Scene #2971: Murder at de Havilland Manor

Owner	Pose
Geralt of Rivia	Geralt's world is a rather beautiful one. Endless green plains, thick forests, clear blue sky and crisp, fresh air. The outskirts of Novigrad, where the party is being held in a vast stately manor, is like something out of a picture book. It's hard to believe that the there's, apparently, a huge war raging just across the river to the south. The sun has just set, casting the manor into a relaxing glow. A myriad of torches burn bright, illuminating the premises. There's throngs of party-goers throughout immaculate, extravagent gardens of hedges, trees and flowers. The nobles and assorted folk, all dressed in colorful dresses or stylish doublets, make conversation and revelry around the gardens and the fountain that dominates the central plaza. The guests are attended by a variety of serving people - men and women, elves and humans - and a variety of performers - jugglers, bards, comedians and dancers. There's even a friendly gwent tournament - the local card game of combat and tactics. Ale flows freely. Food is plentiful. The atmosphere is relaxed and cheerful, even if a few guards in armor march the border of the estate, hang by some of the doors, and hold the main gate to prevent any unauthorised entry. However it seems like, if one were to manage to sneak their way in, no one would really bother checking for an invitation. Just avoid the main gate. But guards being guards, a few magical tricks could also be enough to get in. Speaking of magic, it's easy enough to spot Geralt and flame-red haired woman in a blue dress by the front gate. Geralt looks incredibly uncomfortable in a black and white doublet and it seems he's even shaved for the occasion. "A shame events like this are so rare," Triss Merigold comments, smiling. "Without them, I'd never get to see you dressed up." Geralt grunts. "Damn doublet's chafing my armpits. And it feels like they sewed wires into this." "I'll be sure to admire your valiant suffering the entire time," Triss replies, holding her arm out to Geralt. "Well then, shall we make an impression?"
Yulia Koslova	This time yesterday, Yulia was handed an invitation, a (very thin) information packet on the world from which it was sent, and a suggestion on what to wear for the occasion. Neo-Zeon's Diplomatic Corps at its not exactly finest. She gave a sigh and a nod, dutifully took what she was given, and made the best of what she had on short notice. She arrives at the right place at close to the right time, if nothing else. Whether anything she's been told about Novigrad is actually correct, true, heresay, or outright wrong remains to be seen, but hey, she's muddled her way through things before... Anyway, one petite young woman with braided wheat-blond hair wearing a vaguely Tudor-style blue, cream, and rose-pink dress arrives at the front gates. Her invitation is in hand, and a thin, tightlipped smile on her lips. Once she's passed through, she takes small, slow steps as she takes a look around at the spectacle of a party that's already starting. "Like a supersized ren faire..." she mumbles very quietly to herself as she walks up the main path.
Rebecca Chambers	If you ask some people, they'd think that the name 'Rebecca Chambers' has European origins to it. She's a mix of Irish and English descent based on the origins of her parents if you ask her, so that might explain this whole thing. Namely as to why she was given an invitation to a place like this. She was puzzled, but decided to go along with it all the same. After all, what could possibly go wrong? Showing up wearing a simple elegant green gown with brown silken boots, Rebecca tries to look as upbeat as possible. Yet there's something about her that makes one sense that she's uneasy about this whole thing. Perhaps she's not the best actor she could be?
Assassin of Brown	A man over 6-feet tall, and so thin that he appears to be even taller, with combed-back hair and piercing eyes, stands amidst all the other party goers, observing and looking very mildly annoyed. His hook-shaped nose and somewhat square chin give him a determined look, and his impeccable formal wear makes him seem refined and a man who knows what his business is about. He has dressed to the specifications of the era into which he seemingly has found himself in this world, and comports himself politely if not with great energy in his movements as he goes this way or that. He may or may not make small conversation, but Assassin is not here purely on a matter of pleasure. He is here because it was the will of his Master that she might have suitable protection, and his skill at observation and analysis is likewise necessary. But that does not in any way mean he wishes to be here. Eventually, the same Master he was meant to guard arrives, wearing a conservative, gray dress that she does not appear to be terribly comfortable in. The blue-haired woman is here on business, seeking information, allies, and other resources. Enjoying herself is not on the menu, or so says the severe expression on her face. That's two for two. Is the semi-portly moustachioed gentleman with Annette Costeau any happier being here? Judging by his flustered expression as he hurries forth to meet his taller companion, it would appear not. Though likewise dressed in an appropriate manner, this man seems even more uncomfortable in such than the other two. "//Sir//," he hisses, unable to use real names amongst all this company. "It was my understanding that we were to accompany our employer together so as to ensure her safety. You even said you would be waiting for us at the entrance. The invitations you were expected to procure had to be obtained through other methods. Now a befuddled lady and gentleman lie in a stupor, unknowing of their own fate, as we procede onwards on their invite!" The taller man turns from his observations and smiles faintly. "That is, indeed, what I told you. But as our lady companion does not possess the same personal qualities as myself, it seemed more prudent to let you two manage the method of entry while I utilize my own particular talents to find entry." The surgeon almost doesn't even bother to ask in what way that is prudent, knowing his companion well enough by now to understand there is a reason for almost everything he does. But as Costeau swishes up, looking aggrieved, the moustachioed man seems to find new courage and audacity as he asks, "And how, pray tell, was it more prudent to leave us on our own reconnaisance in this instance?" Assassin holds up his hand, and begins, "The reasons are three-fold. To begin with--" The bluenette magus interrupts to snap out, "Never mind, it doesn't matter. Don't do it again without communicating your intent to me." After a moment, Assassin just bows his head and smiles curtly. The other half of Assassin grumbles as he is denied an explanation, but turns his attention elsewhere, and upon the other guests. They're here for a REASON after all.
