IC Inbox

[tergiversant]

[The message that plays when you receive Rufus Barma's inbox is simple, curt, and almost annoyed to have to do this.]

Be succinct.





[Action] | [Text] | [Audio] | [Video]

Comments

text

[psychopath]

[so jack isn't allowed to behead rufus, because it would make oswald sad, no matter how much bribery involving birds and/or jack himself it takes, so jack has to be civil and all heroic as he tries to figure out if rufus was a threat or not.]

ARTHUR!!!

text

[tergiversant]

And thou art?

[Though neither confirming or denying. There's a certain arrogance in the choice of antiquated language that's almost inconceivable to Arthur Barma's existence.]

video;

[psychopath]

[definitely not arthur. jack just grits his teeth for a moment before switching to video.]

Err, I don't think Arthur was ever that... formal.

Still text :)

[tergiversant]

[Even knowing who he had just spoken with today... he wasn't expecting that face. It is Oz's face, staring down the video feed with some years of age tacked onto it. While Oswald would be a future 'ally,' a moment he had decided to see if he could turn to his favor by revealing himself... this man was dangerous.

Nothing but dangerous.

The video on Jack's end doesn't open. Another text message follows through.]

Arthur Barma was many things, but not much of any of them. Formality I wouldst have assumed by virtue of station.

video rufus are you really sure you should be doing this

[psychopath]

[jack doesn't look unfazed when rufus practically admits who he is; in fact, he just gets more cheery.]

As expected from Dodo's contractor, milord, that you would not show your face. I suppose you have red hair too, I guess, and goodness, Arthur was a pleasant man, don't say that.

Text NO ONE IN PH MAKES GOOD DECISIONS /NO ONE/

[tergiversant]

[There was little point in pretending from the start. If he knew enough to get in contact, he had already known it was not Arthur Oswald had met. Rufus was never fond of wasting his own time.

The sudden cheerfulness does grate down his nerves.]

I imagine thou hast a point to this correspondence.

video; this is true, very true

[psychopath]

[if there's one thing nobody knows about jack vessalius (save for oswald) is that jack is actually a five-year-old. a very obnoxious five-year-old. oswald should be proud jack hasn't used oz to paint the town red with rufus.]

I just wanted to confirm it before you snatch Oswald off and you two start fawning over birds. [his eyes widen as if catching himself,] Erm, milord. [and then he ducks his head. he talks a lot.] I think it's a sort of thing when you have a contract with one of the birds. Oh, uh, I'm Jack. Vessalius. I knew Arthur and Miranda...?

Text

[tergiversant]

[The reply this time, takes a while. Not even touching the tablet's keyboard, he simply watches the man's movements and expressions as the second draw out. It's an interesting choice of masks to him... and so very foreign from Oz' natural cheekiness.]

Tis a rare pleasure for mineself to meet one of such deep acquaintance, I am sure.

Text

[tergiversant]

Mine apologies, sir. I can hardly believe of it mineself, to be exchanging words with the great hero.

voice; not long after he replies to riku's post

[velveteened]

( it's — a miscalculation.

a huge one in fact, the likes of which would be enough to make barma smirk at him over his fan, flutter it and say something irritating, only it's one thing, isn't it, when barma's only being coy about some information he'll inevitably provide them and another when the last oz heard of him rings in his ears now, sharon almost in tears for her beloved grandmother. i never thought he'd do something like this, and neither had anyone.

but personal timelines are as fluid as water here, and barma may be from before that, before even considering it, or even from the uncertain future leo warned oz about more than once. it means treading even more carefully than ordinarily, and it means operating alone because that betrayal is certainly not something he'd wanted to worry anyone else about, least of all with what little can be done about it from here.

so, his voice is bright, bubbles on a laugh. )

So this is where you've been! How am I supposed to greet you properly if you take so long to show your face, Duke Barma?

Voice

[tergiversant]

[How... inconvenient. He HAD planned on a meeting in person. It is far easier to read people there. Not to mention, Oz's usual contingent of allies added to his own expressions, tell tales that the cheery smile and waspish words didn't reveal were often painted in bright colors in how Gilbert's brow pinched, or in Alice's outbursts. In Sharon's declarations and the Hatter's subtle shifts in posture.

This was very, very inconvenient.]

Properly? Very well. I shalt wait for thee to attempt such.

One gives proper lenience to beginners, after all.

Voice

[velveteened]

( this person is so annoying — )

How kind of you! Does that mean you'll be granting me an audience?

Voice

[tergiversant]

[On one hand, he is getting what he wanted. On the other, cheeky brat.]

This day hath given me a dearth of pressing matters. To wit, such may be granted to thee.

I shalt remain upon the observation deck a time hence.

Voice

[velveteened]

( he would, wouldn't he; of course rufus barma would manage to think of the single place oz loathes most out of a building, an astronomical body, he already despises. )

I'll be sure not to keep you waiting, then.

ACTION, BABY

[tergiversant]

[When Oz arrives, Barma has not taken the middle of the room to himself, as he was often prone to. Instead, he sits, leaning against the first of many panes of clear material, standing between them and the crushing pressure of the void.

Barma, himself, has settles a pillow upon the cold metal bench, and further draped one of his silk coats upon it before taking a seat. In his hand is a styrofoam cup of tea, for lack of proper materials. A second sits nearby, though who he had persuaded or commanded to fetch it for him is no where to be seen.

He doesn't turn to look at Oz.]

A curious fact, is it not? Abysmal comes from 'Abysm'... meaning a bottomless gulf, the greatest of depths.

It seems a proper word for the view afforded.

ACTION, BABY!!

