faderift | stuck the landing

Previous experiences in Skyhold were limited to the following: that one time Asher almost died, fetching and carrying for Asher whilst getting up to mischief Melisende threatened to punt him off a mountain for, the minor bear incident with Gunnar in Lady Gwenaëlle Vauquelin's rooms that one time, and then Asher dying.

So he's never gotten the grand tour. Which is why he's going for a proper nosy this time. Touching all the things. Having a good rummage about. After all this was the dwarf who stole all the silverware from Comte Emeric Vauquelin but still stopped to try on a gown because he liked the colour.

There's always a reason for him being somewhere. Most especially if it's the last place he should be. Like private quarters. There is a perfectly logical and legitimate reason for him to be here, allow him to spin you the three hour long gripping yarn he's going to invent all about it.

Edited 2016-09-17 17:39 (UTC)

Logan closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking deeply pained. He'd only been listening to this tale for two minutes, and already he was getting a headache. His shard was aching badly and the Crawler's voice was especially loud today and he was just so not in the mood for this.

"Stop," he said finally, cutting Yngvi off with a firm gesture, all the authority of a monarch behind it. "Just put back whatever you stole." Despite being a king where he was from, he had precious little here; he didn't want to lose any of it to some very small annoying creature.

"You what?" Allow him a couple of moments for his small brain to gallop up to wherever his mouth is at. It's a journey. A long one. On a really short fat pony with wee stubby fat pony legs. Almost-- almost-- There we are. "Are you accusing me of being a thief? Do I look like a duster?"

Why yes, Yngvi does manage to sound outraged, as if he's some sort of person of good character which speaks well to all the older folk in the Carta that raised him honestly because this is the person that managed to message the whole of the Inquisition instead of just Gwenaelle when he was clattering around her father's estate, knicking the best brandy and the silverware, and trying on her dresses.

(As you do.)

"This," he continues after the correct amount of pause to gather his fractured and wounded dignity, you, good sir if you can even be called a good sir and with whatever that is on your face - perhaps a lost stoat, maybe a weasel? - ought to be ashamed to call him out thus, "is an inspection, obviously."

...well this was the last thing he expected when he stepped into his tent.

He supposes he shouldn't be entirely surprised, since its not like a tent flap could be locked up like a door, but he really had to wonder if it was even worth for anybody to be in here - Bruce didn't exactly have much in the way of things, after all. Pretty much everything important was with him in his bag that he always carried on his shoulder.

Bruce watches the dwarf trying to rummage through his supply of herbs for a while longer before he very discreetly attempts to clear his throat.

Rumbled. With-- witherstalk? Outrageous what the kids get up to these days. Tut tut, and here he thought he was surronded by old ladies ready to come busting in (only obviously not since he was staying with Asher next to the shag tent from Bloomingtide onwards so he knows better.)

"Sir. Serah. Not-Madame." How do you say that Orlesian word, how does it go again… "Moos-your? Moos-your."

Turning around slowly, still holding the witherstalk that he won't be needing because look if Yngvi was going to be making any babies he would've known about it by now, seriously, he would, dwarves are not good at the making babies bit even up on the surface several generations removed from Orzammar. (It probably helps if you actually hook up with dwarf girls Yngvi and not literally anyone but dwarf girls.)

"Routine tent inspection, sanctioned by Sister Hestine. Take it up with her, I'm just doing the rounds, making sure no one has anything contraband-- Do we...have I inspected you before, Serah?" You got a shifty looking face there. Not Yngvi. Honest as a lamb is Yngvi.

The only response Bruce could do to something like that was to very politely arch up one eyebrow and do his best not to look too exasperated by all of thus. Somehow, he can't even find himself to be that all surprised. It's been a long time, but its incredibly hard to forget a character like him. Nice to see that some things don't change even with all that's happened.

"We don't have a Sister Hestine around here," he says simply, instead of answering the question that hangs in the air, then glances over to the witherstalk in his hand. "You can keep that if you want... Buttersum, was it?"

Remember how Yngvi got belted in the face by the fist of an angry Orlesian that he sometimes, jokingly, refers to as his future papa-in-law? Well it rattled his bells so it'll take a moment. "Well she's Sister Hestine to those she trusts--"

Buttersum. When did he last hear that one? There was definitely a job (there's always a job, or an arrangement, a liason if he's feeling risque and fancy) and then his face lights up, and the Thedosian birth control is scattered somewhere. "You! Serah! Looking all grey what have they done to you! And it's Yngvi. Since I'm here all legit. Good and proper."

Ah. Guess the dwarf did remember him, then. Which was probably both a good and a bad thing... mostly if his mage status hadn;t yet been revealed. But since it was already common knowledge now...

