Report And Dispatch

Title: Report and Dispatch
Time Period: May 15, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: In which Mariah finds her help lacking in sobriety.

Mariah has had better nights. Very few nights have been worse, actually. But the difference is that most of the time, it's hard to tell. She likes it that way. Tonight, when she lets herself into the inn, she stumbles over the threshold and a hand reaches out to steady her. Not her most graceful entrance. It's almost like she's already had plenty of the alcohol that draws so many into this very room.

A cloak covers her dress, and the hood does a good job of keeping her hair out of sight and her face shadowed, but that hand looks… muddy. She leaves behind a smudge on the door frame as she starts to make her way through the room. And while she might normally stop to chat up her various clients and prospective clients on a normal night, or at least order herself a drink, tonight it's a bit different. She's looking for someone in particular. While she tries not to trip over her own feet. It's debatable if she'll be very successful from the look of things.

After a certain point, people can start to drink in shifts; some end up far more lambasted than others, and some are there to sit and make sure that they don't go overboard. Some are neither here nor there, instead preferring to simmer between the two. Jorn is of that type, at least for tonight. For no other reason than whimsy. Or perhaps he felt something on the wind. Either way, he is not as full of mead as he could be- but judging by the ease of a smile and the lack of favoring one leg, he is in good, full-enough spirits.

"I told him if he could reach it himself, he wouldn't need one." Jorn's jokes don't usually go over this well- it must have been an anecdote- as the few men he says it to see fit to guffaw before he turns away from them and heads back to a corner table with a filled mug in his hand. The door opening and closing is less distraction, but that someone tumbles in during is strange- usually they are not already drunk. Jorn scans the front, but just for a moment until he sits back down in his own chair.

Algernon has been drinking. Most people here have been drinking. Both are common phenomena. The only thing remarkable about Fogg's presence tonight is that he didn't stop. After three.

The Englishman is therefor feeling no pain by the time Mariah rolls in, the few voices that damper down quiet at her stumble enough to coax a look out of him several seconds after the fact. He's slouched low in his seat at Jorn's corner table, hat and all, where he's coasted quietly on into inebriation without much effort made for conversation.

The fact that he isn't reading either is the only indication about him that this is a social kind of outing.

It's the voice that ends up drawing Mariah over to Jorn's table. She's just a tad off balance, so her hands rest on chair backs along the way, but when she gets to the table, her hands cling to the back of Jorn's chair and she leans leans toward him just a bit.

"I wonder if I can speak with you," she says; it's quiet and insistent, but not quite a private whisper, "And Mister Fogg." It's hard to say which of them is the person she was hunting for, but she does seem a bit relieved at Jorn's presence. That her voice is more shaky than slurred is odd, and somewhat telling.

Not that he'd remember everything he was reading anyway, right? As for the visitor- Jorn doesn't realize who it is, exactly, until she latches onto the back of his chair and stands where he can see under her hood. Brows lifting, he does not answer Mariah at first; the toe of his boot catches Algernon's ankle to make sure that he is aware of her too.

"You look terrible, Mariah." Formality can go out the window for the moment. Jorn shifts in his seat to look at her better, eyes roving slightly upwards toward her face, and the dirty hands. His voice goes from conversational to quiet. "In private?"

Jorn's boot catches Algernon's attention where his name fails to find purchase, a sharp sniff assuring everyone (and no one) of his hyper-awareness and sobriety. Even so, he's slow to make sense of Mariah's state and her request to speak with them, which she's already more or less doing.

Eventually he scratches at the side of his nose. Sits up a little straighter with the aid of an elbow. "At the same time?" he asks, once he's had time to think. Or to try thinking. He looks incredulous.

At Jorn's observation, Mariah lets out a sound that hovers somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but isn't exactly either. "Yes. Quite," she replies before she clears her throat in an effort to at least sound more normal. Her eyes squeeze shut, just for a moment before she looks at Jorn again. "Ah, yes. Just for a moment or two."

In turn, it takes a second for her to really process Algernon's reply, and she ends up just looking at him for a long moment. But she does smile a bit when it clicks, even if the expression is a bit forced. "Yes. But I assure you my intentions are innocent." It's a pretty legitimate question, all things considered.

Jorn, despite Mariah's somberness, snorts at Algernon's reply born from wakefulness. He laughs and stifles it, trying to look back at Mariah with a straighter face.

"Don't mind him, he's been drinking enough for a whole cocktail party." For something entirely innocent, of course. Jorn lifts himself from his seat again, and though there is some reluctance, he moves dutifully upwards. "Do you need to sit down? Or there's out back." With the stray cats waiting like pigeons.

"Hyperbole," Algernon mutters in his own defense, however without heat. Jorn's pushing to his feet and he watches him go, not convinced that he needs to move himself until Mariah's made her mind about sitting or going somewhere else. He trusts the bear man's judgment enough not to make any further noise about private talks even if he's still out of the loop re: whatever it is that's going on.