Dorian Pavus	Dorian is at home in formal parties, and his attire proves it. It's a white suit coat -- a thick, hip-length garment with a royal blue sash worn across his shoulder and around his waist. The sash is belted around his waist with a leather belt with a line of metal studs on it. The belt is long enough to loop under and secur just past the buckle as well. The outfit is completed by black gloves that fold at mid-forearm, black breeches, and black boots that also fold just below the knees. And he doesn't look the slightest bit uncomfortable in all this finery. If whoever was involved in planning this has paid attention to the Multiverse, it's likely 'House Pavus' came up as a noble house. So it's quite possible an invitation could have been sent to the noble house. Though even if not, it's still equally possible that one Felix Alexius intercepted it and brought it to Dorian. Good old Felix~. It's not hard to spot Geralt, no ... but it's hard to believe it's Geralt! Dorian moves over in Geralt's direction and notes, "That's a new look for you, isn't it? You should try that more often, it suits you." It's an honest compliment, nothing more or less. ... Well, OK, a little more. He's messing with Geralt, just a little. He also bows politely to the red-haired woman, offering to her, "Greetings, my lady. I must say, you look quite fetching this evening."
Geralt of Rivia	Yulia turns heads as she walks up the main path. It is, very much, like a supersized ren faire. There's even a pair of young men, with rapiers in hand, duelling for the heart of some fair maiden over yonder. The fair maiden does not seem pleased with this. As she enters the party proper, a serving girl approaches with a number of mugs and glasses balanced atop a tray. Wine, ale, and even some spirits. Rebecca, too, draws some attention. In fact, she's accosted by a man who she has never met before. He is, obviously, quite intoxicated. "Catherine!" he crows, "Don't you think I wouldn't recognise you?!" Assassin and his entourage are waved over to a set of tables, where the occupants are busy playing cards - and it looks like quite a high-stakes game. "My friends, would you be interested in a game of skill and chance? Only ten crowns to take your shot!" As Geralt and Triss walk, just a few paces behind Yulia and Rebecca, they are found by Dorian. "Ah, Dorian," Geralt says, "I'm not sure I agree." He tugs at his doublet, frowning. "Surprised to see you here, I'll admit." Triss smiles and laughs good-naturedly. "Oh, Geralt, you never told me you had such flattering friends." To match Dorian's bow, she curtseys. Elsewhere, the party continues in full swing.
Rebecca Chambers	At first, Rebecca thinks maybe she's meeting someone who she doesn't remember from a long time ago, but it's when he addresses her that she realizes something's up here. Her police training has helped her nose learn to detect the odor of alcohol a lot easier, and his behavior indicates that he's pretty drunk too. That's when the pieces finally fit and Rebecca realizes what's going on. "I'm sorry, but I'm not Catherine," Rebecca says, her voice firm. "You are mistaking me for someone else. Now please move along." Her voice has a hint of authority to it, and while Rebecca doesn't want to utilize her authority here, she does have the right to detain someone if they get too personal with her.
Yulia Koslova	With a polite shake of her head and a waved hand, Yulia for now politely puts off taking a drink. Hopefully she'll be able to track down something that is both safe and non-alcoholic to drink later...but for now, she steps up next to the unhappy-looking fair maiden. She watches the two young man who seem to have offended each other or the lady or goodness-knows-what-happened-here for a long moment, then looks sidelong at her fellow lady. "Is this normal?" she asks, trying to keep her tone fairly neutral and vague.