[velveteened]

( barma may have his silk coats and pillows, but oz looks very thoroughly exile by now, just days shy of the ten month mark in this world. he's got the one frock coat in which he'd arrived in september back, borrowed to caesar at vanadi's fateful party, but that's all; the venetian finery is lost in a cold united earth facility, and anything else didn't survive the trip to the moon or didn't exist in the first place. it's locally-made shirts and trousers for him now, long-sleeved against the weather there and chill here, brightened primarily by a familiar gold chain that jangles musically when he moves just so, evidence of jack's pocket watch still never leaving his person. his hair wants trimming, and his boots — local again, it's only been dress shoes that he's brought in from reveil — make his approach audible enough.

(not things he's thought to notice in recent months until now, not even with alice's arrival; but then barma hasn't seen him splattered with gil's and his own blood, clothes ragged from low-ranking chains, hasn't at all besides the luxury that a scion of vessalius house would be expected to wear.)

the additional steaming cup doesn't go unnoticed, scarcely gives him pause; this may be a farce of a meeting between members of two of the four highest ranking families outside of the reigning one, but at least it's a proper one. not surprising that barma would think of the abyss, looking out at space, even if it stiffens his shoulders and makes his steps feel heavier, because it's true — there's no one in pandora who'd look at this view and think of anything else. )

Does it? I didn't know. ( a lie. ) It's a surprise to hear you volunteering information for free.

( on a chuckle, like they're friends, and he sits himself and picks up the cup. he neither drinks it nor looks outside, sits up straight so he doesn't have to lean as barma does, and lets the steam tickle his face. )

[tergiversant]

[Even a pittance has its price. Whether Barma directly demands it or not, he takes it in information. It's not the state of Oz' squalor, or uneasy but still neutral posture in front of the starscape.

Rufus' eyes focus on the glimmer of a gold chain at Oz' collar. The rest of his expression is hid by the lip of his own cup, and masked by the act of a sip of tea as effectively as either of his fans.]

There art occasions whereupon I might seem generous.

Thou hast resided here some time.

[tergiversant]

[It hadn't actually been Rufus Barma's intention to find Oz's room. With little idea of where he'd chosen and no possible way of asking without seeming suspicious, a hidden panel opening to it was merely fortuitous in his explorations of the servant's passages.

So little were the Child of Vessalius' possessions that he'd hardly have known who possessed it until a certain book detailing a king and knight known as Arthur was in the middle of the small collection.

...

Which meant the books on science and biology were certainly those promised to him. Absolutely fair game.]

[retraced]

[For days now, Gilbert had avoided Oz's room. The first two days he'd opened the door, glanced the space and let his heart race with the possibility that this had all been a terrible joke played on him, and that Oz had been sitting in here waiting for him to arrive all that time. But since then, he's tortured himself even worse by only walking past the door, letting his fingers linger on the doorknob, and then walking away without ever looking inside. Today, however, he knows that if he doesn't pack up Oz's things soon, they'll gather dust and be in even worse shape for when his young master returns.

And he will return, he's sure.

But rather than the empty room he'd expected, there sitting on his master's bed reading his master's books and invading his master's privacy is one (1) Duke Rufus Barma. A man whom Gilbert has never much liked to begin with.

He stares open-mouthed and wide-eyed, part of him hoping that this is nothing more than one of Barma's illusions strategically placed to confound and infuriate him. Whatever his intention, it's working.]

Duke Barma - what are you--?!

[tergiversant]

[It's as Gilbert is entering that Rufus finds the small... rather pointed note from Oz in the forward of one of the books to him.

What an annoyingly cheeky brat. Without looking up at Gilbert, he tears the page delicately, and tosses it into the small fire he'd set up for his own comfort.]

Beyond what is obvious? Or shall I recap for thee?

[retraced]

[He doesn't know what was on that page, only that it's from a book that is sitting in Oz's room, and he assumes must have belonged to his young master. What if he wanted to read it again when he returned? What the hell is the duke trying to prove by burning it?

Gilbert startles, rushes forward and throws himself to his knees in front of the fire, his hands darting into the flames to grab the page and try to extinguish it against the brick. Most of it is burned through already; he won't be able to make out any of the words any longer, and whatever damages is done to his hands he doesn't seem to even notice.]

What do you think you're doing?! These belong to Oz, you can't--!

[He cuts himself off in favor of patting the page flat with his red palms.]

[tergiversant]

[Anyone else, he might have actually made some move to stop. The man was a marksman after all, and a maimed hand would reduce his usefulness... However, Arthur Barma's true accounts were rather specific about who and what all of the players were. As it was, he watches the young man scald himself with dispassionate interest.

Still... He might as well attempt some good will. After all, it would be annoying to relay the contents of the note in the spirit of it's opposite.]

These hath been lent to me. The forward had little to digest, except a small missive to me from thy master, read and disposed of... accordingly.

If there is any left, ye shall see the truth of mine words.

[retraced]

What...?

[He stops himself, finds his breath strained and rattling in his chest. Very slowly, he turns his gaze down to the page and fights to see through the burned edges and creases. There, if he squints, he can barely make out the sweep of Oz's cursive, a few stray letters that formed words that were never meant for Gilbert's eyes.

He sits back, droppings his hands to his sides and stares down at the burnt page, his eyes as empty as the silence that now hangs between them.]

Why...why would he...?

[tergiversant]

[The only answer is the soft rustle of a page turning. He's hardly one to volunteer information.]

[retraced]

[His burnt hands turn to angry fists, and he twists around until he's up on one knee staring partway over his shoulder at the duke.]

Answer me, Duke Barma! Why would Oz turn over his books to you?! What use are they to you?!