced than this one, even if said advancements went along a different path. It's fascinating, and her eyes gleam as she thinks of it. What she wouldn't give for just a single book on the subject . . .

Add it to the list of things she'll make Robert take her to see, as penance for inexplicably abandoning her here.]

Of course they aren't doing it right. Religion as a justification for any kind of ostracization has always and will always backfire sooner or later. Call it an inevitable constant spread across worlds. It holds right up until all falls apart— and from what I've read, it's already falling apart here. Not that it will stop the church from trying again and again, until they learn to pick on a marginalized group that can't conjure fireballs at will.

Still, I'll admit: it's pleasant to have someone understand. At least we have indoor plumbing now, I suppose that's something. Not much, but something.

Who knows? Steal me enough equipment and perhaps we can grow wealthy again over the invention of something so miraculous as, oh, I don't know. A working clock. A standardized calendar not based on the whims of whatever interesting thing happens that century.

A pen.

[Had he only the means to see betwixt those pretty ears.

Two centuries of ill treatment mark his posture and the fine lines of a gaunted face, but even there, he'd found glimmers of admiration amongst those who'd thought him as highborn as he'd once been. Little embers of import. Of adulation. Admiration. Attention.

He's not so starved these days, but still.

It's nice.]

You mean you can grow wealthy, my dear. I doubt the masses would look well on an elf with more fortune than humility, after all.

I stand corrected. I'll grow wealthy, and you'll become suitably well compensated, only to lose it all because you can't stand not flaunting it. Is that better?

Oh pish posh don't be so fussy, darling. It was pure hyperbole: naturally you'll wear your wealth upon your sleeve, while I, a charming-yet-fashionably favored elf who despite it knows his place, will stay very, very poor and yet want for nothing throughout all his long years. And also will not have a secret hideaway filled with more treasure than he can carry.

Wink. And also wink.

If you imagine that is me fussy, you're in for a dreadful surprise. That was me humorous at best.

Indulge my curiosity, then, so long as he's confessing his secrets to me: what would you do with said wealth, beyond accumulate and hoard it? Don't mistake that for a critique; you'd be among wealthy company if you did so.

[Color him every shade of pleasantly surprised.]

Gods above it is so achingly hard to tell these sorts of things over text. Doubly so when every last creature I've spoken to amongst our ranks is stiffer than a prick at sunrise.]

[But as for her earlier question....]

I'd love nothing more than to tell you I'd be spending it on caviar, courtesans, fine wine and lush trinkets, but I'm sad to say I'd only use it to safeguard myself against the sort of world-ending, slavery inducing threats that might just win this war if we're unlucky.

Don't mourn sensibility. It's a rare enough trait, in this or any world. Though let's hope it doesn't come to that, for I doubt either of us would fair well, Rifters that we both are.

Besides: truly good caviar is rare, and Kirkwall, of all places, won't have anything but cheap imitations. Save your money.

Is your eventual plan bribery, or to go on the defensive? If nothing else, this world has a great deal of weaponry against magic, so I suppose that's something, though I don't know how well it would fare against the likes of a so-called god.

Bribery, yes. Amongst other things such as bought favoritism and exceptional treatment, you'd be surprised what sort of merit a great deal of gold can afford.

Or maybe you wouldn't be surprised at all.

[He doesn't know her well enough to say.]

Either way, few things in any world can be counted on save for money and sex paving the way to absolute safety when all else would otherwise fail, and I don't intend to have my blood rotting in a phylactery or my body in a cell.

Not surprised, no. Though I would argue money guarantees more than sex ever can.

[But perhaps that's a personal observation. God knows there's been more than a few social climbers who have lived their entire lives in comfort thanks to their willingness to spread their legs; it's just that such things don't last when the mob comes to your door.

Then again, she'd been long dead by the time the Vox took over Columbia. Perhaps gold wouldn't have saved her, and her scalp would have numbers among all the other elites killed and put on display. Something to think about.]

So? What have they gotten you so far? I doubt you've been idle, and reputation takes time to cultivate.

So very very little, alas.

Perhaps it's my very nature as a creature from another world- or my ears, though I'd argue they're quite fetching- or my red eyes and jagged fangs, despite their exotic charms.

Either way, few seem inclined to let me hold their hand, let alone their heart.

But you've been here longer, haven't you? Know this lot better overall. What appeals to them.

What doesn't.

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