Assassin of Brown	Annette has no idea what type of currency they use here, or how much a crown is, nor does she have any in her possession. She's also just plain not interested. So she turns away, pretending not to notice, just as Assassin himself responds with a smile, and a spring in his step, and says, "Certainly, certainly." And he plunks down the entry fee on the table. Where did he get that? Seems like the benefits of going on ahead to invisibly scout things are making themselves apparent after all. The Surgeon leans in towards Costeau and says, "Well, it WAS part of our intent to seek information. Perhaps he intends to discuss things over cards and glean insight from such." The magus says, "That isn't the type of information I want." And then she just walks away, leaving the companion to the greatest detective to flounder between the two before finally just deciding his long-time friend can take care of himself, and going after Annette as she goes about on a mission, looking for some sign of... Something. Magic, perhaps.
Dorian Pavus	"Oh, this sort of thing is old hat back home," Dorian replies, to Geralt's words of not expecting to see him here. "My father is a magister, remember?" Mind, he keeps his voice down as he says that part, since 'magister' is probably not a term most people here are familiar with. Or it might be something completely different. Triss's words get a chuckle, and Dorian notes, "Ah, but I only speak the truth." His tone's not of the 'laying it on thick' variety either; he has no ulterior motives in his compliments. Which might be quite refreshing! Though he /is/ looking around, even if it looks like he's not really paying attention. Have to keep one's wits about one in a place like this. Never know who will be hiding a knife in their cloak....
Geralt of Rivia	The drunken partygoes blanches. "Oh, sorry, m'lady. My mistake." He trundles off, back into the party. Well, that wasn't too hard! Elsewhere, Yulia makes conversation with the young woman who appears to be in the process of being duelled over. "Oh, it's the war, it's got every man thinking that if he whips out his sword, it'll be just the thing to win over a woman. It's been quite normal ever since Nilfgaard began marching north. It won't be long before they cross the Pontar." "Triss, Dorian Pavus," Geralt introduces the pair. "Dorian, Triss Merigold. A sorceress," he says, as if the pair will want to talk arcane shop. He seems to have grasped the term magister. "Some friendly advice," Triss tells Dorian, "Around here, the King is clamping down on magic. His hunters are out in force and might even be here tonight. It's something to keep in mind before you start doing any parlor tricks, magister," she adds, teasing. As for the game of 'skill and chance' that is starting up, it appears to be anything but! As the gamesman takes up the coins, he sets them beneath a cup. Yes, it's the old 'which cup is the money under' trick. And it's clearly a trick - he's palming the coins halfway through the routine. It might fool the drunk partygoers, but not this mark! Can Sherlock determine just what's happening here - and get his money back? The party moves on. Geralt and Triss drink, although only the latter appears to get drunk. Geralt plays gwent, and probably tries teaching it to Dorian, and Geralt wins gwent. The night goes on, and there's more than enough revelry for everyone. "Triss, so, I'm wondering..." Geralt begins, as it gets close to midnight, "Is it a good time to ask you about..." "Yes!" "...that mage that we're coming here to meet?" It's hard not to see the disappointment on Triss' face. But then the fireworks go off and everything is lost beneath their color and sound, including one dark act. As the fireworks die down, a servant girl comes running out from a secluded alcove. "Murder!" she screams, "Bloody murder!" Inside the alcove, seated on a bench, is a man - with his throat slit from ear to ear and a little ring imprinted with a burning symbol on his body.
Rebecca Chambers	"Murder?!" Rebecca's eyes go wider than when she first met a zombie for the first time. All of a sudden, being accosted by a drunken guy is more preferable to this. She looks around, trying to isolate the source of where the call is coming from, and when Rebecca sees the girl coming, she takes off towards the alcove. When she arrives, Rebecca shakes her head as she looks at the wound and then at the ring imprint. "He never stood a chance," Rebecca comments, reaching over to close the deceased man's eyes. "But this imprint..."
Yulia Koslova	Yulia makes a quiet, clearly not impressed 'hmph' at the answer she's given. "I guess some things don't change no matter where you are. Men." Then, hitching up her long skirt just enough that she does not make an embarrassment of herself by tripping over her own hem, she strides forward to instead potentially make an embarressment of herself by accosting the two young men. "Save it for the battlefield, you two. This is a party, so whatever offense you think you've caused..." And then she realizes she hadn't even asked the lady's name. Whoops. "...this young lady, put it aside, and go do something more constructive." A pointed glare is given to each of them, her tone all affronted. Then, the young Zeon lady turns on one heel and strides back toward her fellow lady. "If they decide to continue being idiots, well then we don't have to watch them. Would you like to go find something else to do?" And with that...well, either she's just made a total mess of her national diplomatic process, or maybe she'll make a new friendly aquaintance. We'll see! Later...fireworks! A rare treat, a nice surprise. Yulia will certainly enjoy those from the gardens, the display bringing a true and genuine smile to her face. "Wow, would you look at that..." The moment is ruined by the screams, and her head snaps in the direction of whoever's yelling them. The smile's gone, just like that. "Oh no..."
