(1311-08-14) Two Sides
Summary: Gal and Jacquet catch each other up, in regards to the current investigations.
RL Date: 24/08/2019
Related: Incident Plot
gal jacquet 

Jacquet's Room — The Citadel

A plain room in the barracks has been aside for the sergeant. It holds only the most necessary furniture, such as a bunk, a plain wooden chest for personal belongings which are few; a wooden chair and a table at which to deal with paperwork such as reports.

So, if things haven't gone exactly to plan, they're coming up close enough to it that Gal is actually pretty fucking excited about the world right now. He keeps that cloth-wrapped pendant close to him, and even though he wasn't able to take the Gotlandish ambassador to the prisoner himself, nevertheless, next day, he's up for morning drills, and, after a brief stop to mop himself off and take his parcel to the Sarge's quarters, towel draped over his neck, ready to see if Jacquet is about for an impromptu update on findings. He edges to the door and leans one shoulder in against it— one ear, too, just to see if he can tell whether anyone's at home. But then his elbow bends and he brings his first two knuckles to the door. "Hey, Sarge, you in?"

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Jacquet=Perception Vs Gal=Stealth
< Jacquet: Good Success (3 3 8 3 5 7 4 2 5) Gal: Failure (3 5 1 6)
< Net Result: Jacquet wins - Solid Victory

"You know I am.", comes the gruff reply. "No need to sneak about before my door. Come in, and tell me what you have to tell." Can it be that the sergeant sounds a bit tired and disillusioned? Maybe. Or maybe, he just had a hard night. Once Gal enters, he will find Jacquet at the desk in his room, probably in the process of writing a report of sorts. The sergeant looks to be on duty, if one can tell from his attire, and the look he gives Gal is inquiring. "What's up?", he asks, in his gravelly voice.

"I mean, you could always say no, and I'd come back later," Gal tries, with an upward edge of one shoulder, to lighten the mood a degree or two while he edges on in, nudging the door not quite all the way shut behind, then fidgeting from foot to foot in the middle of relating the following: "I think we found out where the prisoner's from. Or, at least, where the pendant's from. When I first bothered the people at the bookstore about it they thought it looked Gotlandish or Jutlandish, but I didn't really think much of it, 'cause… well, I mean, it's an arrow, it might not be a real 'rune' or whatever. But when I talked to the Skald in service to house Baphinol, he said that the materials weren't the sorts that Skaldic jewelry was made from, and was the second person to suggest it looked Gotlandish. So the prisoner's friend got an audience for me with the Gotlandish ambassador, who confirmed its origins, and that the rune is used as a symbol of warriors, which— the prisoner obviously is," he sort of trails off there, as though all the signs point one way, but there might be something still worrying him about the conclusion. Subtle with his feelings, he ain't, exactly.

"Is this testimony really that relevant?", Jacquet retorts raising a brow. "I mean… Does the pendant's origin really tell us from which country the suspect hails — or does it only point us to the origin of the pendant, which could very well be just bounty of a skirmish — or another coincidental chain of events. Fine. The pendant shows a rune of warriors. As is used in Gotland. But yes. This may be another lead." The latter, added, almost a bit reluctantly. "The Gotlandish ambassador… So I take it you spoke with her?"

"It was only that the prisoner is so attached to the pendant— emotionally, you know? Like it's all she has that she feels connected to, with her memories otherwise vanished. She wanted her friend, the Flatlander, to have it, so that he could find out what type of funeral she should have when she was put to death. I don't— maybe I'm being credulous, Sarge, but I can't think that was being faked for the sake of pretending to be a Gotlander," Gal gives his opinion on the back of a sigh. "On… on the other hand," he begins anew, sucking in a deep breath between set teeth. "When I brought the Baphinol Skald in to see her, he told me that if she was a Skald she wasn't of any tribe he'd had contact with. But they also— I asked them, when they met, to speak to one another in d'Angeline only, but they persisted in speaking to each other in Skaldi for a while despite that. Who knows what they might have been talking about? It only made me suspicious, that's all."

Jacquet nods his head to Gal's explanations, acknowledging his findings with a faint roll of his eyes. "Whatever her origin," he states towards the guard, "She doesn't seem to have a clue about them. A pity I wasn't around, when the Skaldi and she spoke. I could have overheard them…" Hinting at some knowledge of the language, Jacquet shoots Gal a glance. "We need more evidence. We should ask the Gotlander ambassador to verify for us, that our prisoner is indeed of that country."

"Yes, sir, Sarge. She's really nice, she's going ahead and making arrangements to come and visit her, so hopefully that will… give us some sort of certainty?" Gal twists his words upward at the end, as though he hardly dares hope for any sort of closure. A shuffle of a boot against the floor, and, "Hey, Sarge? Can I ask you about, you know, the other side of the investigation, at all?"

"What do you mean, the other side of the investigation?", Jacquet rasps, sitting up and giving Gal a glare. After he had more or less nodded to Gal's assertion about the progress in regards to determining their suspect's background. "Sure. Ask away."

Gal meets the glare with that soulful gaze of his, neither shying from it nor challenging it. "I just mean… the people you've been talking to… about what actually happened that night. She says she was fighting defensively against an armed opponent who made the first thrust. Is that really how it went down? Or do you know?"

"Hmmm." Jacquet furrows his brows a little. "We have… testimonies of those who were present. I have accounts of our prisoner being extremely aggressive, taunting and challenging. And then the situation itself… As far as I understand, Lady Philomène drew her blade, and this Kalisha woman drew her own. They engaged in a fight. You don't draw blood though, merely by fighting defensively. Trust me, boy. I know." At which, the sergeant gives Gal a look. Little may the guard know of his sergeant. But he should have noticed a faint Camaeline accent that now and then becomes apparent in Jacquet's speech.

And Sarge, in turn, may know little of Gal's own quiet background. Definitely a child of Eisande, at least, from his accent, and possibly better educated than the average recruit, just to judge from his vocabulary. Not that he shows it off, it just leaks through from time to time. "Unless the blood is the point of the fight, and your opponent is after yours," he pipes up quietly. "I went chasing after this pendant's origins because I promised the prisoner I would help find her proper funeral rites, if she is to be executed. But I'd really like to know, you know… if she is executed, did she really earn it?"

"That's not for us to decide," Jacquet retorts quietly. "But there are the facts. They engaged in a fight, and neither of them backed away from it. Apparently, they were wise enough to keep it off the palace grounds, or Mereliot guards would have stepped in. But this makes it our matter, Valais. Lord André was there to witness the fight, and it shouldn't have happened in the first place." His gaze grows thoughtful. "Now, it has become an issue. D'Angeline blood was spilt. A foreigner has spoken up and shown disrespect. There are many layers to this, and neither of them can be disregarded, as they all are parts of the puzzle and require a reaction."

Gal is ready at least, to admit that the decision is out of his hands— and maybe it should be. But that won't mean he won't have his own opinions about whether the decision was correct, at all. All of this, fairly easily painted over his features (his heart, there, on his sleeve, see where he wears it?), but they retreat inward as the Sarge calls out his origins in so cavalier a manner, and he goes quiet.

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