trinkett | Third Dispatch. I have Advice. Written.

Third Dispatch. I have Advice. Written.

Dear Luceti,

My efforts to gain notice by the Malnosso Organization for my considerable human resources skills have not been enough, I fear.

To this end, I shall be offering my services free of charge: Effie's Advisements. No problem is too large or too small! We shall overcome -- together.

Most Sincerely,

Effie.

[That signature has a very elegant flourish to it.]

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"...no, not really. My home just prefers a...more natural look for people. The way you usually do yourself up? People would think you were employed as a clown where I'm from."

He's not meaning to make it sound like an insult; it just is what it is. People really would think she was a clown...or worked for Cirque Du Soliel.

He brings his own journal out, turning it to a fresh page as he lays it on the table.

"I think it works a little differently for each person; whatever makes sense for them. But what you do is essentially make a 'lock', like this," and he'll tap the upper left hand of the page, draw some sort of symbol on the rest of the surface, and end it with a twist of his fingers, like he was turning a deadbolt.

"And that locks it. Depending on what names you include in the code, it'll lock the journal to them, or just to residents in general. Like this one; there's no names, so it'll be locked, but everyone can still see it. Yours looked like this,"

Another series of symbols, followed by her name, and the same twist again.

Following the motion of his fingers intently, Effie tries to forget the extreme dissatisfaction with the fact that he just as good as told her she looked like a clown.

"Wait, WHAT? I can't even tell what you just did! Do it MORE SLOWLY, if you please!"

Her own curlicued attempts to lock things to him in her journal are sad failures.

As far as he's concerned, the moment is already passed anyway.

He'll stop, shake his head.

"Okay. Let's try this again. The parts that stay consistent are this," he taps the upper left corner again, "Which activates the locking system. And then this," and he'll make the twisting motion on the page again,"Which completes the lock once you get all the information in it. The pattern itself is your 'code' for the lock to open. You have to be able to make it exactly the same each time. If you can't, you can always use a number or word sequence instead."

"I...don't know how to do that. The design." Effie wasn't creative like that. "Words, though -- I could do words. What word should I use?"

She traced his name very carefully in her journal.

"Probably something you can remember easy but that other people wouldn't guess. Mix it up with a few numbers to make it harder for people to guess."

"Alright...see if this works, will you?"

She tries to send Derek a locked message: Hello Mister Bliss. I am glad to see your wings in order today.

Derek takes a look at the message, nods and smiles a little.

"You're close, but it's not quite strong enough, I think. It's partially blocked."

Don't ask him how he knows that.

"Maybe make the code just a little more complicated."

Ugh. This is complicated. Codes just aren't Effie's thing. She's used to hiding in plain sight.

She tries again, this time adding in a few numbers and hoping she'll remember what they are.

They are a very respectable shade of brown.

"There -- now?"

Another carefully read and inspection of the page.

"Yeah; a lot. Here," he'll move over to her journal, "Can I see it for a second?"

"Why?" She's not exactly trying to shield it from him, but Effie would prefer to retain at least SOME control with her makeup off. "Why do you want to see it?"

"Just that page. I think you might be falling off the borders a little. You can hold the others down if you want."

Really, he doesn't care. At least not right now. He's just trying to teach her right the first time.

Slowly she slides her journal toward him, making a show of NOT holding down the other pages.

"Here, Mister Bliss."

When it gets into polite range, Derek will gently but firmly pull the journal over to where he could get a good look. He'll hold the other pages down himself while he studies the practice page.

"Yeah, see, right here? You went over a little. That'll make the lock a little shaky. If someone knows what to look for, they can break it. You'll want to stay in a smaller space, probably no further out than this."

He'll trace a border around the page, a little in from the edges.

"Oh...oh, I see."

This WAS helpful. Effie begins to relax a bit. "Who are the someones? The ones who like to break codes, here?"

"It depends. A lot of people just like to know what's going on. Others like getting into other peoples' business whether they need to be there or not. I've seen a few attempts, but so far, my own locks have stayed up."

"I suppose there IS no alternative system of communication." She takes back her journal and closes the cover. "These are it."

And then Effie blanches. What if...what if that was a transgressive thought? What if the Malnosso frowned upon discussions of alternative communications? What if she and Derek were at this very moment being watched?

In a shaky voice: "Don't...don't tell anyone..."

"I'd say if you really wanted to make sure it stayed private, keep it face to face. Just be careful where you choose to talk."

He pauses, then shakes his head at her next comment.

"I don't typically talk about people to other people."

That has to be a lie. Everyone wants information. Most people are willing to wield information like an assassin's blade.

"Right, right -- about people to other people." She clutches the journal to her chest. How can she have gotten so glib and careless?

Oh for...sometimes he wondered why he bothered with her. She was so damn stuck in her own world. It made him want to shake some damn sense into that over-poofed head of hers.

"Let me be more precise; I don't tell other people what I find out. Tends to make you less trustworthy to others. And using what I know only extends to vampires, or saving lives."

She remembered watching him fight and nodded. He was like a Peacekeeper without loyalties.

"Very precise. I do appreciate precision."

Her knuckles were still white on the journal's cover.

"You should do fine, then. Just remember to keep the as something no one would associate with you."

He'll stand, noting the clenched fingers, but saying nothing about them.

"All set?"

"Yes. Thank you. I must go, now."

There isn't anything pressing, just a keen internal sense that she might have somehow stepped over a Malnosso boundary and could be held liable for that by Them.

"Good Day, Mister Bliss."

"Take care, Ms. Trinkett."

The only reply he'll get are the hollow echoes of high heels clacking on the polished wooden floor.

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Third Dispatch. I have Advice. Written.

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