Dorian Pavus	Dorian bows his head respectfully as Geralt introduces him. "Thank you," he says to Geralt. "My apologies for not introducing myself immediately; my manners seem to have deserted me for the time being." Though at the mention of himself as a magister, Dorian smirks slightly. "I'm not a magister myself," Dorian corrects gently, still remaining quiet. "I am an altus. I could explain in more detail later. But I do take your meaning. I thought as much, hence why I left the trappings of magery at home." And Dorian drinks too! He is careful how much the drinks, though. As for gwent? Dorian's a gambler himself, though chess is more his speed as for games. But he doesn't do too badly. Even when he loses, he doesn't seem too out of sorts about it. He's also smart enough to not bet clothing. That never goes well. The wayward altus mage will probably even end up charming his way into someone's confidence, though not for anything of great import. Just enough to learn some more about the world. He has a way of appearing to know something without actually knowing it, while getting others to speak. Which should only be aided by the copious amount of drink flowing. Fireworks! This sort of startles Dorian at first; he accustomed to explosions being bad things (usually 'gaatlok' aimed at Tevinter's collective backside). Once he's certain it's for entertainment though, he's calmer. And they're quite impressive! Nearing midnight though, when the servant girl quite literally screams bloody murder, he turns to look in shock, as if he were just another noble at the party. For a moment he doesn't approach. But when it seems no one else comes out of that alcove, he takes a few tentative steps towards it, magical senses brought forth and tuned to try to catch any lingering magic that may be bad news.
Geralt of Rivia	It's definitely murder and it's definitely bloody. Geralt and Triss stand by the commotion, the crowds making room for the Witcher. Guards show up to usher people back, unless they seem to be the type to handle it - like the Elites. "Seen that ring before," Geralt says, spotting Rebecca, "Cult of the Eternal Fire. They hate mages and non-humans. Given this fellow's ears, I'd say it's likely he was a mage." Dorian's senses don't pick up anything magical - at least, nothing's that bad news. The lingering sense of it hangs off the dead man. So, it's likely he was a mage of some sort. But it looks like the man was just slit from ear to ear. Of course, that just makes one wonder where the assassin went. But Dorian might be able to pick up on the soft scene of... incense? "Smell that?" Geralt comments. "Like they'd have in a temple..." Yulia, still out in the gardens, however, is almost bowled over by a man in a cloak who is running full speed for the edge of the mansion perimeter, a glint of steel in his hands!
Yulia Koslova	Yulia takes a step, then hesitates. Sure, she may have been invited, but should she get involved? She's a total stranger here. It might be seen as meddling, and she really wouldn't know what to do to help anyway... ...small wonder she's nearly knocked over, and the only reason she isn't is because he noticed her first. She almost apologizes out of sheer reflex, but the words die in her throat as her brain parses what she just saw. Her head whips around to follow where he went, nearly smacking herself in the face with her own braid. "Wait! STOP!" she yells after the retreating man. This time, there's no hesitation, and she chases after. "Stop that man!" A sprinter she is not, and already her skirt is getting the way, so it's not at all likely that she'll be able to keep up, let alone catch him.
Rebecca Chambers	Even dressed up the way she is, Rebecca is still able to take off after the suspect. Her dress isn't as long as others' are, so she can run a little faster. Being a member of S.T.A.R.S. does have its perks too. "Stop! You're under arrest!" She yells, although she silently knows calling out for compliance against a murderer is foolish.
Dorian Pavus	Dorian looks like nothing more or less than another noble fop at the party. He is immaculately groomed, and has the air of a noble about him. So at least at first, he will very likely be asked to step back from the scene. Possibly a couple of times as he tries to get close. He will however protest, "Oh /please/. I know I /look/ like an elegant and frail flower, but I assure you, I'm not." And he'll push past, unless he's stopped. There /is/ a certain air about him that indicates he may be tougher than he looks. The set of his shoulders. The hardness of his eyes. That determined look on his face. If the guards are perceptive enough, they'll see this is no mere rich fop. Or at least, that there's more to him than that. He nods to Geralt's observation. A church? So whatever functions as the Chantry here was responsible? Quietly he observes, "I'd thought mages killing templars was only in Thedas." Then there's a commotion near Yulia and Rebecca! Dorian turns to look, but that's a pretty long distance. And Triss has asked him not to do his parlor tricks. But there's a murderer. Keeping up appearances isn't as important as stopping him! So he starts to run after the cloaked assassin... and then suddenly he glows blue-white. He moves about three times faster than he should be able to suddenly! Can he catch the assassin?! He's going to try, with a leaping tackle as he comes out of that blue-white glow!