"I've always looked like this." Well, not really. He's definitely a fair bit neater than when he had been running around as an apostate, having been subjected to Adelaide's attempts of tidying him up. "And so you do actually have a proper name. I've always wondered how anybody would be so unfortunate to have a name like 'Buttersum'." Not that Bruce really was in a position to speak given his own real name, but well. Nobody knew about that anyway, so it was a moot point.

Yngvi is a filth demon who adopted the surname Asher gave him, he is the last person to judge for most things, and the things he does judge for are generally nonsensical. Or related to Orzammar, nobles, or the Dalish being super haughty because Yngvi thinks halla tastes great if you barbecue it.

"I think not, I have good eyes, I have fantastic eyes, I have the best eyes because I make traps so they have to be good." Why yes, this is what passes as flawless logic as far as he's concerned, wanna fight about it? "D'you know how many girls get called Helga? Or Olga. You'd call a draft horse that, not your daughter but then you want to see what some of the merchant's guild lasses look like…" Behold: the words of a filth demon.

Anyway, moving on, moving on. "What're you doing here anyway, thought you were a million miles off somewhere else. That was the plan at the time. Remember there was coin changed hands. I roughed up some blokes. Greased a few wheels. And now. Here. The heart of it all. Witherstalk coming out of your arse - who needs that much, thought folk were fighting a war up here."

Bruce is pretty sure he can name a few other people off the top of his head who probably would have 'better eyes' than him, but he also knows better than to try and contest such a ridiculous point against him. There were a few other things he could spend his time on instead.

"If you haven't noticed, we've got a thing about a rift in the sky for over a year already," he returns. voice pointedly dry. "No point running around if there's going to be no more Thedas to run around at all." And he's not even going to comment about the Whiterstalk part - look, its just good to have a supply of everything, alright? "I think the more important questions is what you're here for." Certainly even he wasn't foolish enough to try and steal something here, right...?

"I look up!" Wow Bruce that's rude he always has to look up because everyone has too much leg compared to him and apparently you can't just go taking them out from under them? "Mal managed to get zapped by a sky vagina in the hand because he's an idiot, but we weren't surprised."

If one of their merc friends was going to suffer such an indignity, it'd be Mal. Because Mal was Mal. And dumb. All the plans went wrong enough that just saying 'Mal's coming on a job' or something like that would have Yngvi doing his best impression of a bear with a sore foot.

Wait, what was he talking about?

"Asher signed a contract, just because he's dead, doesn't change things." But Yngvi's smile is wrong, and he'd rather examine his thumbnail instead of looking at Bruce. Asher being dead changes pretty much everything, it was weird but Yngvi had a hundred reasons that everyone else listened to, only that's no one else's business, is it? "Melisende said we're honouring it, so someone had to come back here. Me, being the honourable sort, volunteered. Everyone should be falling over themselves to have me here - you know that. I," he pronounces very grandly, without shame or modesty, "am an incredibly gifted dwarf."

Bruce was about to say something to his indignant response and everything else that came after that, but then he stops when the name 'Asher' was mentioned. The... avaar, yes. He remembered. He didn't talk to him much, but his death still had been an event that effected him. Even though Bruce knew that it was impossible to save everyone--still knowing somebody who died and being unable to do anything was still a blow, nonetheless. The Inquisition had lost yet another person, and there were people in Thedas who had lost somebody important to them. Case in point--the dwarf who was now pointedly looking away.

"Gifted in some ways, maybe." The jibe is gentler this time, at least, now that he knows the reason why the dwarf is here. "Just make sure you put them to use properly here. The Inquisition has a reputation to uphold."

...not that he's doubting him or anything, but you know. Best to just give a reminder and everything.

"This is a face that should've had my parents turned into paragons if I had parents." Bruce don't, don't make it weird, let him continue blindly onwards until he comes to a blinding clattering halt at some later point when he gets drunk and starts crying to the nearest thing that'll listen even if that's his nugs that just want to nibble his hair. "But I sprang fully formed, as we dwarves do, which you know because you're a smart man. Paragons couldn't carve this face, look at it."

That jawline. Behold. Masterful. Branka eat your heart out, not his because you absolutely would eat his heart or feed it to a darkspawn you creep, this is another reason you don't trust anyone from Orzammar honestly.

"M'lady is here. And an old friend. Have you met Lex before? We go way back, like not you and me sort of way back but kind of? And I am a man of good reputation, I helped! I absolutely helped you and what happened was not my fault, that's just a hazard of the business and the world we live in."

Being the master of evading topics he didn't want to talk about himself, Bruce knew a subject change when he saw one, and for now he's content to let it slide. It wasn't really his place anyway.

"I... think I might have met him before?" He wasn't exactly sure who this 'Lex' person was, or if it was even a name. It certainly didn't sound like a proper name. But he has at least seen most people in the Inquisition at least once, so he'll just stick with that. "Though I'm more curious as to what you helped him with in the first place." Especially after a declaration like that. Consider him intrigued and all that.