Mariah looks up as Jorn stands, and his question has her pressing her lips together. Like she really needs to think about it. There's a glance toward the chair, but then she just seems to let her attention drift around the room, her brow furrowed as she lets out a heavy exhale. "Um…"

That whole choosing thing Algernon is waiting for seems to be on hold, as she brings a hand up to her forehead and looks back up at Jorn. "They took Cas." That isn't at all what he asked, but that's what he gets as a reply all the same. "Cas Blackburn," she adds, like it needs to be made clear who she's talking about.

Private is subjective, possibly. She neither sits nor gestures for the back, and provides him with some context without being prompted. Question spreads itself on his expression; Jorn lifts a hand to nudge her closer to where Algernon sits, so that he might hear this better without getting up quite yet.

"Someone took Cas? Who did?" He frowns deeply, and his pale eyes skirt off towards Fogg, and back to Mariah. "When?"

Algernon — listens. Dornie's finest, letting another of Dornie's finest ask the questions while he remains seated and tries to look important and/or responsible. Between the hat and the moustache, he's at a distinct advantage despite his blood alcohol levels. When Jorn looks at him he looks back. Mainly to verify that they're still the same amount of confused.

At the nudge, that's when Mariah actually sits, taking up a spot near to Algernon's corner. "I don't know," comes out first, but more from her own bits of confusion and disorientation than actual lack of knowledge. Her eyes close again, brow still furrowed.

"We were out. Sort of a bit off from the Rowntree stables," what they were doing she is leaving to the imagination, it seems, "and it was black dogs. But they weren't… trying to kill him. Or me. Or anyone." She looks up at Jorn, her head shaking lightly. She knows there's weird attacks going on, but she hadn't actually been in one before. "And hobs. This whole… rush of them. And I must of hit my head," she gestures vaguely to the side of her head, where she can feel the cut, but they can't see it, because it's hidden by a hood. "But they took him. And I came to find you. You both." So in short, tonight sometime.

"Hobs?" Jorn almost hisses this through his teeth, almost as incredulous as Algernon was a few seconds ago. "The dogs I can understand. Fairy hounds are still hounds…" But the hobs? He sits down again, leaning onto the table and staying as near as he can to Mariah. His gestures tell the rest of the place that it is, indeed, a private conversation.

"I know that Cas is childish, but it's not that much of a similarity." Humor, however darkly inserted. "Did they try to say anything? Did you see which direction they took him?" Jorn is feeling more and more as if this is a dead end already, somehow.

Incredulity is shared; the chuckle that issues forth a little cruelly from the table's other corner is purely Algernon's. Hobs. Courtesy extends only so far as for him to muffle the sound into his glass, lukewarm residue finished off with a comfortable sigh.

"On the bright side," he offers, professionally, Englishly and with just enough steady momentum that Jorn may not have a chance to cut in before he finishes, "I imagine he's the only prospective husband in town likely to be done in by goblins."

Mariah looks between them, gaze sliding from one to the other and back again before she lets out a sigh. Her hands reach for the table, to help her stands up with as much dignity as she can manage at the moment. At least it steadies her enough to give her some of her grace back. Momentarily.

"Perhaps I will speak to you both when you've been drinking less." It's not scathing, exactly, but only because she's gotten to the point of needing to forcibly keep herself from crying. But she is a bit stubborn on that; the night's been bad enough without blubbering. "If you decide you care that he's gone missing, please do let me know." That's a little more pointed, and she looks at Jorn before she turns to take her first steps away from the table.

"Wait, Mariah." Jorn blurts out, just short of making a public apology. He doesn't. "I cope poorly." He offers, halfheartedly, before getting up after her. Lots of up and down suddenly. "If you're well enough you can show me where you were, I- " He waves a hand vaguely in front of his face, eventually landing it on his nose with a tap of palm. "-nose."

"I can see if I can smell him." Something like that. He is not sure how effective it might be, but it is better than letting Mariah stay angry at him for being mocking.

Lots of up and down for everyone but Algernon, who has yet to expend much more than a slow stretch's worth of energy. His (now empty) glass is turned over in his fingers, clear crystal rolled rim to table while he watches Jorn give ground and then Mariah to see how she will receive it. Blearily curious. In more ways than one.

"Will you still be intoxicated as a bear?" he wonders. Unhelpfully. Potentially relevantly, at least. "I should supervise."

Turning back at her name, Mariah regards Jorn flatly at first, a hand propped up on a hip. But, in the end, it seems she's not requiring a public apology, or perhaps takes his explanation and the offer that follows as an acceptable stand in. Her hand drops away from her hip as she sighs and answers him with a nod, at first.

"Alright. Thank you," she says, forgoing comment on her wellness. Because she really should be seeing Aislinn about her head, but she's here instead. And quite determined. There's a glance to Algernon, too, and his supervision is accepted by the absence of a protest rather than the confirmation she gave Jorn. Perhaps she thinks he'll understand.

But she points a finger toward the door before she turns to head that way. Nevermind her stumbles. She'll make it; bruised, maybe, but she'll get there.