"Oh it's Lord Alexander Luthor to you but no one uses proper names with family." Imagine if you will, the things Yngvi is called by his family when he was just Yngvi, false names, and then his long surname until the first visit to a hold happened to him. Imagine. Now stop. Enough imagining that life. You will get sucked in, like staring into the void but with rows and rows of teeth.

"That almost sounds like you don't trust me after all the help I gave you. That hurts, I'm hurt, and I was hurt to begin with - I thought you were meant to do the opposite of that, I can submit a complaint you know, I'm good at doing that." Yngvi continues, slapping one hand so dramatically to his chest he surprises himself and almost goes sprawling. He's just that good. Commitment to the bit, no one can fault him there. "He's a smith. Who better to go to for smith things than dwarves, he's a smart man. Like scarily smart? Honestly demon smart I think."

Yngvi why did you make that sound like a compliment oh yes because 1. you are a filthdemon and 2. Asher was your boss for years.

If he expects Bruce to be impressed then sadly the dwarf has another thing coming for him instead. Though before all of that--family? Was he actually related to nobility?

...no, it couldn't be. Bruce could believe a lot of things but even that was a bit too far fetched for Bruce to take.

"As far as I can recall the 'help' you gave ended up in a very long chase instead." That was one misadventure Bruce was inclined to forget, though his mind seemed to do otherwise. ...and yes, only he could use 'demon' in a word and make it sound like a compliment. "I'm sure he appreciates the high praise." Probably as long as the Chantry sisters don't take it the wrong way.

Related by way of stealing from them. Nothing more. Not that sort of Carta that comes from shamed nobility or being born of some tryst then taking after the wrong parent. (But he does have several false identities that can trace their lineages back to ruined lines, should he require them, as he has, because some dwarves as such soft touches for that sort of thing, for lost kin come running back with their rag and bone lives, and Yngvi is shameless, spinning his stories for them).

"You're a surgeon," Yngvi sniffs, examining his nails and wondering if he should try to plant spuds under them. "Running is good for you. Bit of excitement, keeps the humours all nice and balanced it does. Course he appreciates the praise, it's coming from me. S'like you don't even know me, that was a fun day. Especially the bit with the chickens."

Bruce is pretty sure that being a surgeon and running did not have a lot of relation to each other. How the dwarf even came to that conclusion was honestly beyond him.

"I think you and I remember the bit with the chickens very differently," he returns, voice still incredibly dry. About as dry as the sands at the Approach. That bit with the chickens was, well--the less said about it, the better. That was one memory Brice did not wish to bring back unless he really had to.

Though, all of that aside... "It is good to see you again, despite everything. I'm glad you are well." With all that has happened, its good to see an old face of sorts, in a sense.

Bruce does both. The connection is there. Yngvi has a weird little brain though and will make connections as needed so that generally tends to explain virtually all sorts of oddness, and sometimes he'll explain it, if he feels like it, but usually he'll just say the things he thinks go together perfectly well and nod. Just so. Everyone else should just keep up with him clearly.

"They were really good chickens, Florabelle still writes me." Dare you to call him out on that one Bruce, triple dare you on the holy bones of some sainted old wrinkled prune of an interfering old biddy to call him out on that one.

And now, for the finishing piece. Flopping at Bruce's feet in a very hefty, loud, untidy heap. And just lying there. For a worryingly long time for someone who publicly sustained a solid blow to the head whilst drunk that resulted in a concussion, and then made his way to Skyhold via Orlais using a nug-drawn keg.

He lies there.

Lies there some more.

Eyes closed.

Hands over his chest. (One stem of witherstalk for want of a rose. Where do girls in towers get those roses from, is there just a rose delivery service for girls locked in towers, the Carta should get involved in that unless the Coterie is poking about, probably a bit elfy for the Carta by all accounts.)

"Bruce," soft, one eye cracks open, "you do care." And up he pops to shove the whole stem of witherstalk in his mouth because you need to be committed to the bit.

Bruce--well. He stares because really, how else do you respond to something like this? (Well, some possibilities did cross his mind, but none of them were sensible and being sensible is what he does here. It's a thing for him by now because it seemed like the rest of Thedas did not want to make sense sometimes.)

Eventually he sighs and crosses his arms. "I never said I didn't," he finally replies, words drawn out in one long, suffering sigh. "But I had also hoped you'd have gained a bit more common sense since the last time." Clearly, that did not seem to be the case. ...not that Bruce could find himself terribly surprised. If it wasn't for the likes of Harding around, he'd be pretty sure this was how all dwarves (or half-dwarf, as a certain individual quickly came to mind that he quickly banishes away) seemed to be like.

stuck the landing

iv; exploring skyhold

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